Dec 31

New Release Blitz: Valhalla by L.A. Ashton (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Valhalla

Author: L.A. Ashton

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: December 31, 2018

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 17900

Genre: Fantasy, Valkyrie, war, WWII, Norse Mythology, gay, historical fantasy

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Synopsis

Sakuma has served as a Valkyrie for centuries, smoothly escorting thousands of souls to the grand halls of Valhalla. While the world tears itself apart during WWII, he is summoned to retrieve the soul of a fallen Japanese soldier, Ishii Hiroshi. To Sakuma’s surprise, Ishii refuses his invitation to eternity.

The two meet again and again as the war repeatedly sends Ishii to death’s door, and what should have been a fleeting encounter becomes something much greater for the both of them.

Sakuma is determined to give Ishii the reward he so deserves, but Ishii’s stubbornness may condemn him to an eternity outside Valhalla.

Excerpt

Valhalla
L.A. Ashton © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Sakuma stared down through the floor, past his feet, through the crack in his dimension. Beyond the collisions and splits of galaxies, Earth’s thrumming pulse called to him. There lay his charges—the human souls he would collect so they might rest easy in Valhalla.

He felt the tug in his chest, the pull of someone destined for his collection, and spread his wings wide before plunging through the rift that linked their worlds. With wings tucked at his sides, stars became burning streaks of light. The universe blurred and twisted, an orb of hazy blue its only clear constant.

Earth had erupted into a time of war, and Sakuma and his fellow Valkyrie labored for the sake of human souls. They saw the hidden crevices and shadows of war no one wanted to see. The world wilted before their eyes, and the bloodstained present turned the future bleak, and dark. But they also saw triumph, and sunrise after sunrise starting the day anew. They saw the look on every soldier’s face as they realized death wasn’t the end.

It was worth it.

Sakuma punctured Earth’s atmosphere, and the smells of the lands and seas gusted against his face. His eyes softened at the reflective sparkle of the ocean; it was a beautiful sight, an unchanging thing that rose and fell under the press of the moon rather than the press of humanity.

The ground approached fast. Sakuma felt the tremble of the soul before his eyes could discern who it belonged to, but then—yes. Sakuma’s wings flared outward, body halting so immediately it dissolved the idea of impossibility.

Tanks, empty bullet shells, and discarded guns were strewn across the ground. Machines and bodies littered the battlefield as if they carried the same value. The acrid stench of gunpowder resisted the wind and hung in the air, a trail left in the wake of Axis and Allies. Sakuma looked down at his charge. The man stared up at him, eyes wide and unblinking. He was bleeding, his uniform more crimson than not, and he shook with such ferocity that Sakuma could hear it in his breaths.

Sakuma knelt down and offered his hand. The man blinked, his lashes coercing loose the tears still clinging to his eyes.

“You’ve done well,” Sakuma told him. He held his outstretched hand steady as his wings flapped at his back. “Let’s take you away from this.”

The soldier gawked at Sakuma’s wings before bringing his eyes down to the offered palm. He immediately grabbed hold, the sensation firm and warm against Sakuma’s skin. Good. He’s ready.

Sakuma curled his fingers around the man’s hand and lifted. As the soldier rose, the flesh of his hand fell away and lowered to the ground. What was left gripping Sakuma’s hand were tendrils of light in the purest, lightest blue.

Strings of energy knit together to form fingers, and arms and shoulders wound away from the confines of a body to become iridescent limbs. Sparkling light ghosted from the soldier, lifting past his body as his human form sighed its last breath. The human didn’t notice the transition. He only smiled, and that smile was lit with the radiant energy of life. Sakuma grabbed his other hand to steady him, and there was a discernible purr of peace.

Sakuma spread his wings, took a breath, and shot them into the air.

He kept his eyes up as they sailed through the Earth’s sky and broke through the seal of the atmosphere. But once they were careening through space, breaking apart time and dimensions, he liked to watch their faces.

Every man thought he knew true beauty. And then every man saw the infinite expanse of space, and they realized they’d been wrong.

Gas, dust, and rock were turned perfect and ethereal in the silence of space, backlit by millions of stars. Galaxies wound into spirals, blues warmed into reds around a sun, purple and green congealed in overheated leftovers of a supernova.

Sakuma watched the faces of the humans he brought, their newly transcendent form experiencing their first taste of eternity.

Eventually, he left them at the gates of Valhalla. There they could take the seat reserved for them—a place promised to true warriors for the rest of time.

Hands now freed, Sakuma turned to gaze into the black. Somewhere beyond that void, there was a pulse. Another life had found a heroic end. Sakuma smiled, spread his wings, and plunged back toward Earth.

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Meet the Author

L.A. Ashton is an LGBT+ author writing LGBT+ fiction. They enjoy rock music, traveling, and anything else that adds color to their daydreams. They believe in the healing properties of art and of having a cat firmly stationed on one’s lap. Their official site can be found at www.LAAshton.com.

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Dec 28

Cover Reveal: Contact by M.D. Neu (Giveaway)

Contact by M.D. Neu
Available to Preorder at NineStar Press

Release Date: January 21st
Cover Artist: Natasha Snow

Blurb

A little blue world, the third planet from the sun. It’s home to seven billion people—with all manner of faiths, beliefs, and customs, divided by bigotry and misunderstanding—who will soon be told they are not alone in the universe. Anyone watching from the outside would pass by this fractured and tumultuous world, unless they had no other choice. Todd Landon is one of these people, living and working in a section of the world called the United States of America. His life is similar to those around him: home, family, work, friends, and a husband.

On the cusp of the greatest announcement humankind has ever witnessed, Todd’s personal world is thrown into turmoil when his estranged brother shows up on his front porch with news of ships heading for Earth’s orbit. The ships are holding the Nentraee, a humanoid race who have come to Earth in need of help after fleeing the destruction of their homeworld. How will one man bridge the gap for both the Humans and Nentraee, amongst mistrust, terrorist attacks, and personal loss? Will this be the start of a new age of man or will bigotry and miscommunication bring this small world to its knees and final end?

Meet the Author

M.D. Neu is a LGBTQA Fiction Writer with a love for writing and travel. Living in the heart of Silicon Valley (San Jose, California) and growing up around technology, he’s always been fascinated with what could be. Specifically drawn to Science Fiction and Paranormal television and novels, M.D. Neu was inspired by the great Gene Roddenberry, George Lucas, Stephen King, Alfred Hitchcock and Kim Stanley Robinson. An odd combination, but one that has influenced his writing.

Growing up in an accepting family as a gay man, he always wondered why there were never stories reflecting who he was. Constantly surrounded by characters that only reflected heterosexual society, M.D. Neu decided he wanted to change that. So, he took to writing, wanting to tell good stories that reflected our diverse world.

When M.D. Neu isn’t writing, he works for a non-profit and travels with his biggest supporter and his harshest critic, Eric, his husband of eighteen plus years.

