Hellfire by January Bain

Book 4 in the Sin City Wolf series

General Release Date: 29th November 2022

Word Count:  59,066
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 231

Genres:

BILLIONAIRE
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
PARANORMAL
THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE
WERESHIFTERS

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Book Description

Forbidden love.

Amara St. Clair is just out for a rare night of fun on the Vegas Strip. But when she discovers her fun-loving side in the Glitter Palace casino, a life-altering altercation with a deadly ancient vampire leaves her lying unconscious in an alley near the famous casino.

Doctor, geneticist and genealogy expert Dante Luceres, dedicated to research that will keep his fellow werewolves safe and healthy, is attending a mandatory yearly event of the House of Luceres. Coming across Amara, he saves her life, though vampires and werewolves are forbidden from interfering with each other in the supernatural world. There are dire consequences for interfering with another supe’s domain, and he expects that soon both the vampires and the werewolves will be after them, but he can’t leave the beautiful, vivacious little human to suffer alone.

Drawn to each other, the pair must hide from the world. But with everyone against them, including Dante’s clan and an evil vampire hellbent on having Amara for his own, how can they find a path to a shared future…and true happiness?

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of mild violence, kidnap and abduction, as well as on-page violence.

Excerpt

I ripped off my headphones and threw them down beside my computer. The terrible words from the medical thesis that I had just started to edit for a grad student made me want to run screaming into the streets.

Calm down. Breathe.

The name of the disease that had taken my mother too early mocked me. I too carried the RPS25 gene, the hallmark of ALS—amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, or Lou Gehrig’s disease, and I didn’t need reminding of the inevitable while I worked, though I did require the steady money from the various departments at the university that sent an ongoing stream of journal articles, papers and dissertations my way.

I had acquired the contacts during my time working in the administration department and I was grateful for them, needing to be self-employed at home to help my mom during those final months.

Crap. This moment had to happen sooner or later. I lived with the lurking symptoms every day of my uncharmed life. I thought I’d be better prepared for the inevitable. Apparently not.

“And I need a break from this,” I said, jumping up from my office chair.

“I love you, Amara!” My parrot Rainbow began to prance back and forth on his perch, his dance moves timed in perfect sync with his words. Talented guy.

His colorful plumage of a deep blue head, orange-yellow chest and green cape, a hallmark of the little Lorikeet, gave my sweet baby a surreal appearance against the dying of the sunlight behind him.

Of course, I’d taught him to say, I love you, Amara since in my lonely existence, exacerbated by the COVID-19 pandemic raging outside, I probably would never hear the words said by an actual human being. For me, this was as good as it got. But at least the restrictions had been easing of late, meaning I could join my fellow humans once more if enticed.

My cell phone rang and I checked the number. Aw, Shay, the best person in the world to take a person’s mind off their troubles…mostly because she had so much stuff going on in her own insanely busy life.

“Hey, girlfriend, what say we get all gussied up and hit the town running? I got the entire weekend free to be me! My sister’s arrived this time as locally advertised. She’s promising to look after Dad until the sun rises over Vegas Monday morning.”

I hesitated, though I longed for some forget-the-crappy-world time. How did a person who just turned twenty-five in August manage to find her way to such a boring existence? If it wasn’t for Rainbow, I’d go mad locked in my small apartment with just my computer for company.

That, and the endless line of work that needed editing with the ever-diminishing hope I might actually get to write my own stories one day. A minor in literature looked to go to waste at this juncture. “I don’t know… I got this thesis due next week. I promised the guy and I can’t afford a penalty for being late.”

“You always finish on time, Amara. One night off isn’t going to hurt. Please, I need this like the earth needs the rain, like the sun needs the stars, like the—”

“Okay, if you lay off the literary devices, I’ll bite. Where do you want to meet?” I handfed Rainbow pieces of cut-up apple while we talked, enjoying the bright alertness of his rich blue-and-red-rimmed eyes. We shared the same eye color, though mine were not normally red-tinged, unless I’d indulged in too many apple martinis.

“I’ve been dying to try out the Glitter Palace casino. I’m hearing their karaoke bar is insane. And free drinks for the ladies,” Shay said, her voice lilting with her trademark enthusiasm. “Of course, I can’t guarantee I’ll be acting like a lady after a few drinks, if you get my drift.”

I got her drift. Shay might not be going home alone like yours truly after a plethora of Singapore Slings, her drink of choice. “If you promise me I just get to listen and not sing.”

“No! Just one duet, please!” You can’t deny your best friend one measly song. Please, please with candy cane elves sprinkled on top.”

I laughed. Shay knew how to work me—hand-feed me a new image to fire my imagination. Candy cane elves indeed. Last time it was miniature chocolate marshmallow bears. “Fine. But only one. Now I gotta go if I’m going to have time for a shower and a bit of primping.”

“Sure. Meet me at the entrance at nine. I’ll be the one grinning ear-to-ear and doing a highland fling with an entire weekend off.”

