New Release Blitz: Northwest of Normal by Blur Jones (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Northwest of Normal

Author: Blue Jones

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 10, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 62700

Genre: Contemporary, NineStar Press, LGBT, road trip, kidnapping, enemies to lovers, slow burn, gay, romance

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

When Ben wakes up from a nap in his Jeep, he is horrified to find two strangers driving it. His car’s been stolen, with him in the back seat. Ben overhears just enough to discover they are brothers on the run for murder. Randall is a thug, delighting in showing off his gun and vowing to use it if Ben tries to escape.

Ben just wants to get out of this alive but soon finds himself fighting a dangerous attraction to Randall’s younger brother Murphy. His tough exterior hides someone sweet, vulnerable, and completely gorgeous. The sexual tension between Ben and Murphy becomes impossible to ignore as they are kept in forced proximity. Bound together, made to share a room and even a bed night after night in increasingly weird motels, they slowly turn from enemies to secret lovers. When Murphy discovers Randall’s true plans for Ben, he must choose between the brother who has always been his everything, and Ben—the man it might be worth losing everything for.

Excerpt

Northwest of Normal
Blue Jones © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Ben woke up facedown in the backseat of his car, one cheek pressed hard against the warm leather seat and a hand hanging down to the bristled mat on the floor. He yawned into his sleeve. He’d driven for hours yesterday and was still exhausted. The last thing he remembered was parking up at the roadside late last night and pulling a blanket and coat over himself for warmth. He’d only intended to take a quick nap, but judging from the bright light, he must have slept until late morning. His groggy mind started to clear, and he turned over onto his back, pushed his coat away from his face, and stretched out.

He gazed up lazily at the roof of the car as a shadow passed over it. Then another. He pushed the coat down farther and squinted at the opposite window. Trees rushed by. It was only then that he noticed the steady purr of the engine and the vibration of the car beneath him. The car was moving. Someone had stolen his Jeep. With him in it.

He was suddenly very awake. He smelled cigarette smoke and stale beer and heard someone breathing in the driver’s seat by his head. As he edged slightly to his right, he saw a stocky man with short hair and a dirty, green shirt sitting on the passenger’s side. Ben slowly lay back down and kept his breathing quiet, even though he felt like his heart was beating out of his chest. For one surreal moment, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. They were the ones who had stolen his car, but it felt somehow impolite to interrupt them.

What was he supposed to say? Should he shout at them to get the hell out? Or should he tell them they could keep the car and politely ask them to let him go? He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth and listened as the man in the passenger seat spoke.

“You chose a decent car, kid. Full tank of gas.”

Ben jolted. For a second, Ben thought the man was talking to him. The guy looked about forty and had a southern accent, local to where they were in Georgia. He leaned forward in his seat as he spoke, like he had a surfeit of energy coiled up.

“Thanks.”

Ben only had that one word to go on, but the man driving sounded younger and calmer, with a softer voice.

There was a long moment of silence before the younger man driving spoke again. “Why’d you have to do it?”

“I did it for you, and you know it,” said the older man sharply.

“Don’t give me that,” said the driver, sounding defensive.

“I told you one day I’d end up killin’ him. Just a matter of time.”

“Never thought you meant it.”

Jesus Christ. Forget confronting them. Ben would curl back up under the blanket and hide. Perhaps he could slip out unseen next time they stopped for gas or food or to kill their next victim. He was about to duck down under his coat when the passenger looked in the rearview mirror—his shocked gaze meeting Ben’s.

“What the hell?”

The driver followed his partner’s gaze and whipped around, shouting in surprise. The passenger reached out one meaty hand to grab the blanket off Ben and grip his wrist tight. His ruddy cheeks contrasted sharply with his pale, wrinkled forehead and the puffy bags under his eyes.

“Nice work, little brother,” the older one mocked loudly. “The one time I let you drive, you pick an occupied car.”

“Shut up, Randall,” said the younger guy.

“If this isn’t the dumbest shit you’ve ever pulled.” Randall threw his hands up in exasperation.

“I said shut up. You didn’t notice him either.”

“Weren’t my job to look.”

The car slowed and pulled to the right.

“What’re you doing?” Randall let go of Ben and reached out, jerking the steering wheel back toward his brother so the car stayed on course.

“Pullin’ over to get rid of this guy.”

“No way, Murphy. I’m not havin’ him run off to the cops. He’s seen my face. Anyway”—Randall turned in his seat and winked at Ben but continued to talk about him as though he weren’t there—“never look a gift horse in the mouth. We can use him.”

“What the hell for?” Murphy gave Ben a worried glance in the mirror before turning his attention back to the road.

“I’ll think of somethin’.”

Shit.

“Why do I always go along with your stupid, dumbass plans?” Murphy muttered.

“Because you love me.” Randall stared at Ben. “What’s your name, kid?”

Ben licked his lips and sat up, pushing the coat off himself and freeing his legs from the blanket. “Benedict…Ben.” He tried hard not to let his voice tremble.

“Why’d you leave your car unlocked, Benedict Ben?” Randall asked.

“I didn’t know I had.”

Had he really done that? If the man was lying and they’d broken into the car, he surely would have been woken by the noise. Maybe he was just that stupid and had left the car unlocked all night. Ben slid to the middle of the backseat where he could see them both—the driver in profile and Randall, who was still staring at Ben. A male voice with an English accent spoke, and all three men jumped.

“Make a left turn at your earliest convenience.”

“Shit, sorry. That’s my GPS. It’s sort of temperamental. Never makes any sense. I don’t even use it,” Ben rambled.

“Switch the fucker off, brother.”

Murphy scrabbled with the buttons with one hand, and it spoke again.

“Please make a U-turn.”

Murphy gave up on the buttons and yanked out a wire. The device bleeped, and its red light went out.

Randall turned sideways in his seat and stared at Ben once more, a smile transforming half his face into deep crow’s feet. He scratched at the light gray stubble covering his chin and jaw.

“Gimme your phone.”

Ben pulled it from his jeans pocket and handed it over.

“Where’s your money at?”

“Uh.” Ben couldn’t think straight. He patted all his pockets and then remembered. “Oh, my wallet’s in the glove compartment.”

Randall yanked it open and went through everything. He rifled through Ben’s collection of napkins and ketchup packets from fast-food restaurants, his bug spray, and mini bottles of hand sanitizer and finally found Ben’s black leather wallet. Ben sighed as he remembered he’d taken out five hundred dollars in cash before he’d set off. More than enough for food, gas, and motel rooms all along his route.

Randall opened the wallet and whistled. “We hit the payload.”

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Blue Jones is a British author who writes sweet and sexy romance, full of offbeat characters and happy endings.

Her books have been published by Dreamspinner Press, NineStar Press, and various UK & US literary journals. When she’s not writing or painting, she loves Twin Peaks, Daniel Clowes comics, and watching Call Me By Your Name on repeat.

Website | Twitter

Giveaway


Blog Button 2

Blog Tour: The Player’s Protege by CJane Elliott (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Player’s Protege

Series: A Campus Connections Story

Author: CJane Elliott

Publisher:  Dreamspinner Press

Release Date: 6/7/19

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 93 pages

Genre: Romance, New Adult, contemporary, college, coming of age

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

When his friends bet cynical Jerry that he can’t turn sweet Arlo into a player, Jerry might win the bet but lose his heart.

College senior Jerry Helstrom survived a gay childhood in Texas by being fierce and fabulous. At school he’s known as a player and has kept his heart so guarded that he’s forgotten he has one. When his friends bet him he can’t teach inexperienced Arlo Barnes to become a stud like him, Jerry takes on the challenge and quickly finds himself drawn to his enticing trainee.

Arlo kicks butt as a Tae Kwon Do black belt, but his sexual game is lacking. He’s been dumped by his only boyfriend and needs help getting himself out there. Enter Jerry Helstrom, player extraordinaire and happy to provide Arlo with some hands-on coaching. Jerry encourages Arlo to ask for what he wants in sex and in life, something Arlo struggles with. The struggle deepens when Arlo discovers that what he truly wants is the seemingly unattainable Jerry Helstrom.

Jerry can teach Arlo to play the field, but can Arlo teach Jerry to play for keeps?

Excerpt

After Arlo left, Tyrone blew out an exasperated breath. “Why’d ya have to be so mean, boo?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Eric laughed. “Jerry’s mean to everyone at first. Right, Will?”

“I never noticed,” Will drawled.

“You wouldn’t.” Eric leaned in for a kiss. “But believe me, he had you down as a boring sports jock.”

“Hot, though,” Jerry murmured. “That won you points right away. And the fact that you were driving Eric crazy was entertaining.”

“For you.” Eric glared at Jerry.

Will put his hand over Eric’s. “Yeah. Eric was driving me crazy too. Blue balls city, man.”

“Oh my.” Jerry put his chin in his hands and widened his eyes. “I always wondered how y’all managed to beat off with the other one right there. Do tell.”

Tyrone held up his hand. “Guys, guys, can we have this conversation another time? Y’all need to help me talk Jerry into mentoring Arlo.”

“Mentoring him in what?” Eric raised laughing eyes to Jerry. “Although I can think of several areas.”

<em>I miss you</em>. It came out of nowhere. He and Eric had been thick as thieves all through college. Once they sorted out that they weren’t meant to be boyfriends, they’d remained best friends and shared countless late-night conversations in this very restaurant. Most of them this year had been about Eric’s seemingly hopeless crush on Will. But all of that had come to a halt now that Eric and Will were lovers. Not that Will would mind if Eric and Jerry continued their habit of hanging out in Alekos. At least Jerry didn’t think he would. But Will and Eric were currently wrapped up in their own romantic world.