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Dec 28

Book Blitz: Something About Jace by Jocelynn Drake & Rinda Elliott (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Something About Jace

Series: Pineapple Grove #1

Author: Jocelynn Drake & Rinda Elliott

Publisher: Drake & Elliott, LLC

Release Date: December 28, 2018

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 63k

Genre: Romance

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Synopsis

Gallery owner Jace Townsend loves his tiny hometown of Pineapple Grove, deep in South Florida. His life is filled with sunshine, blue skies, jogging on the beach with his dog, and the greatest friends a guy could want. What more could he ask for?

Love would be a great start. After his last relationship fell apart, Jace has begun to wonder if he’s ever going to find someone who would fit into his quiet life.

Of course, the last person who would fit into his life is a major movie star.

Trent Elrige is drowning. He’s constantly on the go from one movie obligation to the next. And after the last stalker got a little too close for comfort, Trent decides it’s time to take a step back and figure out what he’s doing with his life.

Pineapple Grove seemed the perfect spot to hide for six months and figure out his future. He just wasn’t expecting to be tackled by love so quickly.

But now that he’s found Jace, is he willing to risk everything he’s worked so hard for? And is Jace willing to walk away from his precious Pineapple Grove to be with Trent?

Excerpt

As they continued down the block, Trent kept his head down as the random car passed them, so no one could clearly see his face in the splash of headlights. It hit him then—that he was fooling himself. He wanted a normal life with quiet nights, but could he have that? He’d traded privacy for fame when he’d been a teenager. Yeah, too young to realize what he was giving up, but he couldn’t fool himself into thinking he hadn’t entirely known what he was getting into.

And he did love his life—loved acting and all the travel. But he also was ready to have a real home. Was that even possible?

The thought made him tired all of a sudden. Tired of having to watch every little thing he did. He glanced at Jace often as they kept to the shadows and made their way back to his house, his heart achingly heavy. Even Ripley seemed to get that they were trying to escape notice as she trotted along quietly ahead of them, her head up and alert for new people.

Before they reached his back patio, Jace stopped him with a hand on his lower back. “You worried they’re going to figure out where you live?”

“No, I think we lost them.”

“You got quiet on me. If you’re worried that was the sort of thing to chase me off, don’t. I…like you. And I’m not ready for whatever this is to stop. We’ve had dinner only twice, and I really think we should continue to give kissing a try.”

He stared at him for several moments, realizing he hadn’t even been thinking of what kind of hardship anyone who tried having a life with him would experience. Of course, he’d thought of it before, but his thoughts had been a little more on the selfish side tonight. He just had so much to work through.

As he stared at this gorgeous man with his brown eyes, he realized nothing had to be figured out just then, and his morose mood faded away. “Good, because I’m not either.” He grabbed Jace’s hand and tugged him into the house. Ripley trotted in after them and lay down on the rug between the living and dining rooms.

Since the place had about a million windows, Trent flipped off the light as the door slammed behind them. Jace’s laughter pulled him in so hard and fast, he grabbed the man and slanted his mouth over his. He licked along his bottom lip until Jace opened for him with a low growl in the back of his throat. They kissed for long, slow moments before pulling back, their gazes catching in the moonlight and locking as heat flared.

Something passed between them then, something that had Trent catching his breath and Jace’s eyes widening. It made Trent feel like he had butterflies in his chest.

Before he could take another deep breath, they went back at each other like they were starving, tongues stroking in a way that had all Trent’s blood flowing south.

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Meet the Authors

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.

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Dec 24

New Release Blitz: Ta Weezo’s Blues by Layla Dorine (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Ta Weezo’s Blues

Author: Layla Dorine

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: December 24, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 24800

Genre: Paranormal, college, professor, student, shapeshifter, teacher’s pet, poet, author, ferret shifter

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Synopsis

Sabre never had any intentions of becoming the teacher’s pet. In fact, most of his school years have been spent trying to avoid attention. The scar that mars his cheek has made him wary of strangers, their questions and prying eyes leave him feeling exposed in ways he’s uncomfortable with. Accustomed to blending in, he lurks around the shadows in the back of classrooms, turning in exemplary work but rarely taking part in discussions.

Professor Locklear’s Native lit class is different though. Sabre’s interest in the subject matter, coupled with a dedicated scholar’s need to turn in the best work possible, leads him to seek out a more advanced reading list, much to the delight of Professor Locklear. When he comes across Sabre reading material beyond even the advanced list, Professor Locklear invites on a fieldtrip to a nearby village. Along the way he learns more than just the knowledge contained in the books. He learns about trust and discovers that there are others out there just like him— shapeshifters.

What he believed was an individual anomaly turns out to be something beyond legend and lore, a whole different culture he’d never known existed. The only way he can move forward is to let his shields down long enough to trust the man whose conversations he’s come to enjoy, but to do that, he’ll have to stop distancing himself from everyone.

Excerpt

Ta Weezo’s Blues
Layla Dorine © 2018
All Rights Reserved

The hallway smelled of old dust and coconut curry, setting Sabre’s stomach growling as he trudged the last few feet to Professor Locklear’s door. Instinctively, he pulled his hood low, casting a shadow over his eyes, and with practiced ease, he swept his hair forward. It would have to do. Sucking in a deep breath, he counted to five before letting it out slowly, then licked his lips, and knocked on the door.

“Come in!”

The voice was slightly muffled by the wood that Sabre partially shoved open, only enough to poke his head in about halfway.

“Excuse me, professor, do you have a minute?”

Sabre kept his head angled, watching Professor Locklear out of the corner of his eye. Several moments passed before his professor stopped writing and placed the pen beside his notebook, raised his head, adjusted his glasses, checked the clock, and then brushed a stray strand of hair back from where it had fallen over one eye.

“I have a few, so you might as well come in. No sense hovering half in and half out of the doorway.”

Sabre shuffled forward, carefully keeping his eyes lowered as much as possible.

“So, what can I help you with? Are you in one of my classes?”

“Yes sir, I’m in your ten o’clock Introduction to Native Literature class.”

“Ahh, you must be the one who sits in the corner by the emergency exit, where it’s nice and dark. I have to admit, when you first chose that spot, I assumed you were looking for a place to nap, but you’ve since proved me wrong. Whenever I look your way, you’re focused intently on me or the power point.”

“Yes, sir. I enjoy the material and some of the discussions are pretty fascinating.”

“Really? In that case, why is it that you’ve never taken part in any of them?”

Shuffling from one foot to the other, Sabre carefully contemplated the question before responding. “I try to let my papers speak for me. I’m bad at public discourse. I get tongue-tied and trip over words or end up being so hesitant that people talk over me. When I’m writing, I can organize my thoughts and present a more complete analysis of what I’ve read.”

“Sounds as if you are extremely self-aware. Not a common trait these days, I’m afraid. Still, if you feel you have something to add to a conversation, then I hope you won’t refrain from doing so, er… I’m sorry. You’ll have to help me out with your name.”

“It’s Sabre.”

“Ahh, yes, one of the more unique ones this year. You’re right; your papers are remarkably organized, well thought out and quite complex in their reasoning. I must admit, you’ve had me rereading a few things I haven’t gone through in years just to understand why you’ve presented some of your comparisons in the manner in which you’ve organized them.”