“That would be fun to see.” I imagined my tall, thin friend high-stepping over crossed swords, her curly fair hair, the polar opposite of my extra-long ebony-blue locks, flying in the wind.

“And wear something red and showstopping.”

“Maybe, if I can be bothered to shave my legs. Later.”

I hit End on my iPhone and turned to Rainbow. “Can you do a night alone or should I call a babysitter?”

“Yes, I love you, Amara!”

“Your wish is my command. How about we see if Jeannie from upstairs is available on short notice?”

I glanced back at my computer and sighed. I loved novels that feature supernatural creatures that didn’t exist…my decadent escape from my boring existence. I’d pay that debt forward one day, if I could find the time—writing a slew of genre romances featuring über-bad boys tamed by the heroines.

“Too bad vampires aren’t a real thing. Not having to worry about getting sick would be sweet. Can you say fangbanger, Rainbow?”

“Can you say fangbanger, Rainbow?”

His words lifted my spirits. “Guess you can, sweetie.” Maybe I should be more careful of what I said around my exuberant tweetie friend. Saying the wrong thing at the wrong time might end up biting me in the ass. Well, not like anyone ever visited me other than takeout service. I had them on speed dial. And the local liquor store.

“Time to call Jeannie.” I scrolled down to her cell number and clicked on it.

“Hmm, no answer.” Now what? I hated to leave Rainbow alone, thought in reality it was a common practice and it would only be for a few hours. Maybe I should cancel? But Shay seldom got a night off from looking after her dad. She deserved one. I couldn’t let her down after getting her hopes up. She wasn’t the type to head out on her own, no matter the brave front she always plastered on.

“How about I leave some music on? Do you want light jazz, showtunes, Christmas songs or classic rock?”

“Christmas, Christmas, Christmas.” Rainbow bopped up and down, seed flying everywhere. That was one thing about birds—they were messy little creatures. Endearing, but messy.

“Perfect. We have exactly the same taste, kiddo.” I was a big fan of Christmas movies all year long. I quickly turned my iPod on and found the perfect albums, setting them to play in a loop. Okay, time to get a move on.

I ended up taking the time to shave my legs, wash and condition my hair and put on makeup. Drying my long hair, I debated on curling it or not, deciding in the end smooth and sleek was easier, before pulling the red number Shay had requested from my closet. Did I dare? It was over-the-top for me. Cut low and short, riding my thighs.

If not now, when. I’m only going to be young once, right?

“Okay.” I approached the cage, my wrap and purse in hand, ready to head for the elevator that would take me downstairs. I’d already called for an Uber to the casino. “You be a good boy and I’ll give you some peaches tomorrow.”

“Peaches now. Peaches now.”

“No way, bud, I don’t want my dress covered in fruit. Not a good look.”

Rainbow was a notoriously messy eater, spilling and spitting food all over the place. But then what did I have to do other than look after him? A good friend is hard to find. And what was the other part? Oh yes, a hard friend is good to find too. I sighed again. I couldn’t remember the last time I got laid.

In the lobby, I enjoyed the moment of looking good when Gary, our doorman, gave a low whistle. Everyone liked the guy. He always had a kind word to say and was full of cheer.

“Special night, Amara?” he asked, coming out from behind his desk.

“Meeting a friend at the casino.”

“You be careful. Full moon’s rising. Means trouble’s on the way.”

I shivered. It wasn’t like our amiable doorman to be so maudlin. “You okay, Gary?” I glanced at him. His round face with the enviable dimples looked a bit paler than usual.

“Yeah. Not sure why I said that. Must be that song I was listening to earlier. I forget what it’s called.” He scratched the back of his neck. “You have a good time tonight, you hear. You meeting up with Shay, by any chance?”

“Good guess. Oh, there’s my Uber now.”

Gary opened the door for me, adding a small bow. “Say hello to Shay for me.”

“Will do.” I hurried toward the compact car, praying I wouldn’t twist an ankle in my unaccustomed high heels. But sometimes a gal has to look good and flats don’t do my petite frame much justice.

“Where to?” the driver asked, twisting around in his seat to give me a look.

“Glitter Palace, please.”

It was a short ride and I was soon standing on the street, waiting for my best friend to put in an appearance. Shay was notorious for running late. But I totally understood. Her dad always managed to need one last thing from her, even if her sister was there to help. I glanced around. Other people were meeting up and joining with friends before heading in. It warmed my heart. Social isolation sucked even worse than being height-challenged.

I pulled a mask from my purse in preparation for going inside. I was about to slip it on when a man sidled up, his eyes glittering strangely in the light from the marquee. His glance locked with mine with the kind of supreme overconfidence I could only dream of. But something about him sent my hackles into overdrive. Every instinct said he was the kind of creature I would move heaven and earth to stay right the hell away from. A whiff of something ancient and rotten confirmed it as he passed by.