Jerry shook his head and focused in on what Tyrone was saying.

“… and since Jake dumped him on his ass after cheating on him, Arlo’s been moping around. We were talking, and he was telling me that he needed some advice about getting out there. Jake was the only guy he’s ever dated, and he needs help in figuring out the hookup scene.”

“That guy? Wants to dive into Grindr?” Eric shook his head. “I can’t see it.”

“Well, that’s what he tells me,” said Tyrone. “And who better to teach him but our Jerry here? Gay stud extraordinaire.”

“You called me a stallion before. Make up your mind.”

Will smirked. “Given the look on your face, Jerry, I’d say the odds of you performing this service are nil to none.”

“Ah, but Jerry owes me, and I’m calling in the favor. Right, boo?”

“Owes you for what?” Eric asked.

“For hooking him up with Ted. Too bad they were together for, like, two seconds.”

Jerry huffed. “I never meant it to be a thing. Although our little affair did have its moments. But still, the answer is no. Think of something else for me to do.”

“Yeah, Tyrone. No fair assigning Jerry an impossible task.”

Jerry narrowed his eyes at Eric. “Impossible? I never said that.”

“Well, I’m saying it. That guy Arlo? You’ll never turn him into a player. He’s a one-man type. I can spot it a mile away.” Eric hugged Will. “This guy’s the same.”

“True.” Will gave Eric a slow smile. “I’m not complainin’.”

“You all are truly over the top. But you’re wrong, Eric. I’m sure I could transform Arlo into a player if I put my mind to it.”

“Wanna bet?”

Eric’s clear disbelief goaded Jerry into rashness. “Sure. What do you want to bet me?”

Tyrone clapped his hands. “I knew you’d do it.”

“Hmm.” Eric tapped his fingers on the table with a thoughtful air. “If you turn Arlo into a player, I’ll do your laundry for a week.”

“Please. You’d mix the fabrics, turn my whites pink, and shrink my favorite shirt.” Inspiration struck. “How about, if I win, you tear yourself away from Will there and commit to regular late-night Alekos runs with me? Plus one cage dance at Club Risque?”

“Okay. And if I win, you do my and Will’s laundry for a week, plus make us cool costumes for Pride.”

“Deal.” Jerry extended his hand, and Eric shook it. If Eric thought he could win this bet, he was seriously underestimating Jerry’s abilities.

Purchase

Dreamspinner Press | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes | Google Books

Meet the Author

After years of hearing characters chatting away in her head, CJane Elliott finally decided to put them on paper and hasn’t looked back since. A psychotherapist by training, CJane enjoys writing sexy, passionate stories that also explore the human psyche. CJane has traveled all over North America for work, and her characters are travelers too, traveling into their own depths to find what they need to get to the happy ending.

CJane is an ardent supporter of LGBTQ equality and is particularly fond of coming-out stories. In her spare time, CJane can be found dancing, listening to music, or watching old movies. Her family supports her writing habit by staying out of the way when they see her hunched over, staring intently at her laptop.

CJane is the author of the award-winning Serpentine Series, New Adult contemporary novels set at the University of Virginia. Serpentine Walls was a 2014 Rainbow Awards finalist, Aidan’s Journey was a 2015 EPIC Awards finalist, and Sex, Love, and Videogames won first place in the New Adult category in the 2016 Swirl Awards and first place in Contemporary Fiction in the 2017 EPIC eBook Awards. All the Way to Shore was Runner Up for Best Bisexual Novel in the 2017 Rainbow Awards.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | eMail | Instagram

Tour Schedule

6/7 ~ Moonbeams Over Atlanta

6/8 ~ Gay Book Reviews

6/9 ~ Stories That Make You Smile

6/10 ~ Love Bytes

6/11 ~ MM Goodbook Reviews

6/12 ~ Bayou Book Junkie

6/13 ~ Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words

6/14 ~ My Fiction Nook

6/15 ~ BFD Book Blog

6/16 ~ Drops of Ink

Giveaway


Blog Button 2

New Release Blitz: Blood Is Forever by Asta Idonea (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Blood Is Forever

Author: Asta Idonea

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 3, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 74500

Genre: Paranormal, LGBT, fantasy, Fae, vampires, witches, half-breed, demons, homicide, law enforcement

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

As a fae-vampire hybrid, scorned by all, Holden’s life has never been easy. The one bright spot is his job testing blood at supernatural crime scenes. It’s routine work, until the day he finds a victim he can’t read.

When one murder becomes two, and then three, it’s clear there’s a serial killer on the loose—one with a penchant for collecting hearts. Finding the bad guy could cement Holden’s career, but he’s drawing a blank. And it doesn’t help that the expert his boss calls in to assist him is the man Holden’s been crushing on for years.

With lives hanging in the balance, Holden and Val must solve the case before the killer strikes again. But will they come out with their hearts still intact?

Excerpt

Blood Is Forever
Asta Idonea © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
“What’s a filthy halfen doing here?”

Holden heard the comment. He could scarce avoid doing so, seeing as he possessed enhanced hearing and the speaker had made no attempt to lower his voice. The fae onlooker didn’t know the half of it. Clearly he based his judgment of Holden’s heritage solely on Holden’s less-than-regal stature—a good few inches shorter than most fae—rather than having recognised him outright. That was a rare occurrence. Had he known the truth about Holden’s lineage, the remark would have been all the more scathing.

Halfens—fae half-breeds—were considered the lowest of the low, ranked even below shifters in the supernatural community. Most halfens were fae-human hybrids. As a fae-vampire, Holden was as much of a social outcast as it was possible to be. The fae were notoriously snooty. For one of them to have had a liaison with a human was bad enough, but a vampire… It still amazed Holden that his father had committed such an act.

Cadeyrn was an important figure in the community—a leader in every sense of the word—and socially conscious in the extreme. Still, rumour had it Holden’s mother had been a rare beauty. Holden couldn’t confirm that. She’d died giving birth to him. Fae children were generally larger than vampire offspring, and her spine had snapped under the pressure of his delivery. With her passing, Cadeyrn had effectively shaken off the stigma attached to their brief encounter. The residue had stuck to Holden instead.

The fae who’d noted his presence spat on the ground near his feet as he passed, and a familiar icy fist closed around Holden’s heart. Nevertheless, he acted as he always did in such situations: he made no response, pretending he hadn’t heard anything, thankful for the dark sunglasses hiding his eyes. If he’d learned anything over the years, it was that he needed to maintain a thick skin, or at least the semblance of it. Such pretence wasn’t his forte, however. So, keeping his gaze fixed on his destination, he forged as speedy a path as possible through the small crowd gathered around the gate and approached the house.

Upon reaching the front door, he nodded to the officer stationed by the entrance, whipped out his credentials, and waved the plastic ID card under the man’s nose. The fae officer scanned them in silence, before raising the invisible strip of tape blocking the doorway, granting Holden access to the building.

From the outside, the Victorian terrace had no distinguishing features. A standard exemplar of its era, it sat in the middle of a long row of identical properties—former middle-class family homes long since converted into small inner-city apartments, for which young professionals had to pay top dollar. This particular example officially consisted of four flats. In truth, there were five.

Holden headed straight for the stairs and ascended to the third floor. To human eyes, this was the last living area, with only roof space above, but Holden could see the shimmer in the wall that indicated a hidden doorway. He passed through the gap, shaking off the tingle the magical barrier sent dancing over his skin, and mounted the small flight of steps to the fifth apartment. The door at the top stood open, and when Holden crossed the threshold, he entered a room bustling with activity.

Fae and witches hurried back and forth. Some wore full protective suits. Others were dressed normally, save for their softly scrunching shoe covers. Two photographers snapped away, their constant camera flashes blinding in their intensity. Meanwhile, several of their colleagues deposited a variety of items into plastic evidence bags, then whisked said bags away. Three witches were casting a spell to search surfaces for any latent fingerprints not belonging to the apartment’s owner, while one of the fae glided behind them, retrieving and cataloguing those found. All in all, it was a pretty standard crime scene.

Holden removed his sunglasses and stowed them in his jacket pocket. Then he grabbed some shoe covers from the box near the door and tugged them over his worn trainers. Now suitably attired, he looked for his superior amidst the organised chaos. In the end, Owens spotted him first.

“Holden!”

Her bark cut through the noise, and everyone paused. They looked at Owens and then at Holden. Most swiftly returned to their respective tasks, but a few pairs of eyes lingered on him. He didn’t recognise the faces attached to those keen gazes, but he could sense these strangers assessing him, judging him…and finding him wanting.

“Holden Fay, quit daydreaming and get your arse over here.”

At the command, Holden squared his shoulders and marched across the room, pretending, as best he could, not to notice those who still observed him.

Owens pursed her dark-berry-coloured lips as he approached, hands planted firmly on her ample hips. “What the hell took you so fucking long? I summoned you forty minutes ago. We had to hold the scene for you.”

“I’m sorry, Captain, but it’s peak hour. You know London traffic.” Actually, he’d had a pretty good run, all things considered, and after parking three streets down, he’d used a supernatural burst of speed to sprint the rest of the way—an action that always took a lot out of him.

“Oh yes. I’d forgotten about your…that you can’t use portals.” Owens had the decency to look momentarily abashed at having brought up one of Holden’s numerous defects. “Anyway, you’re here now.” She chose to move swiftly past the elephant in the room, for which Holden was grateful, and he hastened to follow suit.