Sabre grinned, a surge of pride rushing through him. “Thank you. That’s actually why I stopped by. I was wondering if you had any books you could recommend, similar to the required material for the course. I’ve finished reading everything on the syllabus, plus the referred texts I came across when I was researching; killed a couple piles of sticky notes and pens in the process, too, so now I’m hoping for more.”

The professor’s eyes went wide and he steepled his hands on the desktop calendar, tapping his fingertips together as he slowly scrutinized Sabre, making him shuffle more and tug at his hoodie to ensure it shadowed his face.

“Try as you might, I don’t think you’re going to change colors and blend into the woodwork. If you do, I think I’d have to take a half day off and schedule an immediate exam with my optometrist,” Professor Locklear remarked with a chuckle. “You can grab a seat, you know. I’m not a fire-breathing dragon about to roast you for stepping into my lair, though I wish I could singe a student or two when I catch them snoring.”

Sabre chuckled softly but didn’t come any closer.

“I guess not. Well, I must say your question caught me a bit off guard. It’s not one I’m used to, at least not from someone who wasn’t required to take my class. Are you considering adding Native Studies as a minor? You are a junior, correct?”

“No, sir. I’m a senior.”

“Ahh, okay. So are you looking for something specific?”

“Well, I, umm, really enjoyed Reservation Blues, so I found the other Sherman Alexie books and read them too. I loved the myths and legends book you assigned, and Fools Crow and Love Medicine were extremely fascinating. I read House Made of Dawn twice, not because I didn’t understand it the first time, but because it resonated with me, and I was compelled to reread it. I didn’t dislike any of the assigned reading if that helps at all?”

A long, low whistle emanated from the professor, who cocked an eyebrow at him, clearly impressed at all the reading Sabre had already done in just the first five weeks of the semester.

“It does, though there was no reason to finish the course load in a few weeks’ time; wouldn’t want you to burn yourself out.”

“It was easy, though. I always work ahead. My work-study job is in the library, shelving books and working at the research center desk, answering phone calls and emails. I usually have a ton of downtime and write most of my papers there. Plus, I’m carrying a light course load, four classes, since that’s all I need for graduation.”

“Well then, let me see what I can do to find you something.”

Rummaging around on his desk, Professor Locklear began moving neat stacks of paper until he finally found something of interest. Sabre watched as he perused the list before finally holding it out for him to take.

“Try these; it’s the reading list for my Native Literature 103 class, since I’m pretty sure between your papers and what you just told me, you’ve read most of the books for the 102. See if any of these interest you, and if you have any questions or would care to discuss them, please feel free to come back, or you can stop in my Native Lit discussion group. We meet in the atrium every Wednesday night at eight. Who knows? Perhaps you’ll be inspired to participate.”

“Thanks, I’ll umm… I’ll think about it,” Sabre said, still staring at the proffered paper. Reaching it meant he’d have to move closer, into the brighter lights above Professor Locklear’s desk. Biting his lip, Sabre took the three steps to the desk hesitantly, keeping his eyes on the paper and not the man.

“Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

The concern in his voice was what made Sabre raise his head, and the moment he realized what he’d done, he ducked it again, took the paper, and backed away until he felt the door at his back. Twisting around, he fumbled for the doorknob.

“Wait.”

Pausing, Sabre gripped the knob, never turning back.

“If you’re hiding in the shadows because of that scar, please know it isn’t necessary.”

Sabre touched his cheek, stroking his fingertips along the rough edges of the raised, puckered skin as the memory of moonlight striking glass from a busted bottle flashed through his mind. Almost instantly, his breathing picked up, and his chest felt tight as the first stirrings of panic surged through him.

“I’ve got to go,” Sabre muttered, nearly smacking himself in the face with the door as he wrenched it open. “Thanks, professor.”

“You’re welcome, but…”

Sabre took off before he heard the rest, sprinting up the curry-scented hall, the stench making him gag. Bursting through the outer door, the fall air hit him like a gut punch, carrying with it the scent of dying leaves. He gagged, bile rising in his throat. Skidding to a halt beside a bush, he vomited, grateful nothing but acid remained in his stomach. By the time he finished, he’d broken out in a cold sweat and felt gross and tired, wanting nothing more than to get back to his dorm room and take a long, hot, shower and climb into bed with a movie.

Glancing at the slightly crumpled list he gripped in his fist, Sabre sighed before smoothing it against his thigh, folding it carefully, and tucking it into the pocket of his hoodie. Shoulders slumped, he turned and trudged back toward his dorm, grateful the day was at an end. All in all, it had been both a success and a disaster. Next time, he’d just email his request, he decided, as a cold wind made him shiver and debate what the hell he’d been thinking, going to see his professor in person.

“Stupid,” he muttered as his short walk came to an end at his dorm.

For a so-called genius, he sure could be an idiot sometimes.

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Meet the Author

Layla Dorine lives among the sprawling prairies of Midwestern America, in a house with more cats than people. She loves hiking, fishing, swimming, martial arts, camping out, photography, cooking, and dabbling with several artistic mediums. In addition, she loves to travel and visit museums, historic, and haunted places.

Layla got hooked on writing as a child, starting with poetry and then branching out, and she hasn’t stopped writing since. Hard times, troubled times, the lives of her characters are never easy, but then what life is? The story is in the struggle, the journey, the triumphs and the falls. She writes about artists, musicians, loners, drifters, dreamers, hippies, bikers, truckers, hunters and all the other folks that she’s met and fallen in love with over the years. Sometimes she writes urban romance and sometimes its aliens crash landing near a roadside bar. When she isn’t writing, or wandering somewhere outdoors, she can often be found curled up with a good book and a kitty on her lap.

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Dec 24

New Release Blitz: Finding Aurora by Rebecca Langham (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Finding Aurora

Author: Rebecca Langham

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: December 24, 2018

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 20500

Genre: Fantasy, royalty, magic, action, fantasy, fairy tale

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Synopsis

Aurora Rose slumbers in the city of Oldpass, a cursed kingdom once allied with Grimvein. The victim of a malicious spell, she is powerless to control her own fate. At least, that’s how the story goes.

Now, as Grimvein faces attack, Prince Amir has been tasked with the life-threatening rescue of Aurora, his parents hopeful he will marry the princess and secure safety for their kingdom. Talia, the strongest spellcaster in the known lands, protects and guides the prince in his quest to save a woman that threatens to change their lives forever.

In finding Aurora, the pair will realise the truth about themselves and each other, coming to understand just what—and who—they really want in life.

Excerpt

Finding Aurora
Rebecca Langham © 2018
All Rights Reserved

I doubt there was even one person in Grimvein who hadn’t heard the story of the sleeping princess. There were those who claimed she’d died a century ago and the curse was merely a story to maintain hope of her well-being. Amir and I knew better. Somewhere beneath the layers of magic and goddess-knew-how-many demonic guardians in Oldpass, Princess Aurora Rose slept. The problem was getting to her.

“Looks like the map was accurate.” Amir tucked the frayed parchment inside his leather vest and then stepped closer to the colossal boulder in front of us. “This entry is well concealed. Most people would walk right by without realising.”