My heart slamming, I worked to ignore the off-putting effect he had on me, but I took it seriously. Always pay attention to your gut instinct. It can save your life. Gary’s warning in the lobby came back to me in that instant. I busied myself with putting on my mask, not wanting to give the stranger any encouragement. Go away.

He leaned his head toward me just as he passed by, whispering in my ear. “I’ll be keeping an eye out for you, inside, sweetheart. You’re just my type.”

I reacted like he’d spilled fire down my dress. “Get lost. You’re definitely not my type.” I held the ground, staring him down. He seemed confused by my reaction. Good. I hated being singled out by a man I instinctively didn’t trust. Women. We get to choose who we go with. It’s not up to the male of the species.

My missile worked. The guy walked off, not bothering to respond.

I took a few deep breaths to calm myself, feeling satisfied I had handled myself well.

“Hey, Amara, you’re looking good, girl!” Shay said with a beaming smile as she came striding up.

“So are you,” I complimented her right back. And she did look great, her curls a cascade of loveliness down her back, her midnight-blue lace dress a marvel of creation the way it hugged every curve.

“Sorry I’m late. Dad wasn’t too happy tonight with me leaving.” She pulled a mask out of her purse and put it on.

“No worries.”

We took our time going inside, trying to catch up before we hit the casino. But we never would. That was the best part of being with Shay. Our depth of understanding of each other meant there was never an end to the conversation.

We found a choice table in the karaoke room, ordered our drinks from the friendly waitress then sat back to check out the scene. Singing was one of the few pleasures we both shared. Shay was much better than I was, but I could harmonize and keep us from looking too shabby.

“You guys here for the karaoke?” the waitress asked in a cheery tone as she placed our drinks in front of us.

“Yup. What’s the money tonight?”

“A thousand dollars for first place.”

“Wow, what’s the occasion?” I asked. That was a lot of money for singing a song, if a person wasn’t a professional. Of course, that meant the competition would be stiff tonight. We’d never win. But the entertainment value just went through the roof.

“Semi-finals and the owners wanting to get more people in here, you know, since COVID reared its ugly head.”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

“You don’t have to wear the mask when you sing, if you have proof of vaccination on you?”

I nodded and pulled out my phone. “Here you go.”

Shay did likewise and we were all set.

An icicle of dread silvered down my spine. There was that creepy guy from outside again, staring at me from an alcove nearby. The look in his eyes made me pause. It was so ancient and cruel. If I didn’t know vampires weren’t real, I would think this guy could be one.

I had instantly disliked him outside and the feeling was growing stronger by the second. Stay the fuck away from me.

I shot the idea as best I could across the room at him, narrowing my eyes with dislike. He raised his drink at me as if offering a toast. Or asking if I wanted a drink? I shook my head—a firm no—and turned away. The sense of dread that seeing him again had brought on annoyed me. I worked to keep all my focus on my friend. I was safe here, right, surrounded by a growing crowd of people?

Full moon be damned. I wasn’t letting that asshole ruin my evening. An image seared my brain at that second. One of hellfire, of pain and ruin beyond belief. Then it was gone, leaving a trail of discomfort in its wake.

What the hell is up with the universe tonight?

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About the Author

January Bain

January Bain has wished on every falling star, every blown-out birthday candle and every coin thrown in a fountain to be a storyteller. To share the tales of high adventure, mysteries, and full-blown thrillers she has dreamed of all her life. The story you now have in your hands is the compilation of a lot of things manifesting itself for this special series. Hundreds of hours spent researching the unusual and the mundane have come together to create a series that features strong women who don’t take life too seriously, wild adventures full of twists and unforeseen turns, and hot complicated men who aren’t afraid to take risks. She can only hope the stories of her beloved Brass Ringers will capture your imagination as much as they did hers when she wrote them.

If you are looking for January Bain, you can find her hard at work every morning without fail in her office with two furry babies trying to prove who does a better job of guarding the doorway. And, of course, she’s married to the most romantic man! Who once famously replied to her inquiry about buying fresh flowers for their home every week, “Give me one good reason why not?” Leaving her speechless and knocking her head against the proverbial wall for being so darn foolish. She loves flowers.

If you wish to connect in the virtual world, she is easily found on Facebook, Twitter and writes a weekly blog about her journey on Blogger. Oh, and she loves to talk books…

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Famous Last by Brian Lancaster

General Release Date: 29th November 2022

Word Count: 92,304
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 366

Genres:

CELEBRITIES
CHRISTMAS
COMEDY AND HUMOUR
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
HOLIDAYS

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Book Description

One starry, starry night, romance blossoms during Christmas lockdown.

