Nov 05

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

Title:  Summers Power

Series: Danger City, Book One

Author: BL Jones

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 11/05/2024

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 101300

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

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Description

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Excerpt

Summers Power
BL Jones © 2024
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

I never asked for this life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

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

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

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Oct 22

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

Title:  Racing Hearts

Series: Good Sports, Book Two

Author: Alex Winters

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/22/2024

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 23500

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

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Description

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

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

Excerpt

Racing Hearts
Alex Winters © 2024
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Riley

“The hell?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

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

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

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Oct 15

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

Title:  The Monster Within

Author: Marguerite Labbe

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/15/2024

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 121200

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

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Description

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

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

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

Excerpt

The Monster Within
Marguerite Labbe © 2024
All Rights Reserved

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

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

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

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

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

“The tricksters are coming.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

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

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

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Oct 11

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

Title: Trust is Fraught

Author: Emily Carrington

Cover Art: Angela Knight

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

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

Series: Medically Necessary (#2)

Multiverse: Searchlight Academy (#12)

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 99

Synopsis

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

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

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

Excerpt

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amir’s scent surrounded him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender women’s speculative fiction. Seeking a world made of equality, she created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires. And in the contemporary world she’s named “Sticks & Stones,” Emily has vowed to create small towns where prejudice is challenged by a passionate quest for equality. Find her on Facebook at Shapeshifter Central or on her website.

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

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Oct 08

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

Title:  Into the Lion’s Den

Author: John Patrick

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/08/2024

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 94800

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

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Description

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

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

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

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

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

Excerpt

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

Prologue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daniel closed his eyes and began to pray.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

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

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

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Oct 01

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

Title:  The Hungry Butterfly

Author: Eule Grey

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/01/2024

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 18500

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

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Description

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

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

She should have noted the red flags.

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

She should have called the police.

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

She should have run.

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

She shouldn’t have done it.

Excerpt

The Hungry Butterfly
Eule Grey © 2024
All Rights Reserved

Brenda

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brenda suddenly needed the toilet.

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Meet the Author

Eule Grey has settled, for now, in the north UK. She’s worked in education, justice, youth work, and even tried her hand at butter-spreading in a sandwich factory. Sadly, she wasn’t much good at any of them!

She writes novels, novellas, poetry, and a messy combination of all three. Nothing about Eule is tidy but she rocks a boogie on a Saturday night!

For now, Eule is she/her or they/them. Eule has not yet arrived at a pronoun that feels right.

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Oct 01

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

Title:  The Death of Rowan Copry

Author: Elaine White

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/01/2024

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 113500

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

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Description

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

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

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

Excerpt

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

August 1, 2040

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

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

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

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

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Sep 28

New Release Blitz: Jack Long and the Demon’s Deal by L.J. Hamlin (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Jack Long and the Demon’s Deal

Author: L.J. Hamlin

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 09/17/2024

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 39800

Genre: Paranormal, Romance, paranormal, family-drama, gay, nonbinary, demon, angel, demonic pact, magic, bartender, musician, PTSD

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Description

“Jack Long owes everything to his older brother, so when his brother has to give up one dream to protect another, Jack steps in. He doesn’t have much, but a friend’s inspiration has Jack taking a huge leap of faith and doing something he never thought he’d do–a ritual.

During the ritual in a graveyard, Jack ends up with far more than just the help he came for.

With a demon for a house guest, he has no idea what to expect, especially because this demon is hotter than hell.”

Excerpt

Jack Long and the Demon’s Deal
L.J. Hamlin © 2024
All Rights Reserved

The twang of the guitar marked the end of the set, and Jack had a beer waiting behind the small backwoods Texas bar for his brother Kris.

“Beer?” Kris asked, leaning heavily against the other side of the bar. He looked bone weary, deep lines around his eyes. Jack was worried that working three jobs was going to run his brother into the grave early, something he’d been deathly afraid of happening from the day he was fourteen and their parents had passed away in an accident.

“You seem a little off tonight.” Jack passed over the cold bottle. It was a local brew.

“Show wasn’t good?” Kris asked, worry showing as Jack picked up a glass to clean. The bar was quiet enough that they could talk. Most people were on the main floor and were still dancing, even though the music had switched from the band to a CD.

“No, you sounded great. I just know you, Kris. You were tense.” Jack was pretty close to his older brother, a man who’d been like a father to him. He could read him fairly well, no matter how much Kris tried to hide his worries.

“I might have to give up the band,” Kris blurted out, and Jack was shocked. He hadn’t been expecting that. His brother loved playing with his laid-back country band.

“Why?” Jack asked.

