Screaming by Jayce Carter

Book 3 in the Larkwood Academy series

General Release Date: 22nd November 2022

Word Count:  92,780
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 337

GENRES:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
MÉNAGE AND MULTIPLE PARTNERS
PARANORMAL
REVERSE HAREM

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Book Description

Run or fight—I’m not the same frightened girl they silenced anymore.

I did it—I’m out. After a year imprisoned and tortured in Larkwood Academy, I’ve finally escaped, leaving destruction in my wake. Now that I understand what Larkwood is actually doing, now that I know just how deep their evil runs, they’ll stop at nothing to find me and keep me silent. Since getting locked up, I’ve wanted nothing more than to go back to my old life.

However, my old life, my old friends, don’t fit the way I remember…

With the men I’ve fallen for, Wade, Knox, Brax, Kit and Deacon, at my side, I struggle to figure out exactly where I belong. Should we run? Hide? Fight? Can I turn my back on everyone and everything I’ve come to care about over the last year for my own safety, or will the siren’s song of Larkwood Academy draw me back to my own destruction?

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of incarceration, violence and assault, as well as instances of inadequate parenting.

Excerpt

Hera

I might have escaped Larkwood, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that they were right behind me, that if I let my guard down for even a moment, they’d grab me again and drag me back to hell. Every sound, every person that passed, it all put me on edge.

“Here.” Knox made me jump when he caught my hand from behind and pressed something into my palm.

I glanced down to find a couple of folded twenties there. I frowned, then offered him a questioning glance.

“Don’t worry—I didn’t do anything weird to get it. I just used my powers to convince someone to hand over his wallet. Given the very nice sports car he was driving, I doubt he’ll miss it all that much.”

I let out a relieved breath. If it were Brax, I’d have worried he might have left a body behind. With Knox, a fear that he’d done something he hadn’t wanted to get the money had hit me. Hearing he hadn’t soothed my fears.

It had been nearly a week since we’d gotten out of Larkwood. The first trek through the open desert had been the worst, and we’d moved fast, pushing ourselves to our limits. Thankfully, with my hearing, I’d been able to identify helicopters and patrols before they got close. This was the second town we’d stopped at, since we hadn’t wanted to stay long in the first. We’d only remained in the first long enough to get a change of clothing.

We’d picked up some items from a thrift store, paying for it all with money Brax had—I sure didn’t ask him how he’d gotten it. It had left me in a baggy cable-knit sweater and jeans with large rips in them—far more casual than I’d been used to in my old life and yet not the clothing I’d had in my life at Larkwood.

Wade had found a pair of slacks and a long-sleeved shirt, Brax a large hoodie and jeans, and Knox wore a rather loud Hawaiian button-up short-sleeved shirt, a windbreaker and a pair of shorts that made him look like a surfer. We resembled hopeless fashion rejects, but at least we didn’t look like escaped prisoners. The long sleeves allowed us to hide our Larkwood bands as well.

I tossed food into my basket as Knox walked beside me, picking things with a good shelf life and plenty of calories. I had no idea what the future held, where we’d go, what we’d find there, which meant we needed to make the best out of what we could find when we got the chance.

I peered behind me, wondering where Brax and Wade had run off to. It was best for us not to be too close in public since a group of four brought more attention than a pair did, but I struggled not to worry when I couldn’t see them.

“They’re picking up some goods at the general store down the street,” Knox said. “I gave them some of the cash I’d gotten.”

I nodded to acknowledge the information, then reached for a pack of cookies from the shelf. They made me pause as I looked at them, the same brand that Brax and Wade had fought over in my room before.

“You sure we need those?”

I thought back to Larkwood, to the chaos we’d left behind. I remembered the way Wade had stood between me and the shades who had wanted to kill me. Next, I recalled Brax fully changed into his berserker form, blood dripping from his huge body, the way he’d taken out everything that risked me before he’d rumbled out “mine.”

We’d gone through so much, suffered so much pain to get us here. Cookies seemed a small price to pay.

Knox set his palm over mine, which made me realize my hand still hung in mid-air. He guided me back to drop the cookies into the basket while offering a kind smile. “Comfort food is important, right? In fact…” Knox pulled away and walked toward the end of the aisle for a moment. He plucked something from a shelf, then jogged back and tossed it into the basket.

I peered down to find a king-sized chocolate bar.

“You complained about the lack of chocolate before. I figured you deserved something nice, too.”

I couldn’t stop my smile, not just at the thought of tasting the candy but also at Knox’s sweetness.

Now is not the time to act all smitten.

We had bigger things to deal with than my feelings toward Knox.

“You haven’t been sleeping well,” Knox said, the words so unexpected I frowned at the change in topic.

I tucked the basket into the crook of my elbow so I could sign. “What?”

“You’ve been waking up from nightmares. Are you reliving what happened?”

I gulped but shook my head. “I’m tumbling into this endless void of darkness. It feels like I’m drowning, and no matter how I kick, I can’t reach the surface.” Even admitting the dreams that had plagued me every night made me shudder.

“Kit.”

That took me by surprise, and I jerked to a stop.

Knox, however, kept speaking as if the topic weren’t awkward at all. “Your bond with Kit. I’m going to guess he’s trying to reach you through it, and when you resist, that’s why you get that sinking feeling.”

“He wouldn’t hurt me like that.” I might not be certain of many things, but that I knew for sure.