I had to agree. We were deep within the forest to the east of Oldpass. The path we’d been following for over a week had disappeared hours earlier, replaced by mossy undergrowth and grasses. The sweet scent of drenched wisteria had been overpowering, though not as overpowering as the menacing darkness that seemed to swallow natural sounds one would expect to hear in such a place. No birds twittering. No dripping condensation. Not even so much as a rustling branch. If not for Amir’s orienteering skill and the importance of our quest, I’d have turned back.

“Does it open the old-fashioned way, Highness?” I indicated the door with my chin. Embedded in the rock and camouflaged, the ingress was almost unnoticeable, but we could make out the bevelled edges.

I sensed no magic surrounding the rock formation, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any. I might have been one of the strongest casters in the five kingdoms, but I was still mortal. There’s only so much one person confined by flesh can know. Or see. Or do.

Amir ran his hand through his shoulder-length black hair. His rather wonderful, lustrous, shoulder-length black hair.

“Let’s see.” He pressed both his palms against the smooth surface, bracing his feet against the leaf-covered ground. Something whirred deep inside the boulder and clicked as though a latch had been released. He stepped back as the rectangular slab skulked off to the side, like a sword disappearing into its sheath. “It appears the answer would be yes, it does open the old-fashioned way. Sort of.”

“I must admit, I had my doubts.”

“As did I,” he replied, scratching at the stubble on his chin. In all the years I’d been acquainted with the prince, he’d always been clean-shaven, and the rugged growth on his face, as charming as it looked, seemed to irritate him more and more. “It seems too convenient there could be an underground passage that would take us beneath the outer walls.” His hands held on to the rock as he leaned forward, peering inside. His soft leather boots gripped his defined calves as he did. “It’s quite dark in here. Do you have that magnificent bauble of yours?” He withdrew from the opening and turned to face me.

I gaped at him. “Prince Amir, the moonbeam stone is no mere bauble. And yes, of course I do. I’ll let the honour of first entry be yours.”

He bowed slightly, his hand over his heart. “Why, thank you, caster.” He returned his attention to the opening. “In we go.”

I followed him closely as we left the fresh air and crunching leaves of the forest behind. Inside, the darkness was thick and the air acrid. I slipped my moonbeam stone out of a pouch clipped to my belt. With a thought, I willed it to life. A soft yellow light emanated from the stone.

“Oh no,” I said. As though the enclosed room had heard me, the door behind us slid outward from its cavity, closing fast and hard.

“It seems we’re trapped.” Typical Amir. Always so calm. He walked around the room. “But surely there is a way from here into the tunnel. This must be a kind of annex.” I admired the fact that no matter how hopeless or scared Amir might have felt, he was always able to focus on the task at hand, putting his feelings aside until a more appropriate time presented itself.

“Mmmhmm.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, willing away the tension that had taken up residence there. I grabbed the small flask attached to my belt, just above my left hip. The water soothed my throat and afforded a distraction from the momentary sense of panic.

“Talia, I need your help over here,” Amir said. His voice was steady, but the shade of his cheeks betrayed bubbling anxiety.

“Yes, Highness.” I took one more sip of water from my flask, clipped it onto my leather belt, and wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. By the goddess, that place was hot. I wondered if we might have found the first level of the underworld rather than the subterranean passageway into Oldpass.

“That’s twice in as many minutes,” Amir said, gently elbowing me as I joined him. “I keep telling you to stop calling me that. We’ve been travelling together for over two weeks. The formalities are unnecessary by now, wouldn’t you agree?” He smiled, and I couldn’t help but smile back. As the Leading Caster of Grimvein, I’d been assigned to help Amir on a journey the public needed to believe he’d taken on his own. So far, my magical services had been of little use, aside from starting a few campfires when we were especially impatient to eat our evening meal.

“Yes, Highness.” I bit my lower lip. “Amir. Sorry, it’s a force of habit.”

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Meet the Author

Rebecca Langham lives in the Blue Mountains (Australia) with her partner, three children, and menagerie of pets. A Xenite, a Whovian and all-round general nerd, she’s a lover of science fiction, comic books, and caffeine. When she isn’t teaching History to high schoolers or wrangling children, Rebecca enjoys playing broomball and reading.

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Dec 17

New Release Blitz: I Am the Storm by Tash McAdam (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  I Am the Storm

Series: The Psionics, Book One

Author: Tash McAdam

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: December 17, 2018

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 64500

Genre: Science Fiction, espionage, spies, military, young adult, lesbian, pansexual, trans

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Synopsis

Keep your head down. Don’t look anyone in the eye. Never even think about technology if one of those ghostly, grey cars is sliding silently down the road. They’ll see the thoughts inside you, if you let them.

Sam’s a technopath, able to control electronic signals and manipulate technology with his mind. And so, ever since childhood, his life has been a carefully constructed web of lies, meant to keep his Talent hidden, his powers a secret. But the Institute wants those unusual powers, and will do anything to get a hold of him and turn him into one of their mindless slaves.

Sam slips up once. Just once, but that’s enough. Now the Institute is after him in full force. Soldiers, telekinetics, and mind readers, all gunning just for him.

Newly qualified soldier, Serena, doesn’t even know she’s chasing a person, all she knows is that she has to find whatever the Institute is after before they do. But tracking an unknown entity through an unfamiliar city, with inaccurate intelligence, unexpected storms, and Gav Belias, people’s hero of the Watch, on the prowl, will she even survive? Will she get to Sam before the Institute does? His special skills could provide the rebellion with an incredible advantage, but not if they can’t get out of the city, and over the huge wall that stands between them and freedom.

Excerpt

I Am the Storm
Tash McAdam © 2018
All Rights Reserved

I didn’t ask to be Talented, but I am, and because of that, I endanger everyone around me. Every day. The government wants people like me under their control, or dead. So we hide the best we can out here in the shadowy and factory district. It’s hot, same as always, even in the shade. Out here isn’t much to look at—especially compared to the inner city, which sparkles like diamonds. Around me, buildings in grays and browns loom into the blue sky, blocking the vicious sun and removing the need for the transparent aluminum shields guarding the open spaces from the UV. Those are for the rich.

This area is always in the darkness. We’re part of the City, but only just. Pressed up against the inside of the Wall, this end of town really isn’t much better than the slums. Nah, shit, I take it back. At least I’ve always had a roof over my head and food in my belly, even if it tastes pretty bland. My mom made sure of that.

People in the slums aren’t as lucky. Mom moved us out to the poor end of town because of me—it’s obvious, even if she lies whenever it comes up. She had a good job back before I was born, as a teacher in one of the elite elementary schools, and she loved it. I hear in her voice how much her heart aches when she tells stories about her old students. Now, she pulls levers fifteen hours a day in a plant and can’t stand up straight anymore. It’s my fault.

I’m snapped out of my musing by a warning shout and barely avoid a speeding mini elec-car, piled high with boxes and strips of metal. A second later, I’d have been another smear marring the tarmaxx. No point in putting solar panels here, after all, so the road is far from shiny and clean. I curse at the driver’s back.