“What do we have?”

“Come see for yourself.”

Holden trailed Owens through the lounge and into the bedroom. The sight that met his eyes there threatened to turn his stomach. However, he steeled himself and swallowed back the bile. This was his job, after all, and with his background and disadvantages, he was lucky to have any form of employment. He couldn’t afford to lose his position with the Fellowship’s Investigations Team because of a little blood. Not that the blood was the issue. He’d visited plenty of gory scenes, and being part vampire, spilled blood was liable to make him hungry rather than nauseated. No, it was the precision, the clear intent, which made this tableau so gruelling.

The body lay upon the bed, atop the sheets. Despite the look of terror permanently burned into his eyes, the victim otherwise projected a semblance of calm. There was minimal creasing to the sheets beneath him, suggesting there hadn’t been a struggle. No one had forced him onto the bed. No one had thrown him there. It appeared as if he’d lain down of his own volition. His arms rested neat and straight by his sides, and there was no sign of any defensive action, which was strange, given the gaping hole in his chest.

“He’s a witch?”

Holden waited for Owens’s nod, but he didn’t really need the clarification. What else could the victim be? His appearance ruled out him being fae, and a vampire would have turned to dust, or at least a pile of bones. That only left a human or a witch, and a human wouldn’t know of this room’s existence. They couldn’t even detect the flow of the earth’s energy through their own bodies, let alone recognise focused magic.

He moved closer and assessed the damage. The heart was gone. It was a clean job though. He was tempted to call it clinical. That, in itself, was unusual. When Owens called him to murder scenes, it tended to be a blood bath. He was used to that; it made sense. Maybe a newly turned vampire had lost control while feeding. Or someone had crossed paths with a shifter turned feral. Those deaths were understandable—a case of instinct outweighing control. A momentary madness. A mistake. This, on the other hand, had a worrisome aura of premeditation about it.

“Coven clash?” he postulated. It was an odd way for a witch to kill one of their fellow practitioners, but he could see no other obvious explanation.

Owens approached and studied the victim over Holden’s shoulder. Although she seemed cool and collected on the outside, Holden could hear her elevated pulse. She, too, was on edge.

“Not as far as we can tell. I spoke on the phone to all nine coven leaders while I waited for you. None reported any particular tensions, aside from the normal intercoven rivalries. They certainly knew of nothing that would prompt anyone to commit murder.” She stepped back. “Can you get anything from the blood? That’s why we called you here, after all. We can do the standard detective work on our own.”

Holden was glad he had his back to Owens, because he flinched at the slight.

Technically, he was only on the Fellowship’s payroll as a subcontractor. There were no regular hours or weekly paycheques. They simply called him as and when they needed him. That was fine, but he yearned for more. He wanted to be a proper member of the team. He wanted to be a detective and see a case through from start to finish. Although he didn’t possess the full abilities of either fae or vampire, there were things he could do, and given the opportunity, he’d work his arse off. However, he knew it was a pipe dream. With his genetic heritage, most people wanted nothing to do with him, and those who tolerated his presence only did so out of respect for his father. In all his thirty-four years, he’d known only two exceptions, and one of those was Owens.

Of all the members of the Investigations Team, Owens treated him the best. He would even go so far as to say she liked him. However, that only made her occasional, unintentional slips hurt all the more. He knew he wouldn’t have been her first choice for this job, for example. Given the option, she’d have called Drake, Claude, or even Samuel, rather than him, considering the unexpected nature of the crime. But blood work was extremely time sensitive, and since the pure-blood vampires wouldn’t rise for at least another three hours, she had to make do with him. So, he’d better get to work.

The blood had dripped down the man’s sides and pooled beneath his torso. Holden reached out and dipped his index finger into it. It was already congealing, but he collected a good enough sample for his purposes and raised the reddened digit to his lips. At first contact, he screwed up his face. No vampire liked the taste of dead blood. It wasn’t dangerous in small quantities like this, but it was far from pleasant. Nevertheless, Holden brushed aside his disgust and closed his eyes, focusing on his task.

Blood was a powerful tool in the right hands. It held memories—flashes of the life of the one in whose veins it had dwelt. Those memories faded after a time, though, once the heart stopped beating. Hence the need for a swift assessment. Holden rolled the blood on his tongue, seeking a connection. At this point, images usually bombarded him, coming so thick and fast it took concentration and practice to sort through them, separating ancient memories from recent events, picking out the important details from amidst the mundane. It was a skill, and he was adept. But on this occasion, there was nothing but blackness.

He opened his eyes and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Captain. There’s nothing there. We’re too late.”

“But Philips estimated the time of death as two hours ago. Even with your delayed arrival, the blood should still be good.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.” He shuffled, forcing himself to maintain eye contact despite his strong inclination to hang his head and look away. “The memories weren’t even faint. They weren’t there at all.”

It was not the first time this had happened to him, and it wouldn’t be the last. If the blood was too old, it was too old. There was nothing he could do about it. Nonetheless, Holden hated these failures. Neither Drake nor Claude could have extracted anything more from the sample, yet he had the greater need to prove himself. Lack of success clung more persistently to him than it did to them.

Owens swore loudly and virulently. “Very well. If you can’t do anything to help, you may as well go. We’ll wrap up the scene and head back to the office.”

She turned and barked orders at the rest of her staff, completing the abrupt dismissal, and Holden finally allowed himself to sink into the slumped-shoulder posture that had been pressing down upon him for several minutes.

Although free to leave, and keen to extract himself from under the sea of condemning gazes, Holden hovered a moment longer and looked back down at the body. Aside from the lack of a struggle and the surgical precision of the cuts, there was something else odd about the scene. If he could just put his finger on it…

The body retrieval crew shoved past, and their jostling broke Holden’s concentration. While they set about preparing the body for transportation, Holden spun on his heel and left. No one stopped his egress. No one called out a goodbye. He knew he was likely being paranoid, but he could have sworn he felt a wave of relief wash over the room when he rid the apartment of his presence.

Outside, the crowd from earlier had dispersed. Either they’d grown bored at the lack of action or members of the Investigations Team had moved them along, anxious to avoid drawing human attention. It was none of his concern either way.

The summer sunlight seemed at odds with the macabre scene he’d witnessed, and following the gloom indoors, its brightness hurt his sensitive eyes, so he whipped out his sunglasses. At the same time, he noticed he was still wearing the shoe covers. These he toed off, kicking them into the air and catching them. Not wanting to return indoors to dispose of them, he shoved them into the back pocket of his jeans.

A glance at his watch revealed that barely half an hour had passed since his arrival. Before Owens’s call, he’d planned on enjoying a quiet night at home, curled up with a good book, but now he had other ideas. A drink was in order—preferably three or four. With his vampiric metabolism, it took at least that many to feel even the faintest buzz. Alcohol alone was never sufficient, however. There was something else he needed too.

Holden retrieved his phone and knocked out a text message as he mooched back to his car. It was still too early in the day to expect an answer, but he didn’t doubt a favourable response when one finally came. Raoul had never once let him down. He would not be spending the night alone.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Asta Idonea (aka Nicki J Markus) was born in England but now lives in Adelaide, South Australia. She has loved both reading and writing from a young age and is also a keen linguist, having studied several foreign languages.

Asta launched her writing career in 2011 and divides her efforts not only between MM and mainstream works but also between traditional and indie publishing. Her works span the genres, from paranormal to historical and from contemporary to fantasy. It just depends what story and which characters spring into her mind!

As a day job, Asta works as a freelance editor and proofreader, and in her spare time she enjoys music, theater, cinema, photography, and sketching. She also loves history, folklore and mythology, pen-palling, and travel, all of which have provided plenty of inspiration for her writing. She is never found too far from her much-loved library/music room.

Facebook | Twitter

Giveaway


Blog Button 2

New Release Blitz: The Scarecrow & George C by Mia Kerick (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Scarecrow & George C

Author: Mia Kerick

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 3, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 65700

Genre: Contemporary New Adult, LGBT, contemporary, new adult, hurt/comfort, family drama

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

High school senior Van Liss is barely human. He thinks of himself as a scarecrow—ragged and unnerving, stuck and destined to spend his life cold and alone. If he ever had feelings, they were stomped out long ago by his selfish mother and her lecherous boyfriend. All he’s been left with is bitter contempt, to which he clings.

With a rough exterior long used to keep the world at bay, Van spooks George Curaco, the handsome new fry cook at the diner where he works. But George C senses there is more to the untouchable Van and refuses to stop staring, fascinated by his eccentricity. When Van learns that George C is even more cold, alone, and frightened than himself, Van welcomes him to his empty home. And ends up finding his heart.

Their road to trust is rocky and, at times, even dangerous. And looming evil threatens to keep them apart forever.

Fair warning: You may want to strap in. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Excerpt

The Scarecrow & George C
Mia Kerick © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Do us both a favor: check this out before you read
If you’re looking to read a story about a sassy teenage gay boy who refuses to behave until he meets Mr. Wonderful in Senior Honors Physics, and then is dazzled into improved conduct and future monogamy, I highly doubt this is the book for you. Believe me when I say you should close the book right now—drop it into a recycling bin if you’re all about keeping the earth green—and walk away. To this point, my life hasn’t run according to a predictable romantic formula. I don’t see a reason for this status to change.

Maybe you think you’re into something darker, so an unconventional story will suit your offbeat mood. News flash, reader: loners spend significant time in bookstores. I’m aware of the kind of books that consider themselves dark, at least in a carnal sense, and many are categorized as “New Adult,” just like this one. Between lewd front and back covers featuring tits, tats, and torsos, a threadbare plot is woven into a heavy fabric of inspired sex. You’re not likely to find that shit in here, either—but don’t I wish?