One glacial Friday night in late October, Spencer K. Wyrrell—Squirrel—sits hidden behind an evergreen bush, freezing his arse off on a stone bench in the deserted twentieth-floor rooftop garden of his boss’s London flat. Taking a break from volunteering to show social-distanced guests around her penthouse gallery of abstract art, he is waiting with an ice bucket and a bottle of champagne for the arrival of his habitually unpunctual colleague and best friend, Bev. But when the balcony door eventually slides open, the person who steps out is not his friend at all but the smoking-hot celebrity and chat-show host, Marshall J. Highlander. Unsure what to do, Spencer stays put and overhears Highlander’s private call. A newspaper is threatening to publish nude photographs of him and an ex-boyfriend from a holiday in France.

After more calls are made, an eerie silence descends on the rooftop. When a curious Spencer peers through the evergreen plant, he notices Highlander has climbed up onto the small wall surrounding the garden, looking out to the River Thames. In a moment of panic, Spencer decides to show himself, because, celebrity or not, everyone is only human and, as his mother has always drummed into him, most problems can be softened with well-chosen words, a little understanding, and a hug tight enough to make your eyes water.

And on that starry, starry night, an unexpected romance blossoms between two unlikely souls during a time of Christmas lockdown.

Excerpt

Rising from London’s busy River Thames, the maritime metropolitan symphony combined with the constant rumble of Friday evening traffic from surrounding roads reverberated around the rooftop garden. Add to that the rapid gunfire of rotor blades from a helicopter passing overhead, and, as impossible as it may have seemed, Spencer Wyrrell overheard every perfectly enunciated word.

Bundled up on a two-seater stone bench tucked away in the corner of Muriel Moresby’s penthouse roof garden, he had been alone when he’d first ventured out through the glass door some fifteen minutes before. Nobody else had been courageous enough to brave the bitterly cold weather, not even diehard smokers. Thankfully, floor-to-ceiling vertical blinds in slate grey covered the windows, closing off the toasty penthouse interior from the small garden of concrete statues and evergreen flora.

Freezing his arse off in the brutal late October air, Spencer’s original sparkling masterplan had quickly begun to lose its gleam. Placed next to him, an ice bucket stacked with unmelted ice cubes, an open bottle of vintage Dom Perignon and two crystal flutes awaited the arrival of his partner in crime, colleague Bev. After two hours of helping things run smoothly in the socially distanced exhibition, she had volunteered him to smuggle out the bottle while she finished off schmoozing friends of their boss, the snooty investment banking couple with the matching Versace face masks. Initially they had approached him about three of the paintings for sale, and after he had matched them up with the artist to secure the deal, Bev had taken over. Having managed to avoid any of the other waiting guests, he thought he’d won the better part of the bargain. He was certainly grateful to be away from earnest discussions about abstract artwork that, frankly, he had no idea about or interest in.

And when the patio door had slid open—after the lenses of his glasses had finally de-misted—the person stepping through had been not Bev but someone entirely unexpected. A someone who had peered around furtively to make sure he was alone before removing his mask and pulling out his smartphone.

And there Spencer sat, slowly turning into a human ice popsicle. All he wanted now was to be somewhere else, preferably warmer—the Caribbean might be nice—instead of sitting hugging himself, scrunched up and cowering behind a tall concrete jardinière, wishing the earth would swallow him whole. Or perhaps a sudden time corridor would open up and he could be transported back thirty minutes to before he’d made the imprudent decision to step outside. And definitely before he’d inadvertently overheard the telephone conversation of the smoking-hot celebrity, Marshall J. Highlander.

“Am I speaking in foreign tongues?” came the stern but sexy voice again, a deep baritone and eminently listenable. “As I’ve told you already. No comment. Which of those two words are you having difficulty with?”

Unable to help himself, Spencer lowered his mask and breathed heat onto the frozen fingers of one hand before dragging down branches of the juniper bush and peering at the man’s back. Standing poised and confident, with his trademark deep brown hair styled with wisps of grey drawn back from the temple, he appeared iconic, heroic almost. In real life, his height became evident. He was significantly taller than Spencer’s five-seven. Dressed in beige woollen slacks and an expensive silk jacket of dark chocolate covering a caramel-coloured roll-neck sweater, he epitomised the type of model adorning the cover of any number of men’s fashion magazines. As Spencer watched, mesmerised, Highlander reached his free hand behind himself, fisted the back of his trouser belt, and in doing so, lifted the bottom of his jacket to showcase his magnificent arse. Unlike many big names Spencer had met—and there had been a steady stream in and out of their magazine office—Highlander looked even more stunning in the flesh. He made an effort to take care of himself, and had cultured a calm, capable, wholly masculine persona, no doubt the result of spending many hours in front of a television camera. But unlike some of those egotistical here today, gone tomorrow personalities, Highlander’s magnetism reputedly ran more than skin deep. And right now his trademark honeyed voice, which had in equal parts charmed and challenged tyrants the world over, carried a stinging warning.

“And if you print a single one, you and your newspaper will go down in flames on a Hindenburg scale, slapped with more injunctions than even your blood-sucking owner can wriggle out of. That much I promise you.”