“No, he wouldn’t on purpose, but he might not realize it’s causing you any distress. It might be like…being blindfolded and screaming for someone, not realizing they’re right next to you. He might be reaching for you but have no idea you can feel it.”

Now that sounded like the man I know. “What should I do?”

“Talk to him.” At my look, he laughed softly. “If Kit wants to find you, he can. You need your sleep, though, and you won’t get any if this keeps up. So talk to him.” After a moment, he added quietly, “You’ll probably feel better after checking in with him anyway.”

Which was true… Leaving the way I had without a real goodbye to either Kit or Deacon hurt. The memory of Deacon’s face, the way he’d stared at me as if I’d broken his heart, was almost as bad as the nightmares.

In fact, no matter how much I wanted to ignore it, the feeling encompassed more than just the two of them. I’d left so much back at Larkwood, so many people hurting. Why was I free when they had to stay there?

Instead of dwelling on it, I told myself that I’d brave that conversation when I fell asleep that night. I’d force myself to confront that darkness and Kit.

I owed him that much, didn’t I?

“Shit.” Knox’s curse took me off guard, pulling me from my little pep talk. He wasn’t the sort to swear much, and I hadn’t done anything to earn a reaction like that as far as I knew.

I pulled back enough to peer at his face, finding his gaze not on me but up and to the left.

I turned, my blood running cold when I realized what he stared at. On the television a breaking story ran, and above the newscaster’s shoulder? Knox’s, Wade’s and Brax’s faces stared back at me.

The words that ran along the bottom edge of the screen talked about the escape from Larkwood, though they only mentioned the other three. Nowhere did they imply a fourth person had participated.

Why doesn’t it include me?

“We should get going,” Knox said, his voice low. “You check out, and I’ll head next door to grab Wade and Brax. Meet us on the side of the building.”

After I nodded, he headed out, his face down. Thankfully, the three looked different enough in regular clothing than the sweats the pictures showed. Besides, most people ignored news reports like those, assuming that such things would never touch their lives.

I paid quickly, a gesture toward the large scar at my throat when the cashier had tried to strike up a conversation. My fingers ached from the heavy bags, but just as Knox had said, I found all three men around the side of the building.

And boy did Brax look angry. Still, the expression fit rather well on his face. In fact, if he really wanted to hide who he was, the best way would have probably been to smile. No one would recognize him like that.

Brax narrowed his eyes before swiping his hand out and taking the bags from me without asking. “No idea what you’re thinking, but I don’t like that smirk.”

I shrugged rather than admitting or denying anything.

“Looks like this might be our last family outing,” Wade said.

“Why wouldn’t they include Hera, though?” Brax asked.

“It has to be a ploy.” Knox pressed his lips together for a moment. “Maybe the Warden hopes that will get us stuck, that it’ll force her to act alone so guards can look for Hera?”

Maybe…though the more I thought about it, the less that made sense. “I think she doesn’t want it known I’m at Larkwood at all. She’s keeping it secret to leverage that information, which means she can’t admit I’m not there anymore. She probably can’t even tell my parents, because if she did, they’d stop helping her.” Even saying that hurt, making a deep spot inside my chest ache, the part that still craved a family.

Wade reached for me and entwined his gloved hand with mine, his tight grip reassuring.

His touch made his point loud and clear—whether or not my parents ever accepted me, I had people. No matter how hard it had been to lose my voice, it had taught me how much a person could say without ever speaking a word.

So I squeezed back as we headed off toward the empty store we’d broken into the night before to sleep at.

Things might look bad, and they might just get worse, but I wasn’t alone.

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About the Author

Jayce Carter

Jayce Carter lives in Southern California with her husband and two spawns. She originally wanted to take over the world but realized that would require wearing pants. This led her to choosing writing, a completely pants-free occupation. She has a fear of heights yet rock climbs for fun and enjoys making up excuses for not going out and socializing. You can learn more about her at her website.

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Demon’s Dance by Xenia Melzer

Book 3 in the Demon Mates series

General Release Date: 22nd November 2022

Word Count: 53,282
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 211

Genres:

ANGELS AND DEMONS
COMEDY AND HUMOUR
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
MÉNAGE AND MULTIPLE PARTNERS
PARANORMAL
WERESHIFTERS

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Book Description

Declan and Troy have been waiting for their mate patiently and with dignity… Hell, scratch that. They’ve been waiting forever—and nothing will stop them from keeping him.

When the only two uber alphas currently in existence finally find their gorgeous, submissive omega mate, life has to be perfect—right? Well, one out of three ain’t that bad, and Declan and Troy never wanted a submissive omega anyway.

Finding the right mating gift to impress their royal mate turns out to be a bit of a challenge, but the way they see it, that’s just an opportunity to show how perfectly suitable they are to be Alerion’s mates. If only the damn street tom would stop trying to make minced meat out of their arms.

Alerion is beyond happy to have found his mates—yes, mates, plural! He’s not entirely sure how to woo the two werewolf alphas, but for a demon who knows every dance in existence, nothing is impossible. Getting rid of all the doe-eyed, helpless and completely submissive omegas suddenly popping up in Beaconville like a rash after a rendezvous with poison ivy and claiming they need protection from the two uber alphas turns out to be a bit more complicated.

Between well-meaning friends and family and an interfering Shifter Council, their mating dance is anything but boring.