By now, you’ve probably noticed I possess a flair for the dramatic. Well, I look at it like this: creating drama staves off boredom. Not that I need to justify myself. But if you’re still with me, you’ve earned a shred of my respect. So on second thought, maybe you should keep reading.

Stick along for the ride if it pops your cork…

Friday
I towel myself off after my second, extremely necessary, shower of the morning. Mom’s cast-off pale pink towel is history thanks to unsightly smudges of black dye. Whatever. I did what I had to do, even if it was messy.

This morning, you see, I woke up and dyed my roots black. The urge to do it had been gathering steam for a few days—ever since the new kid started working at the diner. I picked up the dye on a rather compelling whim at the 24-hour pharmacy on the corner of Depot and Wilder Streets after work on Tuesday night. The rest is well-planned history.

I had to refer to a YouTube video so my roots would appear intentional, rather than a result of lazy grooming. And you may think I seem like a hot mess, but my crime against hair color has been done by careful design. Don’t delude yourself—I wasn’t going for the chic ombré look. Believe me, there’s nothing trendy about me. I want bold black roots with zero transition to the rest of my white-blond hair.

I glance in the mirror over the bathroom sink and see the male reverse of Cruella DeVil. And I smile, having achieved the “what the fuck’s up with his hair?” vibe I desire.

I suppose you want to know why I did it. That’s an easy one, and I think you’re going to appreciate my total candor. Drumroll, please: It’s because even if I’m a loner, I’m not heartless. I’m different, and I flaunt it, which is my way of keeping it real with the world. FYI: “Different” is my PC way of letting the public know I’m strange, frightening, and maybe even slightly dangerous. So, it’s better if that kid at the diner, and everybody else, looks away.

And you know what, boys and girls? I can help with that…

Here’s how: I dress like a Halloween scarecrow. Yeah, yeah… You’re wondering what, exactly, constitutes “scarecrow attire”? Go ahead, bookworm, google it. I did—I’m a visual sort of guy. You’ll see images of rigid figures, some stuffed with hay, others skinny as the barn boards they’re made of, clad in an unfortunate variety of secondhand clothing. I wear plaid flannel button-downs and overalls—yes, even to the wedding of a random second cousin last summer—peplum shirts of coarse fabric, and baggy, worn-out jeans, cinched at the waist by knotted burlap belts. Countless patches, Western bandanas, and an antique, oversized top hat finishes my retro cast-off style.

I laugh as I pull on today’s hokey duds. I’m not what you’d call the picture of fashion. In fact, I’d wager guys rarely fantasize about their boyfriends sporting dirty, patched overalls and a hat like Abraham Lincoln’s. But even if I take the hat off, you’ll see my new jet-black roots—hard as hell to appreciate on a bleached blond. Dedicate the hair color upgrade to that guy at work who won’t look away.

He probably considers himself eclectic and likes to think he appreciates life’s more unusual things. Or maybe he’s merely a Halloween maniac who is turned on by scarecrows with hair like straw. Incidentally, when I stripped my hair of color, I hoped it would further shock those around me into keeping their distance, but it seems to attract a certain fry cook.

I have fifteen minutes before I have to leave for the torture chamber most people refer to as high school, so I kneel in front of the coffee maker and brew a pot. I’ll check over my take-home Euro History quiz while it brews. No, I’m not a nerd, but I want better options for the future than I’ve had in the past.

Before you ask, I have my reasons for wanting to appear shocking to the point of repellant. And for the most part, I’ve gotten my wish. Teachers and students at school, coworkers and customers at the diner, not to mention Mom and Jake downstairs, all glance at the floor when I walk by. But this guy fixes his gaze on me. Maybe my unnatural black roots will scare him off, the way a good scarecrow stuck in a vast cornfield scares away so many crows.

I just don’t understand why he can’t see how frightening I am.

You can see it, can’t you?

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Mia Kerick is the mother of four exceptional children—one in law school, another at a dance conservatory, a third studying at Mia’s alma mater, Boston College, and her lone son still in high school. She has published more than twenty books of LGBTQ romance when not editing National Honor Society essays, offering opinions on college and law school applications, helping to create dance bios, and reviewing English papers. Her husband of twenty-five years has been told by many that he has the patience of Job, but don’t ask Mia about this, as it is a sensitive subject.

Mia focuses her stories on the emotional growth of troubled young people and their relationships. She has a great affinity for the tortured hero in literature, and as a teen, Mia filled spiral-bound notebooks with tales of tortured heroes and stuffed them under her mattress for safekeeping. She is thankful to NineStar Press for providing her with an alternate place to stash her stories.

Her books have been featured in Kirkus Reviews magazine, and have won Rainbow Awards for Best Transgender Contemporary Romance and Best YA Lesbian Fiction, a Reader Views’ Book by Book Publicity Literary Award, the Jack Eadon Award for Best Book in Contemporary Drama, an Indie Fab Award, and a Royal Dragonfly Award for Cultural Diversity, among other awards.

Mia Kerick is a social liberal and cheers for each and every victory made in the name of human rights. Her only major regret: never having taken typing or computer class in school, destining her to a life consumed with two-fingered pecking and constant prayer to the Gods of Technology. Contact Mia at miakerick@gmail.com or visit at www.miakerickya.com to see what is going on in Mia’s world.

Website | Facebook | Twitter

Giveaway


Blog Button 2

New Release Blitz: A Vampire’s Redemption by Casey Wolfe (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  A Vampire’s Redemption

Series: The Inquisition Trilogy, Book Two

Author: Casey Wolfe

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 3, 2019

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 108700

Genre: Paranormal, LGBT, vampires, werewolves, were-creatures, mages, witches, elves, centaurs, alternate universe, dark, magic, fluff, low angst, hurt/comfort, PTSD, humor, friendship, political, fantasy, paranormal, romance, gay, pansexual, mates, mating, mate bonds

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Marcus was likely dead, killed by the Inquisition, or so it was believed. Then the vampire was found, broken beyond words, in an isolated prison fortress. Marcus had never expected to see daylight again, let alone be rescued by his mate. Now he worries he’ll drag Caleb into his darkness.

Caleb was the one who pulled Marcus out of his prison cell, and he’s determined to drag him from the nightmares of his mind as well. After all, that’s what mates are for, and Caleb had lost hope at finding his. And if he can help destroy the entire Inquisition? Well, all the better.

Dealing with Marcus’s physical and mental healing from his trauma is difficult enough, but Inquisition holdouts are causing chaos everywhere, and sinister plots are rampant. Marcus and Caleb have no choice but to fight back. It’s a good thing they are not alone.

Excerpt

A Vampire’s Redemption
Casey Wolfe © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Prologue
Caleb ushered the prisoners from their holding cells, encouraging them to escape. A naiad, shivering and pale, was carried by a collared were-creature. A dwarf asked for some assistance getting an injured elf to her feet, a pair of fellow prisoners stopping to lend aid in getting her out.

He continued to move as quickly as possible until he reached solitary confinement at the back of the block.

Only one cell was occupied. The prisoner was curled on his side, groaning as he attempted to right himself. “Hold on,” Caleb said. “Lemme help.”

He was met with a hiss and flash of fangs. Vampire. Caleb shied back to the threshold of the cell, dropping into a crouch. “Whoa, whoa, I’m not gonna hurt ya, man. We’re here to free you guys.”

The vampire blinked a few times before his hackles lowered. His body sagged, the rest of his energy going with it.

Caleb scented the air—filth, sweat, excrement; all of which was expected. Then he smelled blood and infected flesh. As the vampire used all his remaining strength to push himself into a seated position with only one arm, the source was made obvious. “They took your arm?” Caleb snarled. “Fucking bastards.”

Letting out a humorless laugh, the vampire looked at him. “They wanted to know if it would grow back.”

There was no helping Caleb’s growl. Were-creatures and vampires had accelerated healing, a trait of their particular races. But even they had their limits. Growing a new limb? These people were madder than he originally thought.

“Gonna get you out of here,” Caleb said, tempering his anger with an awareness of the situation he was in. He inched inside the cell, moving slowly so he didn’t startle the wounded vampire again. “It’ll be alright now.” He soothed him with the voice he used on Kyle and the other pups when they got scared or needed help with a shift. “You’ll be okay. I promise.”

“I’m so tired,” he murmured, eyes closing as his head fell back against the cell wall. “Don’t even think I can walk out of here.”

“I’ll help you. We’ll do it together, okay?”

“I can’t.” The vampire’s face scrunched in pain, the words forced out.

“We can.” Caleb offered his hand, even though the vampire’s eyes were still closed. “Come on. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

The vampire looked at him, lips curled in mirth. “Yeah? Just you there, small fry?”

Geez, he can manage to joke at a time like this? Caleb thought, though he was amused all the same. This one was most likely a sassy bastard when he was in top form. Something about that thought made Caleb want to see him at his best.

“Up you go,” Caleb encouraged, wiggling his fingers. When the vampire took hold, Caleb hauled him up in one quick motion before the vampire could try to lift himself.

“Shit,” he cursed, balance lost in the process, and falling against Caleb.

Catching him easily enough, Caleb prepared to make a smart comment when he smelled it. Closer now, the scent of honeysuckle wafted under his nose, and every place their skin touched was tingling with static. It couldn’t really be…

“Mate.” The word was said with such awe and reverence, Caleb’s chest clenched.