Shoving my hands into my pockets, I chew my lip and dawdle down the road. I’m not in a hurry. Medical exams are one of my least favorite pastimes, but if I want to stay in school, and damn straight that’s what I want, I have to go. Being weighed, prodded, and poked isn’t nearly as fun as going home and relaxing with a hacked satellite feed, but we do what we must, right? Since I have these checkups twice yearly, along with every other Citizen in our glorious metropolis, I know how late I can be—without getting penalized—to the second. Although, I don’t have any idea what the time actually is since I don’t even have my comm unit with me. For once, I don’t have any tech in my pockets, and it makes me feel naked and exposed.

But it’s the only way I can keep from blowing my cover.

I’m a lucky sod, for sure. As a technopath—able to control technology with my mind—I have a unique power, and I’m not noticeable the way telekinetics are. They throw stuff around with their Talent. Obvious stuff right there. Me? Hell, if I get really angry, I can cause a blackout, but it’s doubtful anyone would trace it back to me. Living in an area without electricity helps, though. Thanks, Ma.

Giving up the creature comforts for your only son is a noble thing to do, and it’s kept me under the radar for years. Off the radar and above ground, instead of locked up in a facility designed to destroy any aspect of me deemed not “useful.” So, you know, my memories, my personality, and sense of self, for a start. If the Institute had their way and nabbed me as one of their brainwashed weapons, I’d lose everything making me myself.

I should get a bit of a move on, though. If you’re not there when they call your name a third time, you get bounced off the list and marked as “uncooperative,” which isn’t a good thing. They watch the uncooperative, in case we’re considering a life of rebellion and insurrection. And I’m exactly the kind of person they’d love to catch. Besides being Talented, I do my fair share of cybercrime. They’d only have to watch me for a few days before I ended up with a hood over my head and a gun in my spine. I might not be tall, strong, or rich, but I’m definitely dangerous.

I pick up the pace a little and, rushing around the next corner, thud right into the broad chest of a watchman. I stumble and lose my balance, and then I’m knocked off my feet by a powerful and unnecessary uppercut to the jaw. I cry out in pain, rebounding off the wall and crumpling in a heap.

Blinking back stinging tears of shock, I clap my palm to my throbbing face. The brute looks down at me, pathetic Sam, crouched on the ground, wearing worn-out clothes. He spits on me, daring me to retaliate so he can arrest me and throw me in the clink. Power tripping. The Watch—military police—are government thugs, but many of them aren’t bad people. Just people with a sucky job.

This one appears to be your standard petty thug in a uniform.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Tash is a 30 year old teacher candidate at UBC in Canada, although they were born and raised in the hilly sheepland of Wales (and have lived in South Korea and Chile before settling down in Vancouver). Tash identifies as trans and queer and uses the neutral pronoun ‘they’. They’re also an English teacher and fully equipped to defend that grammar! They have a degree in computer science so their nerd chat makes sense, and a couple of black belts in karate which are very helpful when it comes to writing fight scenes.

Their novel writing endeavours began at the age of eight, and included passing floppy discs back and forth with a friend at swimming lessons. Since then, Tash has spent time falling in streams, out of trees, learning to juggle, dreaming about zombies, dancing, painting, learning and then teaching Karate, running away with the circus, and of course, writing.

They write fast-paced, plot-centric action adventure with diverse casts. They write the books that they wanted to read as a queer kid and young adult (and still do!)

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Tumblr | Pinterest

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Dec 17

New Release Blitz: Surface Tension by Valentine Wheeler (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Surface Tension

Author: Valentine Wheeler

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: December 17, 2018

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 34500

Genre: Fantasy, mermaids, sailors, tentacles, FF romance, magic, scientists, abduction

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Synopsis

Sarai runs away from home to find a new life on the high seas. She’s heard stories all her life of the things that lurk beneath the waves and the people who return to land with fractured memories and strange new scars. When a storm brings her face to face with a creature unlike any she’s met, she discovers a whole new world under the sea.

Excerpt

Surface Tension
Valentine Wheeler © 2018
All Rights Reserved

The sturdy ship bobbed and shook in the pounding surf, its sails snapping uselessly in the wind without the crew’s firm hand. The three masts swayed and creaked, lines whipping free. Just off the bow on the starboard side, a ridged head broke the surface of the water, eerily still amidst the crashing waves. It cocked to one side, as if considering the scene before it, then slid back below the surface. On the other side of the ship, a forked tail flicked repeatedly, cresting the surface again and again as it circled to port. Another head bobbed up beside it, cutting smoothly through the water, its dark eyes searching.

The captain shouted orders, but his voice was drowned out by the thunder and the pounding of the rain on wood and canvas. He yanked lines, directed sailors, and spun the wheel, darting from disaster to catastrophe, trying to keep his course into the breaking waves rather than letting them sweep up the sides or the stern. But once the mainsail was furled, he grabbed his boatswain and gave up on riding the storm out or using the pounding winds’ power with any semblance of control. Instead, he climbed the rigging, holding tight to the ropes, and spread the word of their retreat. Then he sprinted to the cabin, where he threw open the door and gestured frantically at all the crew near him to come inside, below decks. He watched them scurry toward him, praying they’d make it before they perished like his quartermaster had, lost overboard in the swirling brine.

The boom swung and the main mast shuddered ominously as the wind tugged it first one way, and then the other. Lit haphazardly by one of the few lanterns not yet doused, a lone sailor struggled across the deck from the stern on her hands and knees, battered by the tempest. The rope around her waist had come loose, its waterlogged knot sliding from her hips, and she missed the grab for it before it vanished.

As she skidded along the slick, wet wood, the captain watched, helpless to save her and knowing she wouldn’t make it across the wide expanse of the deck.

The sailor’s small figure slid across the deck on the next swell, fighting for balance and a handhold, any handhold, on the slick wood but failing. The shadowed gazes of the creatures in the water tracked her. When she slammed into the railing and flipped over into the air, her captain’s cry soundless in the din of the crashing waves, the creatures had already disappeared beneath the spot where her body hit the water.

The sailor fought for air, breathing in a cold lungful of mist and burning sea-salt spray as her head burst through the waves. The creature held back, eyes glinting in the lightning flash from below in the dark-green water. The woman’s struggles began to weaken, and the creature inched closer, keeping carefully out of her sight line, an easy dance of fins, tentacles, and long, webbed fingers keeping it still in the rush of the current and the churning sea spray above.

As her movements slowed, the creature licked its lips with a long, black tongue, pointed teeth shining in the brief glimmers of lantern light that found their way through the darkness.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Valentine is a latecomer to writing, though she’s always been a passionate reader. Through fanfiction she found her way to an incredible community of writers who’ve taught her to love making stories.

When she isn’t writing, she’s making bad puns, yelling about television, or playing with her small child.

Her life’s ambition is to eat the cuisine of every single country. Find Valentine on Twitter.