“Cherry is pregnant. We’ll need more money. I need to find one job that pays well enough to support us, even when she can’t work. I just can’t see the band making enough money for me to justify the time for practicing and performing.”

Jack did his best to hide his shock. “Congratulations, but I thought Cherry couldn’t have kids?”

Kris and Cherry were high-school sweethearts and had married a couple years ago. Jack loved his sister-in-law; they were close, and she’d told him herself about her health issues.

“That’s what her old doctor told her, but she’s at three months now. I waited to tell you, but her new doc says she might need bed rest for some of the pregnancy. Her blood pressure is low and a bunch of stuff I don’t understand, but God, Jack, we want this baby. I’ll pay every doctor’s bill it takes to keep my kid and Cherry safe and happy. I’ll find a way. I can’t lose either of them.” Kris looked like the world was weighing on his shoulders yet again. He hadn’t had an easy life. He deserved a break, and Jack wished he could give him one, but he was just a bartender in a shitty bar. He had no money to spare.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked anyway.

“Win the lottery? Don’t stress about it though, kid. It’s not your job to take care of me.” Kris waved away his offer of help.

“You’re my brother. Cherry is like my sister, and that baby she’s carrying is family. If I can help, I will. I’ll get a second job, help you out,” Jack offered, meaning every word.

“I appreciate it, Jack, but you need to take care of you first. Working too much is no good for you. I don’t want you burning out again. Look, we’re due back on. We’ll talk about it more some other time.” Kris took a swallow of his beer, then turned and left before Jack could argue.

Kris got back up on the small stage with the rest of his band. The CD stopped, and Kris strapped his guitar on and took the mic. He was just over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, a slight beer belly, and a handsome sort of face. He kept his blond hair shaved, a habit from his short time in the army. Jack looked a lot like his brother, except he was a good few inches shorter, with a slimmer frame. Where Kris’s hair was cropped close, Jack let his grow long, golden blond down to his shoulders.

Kris looked at home on stage, dancing lightly in time with the music, crooning his own lyrics and a few covers. He was talented, with an excellent voice and good with the guitar, but he’d never had a break. Jack couldn’t imagine ever getting on that stage himself. He would fall apart, he was sure. Though both he and Kris had been diagnosed with PTSD for different reasons, it didn’t affect them in the same way. Kris was far more confident—at least he was when it came to music. He could be useless at small talk.

“Hey, spaceman, you with me?” a voice called, and Jack shook himself out of his hyper focus on his brother and realized he had a friend at the bar.

Kim Joy stood out in a redneck bar, not just because of their mixed heritage, making them the only Asian in a room full of white people. It was their clothes, their long black skirt and corset, the blue streaks in their black hair, the dramatic eye makeup and dark lipstick, the pentagram on a cord around their neck.

Hazelwood Creek didn’t have many half Chinese, goth, nonbinary femme witches. In fact, it only had Kim Joy, and their little shop had caused quite the stir. Jack personally loved them. They were snarky and sweet, whip smart. And he was lucky enough to call them a friend.

“Sorry, Kim. What would you like to drink?” Jack asked.

“Whisky sour, and I may have overheard a little. Congratulations on becoming an uncle.” Kim Joy smiled, their bright-red lipstick shiny even in the dim bar light.

Jack prepared Kim’s drink. “Know any spells to bring in wealth?”

“None that’ll be what you need, but I do have a suggestion. It’s not something to be taken on lightly though.” Kim took their whisky sour and swirled the plastic stirrer through the liquid. They looked very serious and kept their voice low.

“One second.” Jack had to leave to serve someone quickly, but Kim was still waiting for him when he was finished.

“I was never much of a believer, not before I knew you, so shoot. What is it that you think I should try?” Jack trusted them. If anyone was a real mystic, it was Kim Joy.

“Your life needs more balance, right?” Kim asked seriously.

“I guess my family could use a little more light. This baby is the first miracle in a while, but I’m scared giving up music will kill part of Kris,” Jack admitted.

Kim nodded. “You need to summon a balance demon and make a deal.”

“A balance demon?” Jack was a bit in over his head. He’d seen Kim Joy do small things: blessings that charged the air, simple healings. He’d started lighting the candles they suggested and keeping crystals, but demons? He didn’t even know those were real.

“It’s not for the faint of heart. You have to be willing to make whatever deal is offered. I’ve talked with demons before, and word is, balance demons are the least dark, but still far from light. They can be trusted though, not like tricksters. Their word is their bond,” Kim Joy explained in hushed tones.

“How do I summon one?” Jack asked, out of his depth but willing to try just about anything.