In the silence that followed, Spencer hoped Highlander had finished and would return inside. After a few moments, he peeped through the greenery and saw the man staring out over the Thames, raising the phone to his ear once again.

“Darcy. Hi. I’m good. Well, actually, no, I’m not. Look, I just had that little shit of a hack Wentworth from the Tribute on the phone. They have photos of Joe and me in the south of France from five years ago. Explicit, he says. Threatening to go to print Sunday. They’re obviously desperate for news right now. Yes, I’m fully aware of that. No, of course I didn’t, and before you ask, there is no way Joe would have… No, Darce. Joe would never do that to me. He’s not like that. Because I do. Okay, okay, I’ll call him. But in the meantime, what do you suggest I—? Would you? I was hoping you’d say that. You’re a sweetheart. I knew I could count on you. Sorry, say that again. Oh, at some art exhibit and benefit for Mongolian orphans. Muriel Moresby’s place. We’re being herded around two-by-two like Noah’s bloody ark. Crowd’s as dull as a duchess, but I know the charity organisers personally. Probably sneak out soon. No, it’s okay, I’ll get a black cab. You don’t need to do that. Okay then, if you’re sure. A chat and a drink would be wonderful. It’s on the Embankment overlooking the river. I’ll text the full address. See you in an hour. Bye, Darce. And thanks again.”

Spencer let the branch go, hoping Highlander had finished. But he felt intrigued at what he’d overheard. Highlander was gay? And was that common knowledge? It sounded like the poor guy had a lot on his plate right now. If only he would go inside and deal with matters. Instead, he appeared to be making another call. Spencer folded his arms across his chest to try to retain some warmth. He hadn’t wanted to come to the party in the first place. Muriel, aka Her Royal Highness, had only invited her key office staff to beef up numbers and work the room. Even the word ‘invited’ was a stretch. Refusal or prior engagement excuses would not have been tolerated.

“Joey. Yes. No, it’s not about that. Look, I need to ask. Did you sell photographs of us to the Tribute? From our holiday in St Cezaire in France? No, I’m not accusing you, I’m asking. Did you—? There’s no need to shout! I’m just trying to figure out how they managed to get hold of—”

As Spencer watched, Highlander expelled a deep, steamy sigh and his head fell forward, his chin hitting his chest. After a few moments of silence, his voice became soft, the anguished sound tugging at Spencer’s heart.

“Why? Why would you do that, Joe? Christ, what did I do to you? Did I really hurt you that—? Joe? Joey? Shit!”

Once again, a lull came from the railing. Had the call ended? When Spencer peered over, he saw the man’s shoulders shaking and heard gentle sobs squeezing through the hand closed over Highlander’s face. Once again, Spencer prayed hard for intervention. Maybe a member of the crew of the USS Enterprise’s transporter room would randomly lock onto his coordinates and beam him somewhere—anywhere—else. Or maybe if Bev would simply stumble out onto the balcony at that moment to provide the perfect comedy movie moment, Highlander would no longer consider himself alone and would leave. When everything fell silent, Spencer relaxed against the bench. Until he heard a soft scraping sound and an uncomfortable feeling nagged at him, prompting him to take another peek.

Highlander had climbed onto the concrete ledge housing the waist-high railing, stepped across, and now stood facing out to the river—and his doom. An odd sensation overcame Spencer then. A sudden rush of calm and an overwhelming emotion he had never experienced before had him jumping up from the bench. In doing so, he dislodged a glass champagne flute from the ice bucket, which shattered on the balcony floor, causing Highlander to spin around, grabbing the railing for support.

“Please don’t,” called Spencer gently and calmly, puzzled at the strength of his voice and suddenly aware that he had ripped off his mask entirely and stood in full view of the man.

One of Highlander’s feet slipped slightly, probably due to the residual frost. Fortunately, both hands maintained their firm grasp on the railing.

“You’re such an inspiration, Mr Highlander. If you’re about to do what I think you’re doing, it would be wrong in so many ways. Please. People look up to you. I do. And what is it you said on your show? ‘No problems are insurmountable in this world. Dialogue always helps even if only to highlight and appreciate our differences.’ You said those exact words to the Dalai Lama.”

“I say a lot of things—”

“And people listen. I say a lot of things and people don’t take the blindest bit of notice. Even my cat ignores me.”

Despite the potential gravity of the situation, Highlander’s shoulders shook slightly and Spencer heard a gentle chuckle.

“Tell you what, Mr Highlander—”

“Marshall.”

“Tell you what, Marshall, come and share a glass of champagne with me. Talk to me. And if you still feel like doing what I think you’re about to do, I’ll go back inside and pretend I never saw you. Of course, I’ll also never sleep through the night again, but I’m prepared to take that gamble. How does that sound?”

Highlander had gone completely still, staring out across the Thames. Spencer experienced a tremor run down his spine even though he found he had suddenly become immune to the cold.