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Dec 17

New Release Blitz: The Lion Lies Waiting by Glenn Quigley (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Lion Lies Waiting

Author: Glenn Quigley

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: December 17, 2018

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 88600

Genre: Historical, Abduction, Addiction, Age-gap, Bears, Established Couple, Kidnapping, Mental illness, Over 40

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Synopsis

Winter, 1780, and the solstice is fast approaching. Four months after the events of The Moth and Moon, burly fisherman Robin Shipp is preparing for his first Midwinter festival with his lover, the handsome baker Edwin Farriner. But when a letter arrives begging for help, they must travel with their friend, Duncan, to Port Knot on sinister Blackrabbit Island for a final confrontation with Edwin’s mother. Also visiting the island are Lady Eva and her wife Iris, with a stunning proposition that could change Robin and Edwin’s lives forever.

The snow-covered harbour town of Port Knot is a dangerous place. While there, Robin, Edwin, and Duncan explore the menacing rooftop settlement known as the Roost, mingle with high society in the magnificent splendour of Chase Manor, and uncover a violent conspiracy threatening the island’s entire way of life.

Old rivalries will flare, shocking secrets will be revealed, and as Duncan’s scandalous past finally catches up with him, will it ultimately destroy them all?

The men will be tested to their limits as they discover that on Blackrabbit Island, the lion lies waiting.

Excerpt

On the tiny island of Merryapple, not far from the Cornish coast, almost every frost-kissed window was cheered with the light of a solstice lantern. Made of brass or copper or tin, each lantern was set with coloured glass, each one was polished and cared for, and each one was unique. Joyously lit were they with a red candle for the duration of the Midwinter celebrations, starting at the winter solstice and continuing through to New Year. Always red, that was the tradition. Red for blood. Red for life. Red for love. Every member of the household had their own lantern skilfully engraved with their name. When a person died, their candle was removed and cast into the sea—their light taken from the lives of their loved ones.

Robin Shipp never liked that part of the tradition. From the age of ten, his solstice lantern stood alone on his windowsill, his father’s candle swallowed by the waves, just as his father himself had been. Whenever the lantern’s tinted glass flooded the room with cheer, he tried to remember the good times with his father, tried not to think about being alone. And he managed it, for the most part. Robin was fifty years old and the past summer had seen a great many changes in his life. He’d discovered who his mother really was, cleared his father’s name, won the acceptance of the village, and started a relationship with a man he cared deeply for. It was December, 1780, and Robin was set for a Midwinter celebration to remember.

The little fishing village of Blashy Cove was shrouded in a chilly haze and the people were trying to remember how to walk on icy, cobbled roads. The previous night had seen the first proper snowfall of the season and the whole village was powdered, from hilltop to harbour, with the low, slate sky holding the promise of more to come. A mist clung tightly to the quiet sea.

In the ancient tavern named the Moth & Moon, Robin used the sleeve of his chunky, woollen jumper to rub frost away from one of the dozens of little panes of glass which formed a spacious bay window. He was a colossal man—tallest in the village—and wide to boot, with a jolly face and thick limbs made hard from a lifetime of oyster dredging in the bay. His solid, round belly rose when he laughed, and he laughed readily. His cap, with its unusual anchor pendant sewed to the band, sat askew, revealing a little of the single tuft of white hair which sprang from his otherwise bald head.

He peered out through the thick glass and across to the newly built and bustling market hall in the harbour. Just a roof held up by heavy wooden poles, but it helped keep the rain off. It was market day, and the traders hadn’t let the snow and ice put them off. Stalls selling fish sat next to ones loaded with goods from the island’s only farm. Others sold all manner of clothing and trinkets from the mainland and beyond. Under the cover of their new roof, the traders stamped their feet and hugged themselves to stay warm, their laughter and singing turning to fog in the frosty air. The smell of the morning catch mixed with that of the hot spiced brews they drank to keep their spirits up. It was the last market day for the duration of Midwinter and so the villagers were stocking up on the essentials.

“Never mind the sightseeing” came a voice from behind Robin. “Get those beads up or we’ll never get finished before nightfall.”

Mr. George Reed—the bearded innkeeper—was directing his staff and volunteers with a series of points and barks.

“Right you are!” Robin called back.

With meaty fingers, he tied one end of a long string of colourful but mismatched glass beads to an errant nail above the window frame. As he reached up to secure the other end, he tugged too hard and the string snapped, casting beads across the floor and seats. They ran under chairs and behind booths. A cerulean bead ran over the uneven wooden floorboards and came to rest at the foot of George Reed, who stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. Robin tipped his cap back and looked sheepish.

“Ah, sorry, George,” he said.

“No, it’s my fault, I should have known better,” George said with a laugh, “but you’re the only one tall enough to reach without a ladder. Why don’t you go and help move those tables?”

Robin slapped George on the shoulder as he lumbered towards the bar where some men had grabbed each end of a bench and were clearing a space. With a great heave, he single-handedly picked up a heavy oak table and swung it about, almost knocking over one of the other helpers. With a mighty thump, he set it down by the far wall, knocking over several tankards of beer in the process. He lifted a cloth and began moping it up as best he could, but he was just making it worse, spreading the foamy liquid out ever further. The bar steward he almost knocked over took his own cloth and pushed the much taller Robin out the way, with a polite-but-firm: “Yes, thank you, Mr. Shipp.”

“Is this your idea of helping?”

Duncan Hunger stood at the door of the inn with a tall object covered with a blanket and resting in a cart.

“It is, as it ’appens!” Robin replied.

Duncan was a very short, very stocky man in his late thirties. He had a full head of thick, black, wavy hair, with sideburns down to his jaw and he wore a pair of spectacles of his own design. Small, gold-rimmed and circular, they had an extra array of little lenses on movable armatures. They were an enormous help in his work as toymaker.

“Give me a hand with this,” Duncan said.

Robin grabbed one side of the object’s base and Duncan took the other.

“’Eavier than it looks,” he said.

“Aren’t we all?” Duncan said.

Together, they lifted it out of the cart and manoeuvred it to the space the staff had cleared.

“Careful, careful,” Duncan said as he slid the object into place.

Robin pulled his hands away too quickly and the item hit the wooden floor with a heavy, jangly thump, as if someone had dropped a box of cutlery.

“What part of ‘careful’ did you find the most confusing?” Duncan asked.

Robin stood bolt upright, clenching his fists and biting his pale lower lip as Duncan glanced under the cloth to satisfy himself nothing had been damaged. Relieved, Robin went to lift the material at his side, but Duncan quickly slapped his hand away.

“No peeking! You’ll spoil the surprise.”

“This is the Midwinter centrepiece you’ve been workin’ on all these weeks? What is it?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise.”

“Yes, but what—”

“You’ll see at Midwinter’s Eve!”

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Glenn Quigley is a graphic designer originally from Dublin and now living in Lisburn, Northern Ireland. He creates bear designs for www.themoodybear.com. He has been interested in writing since he was a child, as essay writing was the one and only thing he was ever any good at in school. When not writing or designing, he enjoys photography and has recently taken up watercolour painting.