Excerpt

Alerion, King of all Demons, the Mighty Warrior, Defeater of the Unruly, was flat on his back somewhere in a clearing in Canada, trying to comprehend what had just happened. There had been two growls, the nuance less threatening and more possessive, then a dual “Ours”, followed by two muscular bodies barreling into him. As he had just been talking to his favorite son Sammy—although he had a feeling Jon would soon join Sammy on that pedestal—the attack had taken him by surprise.

It was hard to hear anything over the excessive sniffing taking place on both sides of his neck, but from what he could discern, people were rather more amused than worried. From somewhere, a “Well, fuck me sideways!” drifted to his ears, of no real consequence because the scent enveloping him—raspberries and cream with an undertone of cinnamon and clove—was way too pleasant to be thinking about anything else. The declarations of “Mate!”, “Ours!” and “Claim!” left him in no doubt as to what was happening.

I’m so lucky my mates are shifters! Otherwise, it would be the same back and forth that his sons Dre and Barion had had with their mates, and Alerion knew he could do without that drama in his life. In fact, ruling all demonkind was a drama in and of itself, which was why he tried to avoid it in all other aspects of his life—not that there was so much going on aside from cowing unruly demons and patiently explaining for the three-millionth time how nobody was as sturdy as a demon and, therefore, playing with other species—humans in particular—was forbidden. Nobody could accuse demons of being quick on the uptake.

“Uhm, Declan? Troy? Could you perhaps let Dad up?” Of course it was Sammy, the best son-in-law a demon king could wish for, who tried to end the spectacle. Alerion was of two minds about the sniffing ending because yes, getting to see his mates would be nice, no doubt, but on the other hand, it was also very nice to be so close to them.

“I’m not sure they can hear you, Sammy dear.” One of the witches…Mavis or Maribell. Alerion didn’t know them well enough to identify them by voice alone.

“Why do I have the sudden urge to bare my neck?” Jon, on the other hand, was easy to pick out.

“You’re not baring your neck to anybody but me.” Barion, growling like a lion defending a fresh kill.

“I didn’t say I would do it—just that I have the feeling I should.” Jon sounded part wounded, part soothing.

“What are we baring and why? Is this some custom nobody has told me about?” Amber, the banshee, Alerion thought. Her voice was quite distinctive, the screech to warn heroes of their impending death always present as an undertone. Most people couldn’t discern it and just found Banshees’ voices a bit unnerving, but Alerion wasn’t most people.

“Well, I’m always up for a little baring of body parts.” That voice sounded adventurous. It had to be Corrywin’s mate, Jon’s Grann, the Voodoo priestess. Interesting woman and a perfect fit for his restless uncle.

“As much as I love all your body parts, ma chere, I think we should be helping Alerion first.” Corrywin, helpful as always…not.

“I thought we had to get naked?” Amber again.

“Nobody is baring anything!” Dre, his second oldest son, the lucky bastard who’d snatched Sammy.

“Can somebody explain to me what’s going on?” Judging from the harmonious sound, it had to be Emilia, the vampire. Alerion liked her because she was very down-to-earth, despite her royal ancestry.

“It’s simple, dear,” one of the witches said. “Declan and Troy have finally found their third, and in their exuberance, they have forgotten not only their manners but also to shield their auras, which can be overwhelming, since they are uber alphas—hence the urge to show submission. Declan! Troy! Stop with the sniffing and get up. Your mate must be uncomfortable with both of you pinning him down.”

The last sentences were said with a scolding undertone of ‘bad boys!’, which caused the sniffing to stop. Alerion bemoaned this for about half a second before he realized he was now free to admire his mates.

“What’s an uber alpha?” Sammy again, always eager to learn. What a smart son he had gained!

Once more, it was one of the witches answering. “Uber alphas are very rare. The last one was born some two hundred and fifty years ago. They are so powerful all shifters immediately unite under them, which inevitably leads to bloody war. One prime example is Napoleon Bonaparte, the French emperor. He was the last uber alpha we knew of until Declan and Troy came along.”

“Wow. Are you planning to do that any time soon? It’s just that war is such a waste of lives and time.” Sammy was addressing Alerion’s mates, who had lifted their heads enough to stare at Sammy, which in turn gave Alerion a wonderful view of their breathtaking profiles. One of them was blond, the other’s hair a rich dark brown. Their noses were sharp, their jaws like carved marble and their skin flawless perfection.

“Sammy, we’re having a moment here!” the blond whined, his hands still resting on Alerion’s chest, which he didn’t mind at all.

“I can see that, Declan, but you have to admit that impending war is kind of a serious topic.”

So, his blond mate was Declan—which meant the dark-haired one had to be Troy, who was the next to speak. “Sammy, how long do you know us? Three years? Four? Have you ever gotten the impression we would strive for world domination?”

Through the space between his mates’ faces, Alerion could see Sammy furrowing his brows. My son is a such a thinker! And my mates are so gorgeous!

“Well, you’re certainly rich enough to buy large parts of it,” Emilia said matter-of-factly.

“Says the vampire with the very old money,” Amber said, winking.

“So you don’t want to wage bloody war?” Sammy sounded so happy.

“No.” Declan sighed. “We don’t like messes, remember?”

“Uh, almost forgot that. Well, a battlefield certainly isn’t the place for somebody who dusts the undersides of their windowsills.” Emilia grinned. “A trait I deeply admire.”

“Because you completely lack it?” Troy raised the brow Alerion could see from his place on the ground. It almost made him swoon. So beautiful.