Caleb looked up to meet eyes the color of sea glass. He licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah,” Caleb agreed. “Mates.” He pulled the vampire closer, both supporting him and fulfilling his wolf’s selfish need to keep him near. “I’ll get you out of here.” If the statement was filled with more conviction than before, then nobody could blame him.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

“Everyone deserves a Happily Ever After.”

History nerd, film buff, avid gamer, and full-time geek; all of these things describe Casey Wolfe. They prefer being lost in the world of fiction—wandering through fantasy realms, traveling the outer reaches of space, or delving into historical time periods. Casey is non-binary and ace, living with depression, anxiety, and PTSD, all of which informs their writing in various ways. Happily married, Casey and their partner live in the middle-of-nowhere, Ohio with their furry, four-legged children.

Website | Facebook | Tumblr

Giveaway


Blog Button 2

New Release Blitz: Murder in Torbaydos by Ian James Krender (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Murder in Torbaydos

Author: Ian James Krender

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: May 27, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 65600

Genre: Paranormal, LGBT, Historical, paranormal, humour, ghosts, family-drama, gay, bi, queer, hotel, Torquay, murder, suicide, haunting, malevolent spirits, curse, TV show, confession, trial, prison

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

What could possibly go wrong when buying an old Victorian property by the seaside to remodel and run as a hotel. Plenty when the ghostly inhabitants from past generations want their say…

Marjorie, Stanley, and the apple of their eyes—their camp son Christopher, buy a leaky wreck, transforming it into a 1970s house of wonders. Marjorie’s Bejam inspired cuisine soon puts their seaside guesthouse on the tourist map. The utterly vile Marjorie’s ambitions for her henpecked husband will stop at nothing, even murder when it comes to climbing to the top.

Meanwhile, in the 2000s, gay couple, Jez and Graham—who have exquisite taste, escape the London rat race and buy the same building—now derelict and full of Marjorie’s draylon headboards and lace curtains. They refurbish it into a modern five-star hotel, the self-described jewel in the crown of English seaside hotels.

Jez, a shallow yet fabulous queen with a penchant for designer clothes, is soon led astray by the opportunity of television fame, a not-so-straight Bulgarian boxer, and a cocaine-fueled celebrity lifestyle—all overseen by the malevolent spirits, an evil bunch, determined to create misery for all.

Excerpt

Murder in Torbaydos
Ian James Krender © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Prologue
Jez Matthews

I write this book in my twilight years. Though considerable time has passed since these tragic events occurred, there is no doubt it will be controversial. Some people will accuse me of profiteering or exploiting the dead. However, if I am privileged enough to see this work published, then I will donate any proceeds to charity. The money would be of little use to me now, in any case.

Perhaps writing this is a form of therapy. Goodness knows, I have spent much time reflecting on the ‘what ifs’. Over the years, I have learned to forgive myself. However, I will never forget the pain I have caused others through my poor decisions.

The accounts of my own actions are as accurate as I can recall, given the passage of time. Obviously, I was not alive in the earlier years this book is set. My interpretation of those events has been derived from old letters, press cuttings, and photographs. I have also been able to make use of the Wilsons’ diaries, posted to me some years ago. I especially thank the staff at Torquay Library for their patience in dealing with my correspondence. Despite this research, there are gaps, and I hope you will indulge me with a little poetic licence, concerning events in the 1970s and 1919.

It has been difficult for me to relive the events described in the following pages. I hope this book will put the record straight. I am not looking for forgiveness, or for popularity, and I warn you—what follows may be uncomfortable to read, but I swear it is the truth.

Chapter One
February 1919
The Kingsleys

February was unseasonably cold. It had been a harsh winter with bitter northeasterly winds. Pembroke House, Sir William and Lady Elizabeth Kingsley’s holiday home, was situated in the heart of the elegant seaside town of Torquay.

The villa was one of a handful overlooking Meadfoot Beach. A recently completed railway had made Torquay, with its relatively mild climate, something of a boomtown and a playground for the wealthy. Sir William’s late father had amassed a considerable fortune during the industrial revolution and commissioned Pembroke House in 1852.

Accessed through wrought-iron gates, a steep driveway led to this pristine cream building. At the front of the house, bay windows and a magnificent stained-glass entrance porch welcomed visitors. Pembroke House was a peaceful retreat from London society.

Sir William was seriously ill. His physician, Dr Ashcroft, suggested he be moved from London to Torquay, where the fresh, smog-free air might aid his recovery. He had accompanied Lady Elizabeth and her small entourage to Torquay. This included the family lawyer, James Partridge, and the head butler, Albert Henderson, all of whom surrounded William’s bed.

William sweated, his breathing was strained, and he drifted in and out of consciousness. His flesh was pallid, his yellowed eyes sunken into their sockets. Ashcroft listened to his heartbeat using a stethoscope. He looked concerned as he spoke to Lady Elizabeth.

“His heartbeat is erratic, and his blood pressure is dangerously low. You need to be prepared for the worst.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“It just makes no sense. He’s fitter than men half his age.”

Lady Elizabeth was dressed in black, looking like a widow in waiting. Even though gaunt with worry, she was still pretty. She had a slim figure and a doll-like complexion, with long, wavy locks of brown hair. She was about twenty years younger than William and not a character to be crossed.

She nodded silently at Ashcroft, walked over to the fireplace, and gave the logs a firm prod. The fire spat and crackled in response, bathing the luxurious yet gloomy room in an orange glow. Despite her typically British stiff upper lip, Elizabeth broke into a sob. James Partridge hugged her tightly. It had not gone unnoticed by the house staff how close the pair had become. Partridge was incredibly handsome, and a notorious womaniser.

“You’ve done everything you possibly can,” Elizabeth said.

“It’s just a matter of time, now,” Ashcroft said. “If you want, I can give him a sedative to make his passing easier.”

Lady Elizabeth nodded her approval. Ashcroft opened his medical bag and took out a small tablet.

“Swallow this,” he said to Sir William. “It will help with the pain.”

He put the tablet on William’s tongue.

“No,” he said weakly. “I want to be awake.”

Mustering what little strength he had left, Sir William raised his right hand and beckoned Partridge to come closer.

“There is little time left for me,” he whispered into Partridge’s ear. “It’s painful that my last words are so full of hate.”

Partridge knelt beside the bed.

“Have you ever read Herman Melville’s story, Moby-Dick?”

“No.”

“A shame. I know about you and my wife.”

James started to stand, but William grabbed him by his cravat and pulled him in close.

“You must think me a fool.”

“Sir… I…”

“You think you got away with it.”

“Away with what?”

“In the words of Captain Ahab… To the last, I grapple with thee; From Hell’s heart, I stab at thee; For hate’s sake… I spit my last breath at thee.”

His grip weakened, and then his arm fell limply to the bed. His face became blank and expressionless.

“I think he’s gone,” Partridge said, shaking.

Henderson stood steadfastly in the corner. Unflappable. Discreet. Thoroughly British.

Lady Elizabeth wiped away a tear before regaining her composure. She kissed Sir William on the forehead and moved towards Ashcroft, who was standing by the fire. He bowed his head respectfully.

The peace was shattered by a crystal decanter on the mantelpiece exploding, which soaked her dress in brandy.

“What on earth caused that?” she exclaimed.

“Ma’am,” Henderson said. “Let me get a cloth.”

The fire crackled angrily, and there was a loud bang. An ember spat out of the hearth and landed on Lady Elizabeth’s skirt, which erupted in flames. She screamed, flailing around like a rag doll shaken by a dog. Sir William’s nurse threw a blanket over her to smother the flames, but this caught fire too.

The eiderdown stuck to her, its melted remains clinging to her skin like wax. She lurched towards James and gripped him tightly as if possessed. They collapsed to the floor, ablaze, screaming, until Henderson threw a rug over them and patted them until the flames extinguished.

“Call for an ambulance,” Ashcroft ordered.

Lady Elizabeth was dead. Her corpse was charred beyond recognition; her beautiful locks of curly brown hair singed away. Her skin was blackened and smoked, making the bedroom smell like a barbeque. However, Partridge was still alive, just. He twitched in pain, moaning, his handsome looks ruined.

Ashcroft gave him a shot of morphine. He survived for a few minutes.

Ashcroft opened the window to let out the smoke. The icy wind had gained strength, causing the curtains to flap violently. He left the room, glancing back to survey the carnage behind him. Sir William sat upright in bed, his eyes open, as though he was still alive, scrutinising the scene in front of him. Lady Elizabeth and James Partridge were sprawled across the floor, smouldering. The picture would stay with those present for the rest of their lives.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Juggling running a successful business with my writing finally met with success with the publication of my first novel in 2013. A spell in the police force provided huge writing inspiration, though I doubt many of my experiences would be believed. I live in Devon with my partner and our Labrador.

Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest

Giveaway


Blog Button 2

Blitz: A Broken Winter Webcomic by Kale Knight

Title: A Broken Winter Webcomic (10th Anniversary Edition – Part One)

Synopsis: General Auryn Tyrus runs a government slaughterhouse, overseeing the covert execution of political dissidents – victims of an Emperor who claims to have swallowed the sun. When the son of a former lover is sentenced to death, Auryn intervenes, turning his life upside down.

Release date: April 21, 2019.

Length: 281 pages

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

A Broken Winter is a science fiction/fantasy webcomic featuring LGBTQ+ characters.  The comic is currently on hiatus but a novelization of the webcomic will be published in June by NineStar Press.

A Broken Winter is written/created by Kale Night.
Part one is illustrated by Archie the RedCat.