“You need to go to a deconsecrated church ground, like the one on Bishops Hill, in the hour before dawn. Knock three times on the door and say ‘I seek balance,’ then light a candle and wait for it to go out. When it does, the demon will appear.” Kim Joy described the process as if it were simple.

“I get off close to dawn. I could go tonight, but I don’t have a candle in my car.” Jack wanted to act soon. If this failed, which he was almost certain it would, he still needed time to find a way to help Kris.

“I have some in my bag. A white candle would be best.” Kim Joy patted their colorful large bag.

“Is this something an amateur should mess with alone?” Jack wanted to be sure. On Kim’s advice, he’d warded his apartment against evil, little things like that, but summoning a demon was leaping forward about a dozen steps in the witch path.

“Most people I would advise against any dealings with demons, but Jack, you have the purest spirit I have ever encountered, and that will work in your favor. And like I have told you before, you could be a very powerful witch with practice.” Kim Joy’s eyes shone in the dim bar light. Anyone else standing before him, apart from maybe Kris and Cherry, he would have assumed they were trying to trick him somehow, that there was some kind of gain in it for them. But Kim Joy was made of goodness, and Jack trusted them.

“Can I borrow a candle, please?” he asked, mind made up.

“Of course. Here, take it now. I’m not staying much longer. One more quick dance and home for me. I need to charge some moon water. You’re lucky it’s a full moon. The veil is thinner tonight,” Kim Joy said brightly as they opened their bag and passed over a large tea light.

“Do you have a ride home?” Jack asked, worried about them getting home safely.

“A circle member is coming to pick me up, a trusted friend. Don’t you worry, Jack Long. Besides, you should know by now a person would be a fool to cross a witch.” Kim Joy flashed him a wicked smile, reading his concern easily, as they always did.

“Just because I know you can defend yourself from a lot doesn’t mean I want you put in a situation where you have to do so,” Jack told them, firmly putting the candle into his loose work pants pocket.

Kim Joy grinned. “You’re a doll, Jack, but I’m fine. Let me know how it goes.”

“I will.” Jack patted his pocket. Kim Joy took their drink to go dance, and Jack focused on the rest of his shift.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

LJ Is a disabled queer writer in her late twenties, she’s been writing for many years and loves to share her stories she’s never without a few projects on the go and writes as much as her body allows. She is a lover of animals which often shows in her books and her social media.

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Sep 27

New Release Blitz: Eternal by Mychael Black (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Author: Mychael Black

Cover Art: Bryan Keller

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

Themes: Gay, Rock Star Romance, Vampires

Series: Fragile Web (#2)

Multiverse: Blood & Fire (#4)

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 71

Description

Sam McIntosh knows he doesn’t need to be in the closet with his friends, but his family is another matter entirely. He keeps his sex life under wraps and never lets on to anyone that he enjoys any gender. So far, that’s worked just fine — until his father hires a new guy to work on the family farm.

Cole England has far more secrets than the average man, the least of which is his vampiric nature. He’s on the run from hunters sent by his father, and they are closing in on him. The last thing he needs is to fall for the son of the humans who hired him on their farm.

Between Sam’s bigoted family and Cole’s hunters, it’ll be a miracle if they can manage to explore the blazing attraction neither of them can deny.

Excerpt

Eternal (Fragile Web 2)
Mychael Black
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2024 Mychael Black

“Samuel!”

Sam shut his car door and forced himself to smile when his mother approached. “Hey, Mom.”

“I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show up,” she chattered as they headed for the house. “Your father hired a young man to help out for the next few months since you don’t come around as much anymore.”

Sam ignored the attempt to make him feel guilty. At this point, he was used to it. “Good. Guess I should meet him if he’s gonna be around.”

“His name is — oh! There he is.”

Sam looked in the direction his mother waved. The closer their new farmhand got, the more Sam wanted to go the other direction before his interest became very apparent.

Tall. Tan. Long, golden blond hair. Dark blue eyes drew Sam in and wouldn’t let go.

“Morning, ma’am,” the hunk said. He met Sam’s gaze and held out his hand. “Cole England.”

Sam mentally kicked his brain into gear and shook the man’s hand. “Sam McIntosh. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Cole turned his attention to Sam’s mother, releasing Sam from the otherworldly spell. “Mr. McIntosh said you had an order for me to pick up at the co-op.”

“Oh, yes.” Sam’s mother tugged a piece of paper from her pocket and gave it to Cole. “Samuel, go with him. I’m sure he’ll need the help.”

Before Sam could argue, she hurried off to the house where his father stood at the door. Sam sighed and turned back to Cole.

“She always like that — constantly on the move?”

“Worse, usually,” Sam said. “Guess we should head out.”