“I guess a battlefield is kind of messy—and unsanitary.” Jon seemed to be deep in thought.

“If you wanted to conquer the world, you would tell us, wouldn’t you?” Amber sounded suspicious.

“Nobody is conquering anything—or waging bloody war or buying the world! All Declan and I want is to get our mate somewhere quiet with a nice big bed—emphasis on quiet. If you would excuse us?” Troy gracefully got up, offering Alerion his hand. Declan was on his feet as well, staring at Alerion as if he were a bloody steak and Declan was starved. It was nice to be looked at with such hunger. Alerion felt his cock, which had been hard since the moment his mates had tackled him to the ground, twitching.

“Yes, I think a quiet place would be nice. How about we visit my little cabin in Whitewater where we can…proceed.” Alerion had tried for subtlety and obviously failed spectacularly, given how everybody gathered around them was snickering. The two witches, Mavis and Maribell, seemed to have their own little film going on in their heads while Grann was shamelessly making out with Corrywin. Sammy stared at them with big eyes—he was still so innocent, bless his sweetness—while Jon smiled at them encouragingly.

“Yes, let’s proceed.” Troy winked.

Both alphas were still holding Alerion’s hands, and he tried to decide which one he should let go of to slice space and time when Dre stepped forward with a long-suffering sigh and solved this terrible conundrum by doing the slicing for him—he, too, was a good son and had brought Sammy into the family after all—and nodded at him. “Have fun, Dad. And congratulations. Declan, Troy, congratulations to you as well. If you hurt my dad—”

“Yeah, yeah, you will do to us what we will do to you and Barion if you hurt Sammy or Jon.” Declan was already stepping toward the slice.

“I just wanted to have it out in the open.”

“It is. Bye. Enjoy the party.” Troy was following his mate, tugging Alerion along. He knew his smile had to be showing all his teeth, but he was on his way to mate with the two most gorgeous creatures that had ever lived!

“Dre, thank you. Barion, Jon, I’m sorry I’m leaving so soon. I’m going to invite you to dinner. Promise. Sammy, don’t worry.”

They all waved, Jon saying something along the lines of “Finding your mate is the most important thing!” while Sammy was furiously wiping away his tears and simultaneously smiling so hard that his cheeks had to hurt.

“Congratulations, Dad, and have fun! You too, Declan, Troy.”

“See you next Wednesday!”

Alerion stepped into the slice in space still holding the hands of both his mates. This day was certainly one to be remembered.

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About the Author

Xenia Melzer

Xenia Melzer was born and raised in a small village in the South of Bavaria. As one of nature’s true chocoholics, she’s always in search of the perfect chocolate experience. So far, she’s had about a dozen truly remarkable ones. Despite having been in close proximity to the mountains all her life, she has never understood why so many people think snow sports are fun. There are neither chocolate nor horses involved and it’s cold by definition, so where’s the sense? She does not like beer either and has never been to the Oktoberfest – no quality chocolate there.

Even though her mind is preoccupied with various stories most of the time, Xenia has managed to get through school and university with surprisingly good grades. Right after school she met her one true love who showed her that reality is capable of producing some truly amazing love stories itself.

While she was having her two children, she started writing down the most persistent stories in her head as a way of relieving mommy-related stress symptoms. As it turned out, the stress-relief has now become a source of the same, albeit a positive one.

When she’s not writing, she translates the stories of other authors into German, enjoys riding and running, spending time with her kids, and dancing with her husband. If you want to contact her, please visit either her website, or write her an email.

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Repentance and Absolution by AE Lister

Book 2 in the Northern Horizons series

General Release Date: 15th November 2022

Word Count:  79,930
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 299

Genres:

ACTION AND ADVENTURE
BONDAGE AND BDSM
COWBOYS AND WESTERN
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
HISTORICAL

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Book Description

You can’t take back your sins. You can only hope for forgiveness.

Jimmy Downing traveled seven hundred sixty difficult and dangerous miles to bring Oscar Yates to Port Essington to find his uncle. When Jimmy saw the abandoned homestead Oscar had inherited, he envisioned a future for them there, as long as they could keep the true nature of their relationship a secret. But once the initial work is complete and they have a cozy living space and a stable for the livestock, Oscar and Jimmy face a long winter dealing with thoughts that have time and space to plague them.

Jimmy suffers nightmares of dark deeds committed in his past, while Oscar deals with trauma from his time in Dawson and his mistreatment at the hands of Spook. A new horse provides a distraction for Oscar and leads to new friendships and a break from their solitary existence, but a dangerous encounter exposes surprising truths about their nearest neighbors and a sense that their lives are being guided by forces outside their control.

Excerpt

Oscar was gone, and I couldn’t find him.

The brush surrounding the new homestead—if that’s what you could even call it—grew dense and completely impenetrable in some spots. A fella could easily get lost, especially a city fella who couldn’t tell an oak from a birch and fell o’er his own outsized feet on occasion. There were wolves in these parts that could kill a man Oscar’s size in an instant—not to mention the bears, coyotes and panthers.

I’d told him time and again not to go wandering around without me, to stay near the ramshackle rooms we were fixing up and not to go looking for whatever he thought he wanted to see.