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ABrokenWinter Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ABrokenWinter

Read more at the Broken Winter Website

About the Author and the Illustrator

Kale resides in a small town in northern Alberta, Canada, which serves as the inspiration for a world trapped in perpetual winter. Kale is a writer, gamer, cosplayer, and bonsai enthusiast.

Email: kalenight@gmail.com

Twitter: http://twitter.com/kale_night

For all website/media/general inquiries, please email Kale.

Archie the RedCat is a comic artist from Indonesia. Archie is best known for their comic Eggnoid.

Email: redcatnest@gmail.com

Twitter: http://twitter.com/Ucingbeureum

Giveaway


New Release Blitz: The Midnight Twelve by Hairann (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Midnight Twelve

Series: Outlaw Seven, Book One

Author: Hairann

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: May 27, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: M/NB

Length: 103300

Genre: Historical, LGBT, cross-dressing, bi-gender, slow burn, western, cowboys, revenge, prostitution

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Ezra Grayson arrives in the small town of Edgewood, following a clue that will hopefully lead him to the men responsible for the deaths of his parents. His desire for revenge, the only thing keeping him going after five years of trailing the midnight twelve.

Colleen Warren was not like the other girls working at the Lady Luck Saloon in Edgewood. It was not easy to explain to her customers that the soft, feminine Colleen was also the hard, masculine Cole.

A miscalculation throws them together as they run from the law and the bounty on Ezra’s head, but it is fate that guides their journey across the land; bringing them closer to the answers they both seek and to each other.

Excerpt

The Midnight Twelve
Hairann © 2019
All Rights Reserved

West of Shadynook 1818

Long after dusk settled over the desert, the landscape veiled in darkness as there was no moon to illuminate the night sky, a boy of nine years was awoken from a deep sleep. He was dreaming of hunting rabbits with his father when a strange feeling gnawed at the edge of his mind. Confused by the sudden intrusion, he wiped the crusted sleep from his pale green eyes, before he glanced around the dark room and waited for them to adjust. His only source of light was an almost dead fire that burned its last log in the hearth; its embers barely gave off a red glow, let alone any real source of light.

On many a night such as this, the swaying shadows caused him to tremble in fear, unable to discern what they were, as he woke from an unsettling dream or for the need to relieve himself. Eventually he outgrew those fears, but tonight they managed to unnerve him once more as the strange sensation that awoken him still weighed on his mind.

As the feeling grew stronger, he glanced toward where his parents slept unaware, before turning his attention to the window on the far side of the room. For a moment, he hesitated—the floor beneath his bed would be cold, and he didn’t want to risk waking his parents as the old, worn wooden planks creaked beneath his feet. Things never ended well for him whenever a misstep caused his father to wake.

Try as he might, the sensation refused to release its urgent grasp on his mind. His lone blanket tossed aside, he crawled out of bed, breath held as though that might prevent the boards from their inevitable betrayal and made his way over to the window. Hands pressed firmly on the ledge, he pushed himself up and looked through the condensation. Even though the fire no longer heated the small home, it was still warmer within than it was outside during a cold, desert night.

With only the stars shining above him, he saw little more than the silhouette of cacti and the outline of the fence that surrounded his family’s lone mare. Staring out into the cold, dark night, he watched as a star twinkled out of existence. An ominous chill crawled its way down his spine—a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. As he glanced once more out into the land that surrounded his modest two-room home, he saw nothing but the dusty ground and the darkened sky that was always present. Whatever had caused the strange feeling refused to make itself known to him, and the young boy frowned in annoyance.

Perhaps he simply imagined the entire thing; his sleep-laden mind was prone to play tricks on him. About to give up the feeling as having been his imagination and head back to bed, the boy caught a flare of light from beyond the edge of their property.

Confused, he watched the small flame dance around a few feet off the ground as it grew ever closer to his home. Soon he realized what it was he was seeing—a torch. Its small flame was as dim as the one in his own hearth, no doubt caused by the distance. Its movement was almost rhythmic as it seemed to rise and fall in sync with his breathing. It dawned on him that whoever carried the torch did so from the saddle.

He wondered who might wish to call on them at this late an hour, especially when visitors during the day were a rare occurrence. The torch’s singularity was proved to be short-lived as flame after flame appeared behind it, their bearers now close enough for him to see. A knot formed in his throat.

The boy let go of the window ledge and made his way to where his parents slept unaware. “Papa,” the boy called out as he gently shook him, his shaky voice betraying the fear that rose within him.

His father shooed him off with a wave of his hand, not bothering to open his eyes. “Get back to bed, Ezra. It was just a nightmare.” He rolled back over and appeared to fall asleep once more.

Not wanting to suffer his father’s wrath in case he decided to bring out the switch, the boy was about to give up and go back to bed when he remembered how many torches were on a journey toward his home at that moment.

There was no innocent reason he knew of for men to be headed toward their house that late at night and in such large numbers. Once he decided it was worth the punishment if he turned out to be wrong, he pushed on. “Papa, men are comin’.”

His father growled even as he turned to glare at him in the dim firelight. The boy shivered in dread at how his father might punish him, but he refused to let his apprehension deter him. “Riders are comin’, Papa. With torches. I lost count at ten torches.”

His father threw back the covers, jumped out of bed, and rushed toward the window.

His mother, awoken by the commotion he made, sat up in bed. “Benjamin, what is it? Who is outside at this hour?”

His father didn’t answer.

Unsure of what to do, Ezra stood in silence as his mother, a young woman of twenty-eight years, climbed from the warm bed, and silently made her way over to the window. She glanced out into the front yard, and her breath hitched in her throat, audibly enough for him to hear.

He moved closer toward his parents in order to see outside, barely able to make out the torches as they cast an eerie glow on the hardened faces of the men who bore them before his mother stepped in front of him to block his sight.

“He found us, Benjamin. After all these years, he finally found us,” she whispered as she trembled in fear; the vibration even noticeable in the dark braid that fell on her back. In that moment, he knew with certainty that nothing good would come from meeting with the visitors outside. If his mother had ever felt anything other than happiness, she took great care to ensure he never realized it. How frightened must she have been to not even bother with pretenses.

“Aye, my love, but we have shared ten more years of freedom than we were ever meant to have. We knew he would find us eventually. No one leaves alive, we knew that in the very beginning. We both can’t escape from our fate, but it is not too late for you and the boy, Lisette. Take him and make your way out the back before they have the chance to surround us. They will surely kill him if they find him here, but as none knew your pregnancy was the reason we left, they will not know of his existence. I will convince them you died years ago. Hide in the large bushes and wait until they leave to do so yourself. Do not risk being heard.”

No one leaves what alive? Ezra thought. Why are they here to kill any of us? How was my mother being pregnant with me the reason they left whatever it was that they ran from? Ezra knew not to question his parents at that moment and instead continued to watch them in silence. Watch as his mother shook her head defiantly, tears forming in her eyes. Watch as his father leaned down and placed a kiss upon her lips.

Watch as the fight slowly faded out of her eyes, and she nodded before she cupped his father’s cheeks, resting her forehead against his. It was a gesture he saw many times in his short life, usually when his father returned from being gone overnight, but he had never before seen it seem so sad.

His mother grabbed his arm and led them through the small room they occupied and into the kitchen. Without releasing her grip, she gathered his overcoat, shoes, and a loaf of bread, before ushering him to the back door. She did not bother to grab anything of her own. “Take these and follow your father’s instructions. I wish more than anything to go with you, but I cannot risk your father’s assumptions that they will believe me dead.

“If they don’t, they will not stop until they find me, but they have no way to know of your existence. We left them before they realized I was pregnant. Hide in the bushes and do not move from that spot until long after the riders have gone. They may leave a rider behind for a little while, and if they find you, they will kill you. Now listen to your mama and go.” Before he had the chance to speak once again, his mother placed a quick kiss upon his confused brow and pushed him out the back door.

A moment later, he heard the bar come down, locking him out and preventing him from trying to go back inside. He made his way around the small house, not bothering to put on his coat or shoes—he had no chance to outrun them anyway.

He pushed his way into the bushes, making sure he was close enough to see the riders when they arrived out front, but far enough out of sight they would be unable to see him. He was less than ten feet away from where his parents were standing inside his home, but he might as well have been a half a world away. Though the four walls that made up his home had never been quite enough to keep out all of the winter’s chill, they were enough to keep the sounds trapped within so he could not hear what they were saying. Were they arguing about his mother’s decision? Would his father agree, or would he try to send her out again?

The riders arrived, stopping a few feet in front of the porch. The men fanned out behind the first one to stop—Ezra counted a dozen of them. Unsurprisingly, each carried a pistol or two in holsters at their hips. Two of them, the riders who were at the ends of the group, held rifles across their laps. Each one’s clothing differed slightly, either through the color and pattern on their shirts or that some wore vests while the others wore jackets, but it was not hard for even a boy as young as him, who had never seen an outlaw in his entire life, to figure out that was exactly who they were. Something about the dark look in their eyes, the grimaces set on their faces, convinced him they were not men of law.

“Come out, Grayson, I know you’re in there!” the man in the front called out, startling Ezra and causing him to shake the bush slightly. Holding his breath, he froze as he watched for any sign of the men hearing him, before finally exhaling in relief when they continued to glare at the front of his house. A moment later, he heard the telltale creaking of the front door opening and his parents’ footsteps making their way across the threshold. He was not able to see them from his position, but he did hear his parents stop at the top of the stairs.