“I must admit I never anticipated having an audience.”

“You won’t as long as you get down and join me now.”

“And you’re not going to cuff me, are you?”

“If I had handcuffs,” said Spencer, his mouth working independently of his brain, “and I promise you I don’t, I’d be using them to secure you to the bedposts of the metal bedframe in my bedroom, once I’d hauled you back to my flat, to cover your naked body in orange marmalade and whipped cream before having my wicked way with you.”

This time Highlander turned sharply to take in Spencer, a look of disbelief on his face, before letting out loud, steamy laughter into the night. He had a nice laugh, Spencer realised, not something the public got to hear often on his high-minded programme.

“Do you talk to everyone this way?”

“Just drop-dead gorgeous celebrities,” said Spencer, before placing fingers over his mouth, realising his terrible choice of adjectives given the situation.

After a few more moments of silence and after a deep heartfelt sigh, Highlander turned and began to climb back over the balcony. When Spencer moved forward to assist, Highlander held a hand palm up, warning Spencer away. Cooperating reluctantly, Spencer backed up a step.

As soon as Highlander stood on firm ground, Spencer rushed forward and threw his arms around him, held him tightly in a hug and buried his face in his chest. Without warning, sobs began to rise from inside Spencer, his body trembling, and in an odd turn of events, Highlander became the one comforting him.

“Hey, hey,” came the warm voice, a hand rubbing his back. “If it’s any consolation, I wouldn’t have done anything. But sometimes I find an inner calm reminding myself of my impermanence. Consider it a momentary lapse in sanity.”

Spencer barely listened, his head buried in the shoulder of Highlander’s jacket, smelling the beautiful combination of spicy aftershave and skin.

“Who are you?” asked Highlander, gently pulling Spencer away from him and holding him at arm’s length while Spencer swiped quickly at his eyes.

“People call me Squirrel.”

“Why? Let me guess. Something to do with you being nuts?”

“Wow, that’s original,” said Spencer, straight-faced. Fortunately, he’d begun to calm down and enjoy Highlander’s—Marshall’s—fond scrutiny. Except now he also began to feel a little self-conscious at his teary display. “Not heard that like a zillion times before.”

“Now I think somewhere in your earlier appeal you promised me a glass of bubbly?”

“Okay, but can we please step away from the railing? Maybe sit down? But mind the broken glass on the floor. I dropped a champagne flute.”

Spencer moved across to the bench hidden behind the large bush. Spencer waited for Marshall to join him. Without being asked, he poured champagne and handed the glass over.

“Did you want something to eat? I could pop in and grab a tray of finger food.”

“I’ll pass, thanks. Champagne is enough. And the food didn’t look terribly appetising.”

“I know, right? Even my mother could do better, and she’s the world’s worst cook.”

“That’s a tad unkind.”

“It’s true, though. I remember coming home from summer camp once and my dad catching me at the door and saying ‘we had a lovely leg of lamb while you were away. Until your mother cooked it.’”

Marshall laughed again, and Spencer felt himself calming a little more.

“How long have you been out here?” asked Marshall, taking a good gulp then handing the champagne back to Spencer.

“About forty frozen minutes. A little before you appeared.”

Spencer took a sip before topping up and raising the glass to Marshall. As he handed the glass over, he pondered the rules on sharing drinks given the pandemic but then shrugged them away. If the man sitting with him had just survived a crisis of self, he could survive a shared glass of bubbly.

“Did you catch any of my conversations?” came the famous voice.

“I did,” said Spencer, feeling his face burning but keeping his eyes on the man. “Not much. I mean, don’t worry. I wouldn’t dare breathe a word.”

“Shit,” said Highlander, turning away and sighing out a cloud of steamy breath.

“No, really, Mr High—Marshall.”

Marshall’s attention returned, his eyes looking deep into Spencer’s. After a few moments, his gaze softened and he relaxed.

“No, you wouldn’t, would you? You’re one of those kind souls that people in my profession rarely get to meet. So what do you do, Squirrel? Shit, I can’t call you Squirrel. It doesn’t feel right. What’s your real name?”

“Spencer. Spencer Kenneth Wyrrell. S. K. Wyrrell. Hence, Squirrel. School was brutal. I’m not sure my parents even realised when they named me.”

Once again his words made Marshall chuckle, and he felt sure, or at least hoped, his dark moment had finally passed.

“What do you do for a living, Spencer?”

“I’m a junior copy and online editor. For Muriel Moresby’s magazine outfit, the Blackmore Magazine Group.”

“Poor you.”

“I know, right? I’m also the office gopher. But it’s full-time work and pays the rent. And I’m still employed despite what’s happening in the world. So I have to thank my lucky stars. Not exactly highbrow, like you, but it’s a stepping stone. Even if at twenty-nine I’m still on the first step.”

“To what?”