The kid was trouble. Had been since I’d first laid eyes on him, back in Dawson City, and there wasn’t any way of taming him, much as I’d tried. I supposed, when it came down to it, I didn’t want to tame him any more than I’d wanted to smother the fire that kept us both warm at night and reared up inside me when he looked at me the way he did. He’d nigh burned me with a primal passion that I was still trying to control—or at least understand. It still didn’t make no sense how the two of us came together like we did. But there was no turning back now.

“Oscar!” I shouted into the trees, trying to see my way and take heed of any movement ahead of me. I’d searched all around the sorry excuse for a house that he’d inherited from his dead uncle, and he was nowhere to be found. So now, I headed into the brush toward the creek. I’d already checked the well and he wasn’t there, neither fallen into it nor trying to get water up for a drink. I didn’t know where he was, and I was beginning to panic.

“Oscar! D’you hear me? Get back here right now or I’m gonna tan your pretty hide so bad you won’t be going anywhere for a week!”

As I stepped past a big boulder, something caught my eye. T’was the peacock-blue frayed edge of a shawl, and I stopped in my tracks when I saw a familiar person standing there, looking off into the distance.

“Cal? Is that you?” I said.

But it couldn’t be Cal. Cal was back in Telegraph Creek, whispering scandalous things into the ears of men who paid for her time and attention. The person wearing the shawl turned with a languorous ease and smiled at me. T’was Cal sure enough, even though it couldn’t possibly be.

“Jimmy! My, I’d almost forgotten how handsome you were.”

I blushed, taking off my hat and giving her a puzzled look. “What’re you doing here? How did you get here?”

Cal simply smiled, the dimple in her cheek on the opposite side to Oscar’s. “Has that naughty boy wandered off again?”

She’d rouged and painted her face till there was no sign of the handsome boy underneath, the boy who was a girl for all intents and purposes, except for the tackle between her legs.

“Yes, he has,” I said. “And I’m gonna haul him o’er my knee when I find him.”

Cal laughed and pursed her lips. “Oh, I don’t think he minds that, do you?”

“He’ll mind it this time,” I promised. “And he’ll mind me.”

No matter what games we liked to play involving my hand on his behind, giving him a pretend walloping for being a brat, I’d give it to him this time—like I had once before when he’d wandered off and scared me half to death.

“You know which way he went?” I asked Cal, since I had nothing else to go by.

“There,” Cal said, pointing through the brush. “I heard a gunshot by the river.”

My blood went cold. Fuck. God only knew what he’d wandered into, and for a goddamn second, I almost fell to my knees.

In a moment I’d moved past Cal and I was running, tearing through the brush toward the river, terrified of what I’d find. The crack of a rifle pierced the silence, and it echoed for long minutes as my breaths ripped through my chest.

When I found him, if he hadn’t been shot or eaten by wolves, I was gonna kill him.

Just as I reached the edge of the brush, where it opened up onto the river, another shot echoed through the trees and I opened my eyes, gasping huge gulps of air and blinking at the darkness.

“Hey, hey, shhhh, it’s okay. It’s a nightmare. You’re dreamin’.”

Oscar’s shadow loomed above me in the darkness of the room that was barely a room—just a space with four walls and a fireplace, the fire banked now but the coals glowing red.

I grabbed him and pulled him down to me, hugging him so fierce that he squirmed and protested.

“Stop. You’re hurtin’ me. I can’t breathe.”

I loosened my hold a little so he wouldn’t try to get away, but t’was hard not to keep him in a death grip after that god-awful dream.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he said, clutching my shoulders.

“I couldn’t find you,” I whispered, my heart beating a drum in my chest. “I couldn’t find you.” I was breathless, even though I’d not left my bed.

“I was right here—right here in this bed beside you, all night long.”

I nodded against him, keeping him close to prove to myself he was here and he was all right—and so was I. His hair smelled of wood smoke and sweat, and I reckoned we could both use a wash.

“You need a bath,” I murmured, kissing him under his ear where it smelled of his own special musk that I loved.

He snorted. “So do you. I reckon we oughta change into fresh underwear, too, and wash these ones.”

I slid a hand under the blankets, popping the buttons of the flap of his union suit so’s I could skate my palm o’er the swell of his ass, making him squirm in a delicious way, his small, stiff cock pressing against me.

“Well, dammit, it sure is you, Oscar. No one else has a nubby so small and sweet what wants to pretend to be big enough to cause any mischief,” I said, teasing him the way he liked to be teased, so that he felt dainty and delicate and half the man I was. It had seemed strange at first and like he should be offended by that kind of talk. But he loved it, and that was a fact. And I didn’t question it at all no more.

Sure enough, he groaned and pressed his fingertips into my shoulders, rutting against me like a dog.

“Goddammit. What were you dreamin’ about? You were sayin’ my name then you said Cal. Was it scandalous?”

“No. T’was terrifyin’. You were lost, and I couldn’t find you.”

He pressed against me, his nubby rubbing against my thigh through the fabric of his union suit. We’d bought the sets of red flannel underwear when the weather turned right cold at the start of November. Guess we’d had enough of freezing our asses off on our journey and we wanted to be warm, even if it meant looking ridiculous. “Well, you did, didn’t you? You found me good, since I was right here all along.”

“That’s a fact. Thank the Lord,” I murmured, turning his face to mine and finding his lips in the darkness. He opened to me in that sweet way he had of assuring me there weren’t nothing I couldn’t do that he wouldn’t want, as far as any intimacy with his body went. We’d nigh explored every damned inch of each other by now, and I never could get enough of him. I wasn’t sure I ever would.