“Took y’all long enough. Was startin’ to think you turned coward and ran again, Benjie. It’s good you finally show some courage at the end. Won’t stop what’s comin’ but won’t have to make it worse in spite neither. Mister De Voe sent’cha a message I’m supposed to deliver before you die.” The man spat, his dark eyes never leaving his parents.

“He said to tell you that ain’t nobody leaving the Pine Box Crew except for in one. Your fate is already sealed, Benjie boy, but Mister De Voe said he would be more than happy to let Lisette warm his bed in exchange for her life.” Ezra didn’t completely understand the odd grin the man was giving his mother, but he knew whatever he was suggesting was not something his mother would approve of, even if he had not seen the man’s mouthful of rotten and blackened teeth. One of the other men, who was out of his line of sight, let out a creepy laugh.

Judging by the man’s next words, he was correct. “Your choice, but it ain’t like it would have been the first time you laid with the boss man.” The man smirked before gesturing over his shoulders at the men behind him. “I’ll let the Johnson brothers send you on your way.” The man turned his horse around and headed back in the direction they came from only a few minutes before. As he passed his men, he nodded to them. Two broke away, moving closer to the porch as the others followed after their leader. Not daring to move, Ezra clenched his fists so tightly his nails bit into his palms as the men raised their six-shooters at his parents.

He knew without being able to see that his parents stood there unarmed, their only rifle currently sitting on the table in the gunsmith’s shop as it waited to be repaired. They were unable to defend themselves as a loud noise thundered around them. The deafening sound filled the air repeatedly as the men continued to fire, their horses whinnying in protest to the sudden noise. It was not long before the sound was drowned out by his parents’ screams, confirming at least a few of the bullets hit their targets.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he shut his eyes and waited for it to stop, unable to bear watching any longer. Eventually, the men ran out of bullets, and the noise stopped as suddenly as it began. Ezra opened his eyes to find them already making their way toward their comrades. They stole his father’s horse and left without looking back.

That was how little taking the lives of his parents mattered to them. They were not even worth a second glance, a confirmation that they were no longer suffering. He bit into his bottom lip to prevent himself from making a sound while the men were still close enough to overhear him. The fire from their torches grew farther and farther away. Each step their horses took provided him with a little more protection.

He heard his parents wailing in pain, apparently still alive for the moment, but he was unable to force himself to move. The gunshots echoed through him, each one piercing his heart a little more than the last. The brave face he put on for his mother was now all but forgotten as he shivered in the foliage, his heartbeat pounding louder in his ears with each passing moment. He would have to come out of hiding eventually—every second he wasted was another moment he would never get back with his parents, but he was still too scared to move.

He would have remained there, unaware of the passing time, had he not heard the soft, frail voice of his mother calling out to him: “Ezra.”

His head shot up, searching around for what must have been her ghost speaking to him when he remembered she was still alive. His eyes flitted around, searching for a sign of any dangers lurking nearby, but still, he was frozen in place even after he was unable to find any.

“Come to me, baby. You are safe,” his mother’s voice called out again, assuring him. This time, the pain in her voice was enough to get him to rise to his feet once more.

He rushed toward the front of the house and skidded to a halt at the sight before him. Mere feet away, his parents lay on the porch, bleeding badly from wounds even he knew would prove to be fatal. His father’s hauntingly empty eyes stared off into the distance even as his chest continued to rise and fall ever so slightly. His mother’s gentle eyes turned toward him, unfocused, as her hand raised barely an inch off of the porch toward him.

Once more, he froze, unable to will himself to move as he took in all that was before him, burning it forever into his memory. Every drop of his parents’ spilled blood. Every painful gasp for air. The frighteningly hollow look in their eyes. He would memorize every last bit of it, even knowing it would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life because he knew this would be the last time he would ever see them. As much as he wanted to remember them as they were the night before when he went to sleep, a peaceful, loving memory of his parents would not serve him well if ever he wished to avenge their deaths.

No longer would this be a porch where his mother used to read him stories as the bright summer sun sank below the horizon, continuing until the words were no longer legible in the dimming light. Now it would be the place his parents were gunned down for reasons unknown to him. No longer would the stairs before him be where his father taught him how to clean his gun and skin a rabbit properly. Now they would be the final steps he took toward his living parents.

No longer would it be a place that held so many of his favorite childhood memories. Now it held the bodies of his dying parents; their blood seeping into the grain of the wood and forever staining it. Hearing his mother weakly calling out his name once more, he tentatively took a few steps toward her. He scanned the scene before him but refused to look on either of their faces. With each step that brought him closer, he made out more of the details that were missed before, opting to concentrate on them instead of the actual people before him.

The sticky, red blood continued to gush from their wounds, staining their clothes and pooling beneath them. He listened to the raspy breathing of his mother and the wet, gurgling breaths his father struggled to take. “Mama, Papa,” he gasped before collapsing beside them, finally turning his attention to their paling faces. Grabbing her raised hand in his smaller, chubbier ones, he barely managed to whisper, “Mama,” once more before the tears burst from his eyes and he collapsed against her bloody form.

“Listen to me, my sweet baby boy. Papa and I ain’t long for this world, and there is nothing to be done about it. You cannot stay here, it ain’t safe without us. Pack only what you can manage and make your way toward the rising sun. It will lead you straight into town and to Sheriff Jarrett. He can take you to your grandmother’s. You will be safe there, my dear Ezra.” She paused for a moment, struggling to take a breath as she cupped his cheek. Both of them ignored the smudge of blood she left there as her strength drained away, and her arm fell back to her side.

“This world is full of good, honest people, but there are also those more evil than you ever imagined. If you ever hear the name Godfrey de Voe, run as far and as fast as you can, for you will find none worse than him. He is the man that has murdered us and is far more dangerous than you can believe. Be safe my child and know that you were loved more than life itself by your Papa and me.” Her words tapered off as she lay back and closed her eyes. Apparently, even the simple task of keeping them open required more strength than she had.

Laying down beside her, undaunted by the pool of blood beneath him, Ezra wept as he curled up in her loving arms. It wasn’t until the sun rose on the horizon that he finally lifted his head once more and glanced toward the bodies of his dead parents. The uncertainty of his future path was all but forgotten the moment his parents breathed their final breath. He was an orphan now and one day, though he didn’t know where or how, Godfrey de Voe would pay for what he had done. He rose to his feet with determination and set about the long, exhausting task of burying his parents.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Hairann is the author of the Outlaw Seven series. She is an out and proud Pan who lives with her amazing family in Montreal. She’s worked as a ghostwriter on Fiverr since 2018 and has an Associate’s degree in early childhood education. She invites you to follow @AuthorHairann on Twitter.

Giveaway


Blog Button 2

New Release Blitz: The Queen of Rhodia by Effie Calvin (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Queen of Rhodia

Series: Tales of Inthya, Book THree

Author: Effie Calvin

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: May 27, 2019

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 80100

Genre: Fantasy, LGBT, fantasy, pansexual, dragons, mages, magic users, family drama, new adult

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

It has been sixteen months since Princess Esofi arrived in Ieflaria, and eight since her marriage to Crown Princess Adale. The princesses have a peaceful life together, preparing to become co-regents and raising their baby dragon, Carinth.

Their peace is shattered when Esofi’s mother, Queen Gaelle of Rhodia, arrives in Birsgen. She has heard about Carinth and believes that she deserves custody of him due to her greater devotion to Talcia, Goddess of Magic.

Adale and Esofi have no intention of giving up their son, but Gaelle is impossible to reason with—and there’s no telling what lengths she’ll go to in order to get what she wants.

Excerpt

The Queen of Rhodia
Effie Calvin © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Prologue
GAELLE

Queen Gaelle of Rhodia—Great Mother of the Silence of the Moon, rightful owner of half of her country’s marble quarries, and wife of King Alain—regretted that she was not a dragon.

It was not just for the obvious reasons: the terrifying size, the ivory teeth, the breath of fire, and the gift of flight—though that certainly would have been reason enough. What Gaelle really envied was the dragons’ abilities to lay eggs. What she would not give to be able to eject a child from her body and go about her business while it lay in a fireplace for a year!

But it was not meant to be. And so, grudgingly, Gaelle had her children in the ordinary way. Her only comfort was the fact that she could hand them off to the nursemaids until they were old enough to hold an intelligent conversation.

Her eldest son was Gael, crown prince and heir…and the only one of her six children whose name she could recall at any given moment. Gaelle disliked children greatly, but as Gael grew into manhood, his temperament pleased her. He was strong and solemn, as unshakable as a mountain. Like his father, he was blessed by Iolar, with a knack for detecting trickery, and had discovered every hidden passageway in the palace by the time he was ten years old. He would make an acceptable king someday.

Next was Eloisa, firstborn daughter. She had Talcia’s magic, as any princess of Rhodia should. Like her brother and her father, she was even in temperament, with none of the shrieking rage that Gaelle was sometimes known for, though that was not to say she was not capable of vengeance. When it came to her blessing, her self-control was excellent and her magic a sparkling shade of ruby. If, Talcia forbid, something should happen to Gael, she would be a suitable replacement. If not, she could be married to another member of the Rhodian nobility for the sake of strengthening alliances.

Eloisa had been followed by Matheo, second-born son. Gaelle could see no reason that her other children should not be regents. They could spread her power across Thiyra, and perhaps further still. When Matheo was only a year, she signed an agreement that he would wed the three-year-old princess of Dossau when the two came of age. Matheo was educated in the ways of Dossau as well as Rhodia to prepare him for the foreign throne he would ascend someday.