“At college I studied journalism. Once I’ve got enough editing experience under my belt, I’d really like to try out for one of the online dailies. Even though the competition’s vicious.”

“You write?”

“Not professionally. But I hope to, one day. In university I edited the student magazine and wrote articles. I even had a couple published by a local newspaper. And I did pretty well, too. Every person in this world, no matter how inconsequential they feel they are, should dream big. Isn’t that right?”

“Are you quoting me again?” asked Marshall, tilting his head to grin at Spencer.

“What can I say? You’re very quotable.”

And very shaggable, thought Spencer but kept that to himself. As he went to top up Marshall’s glass again, a mobile began to ring faintly. Marshall reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. He let out a soft sigh after a glance at the display and handed the champagne flute back to Spencer.

“Looks like my ride’s here,” he said, standing.

Spencer put the bottle back in the bucket and stood as well. “I hope everything works out okay for you, Marshall. And promise me you’re going to use the lift to get to the ground floor.”

Marshall appeared confused for a moment but then stared at his shoes and chuckled while shaking his head.

“You’re a funny man,” he said before looking up. “And, yes, I promise to use the elevator. Sorry I worried you earlier. Goodbye then, Spencer. It was an unexpected pleasure meeting you tonight.”

Marshall held out his hand, and Spencer fit his own inside. Marshall’s strong, warm grip closed around Squirrel’s ice-cold fingers. The simple gesture of bare skin on bare skin had his heart beating faster, his cheeks heating, and even the beast in his underpants stirring. Marshall held his gaze for a moment before leaning forward and kissing a shocked Spencer firmly on the lips. When he released his grip and stood back smiling, Spencer simply stood there, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open. An amused Marshall winked once before putting on his black surgical mask and disappearing into the penthouse apartment through the patio door.

Spencer stood staring at the dark glass, wondering what had just happened. His senses returning, he knelt to the ground and had begun clearing up the broken glass when the door slid open again. A figure stepped out carrying a flute of champagne and a large plate of canapés.

Finally. Bev, his colleague.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, Squirrel, honey,” she said, flustered then freezing when she saw him on his hands and knees, picking up shards of glass.

“Oh poop. You started without me. Did I miss anything?”

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About the Author

Brian Lancaster

Brian Lancaster is an author of gay romantic fiction in multiple genres, including contemporary romance, paranormal, fantasy, crime, mystery, and anything else that tickles his muse’s fancy. Born in the sleepy South of England where most of his stories are set, he moved to Southeast Asia in 1998, where he now shares a home with his husband and two of the laziest cats on the planet.

Find out more about Brian at his website.

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Your Christmas by S.J. Coles

Book 1 in the Once Upon a Holiday series

General Release Date: 29th November 2022

Word Count: 11,664
Book Length: SHORT STORY
Pages: 59

Genres:

CELEBRITIES
CHRISTMAS
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
FRIENDS TO LOVERS
GAY
GLBTQI
HOLIDAYS
SECOND CHANCE

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Book Description

It’s your Christmas, Nick. Make it what you want it to be.

Excerpt

“I got it,” Nick said as he stepped into the icy December wind. “I only bloody well got it.”

“Congratulations.” Nick could hear the smile in Seph’s voice, even though the mic on his friend’s pay-as-you go mobile made him sound like he was at the bottom of a well. “I knew you’d smash it.”

Nick also smiled as he hailed a taxi. Seph always made him feel good, even at times like this when his other emotions were harder to call. “Well, they couldn’t exactly pass me over after my big win last month.”

“You gonna phone your dad?”

“I’ll tell him Monday,” Nick said as he climbed into the taxi, wincing at Smooth Christmas blasting from the driver’s radio. “Mate, can you turn that down?”

The driver gave him a look and turned Slade’s Merry Christmas Everybody down by one notch. Nick sighed. “Kensington please, pal. This is finally it, Seph. A shot at a partnership. The chance I’ve been waiting for… You still there?”

“I’m here.”

“Got something to share?” Nick said after a heartbeat.

“Why would you say that?”

“I know your silences, Seph. Come on. Spit it out.”

Seph sighed. “I dunno, Nick. Just last week you were telling me how you never have time for yourself—to have fun, to meet anyone. Won’t this promotion mean even less time for those things?”

“Yeah, but I’ll finally be getting paid enough to make it worth it.”

“Fair enough.” Seph’s neutral tone didn’t fool Nick, but he continued before Nick could retort. “So, did you make a decision yet?”

“About what?” Nick asked, gritting his teeth as Slade ended and Michael Bublé’s crooning filled the car.

“About this weekend,” Seph prompted. “You know…Christmas?”

“I can’t come. Gotta get caught up on my new caseload.”

A pause. “Not to be that guy, Nick, but your dad—”

“Dad wants to sit on his arse getting pissed. It will be no different from any other day, except on Saturday he’ll be drinking sherry.”

“He wants to see you, Nick. I know he does.”

“He told you this?”