I pulled away from his mouth and nuzzled into his neck, just to sniff that scent of him I was so fond of. “I’m just so relieved you’re here and t’was all a dream.”

He relaxed into me and offered his long neck for my kisses and for me to run my nose along. The bit of stubble there did something to ignite me, and I lapped my tongue o’er his Adam’s apple, then bit it gently.

“Oh. Jimmy. Hell,” Oscar breathed. “It ain’t even dawn yet, and you wanna keep me awake?” He yawned.

“I’m sorry. Never mind. Just cuddle under these here covers with me. I need to know I got you.”

Oscar stifled another broad yawn. “You got me, all right, in every sense of that word. You prob’ly won’t want me after a few more months. I’m already a nuisance most of the time, ain’t I?”

I didn’t know if he was playing up being a brat or if he truly thought he was a nuisance.

“No, you’re just— My ma used to call it restlessness, when I couldn’t sit still. Said I’d grow out of it, and I guess I did.”

“Yeah? What if I never grow out of it, huh? What if I’ll always be like this?” Oscar said, snuggling into me, wiggling his ass, even though he’d just told me he wanted to sleep.

“Keep still. I’m tryin’ to go back to sleep, and you ain’t helpin’.”

“What if I’m always this restless?” he asked again in a whisper. “Will you still love me?”

I laughed. He was all that and more, this twenty-one-year-old man-child.

“I reckon I will. Can’t seem to help it,” I grumbled, as if me loving Oscar was an inconvenience rather than the miracle of a lifetime that had been wasted with broken men.

“Good,” he said, laying his head down on the feather pillow. “I reckon I’ll still love you, too.”

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About the Author

AE Lister

AE Lister/Elizabeth Lister is a Canadian non-binary author with a vivid imagination and a head full of unique and interesting characters. They have published 10 books, one of which received an Honorable Mention from the National Leather Association – International for excellence in SM/Leather/Fetish writing.

“Sensual and visceral BDSM.” – Amazon.ca

Find out more about AE Lister at their website, and follow them on Instagram and Patreon.

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Wild Cowboy by Gemma Snow

Book 2 in the The Sinclair Seven series

General Release Date: 15th November 2022

Word Count: 86,886
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 317

Genres:

BONDAGE AND BDSM
CONTEMPORARY
COWBOYS AND WESTERN
EROTIC ROMANCE

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Book Description

Submitting to this wild cowboy is one hell of an adventure…

Environmental journalist Reece Prescott never expected to see the mysterious woman from the Turkish marketplace again, so to meet Morgan Tempest in the middle of a summer storm at the top of the Blackleaf Mountains knocks him sideways.

Their instant connection blows him away…and makes him want to return to The Ranch, the secret club he owns with six of his friends. It’s the closest thing he has to home and the place he always finds himself avoiding when the anniversary of the worst day of his life rolls around. For Morgan Tempest, though, he might just be able to handle it.

Morgan has spent the last year reclaiming her independence and rebuilding her business. She’s in control and saying yes to life now. That includes the wild cowboy she meets in the mountains…and The Ranch, a place where everything she thought she knew about her boundaries—and desires—is challenged.

But before Reece and Morgan can explore everything the other has to offer, the real world comes crashing in, bringing with it climate disasters, armed mercenaries, corrupt politicians and their own troublesome pasts.

If they can survive all that, then maybe, just maybe, they’ll be ready for that next great adventure—falling in love.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of anal sex and outdoor sex. There are scenes of on-page violence including a gunshot wound, and mentions of emotionally abusive relationship.

Excerpt

Pain sizzled through her hand as acutely as if she had high-fived a skillet on the fire, and Morgan pulled back and shook out her palm. Montana got hot. She was a California girl, tried and true, and shame on her, but she’d been expecting something of a nip in the air, not the scorching hundred-degree weather that made the limestone rock face almost too hot to touch.

She glanced up, the sun partially obscured by the brim of her hat under her climbing helmet. It was midday, and her skin was coated in layers of sweat and dust and…

And she wasn’t going to give up, damn it. She was on this mission not because she loved the burning ache in her shoulders, not because she could actually sleep out under the stars without the claustrophobic ceiling boxing her in overhead. She was out here for all those reasons and so many more. Because she deserved a life without fear or boundaries holding her back. Out here in the open air, she was good enough just as she was. Morgan Tempest, not afraid of anything.

Yeah, right.

That part, the not jumping at the sound of a glass tumbling off a tray in a busy restaurant, the not clenching her fists until her fingernails dug into the flesh at her palms when she heard a man yell in the park, that was going to have to come. The not being afraid didn’t happen overnight, didn’t happen in a year. The only thing she could do was to keep climbing, and right now that was to be taken literally.

She swung her arm up and grabbed the next hold with ease. One arm, one foot, hand, leg. All her muscles burned and sweat slid down her back, sticking her tank top to her skin, skin she knew was catching too much sun in the late afternoon.

Easy-access sunscreen.

She added it to her list—the list in her mind, at least, because she hadn’t come up with easy-access notebooks just yet.

Practically speaking, this trip was a way to take the company—her company—to the next level. She was supposed to be making every note she could about what the modern woman wanted on her next trip around the world. How could she stay safe, engaged, and fully herself, while also tackling the tall, distant mountains?