They went to the garage, and Sam grabbed the truck keys off a ring on the wall. He got in and waited until Cole buckled before backing out.

“She mentioned you but didn’t say much,” Cole said after a few minutes of silence. “You live in the city?”

“Yeah, my band plays all over Atlanta, so we figured it made sense to live in the area. Otherwise, I wouldn’t. Too damn crowded.”

“What kind of band?”

“Gothic metal,” Sam said. “My parents do not approve. What about you? You got family here?”

Cole started to answer, then stopped. He stared out the passenger window. “None to speak of,” he said finally. “I, uh, I’ve been traveling a good bit. Came into town a few days ago and found work with your folks.”

Sam nodded. “They aren’t giving you too much shit, are they? They can be… well, close-minded is putting it nicely.”

“Nah. I keep to myself.”

Sam wanted to ask how the hell Cole even got the job. His parents weren’t the types to just hire someone without all the proper vetting, references, and the like. He glanced over at Cole. The man still watched the land go by, as if he was lost in thought.

“Word of warning,” Sam said as he turned onto the road leading to the co-op. “My mom has a thing against redheads, so make sure any chicks you bring back aren’t reds.”

Cole chuckled but didn’t look at him. “Noted, but not an issue. I prefer my guys with dark hair.”

Sam nearly missed the turn into the parking lot. Shit.

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Mychael Black has been writing professionally since 2005. He writes gay romance and erotica, but also het romance as Carys Seraphine and queer fantasy as Katherine Cook.

He’s an avid PC gamer with a love for RPGs, a horror fanatic, and a fantasy nut. He also has a weakness for anything relating to skulls, dogs, and Spongebob Squarepants.

Mychael lives on the Eastern Shore of the US with his family. He loves to hear from readers, be it via email or Facebook.

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Sep 24

New Release Blitz: Ex by Alicia Thompson (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Ex

Author: Alicia Thompson

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 09/24/2024

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Female, Female/Female

Length: 94200

Genre: Paranormal, Crime/thriller, paranormal, family-drama, police detective, murder, ghost, Australia, North London, Stockport, drag queen

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Description

In 2011, Toby Soames dies from a freak accident on Hampstead Heath; Charlie Falk simply disappears. Two years later, Australian Adele Soames returns to London to be nearer her son and the places he loved. She is joined in her pilgrimages to the heath by Charlie. Charlie tells her things; unnerving things about his last day alive.

Enter DS Xandra Bentley, a member of Adele’s grief support group at St Bart’s. Xandra has worked on a number of cold cases of missing boys in the area and Adele’s information reignites her interest. As new evidence comes to light, Adele has the creeping dread that she is bringing danger closer to home.

Excerpt

Ex
Alicia Thompson © 2024
All Rights Reserved

Prologue

Exigent
Def. Pressing, demanding.

November 2011

One minute Toby is downing a glass of milk at the island bar while she prepares dinner, the next he is flat on the floor. Adele turns just in time to see her son’s eyes roll back in his head, after he jumped off his stool to demonstrate something from his game.

Her spoon clatters on the floor tiles as she runs to her son. She crashes to his side, her fingers at his neck, her ear to his mouth. Nothing. Her brain goes cold and blank as she swiftly arranges his body and commences CPR, her hands pumping in time to her mind chanting No!…no!…no!

As she goes through the frantic process of trying to revive her son, her glances pinball from one surface to another around the room. Where the hell is her phone? Leaving her son to hunt for it is unthinkable.

Tears of despair run down her cheeks as her efforts produce no response. After what seems like hours, her phone rings. It’s a few feet away just above her head on the buffet table. Clutching at it, she puts it on speaker and slams it on the floor so her hands can fly back to her son.

“—Adele? Are you—”

“Roof! Help me! Call an ambulance. To the house. It’s Toby!”

Chapter One

X Marks the Spot
Def. Ground zero

January 2014

She didn’t want to go, but she went anyway. It was like falling into a rhythm. She locked the door behind her and walked to the end of the street. Brushing past wet rose bushes in a neighbour’s garden on the corner, she walked downhill to South End Green where the shops started, putting one foot in front of the other on the greasy, rained-on pavement.

She averted her eyes from the mothers hurrying along with uniformed children taking them to appointments or for shopping; she plunged her hands deeper into the pockets of her trench coat, focusing on where she walked and the whooshing of passing cars. A melee of food smells assailed her as she ran the gauntlet of the restaurants and takeaway shops. The trip back from the park had always been fraught, with her hungry son wanting her to give in to grease for dinner, not to mention his favourite red velvet cheesecake at Dominique’s. Fish and vinegar smells blended into hot fugs of curry, then segued back into raw fish and seaweed to fried fumy noodles. Already there were mothers at counters with children in tow. But not her. Not today. Not any more.