Next came Esolene, similarly promised to the prince of Eskas and educated appropriately. Her blessing, the color of a sunset, was not as powerful as Eloisa’s, and so Gaelle would not be sad to send her off. Esolene was thin and fragile, with little outward passion. Gaelle had been disappointed at first, but then out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed things that piqued her interest—a tongue like a driver’s whip, little fingers that pinched and twisted, a foot that occasionally stuck out at just the right angle to send sisters or servants sprawling—and all this hidden behind a watery smile.

The following year brought Esofi. Gaelle sent ambassadors to Xytae, to ask the Empress Irianthe if she would agree to a betrothal between Esofi and her son, Ionnes. But the Empress rejected the proposal, citing that the age difference between their children was irreconcilable. So instead Esofi was betrothed to Albion, Crown Prince of Ieflaria. Esofi had a placidity that bordered on laziness, but her mastery of magic came to her as easily as breathing, and she could perform maneuvers that the older princesses could not, even with a half-eaten biscuit clutched in one chubby hand. She killed her first wyvern at age eight, her first elf at fourteen.

And last of all was Esybele. All babies were the same in Gaelle’s eyes, shrieking and squalling, but this one seemed to do more of that than most. If not for the nursemaids, Gaelle might have put a pillow over the girl’s face and let Adranus sort her out. When Esybele learned to speak, she had a carefully chosen insult for everyone who crossed her path. Furthermore, Esybele was not above throwing herself on the ground and beating her fists if she felt she had been wronged, screams ringing through the marble halls.

Gaelle frequently thought of the Empress of Anora, across the sea. It was said she not only had two husbands, but also three wives. That, Gaelle supposed, must have made the production of heirs terribly convenient. She could not imagine how many alliances she could secure with that many offspring! She had never received a satisfying answer to that question and suspected the priestesses did not know.

Thiyra was a small continent, a stony beacon in the midst of grey seas. It could take months, even years, for news of other lands to reach it. So the tale of what had happened in Ieflaria did not reach her until Duchess Tiphanie’s daughter arrived back home.

On that evening, Gaelle stood before a fireplace with a glass of red wine, wishing she was out with the mages hunting elves who strayed too far from their own shores instead of trapped in her own palace with reports to review.

When Tiphanie knocked at the door, Gaelle could not even bring herself to pretend to be irritated by the distraction. She watched as the duchess entered the room, followed by a younger woman.

“My Queen,” said Tiphanie with a curtsy. “Forgive the intrusion at this hour, but my daughter has just returned with…shocking news.”

Gaelle turned her gaze to the girl, who was still dressed in her travelling clothes, and found she could recall nothing about her.

“Lexandrie accompanied Princess Esofi to Ieflaria,” said Tiphanie helpfully.

“Ah, her,” said Gaelle, only partially enlightened. “Yes.”

Tiphanie touched a hand to Lexandrie’s shoulder. “Go on,” she said. “Tell her majesty exactly what you told me.”

Lexandrie met Gaelle’s eyes. “Princess Esofi has a son.”

Gaelle pursed her lips, somewhat disappointed. After an introduction like that, she had been anticipating something interesting. “Is that all?”

“No,” said Tiphanie. “Perhaps…perhaps my queen ought to sit down.”

“Be silent,” commanded Gaelle. Then she looked at Lexandrie. “Continue.”

“He is not a child,” Lexandrie glanced at her mother anxiously, who only gave a nod of encouragement. “That is…Esofi’s son…he is a dragon.”

The wineglass fell out of Gaelle’s hand and shattered on the floor.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Effie is definitely a human being with all her own skin, and not a robot. She writes science fiction and fantasy novels and lives with her cat in the greater Philadelphia area.

WebsiteTwitter | eMail

Giveaway


Blog Button 2

Book Blitz: Killer Bond by Jocelynn Drake & Rinda Elliott (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Killer Bond

Series: Ward Security Series #5

Author: Jocelynn Drake & Rinda Elliott

Publisher: Drake & Elliott LLC

Release Date: May 20, 2019

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 67,000

Genre: Romance, Thriller/Suspense

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Daniel Hendricks wants a vacation. Ward Security’s accountant and resident code breaker just needs a little R&R from the chaos and usual shenanigans of the office.

But what was supposed to be a sexy vacation hook-up explodes in his face when he’s mistaken for a rogue secret agent.

Now he’s on the run with CIA agent Edward Raines from Bermuda to Barcelona to Paris as they try to find the secrets the real rogue was attempting to sell before another foreign spy does.

The chemistry between them is off the charts, but how is Daniel supposed to trust a man who had originally set out to kill him?

Excerpt

Daniel took a sip of the frozen margarita and hummed his pleasure as the cool, citrus flavor burst over his tongue. It was the perfect antidote to the sun beating down on his head. The sun he was enjoying more than he’d expected.

Bermuda in June held a dreamlike quality that made him feel as if he’d entered another world. Sparkling, white sand. Big, open sky. Crashing surf. And the scenery in between the two was a feast for the senses as well. Rocky outcroppings gave the view texture, and the green of the trees along the sides of the beach only added to the spectacular color.

Of course, a life spent behind a computer meant he was pale as hell, leaving him to slather on suntan lotion. The Fairmont Southampton hotel where he was staying for the next week rose up on the hill behind him with the bright greens of the golf course crossing in front of it.

Today, he was planning to do nothing more than sip the drink at his side, read the latest thriller from his favorite author, and people-watch from his lounge chair on the beach. Maybe in a day or two, he’d wander around the island and take in the sights, but for now, he wanted to do a whole lot of nothing but relax and soak up the rays.

It would be a nice break from his job at Ward Security where he worked as a forensic accountant. He loved his job and especially loved the place he worked, but he still didn’t totally feel like he fit in. Or he was just the perennial wallflower.

But that was the story of his life.

Too shy for his own good, Daniel felt like he was that random piece in search of the right puzzle.

Daniel knew he should feel used to being the outsider, but Ward Security only brought it into stark clarity because all his coworkers were so outgoing. They’d become their own tight-knit family. They all tried to make him feel included, but Daniel’s insecurity and awkwardness kept him from joining in as much as he knew he should.

Even now, Quinn Lake was texting him for more pictures of Bermuda. One of Ward Security’s resident hackers, the poor guy spent even more time behind his computer than Daniel did. He admitted when Daniel mentioned his planned vacation that he never traveled, preferring to stick close to his ailing mother. But he loved to live vicariously through his constantly roaming coworkers.

Come on, Daniel! Gimme one more pic!

Smirking, Daniel grabbed his margarita and held it up so that the beach and surf were clear in the background when he snapped the picture. He sent the image, took another drink of his alcoholic beverage, and put it down on the little table beside him. He was just about to put his phone down as well when it pinged with another message.

A loud laugh jumped from his throat when he opened it to find Quinn had sent back a picture of him and Dominic Walsh. The hacker and the redheaded bodyguard were both glaring and flipping him the bird.

Dom says you need to find a man to go with that drink, Quinn texted a second later.

Daniel put his phone down without replying, but a smile still lingered on his lips. This vacation was not about finding a summer hookup. This was his chance to wind down and get his head on track. He’d been pulling long hours at Ward, and he’d looked forward to this vacation for a long time.

An hour later, he half dozed, lulled by the alcohol and sun, his book forgotten on his lap. A lounge chair next to his creaked, and Daniel could only assume that someone was stretching out in the sun. He didn’t even bother to open his eyes, was just grateful this newcomer didn’t come with chatty friends or screaming kids. Right then, there was only the sound of the crashing surf on the beach and the low, distant sound of music drifting from the nearby beach bar. This was heaven.

It wasn’t until he turned over that he cracked his eyes and caught a glimpse of the man next to him. His eyes flew open wide to take in all six and a half feet of the gorgeous creature. Blessed with broad shoulders, narrow waist and hips, the man was stunning. Black hair and a close-cropped beard gave his craggy face character. Daniel had always been a sucker for the rough-hewn look on a man, and this guy had rough down pat with his thin face, bladed cheekbones, and full lips. His arms looked like he could out bench-press the security agents at Ward Security. Black tattoos covered his left shoulder and upper arm in an almost-hypnotic design. He wore plain black swim trunks that came to only the tops of his thighs and looked as if they were painted onto his perfect form.

Daniel was used to being around big men, used to feeling kind of small despite his height of five eleven, thanks to the mountains strolling around Ward Security. He was built thin. Hours of working out would never change that. Taut and whipcord lean was what his last boyfriend called him. And Derek was the last person Daniel wanted to think about.  Derek and his wandering dick.

Dark eyes turned his way, and the smile that stretched those full lips did something to Daniel’s chest. He smiled back as he settled on his stomach and closed his eyes. Wouldn’t do to stare at the hot man like some creeper. Though he couldn’t help but crack his eyes one more time. Those eyes—brown—were still on him, and they held interest as they ran down his form and locked on his ass. His ass was the one thing not lean about him.  “A perfect, round bubble butt,” Derek had said.

It took all his effort to hold back a grin when the man looked at him and shrugged sheepishly. He held out a hand. “Might as well introduce myself now that I’ve come across as a complete tool. I’m Edward. Edward Raines.”

Purchase at Amazon

Meet the Author

Jocelynn Drake and Rinda Elliott have teamed up to combine their evil genius to create intense gay romantic suspense stories that have car chases, shoot outs, explosions, scorching hot love scenes, and tender, tear-jerking moments. Their first joint books are in the Unbreakable Bonds series.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | eMail

Giveaway


Blog Button 2

Load more