It was a hell of a question to try to answer, and not just for the business. But if the last six months—hell, the last nine years—had taught Morgan anything, it was that staying at the bottom of the mountain wasn’t necessarily safer just because it was easier.

One step. One foot. One hand. One arm.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a flash of white, brighter than the limestone, and she realized there was another climber resting on a small ledge maybe fifty feet above her, his feet hanging off the edge like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Wouldn’t that be something? To be carefree again.

Soon enough, the sun still beating against her skin, her muscles burning, her hands calloused and rough against the even rougher stone, she made it to that small ledge. She found her water bottle first, downing a few large gulps of water, then leaned back against the cool, shaded rock and looked out over the edge.

Fancy that, she could just sit on a mountain’s edge and watch the world around her.

So, Morgan did. She watched the clouds, watched the tips of her toes, watched the little ants climbing along the rock like they weren’t nearly three hundred feet in the air.

As she was watching the ants, Morgan noticed something tucked away in the shadow of the rock. A small black notebook. She picked it up. The spine was thick and the pages had clearly gotten wet at some point. There were small stickers on the bottom, from different campsites across the country, and the familiar campfire logo she recognized as One Leap Magazine. Whatever was in the notebook, it was clearly loved, and she tucked it into her backpack, hoping for the chance to run into the man who had been climbing here before her. Perhaps she would even make a friend on this trip if she did.

I’m seeing things.

It must have been the glare overhead, the bright summer sun bouncing off the limestone and frying his brain. Or maybe he’d been abducted by aliens in his sleep and discarded in the wilds of Montana without his memories. Whatever it was, Reece knew it was something because there was no reasonable, logical, or rational explanation for why he was seeing the woman from the marketplace here, three years after his trip to Istanbul, three years and nearly six thousand miles.

He grabbed for a hold and secured his grip on the stone. At least that was real. He could always count on the sensation of stone in his hand, of dirt below his feet, of the wide-open sky high above. No matter how many cities he had lived in, no matter how many trains, planes, and automobiles he had taken over the course of his career, it always came back to him and the great wild wilderness.

All that explained why he was out climbing, this week of all weeks. But it didn’t explain why he hadn’t just picked up his damned phone and texted Caleb and Dante and Van when he had flown back into Bozeman or why he hadn’t dropped them a line in the three days he’d been adventuring around the state. And it sure as shit didn’t explain why he was seeing the woman from the marketplace here, of all goddamned places on earth.

It wasn’t the first time. In the years since that first trip, she had become something of a talisman. He knew it was probably creepy as hell, but when the sight of something beautiful and safe—the sight of a woman he would never see again—kept his panic attacks at bay, then he didn’t ask questions. All he knew was that when his skin got itchy and his neck got hot, as it had done so much more that first year, he could think of the stranger’s smile in the market, and he could feel the ground under his feet again.

Even though he had caught sight of her in his dreams as well, weaving in and out of marketplaces in Morocco and Santiago, showing up in the maze of places he had spent his life exploring, the sight of her had never precipitated a panic attack. She always came after, and she always grounded him before things got worse.

Back to the beginning, what the hell is she doing here?

Reece chanced a look down the mountain’s edge. The climb wasn’t the hardest he’d ever been on, but it pushed him enough to forget about the date on the calendar and it was sufficiently challenging to keep most other climbers away.

Not her.

It was probably some innocent brunette woman who was just trying to get her climb in for the day and he had gone ahead and projected a boatload of issues onto her. Thinking about her meant not thinking about other things and so he placed his foot in the next hold and picked up speed. Icarus, reaching for the sun.

The sun that was, unfortunately, starting to settle itself on the far end of the mountain range. He probably had another hour of good light and he wanted to get to some of the hiking trails to set up camp before it got dark.

The shadow of a cloud fell over the canyon and for a brief moment, Reece wondered if his dark mood had summoned it into existence. But when he glanced up, he realized that the near-white summer sunshine was suddenly nowhere to be found, and that dark and, admittedly, very ominous looking cloud wasn’t the only one in the sky.

Stay focused.

If he knew one thing about survival, it was that it didn’t do a guy any favors to be caught thinking about something else when he was six hundred feet in the air on a five-point-eight climb. Above him, a crack of lightning shot across the sky, illuminating the valley below in sharp, jagged shadows that struck like predator’s teeth.

And that was his cue to very much get back on the ground. He glanced up, only to get smacked in the face with a sheet of rain, then he glanced back down. Up was only another twenty feet or so. While traveling had taken him to the edges of the world, to cities and villages he couldn’t have pointed out on a map in high school, he knew the Montana weather. He’d been a ranch kid, after all, and had been caught in more than one deluge brought on by the land of Big Sky. He knew how to weather this.

More lightning, and with it, the top of the mountain came into his view, just ten feet more, just five. The holds on the rock were already growing nearly too slippery to grip and his expensive climbing shoes didn’t have the same traction on the limestone surface as they had just a few minutes earlier. He was going to have to hustle his ass to get to the top without falling down the sheer cliff face and hoping someone caught him in time.

Which only served to remind him that he wasn’t the only person on the mountain.

Fuck. Fuck. He should have just gone straight to the Sinclair Ranch and left his demons to fend for themselves, but he hadn’t. He’d come out adventuring, and now he was going to have to look the woman in the face who bore too striking a resemblance to his one safehold during panic attacks. That was cool and normal and definitely not the stuff that scared women away from weird guys in the mountains.