Website | Twitter | eMail

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Dec 10

Blog Tour: The Escort’s Tale: an MMF Bisexual Romance by M.J. Edwards (pen name for Robert Winter) (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Today I’m excited to welcome M.J. Edwards  who has joined us to talk about his new release The Escort’s Tale.  As an extra bonus, M.J. has written a short companion story that can be read in it’s entirety by visiting each stop on the tour.  Scroll down to the Guest Post to read Part 1.

Title: The Escort’s Tale: an MMF Bisexual Romance

Author: M.J. Edwards (pen name for Robert Winter)

Publisher: Snow King Books

Release Date: September 21, 2018

Heat Level: 5 – Erotica

Pairing: Male/Male/Female (Male/Male interaction)

Length: 199 pages

Genre: Romance, Erotica, bi for you

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Do you want to spice up your marriage? Or perhaps you have a cuckold fantasy? Whatever your desire or kink, call JD Pierce.

Under his working name, Jasper has built a solid clientele and reputation. As JD Pierce, high-priced escort, he specializes in bringing bisexual fantasies to life. Sometimes a husband needs to be humiliated. Maybe a couple wants to be naughty and roleplay the seduction of an impressionable boy. Jasper, aka JD, is the man for the job.

When a young woman with a unique problem contacts Jasper, though, he fears he’s out of his depth. Alethia’s husband Nick suffered a spinal cord injury. He has paraplegia. The couple can no longer have conventional sex, and it’s driving a wedge between them. Nick is straight, but Alethia hires Jasper to help them fix things.

Despite his doubts, Jasper throws himself into the challenge. He wants to help sexy Nick reconnect with his beautiful wife. Using imagination and honesty, he unearths hidden fantasies in both of them. What he isn’t prepared for is his attraction to these new clients. The feeling grows quickly from desire to friendship and maybe something more. Will Jasper help Nick and Alethia and then move on? Or will they be the couple to bring to life this escort’s own fantasy?

The Escort’s Tale is a standalone bisexual erotic romance featuring a well-endowed lover-for-hire, a troubled man in a wheelchair, and the determined woman who brings them all together.

Excerpt

Excerpt from The Escort’s Tale, Chapter Two:

“Would you like to tell me how my name came up?” I ask, gauging that Alethia’s ready to discuss it.

She sets down her glass and darts glances left and right. Satisfied no one will overhear, she leans closer and speaks in a quiet, private voice. “Meredith is aware that my husband and I are facing some difficulties in our marriage. I mentioned to her recently over lunch that we’ve been struggling for a solution. She was very, um, detailed about her experiences with you.” Alethia blushes prettily. “And complimentary, as well.”

I smile at the circumspection. “Meredith has been a good client. I’m happy to hear she says nice things, since I don’t exactly ask for Yelp reviews.”

She snorts a little laugh, which I find charmingly awkward on such a chic woman. She puts a hand over her mouth to cover a grin. “I understand why, though that makes it tricky for, um…”

“Yes?” I prompt. “For someone in need of my services to find me?” I wink to show I take it lightly.

Alethia bobs her head in agreement. “I’d think in the internet age there’d be some sort of specialized rating service or booking site.”

There are a few actually, but I choose to avoid those. I don’t like the risk of zealous law enforcement having information about my working name or clientele. Word of mouth has always generated enough business for me anyway.

Since she seems more comfortable now, I dive in. “Why don’t you give me a general idea of what you’re looking for? We can discuss whether I’d be a good fit.”

Alethia inhales sharply and grabs her tea for a quick distraction. I wait her out again as she sips. Eventually, she places the glass back down with a sharp click and takes another glance around. She clasps her hands on the table top, as in prayer. I lean in, close enough to scent a trace of her delicate perfume. The essence of orange blossoms fills the air around her.

“My husband and I have been together for five years, nearly six,” she begins. “Nick has always been an avid rock climber. He played rugby, skied, competed in triathlons. Everything active like that you can think of. Eighteen months ago, he—”

She breaks off for a long moment to look at her entwined hands. Her knuckles gleam white, and I find myself reaching out to cover them with one of my own. She gives a shuddering breath at the touch, but doesn’t pull away.

“During a climb one afternoon on some cliffs, Nick had a bad fall when a handhold crumbled. The accident left him with a spinal cord injury. My husband uses a wheelchair now. He has paraplegia.”

I hear a sympathetic noise come out of me, entirely unplanned. She glances up to meet me eyes so I explain. “I’m sorry. I have a buddy from the Army who suffered an SCI. Rehab helped some, but it’s been a hard road for him.”

Alethia bites her lip and nods slowly. “It’s been…a learning process. Nick is strong-willed, though, and for the most part he’s adapted. We have home health aides to address his needs where he won’t accept my help. Also, we live in an apartment on a single floor that’s been made ready to accommodate his wheelchair.” She looks to where my hand still covers hers. “The problem is our sex life,” she whispers.

Purchase at Amazon

Guest Post

My novel The Escort’s Tale is a bisexual romance, told from the perspective of the sex worker Jasper Dylan, who sees clients under the working name of JD Pierce. One day Alethia Ballantine contacts Jasper; her husband Nick has suffered a spinal cord injury, is in a wheelchair, and can no longer walk or make love to her. Alethia and Nick have decided to hire a professional escort in an attempt to deal with the issues in their sex life.

Chapter Three describes Jasper’s first meeting with Nick when the escort arrives at their apartment, from Jasper’s perspective. The thoughts, fears and hopes of Nick Ballantine in that first meeting seemed like a story worth telling, though. Each stop on my blog tour for The Escort’s Tale contains a section of Nick’s story, in something I had to call…

THE HUSBAND’S TALE

By M.J. Edwards

Part 1

I roll my wheelchair nervously toward the wall of windows, hands aching from how tightly I clench the rims of the narrow tires.

The Boston apartment I share with my wife Alethia is easy to navigate, even in my chair. The designer she hired adapted it for me before we moved in, so there’s plenty of room to move around. We placed furniture so I can join people in the living room or at the dining table. The halls are extra-wide to let me turn without having to back up into a room first. The bathroom has all kinds of accommodations so I can shower without an aide.

But what I love most of all is the view of downtown splayed out before my eyes. When I come to a stop at the window wall, I don’t bother setting the brake. Shifting in my chair to avoid sores, I lean on one elbow and admire the city of my birth. Boston has always felt more manageable to me than, say, New York or Tokyo. The tall buildings gleam in the night, modern and exciting, yet enough historic architecture remains to honor the past. Cars wind their way along the busy streets, and the sidewalks teem with people walking home or to a club.

What I wouldn’t give to be able to walk with them.

I glance at my wristwatch and mentally start the count down. Fifteen minutes until the end of the world. Well, the end of my world at least. Or, will it be the beginning of the end…?

No, I suppose the true beginning was eighteen months ago, when I took a fall while rock climbing. Can you believe I threw everything away across the country, in California’s Joshua Tree National Park?

It shouldn’t have even been a major challenge. I’d stood at the top of climbs in Acadia, Yosemite, the Cascades. Been up Mont Blanc in the Alps, for fuck’s sake. Hung on the side of mountains, so cold I wasn’t sure how to keep going, and yet found the strength to do it. I learned I had the drive to plan and accomplish incredible feats, overcome obstacles, and push past my own limits when I needed to inspire my climbing buddies who were ready to give up and turn back.