At the train station, she crossed the road. The street turned uphill, and progress was slow. She had let herself go these last few years living in Australia, even without the excuses of less daylight hours and the higher cost of healthy food.

After passing the car park, she turned up an unmarked entry point into the Heath. She paused and took a deep breath of trees and wet grass, partly to cleanse herself of the polluting streets, but also as if she was entering Narnia and all would be the same as she had left it. The pebbles on the path crunched underfoot and the odd drop of water leaked from the networks of naked branches to hit her glasses or run down the back of her neck.

As she left the path and staggered up a grassy bank, the view opened up and she was there. From her vantage point, she gazed down over an expanse of playing fields backed by thick woods. And there, as she had expected, was an after-school soccer game in progress, small figures running back and forth in bright colours, a few parents on the sidelines.

She had always preferred to watch from the raised bank. Having a redheaded son meant she could easily follow his game, and there was a bench. Her bench.

She walked over to the bin nearby and extracted a discarded newspaper. She crumpled a few sheets and wiped the remaining rainwater off the slats of the bench. She settled down, tucked loose strands of hair back behind her ears, and burrowed her cold hands into her pockets. She could pretend for a little while, at least.

There were no redheaded children in this game—although she looked, of course she looked—which was probably just as well, and time passed as she watched, but didn’t see, the small figures running back and forth, yells and whistles drifting up, providing a disembodied soundtrack to her thoughts.

Some time must have passed when she felt the bench give and vibrate, signalling that she had company. She glanced sideways, not without annoyance, to see a young boy grinning at her as he rustled a paper bag on his lap. Freckles littered his nose and cheeks, and his thin hair fell in shoelace strands over his forehead. He produced a speckled banana from his bag and proceeded to peel it.

“Are you here to watch the game?”

Momentarily distracted by his bony knees and thin bare legs, one wrinkled grey sock around his ankle, the other halfway up his calf, as he banged his school shoes against the bar underneath the bench, she wondered if he was cold. She looked back at his face, watching him stuff banana into his mouth.

“Yes. Yes, I thought I would. Just for a bit.”

He nodded. He had the unpleasant habit of talking with his mouth full, and through the banana and the gap in his front teeth, she saw as well as heard him say, “I’m Charlie Falk.”

His forwardness made her smile. “Well, I’m Mrs Soames.”

Charlie clucked his tongue and grinned. “Yes, I know. You’re Toby’s mum.”

Her heart lurched and suddenly, he seemed different to her: not a cheeky half-urchin invading her peace, but a window onto something…something…

He was still banging his feet in a rhythm on the bench rung, a thrumming beat and vibration that now seemed to portend that something. She swallowed, trying to release the sudden tightness in her throat.

“You—you knew Toby?”

He nodded vigorously, chewing his last gob of mushy fruit as he put the skin in the bag and screwed it up into a ball. “We played football together.”

“Oh…I see.” It was hard to believe this scrawny child was the same age Toby would have been now. Her son had been big for his age, true, but more than two years on, he would have been almost twelve now. She gazed out over the playing field, vaguely aware of little moving figures, seeing only her redheaded son dashing around, kicking the ball. He had loved soccer—football, she mentally corrected herself. He was always scolding her for that.

“Mrs Soames?”

She jerked her head back in Charlie’s direction.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” She fossicked in her coat for a tissue. She removed her glasses and dabbed at her cheeks. “It just makes me sad coming here. Happy and sad at the same time, if that makes sense. It makes me remember things.” She stood up, feeling the cold and the hardness of the bench, wanting to be home in the warm.

Charlie got up as well, walked over to the bin, and lobbed in his scrunched-up ball. He turned to look back at her, his face suddenly serious and wise. “It’s good to remember things.” He zipped up his jacket. “Goodbye, Mrs Soames. Maybe see you again.”

She half lifted her hand as he turned and walked off down the slope, round a clump of bushes, and out of sight. Walking back down the slope to the dirt path, she marvelled at all the loose threads that had pulled her back to this knotty place. Penelope must start over and weave up the unravelled mess. Again.

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Meet the Author

Alicia Thompson grew up on a farm in country NSW. She has a Masters in Creative Writing from UTS along with some financial and accounting qualifications. She has worked as a bookkeeper, photographer, editor, adventure tour leader in the Middle East and China, business analyst, writing teacher and general herder of cats. Her published work includes numerous book reviews, travel articles, and short stories. She lives and works in Sydney. More can be found on her website www.aliciathompson.com.au.

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