One more hand hold. One more foot hold. Then he was pulling himself the last few slippery feet, grasping onto the permanent bolts wedged in the rock and sliding along on his belly until he was able to crawl away from the edge and finally come to a standing position. The rain was coming down harder now and the entire sky was cloaked in those rough dark clouds that looked like an encroaching dark sea tide. He reached for the flashlight at his belt and shone the light down the canyon, looking for any sign of the woman who had been climbing below him.

She wasn’t there. Either she had decided it would be a safer bet to rappel down the mountain or she hadn’t existed at all, and Reece was truly and officially manifesting his fear into reality and definitely not handling things as well as he had thought he was.

A few feet down the rockface, he heard a noise, and he turned the flashlight to see hands popping up over the mountain’s edge. He moved as quickly and safely as he could, until he was able to kneel at the mountaintop.

“Do you need help?” he asked, shouting to be heard over the roar of the storm. When he had first caught sight of her, he’d been more than impressed by the skill and speed with which she had been traversing the mountainside, but the rules of the game changed during a Montana storm.

“Just a hand up,” she called back. “It’s hard to get a grip.”

That was an understatement. The entire rockface where he kneeled was beginning to catch water and pour over the edge into the canyon below. He reached out and she gripped his hand, their connection slippery as they maneuvered up to the flat surface at the edge.

“I’ve got a quick-up tent,” he called. “We can both fit.” It was nearly impossible to see more than her silhouette in the storm, the rounded head of her helmet and the ridges of her backpack, but he could catch the nod.

“There’s a clearing up ahead.”

Thankfully, she was right. The short walk was difficult against the rain, but they were soon in a clearing of trees and dirt that would make it possible to secure the tent. The large branches took some of the brunt of the wind, as well, and made it easier to set the tent up, despite the howling sound that reverberated through the canyons like an angry echo.

And through it all, through the grabbing for the tent bag and the frenzied movements as they both grasped the edge and began to secure it down with ropes and bungees between the trees, he couldn’t help but lean into the adrenaline. Sure, there’d been a fair amount of running away in his life, but he loved adventure for adventure’s sake, and there was nothing more heart-pounding or invigorating than setting up an emergency camp during a breakthrough storm on a mountaintop with a stranger.

He tossed his pack into the tent to keep it from getting wetter then checked the cords securing it again. With two of them inside, it wouldn’t blow away, but there was an incline to the ground, and he didn’t want to risk anything pulling or tearing or tugging. The half-dozen stakes and the two extra ropes were a necessary precaution.

“It’s safe,” he called to this strange woman who had somehow entered his path right in the middle of the scene. “You can get inside.”

She hesitated, as if only just realizing that she had no idea who he was or whether this was a good idea. Because of course she hesitated. He had more than half a foot on her and, though it was clear she was one hell of an athlete, he was a big guy. He would fucking hesitate too if he was in her shoes—natural disaster be damned.

“I promise I’m not a serial killer,” he shouted.

“That’s exactly what a serial killer would say,” she shouted back. Above them, thunder rolled across the sky, a booming, cracking sound that truly seemed as if it would shatter the world below. That seemed to help her make up her mind. “But if you promise.”

She disappeared into the tent, and with one more look to the mountain’s edge beyond, Reece followed.

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About the Author

Gemma Snow

Gemma Snow loves high heat, high adventures and high expectations for her heroes! Her stories are set in the past and present, from the glittering streets of Paris to cowboy-rich Triple Diamond Ranch in Wolf Creek, Montana.

In her free time, she loves to travel, and spent several months living in a fourteenth-century castle in the Netherlands. When not exploring the world, she likes dreaming up stories, eating spicy food, driving fast cars and talking to strangers. She recently moved to Nashville with a cute redheaded cat and a cute redheaded boy.

You can take a look at Gemma’s website and blog and also follow her on Facebook and Instagram.

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Title:  Haint Nothin Like Me

Series: Haints Misbehaving #3

Author: J Hali Steele

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: Nov 11

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 36 pages

Genre: Erotica – Male/Male

Synopsis

Warning: This is a Razor’s Edge Paranormal Erotica Story. Expect limited plot and character development, and lots of paranormal heat. If you’re looking for a lengthy plot driven erotic romance, this is not it!
Shane Taylor stares at the tiny, odd smelling box on his table — the same one he pocketed and sold a week earlier. Curious this time, he breaks it open. Smoke smelling of cedar circulates his room and when a shape steps through fog, Shane stares into eyes overflowing with…lust!

Bad Badgett craves the thief who stole the tiny wooden container housing his haint. When the scoundrel offers shelter, he has no qualms about climbing in the man’s bed and giving the bastard everything he could imagine. Promiscuous as hell, Bad can’t wait to satisfy other men before trying on their bodies and maybe, just maybe sharing them with his new lover.

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Meet the Author

J. Hali Steele wishes she could grow fur, wings, or fangs, so she can stay warm, fly, or just plain bite the crap out of… Well, she can’t do those things but she wishes she could!

J. Hali’s a multi-published and Amazon bestselling author of Romance in Paranormal, Fantasy, and Contemporary worlds which include ReligErotica and LGBTQ stories where humans, vampyres, shapeshifters and angels collide — they collide a lot! When J. Hali’s not writing or reading, she can be found snuggled in front of the TV with a cat in her lap and a cup of coffee.

Growl and roar — it’s okay to let the beast out. — J. Hali Steele

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