And then Joshua Tree happened. That climb was supposed to be a minor distraction during a vacation with friends, nothing that required months of training like the Alps. I was confident and strong as we worked our way up the split face of the rock we’d chosen. The alien shapes of Joshua trees stretched across the desert floor under a cloudless sky, looking like something out of a Doctor Seuss book. Distracted and already anticipating the view from the top, I remember storing memories to share with my wife when we all got back to the resort in La Quinta that evening.

I didn’t see the raptor’s nest until the bird I had disturbed screeched. It flew out of a crack in the rock, right into my face, talons coming for my eyes. Like a noob I panicked and jerked, turning wrong. The rope went slack as it pulled free of the cliff. I knew a moment of weightlessness, then heart-stopping terror when gravity took me.

Don’t miss part 2 of Nick’s story.  You can follow the rest by dropping in for each stop of my blog tour:

Part 1 12/10/2018 IndiGo
Part 2 12/10/2018 Mainely Stories
Part 3 12/11/2018 Bayou Book Junkie
Part 4 12/11/2018 Valerie Ullmer | Romance Author
Part 5 12/12/2018 Love Bytes Reviews
Part 6 12/13/2018 J. Scott Coatsworth
Part 7 12/14/2018 The Blogger Girls

If you’re intrigued and want to know more about my sexy couple and the man they’ve hired, follow the buy link or check out The Escort’s Tale at my website.

Meet the Author

M.J. Edwards is the pen name for Robert Winter. As Robert, I write primarily gay contemporary romance. M.J. is the alter ego under which I get to explore a more erotic side of romance, with combinations of characters along the LGBTQ spectrum. The stories are light on angst, heavy on sex, and a happy ending for all is my goal.

I love hearing from readers so please feel free to ask questions or make comments. You can email me at mjedwardsauthor@gmail.com or find me on Goodreads.

Website | Goodreads | eMail

Tour Schedule

12/10 IndiGo

12/10 MainelyStories

12/11 Bayou Book Junkie

12/11 Valerie Ullmer | Romance Author

12/12 Love Bytes

12/13 J. Scott Coatsworth

12/14 The Blogger Girls

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Dec 10

New Release Blitz: LV48 by Matt Doyle (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  LV48

Series: The Cassie Tam Files, Book Three

Author: Matt Doyle

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: December 10, 2018

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 66400

Genre: Science Fiction, futuristic, lesbian, private detective, Sci-fi

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

New Hopeland City may be the birthplace of Tech Shifter gear, but it isn’t the only place that likes to blend technology with folklore. Now, a new nightmare is stalking the streets…

When PI Cassie Tam is attacked on the way home one night, she expects the police to get involved. What she doesn’t expect is to be forced into acting as bait to lure out a lunatic in a tech-suit that’s literally out for blood. But past actions have consequences, and doing so may be the only way she can get a clean slate from the city’s law makers.

If only that didn’t mean having to face down a wannabe vampire.

Excerpt

LV48
Matt Doyle © 2018
All Rights Reserved

“Nei hou gaau siu.”

When Lori smiles like that, her eyes take on a slight twinkle, making their pale blue tone feel warm and welcoming. That being the case, it takes me a moment to realise I didn’t understand a word she just said. Am I so drunk already? “Uh, sorry. What?”

Lori giggles and repeats, “Nei hou gaau siu.” When I stare blankly, she frowns and asks, “Is my pronunciation off? I was sure that was right.”

“What were you trying to say?”

“I was trying to tell you that you’re funny in Cantonese.”

And at that, the laughter spills out of me, uncontrolled to the point I have to bury my face in the table to muffle the sound. If we’d been in our usual haunt, Northern Main Street’s late-night café-cum-alternative hangout Tourniquet, I’d have let loose uninhibited. The people there look like an odd bunch when you’re viewing things from the outside, but if you spend enough time there, you soon realise they’re all really nice people with tastes and hobbies that fall outside the mainstream. Seeing as we’ve opted for Cartwright’s on Dunstone Avenue, though, I’m trying to hold back. Honestly, I am. I’m just not doing a good job of it.

The staff in Cartwright’s are lovely, but the clientele is a little less raucous than those at Tourniquet, and so I’m already drawing some confused looks by the time I wipe the tears from my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I say, “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve never been much good at languages. Oh God,” Lori sighs and shoots me a now far more nervous smile. “Put me out of my misery. What did I say?”

I shrug. “You probably told me I was funny in Cantonese.”

Lori tilts her head and says, “Okay, now I’m confused.”

“I don’t speak Cantonese.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I really don’t.”

“You really do. I mean, you can’t seriously be telling me you’ve been using diu in the Taiwanese sense?”

“No, no…,” I reply, waving my hands in frantic motions. “Wait. What does it mean in Taiwan?”

“It was old slang for cool.”

“Oh, right. No, I’m definitely using it the way you think.”

“So you do speak Cantonese then.”

“No, I swear in Cantonese. I couldn’t hold a conversation in it. My dad had a thing about me swearing. He hated it, even when I was an adult. It was the one thing that always made him roll his eyes at Mom. Anyway, he spoke Mandarin, English, and a little French, so my options for big kid words were kinda limited. I went to school with a guy named Tom Huang; he spoke Cantonese, so I got him to teach me the cool words. Dad probably got the gist of what I was saying, but I think he appreciated the ingenuity of it.”

And now, Lori laughs and buries her face in her hands. She shakes her head and says, “I am such an idiot.”

“Nah, it’s not like I’ve ever spoken Mandarin around you, so how would you know? Honestly, I know enough Mandarin to get by, but we always spoke English at home, so I just picked that up easier. Let’s see, though…you would have meant nǐ hěn gǎoxiào. Or if you wanted to be really over the top with it, nǐ jiӑng shénme dōu néng bӑ wŏ lè huài le. That’s ‘everything you say cracks me up.’”

Lori shakes her head. “I think I’ll stick to English.”

“I am sorry for laughing,” I say, taking her hand. “It was really sweet of you to try learning something in another language for me. Why that phrase, though?”

Lori lets out a short, gentle laugh, and replies, “Every time we’re together, you either do or say something to make me laugh, so I figured it was something I could guarantee I’d get to use.”

“I’ll get us another drink,” I blurt, and whip myself to my feet and away towards the counter. It was just a compliment, but still… Did I move quick enough to stop her seeing how red my cheeks are?

“Nǐ hěn gǎoxiào,” Lori giggles in broken Mandarin.

I guess I was too slow. Diu.

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Meet the Author

Matt Doyle is a speculative fiction author from the UK and identifies as pansexual and genderfluid. Matt has spent a great deal of time chasing dreams, a habit which has led to success in a great number of fields. To date, this has included spending ten years as a professional wrestler, completing a range of cosplay projects, and publishing multiple works of fiction.

These days, Matt can be found working on multiple novels and stories, blogging about pop culture, and plotting and planning far too many projects.

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