“I can just tell. He’s lonely.”

“Stop with the guilt-tripping, Dr. Rose,” Nick muttered. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“Nick, Christmas is a time to be with those you love—even if you hate them at the same time.”

“I don’t hate Dad,” Nick said, loosening his tie. “I’ve just got too much on.”

“Even more reason to come. You need a break. Besides, didn’t it occur to you…?”

“What?” Nick prompted when Seph didn’t continue.

“Didn’t it occur to you that I might want to see you?”

“We just saw each other,” Nick protested, wincing when his work phone started buzzing in his pocket. His new secretary was emailing his schedule for the following week and requesting confirmations. He fought the sinking feeling when he saw the back-to-back court dates, meetings and corporate networking events. “What did you say?” he said when he realized Seph had said something else.

“I said my conference was eighteen months ago. And you’ve not been here to Littleton in, what? Christ…years.”

“Look… I’m sorry, Seph,” he said, opening the app to accept the appointment invitations. “There’s just nothing for me up there.”

Another pause, longer this time. But before Nick could decide what it meant, Seph spoke again.

“Come on, Nick,” he cajoled. “Even Charlie Kearney is spending Christmas at home this year.”

Nick started. “Charlie’s back?”

Seph swore under his breath. “Sorry. I didn’t think.”

“Charlie Kearney is going to be in Littleton for Christmas?”

“Yeah,” Seph said, a little tightly. “He’s having some big look-how-famous-I-am party at Arnold House on Christmas Eve.”

“And you’re invited?”

“Unfortunately.”

“He didn’t tell me…”

“Shit, Nick, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no. This is a good thing,” Nick said, pocketing the work phone and smiling.

“It is?”

“Think about it. I’ve just got my new place, a new job. What better time to see him again? It’s, like, fate or something.”

“You really think it’s worth it? After all this time?”

“Things are different now,” Nick said. “I’m different.”

“His fiancé will be there.”

Nick snorted. “That designer he picked up in Paris? They’ve only been together for three weeks.”

“They’re still engaged.”

“I don’t care if they got married at Notre-Dame. Mega-star or not, it’s still just Charlie being Charlie. This feels like a chance, Seph, a second chance, and I’m gonna take it.”

“I just…”

“What?” Nick said, his friend’s tone sending irritation rippling over his skin.

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Nick insisted. “I’m not saying we’ll get back together. But there’s unresolved shit there. You know I don’t like loose ends.”

“Well, that’s romantic.”

“Fine. You want romantic?” He drew a deep breath. “He’s the one who got away, Seph. I’ve never stopped thinking about him. I deserve the chance to at least tell him that. Right?”

“Of course you do. But do you really think you’ll have anything in common anymore?”

“He’s a Littleton success story,” Nick said, swiping the steam away from the window to try to see what progress they’d made down Brompton Road. “So am I.”

“Well, can’t argue with that.”

“Too right.” Nick frowned as they passed Harrods’ festive shopfront display—plastic snow, garish ornaments, a smiling family in matching jumpers digging into mince pies in front of a blazing log fire that had to be a set in some studio somewhere. “Might as well get something out of this god-awful weekend.”

“So…you’re coming?”

“I’m coming.”

“Great,” Seph said, the warmth in his voice starting an unfamiliar tingling in Nick’s toes. “That’s really great, Nick.”

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About the Author

S. J. Coles

S. J. Coles is a Romance writer originally from Shropshire, UK. She has been writing stories for as long as she has been able to read them. Her biggest passion is exploring narratives through character relationships.

She finds writing LGBT/paranormal romance provides many unique and fulfilling opportunities to explore many (often neglected or under-represented) aspects of human experience, expectation, emotion and sexuality.

Among her biggest influences are LGBT Romance authors K J Charles and Josh Lanyon and Vampire Chronicles author Anne Rice.

Find S. J. Coles at her website and follow her on Instagram.

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Obsidian by Rebecca Henry

Book 2 in the Ambrosia Hill series

General Release Date: 22nd November 2022

Word Count: 41,846
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL

Genres:

GLBTQI
LESBIAN
PARANORMAL
ROMANCE
YOUNG ADULT

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Book Description

Sometimes you have to reveal the truth to receive love.

Ninth grade at St. Hope’s is everything Zinnia didn’t want it to be. Her life back in the city feels empty and her former friend Liv and her groupies are suffocating Zinnia with their daily taunts. As Halloween approaches, Zinnia craves the comfort and security of Ambrosia Hill and desperately wishes to be back with her aunts. But even more than that, she wants to see the green-eyed girl Billie, who Zinnia can’t get out of her mind. Right when Zinnia thinks she won’t be able to wait until the summer to see Billie, her mom shocks her with a spontaneous announcement. They are leaving for Ambrosia Hill.

But can Zinnia surrender her truth to accept love, and will Billie accept Zinnia’s path as a witch?

Excerpt

Ninth grade is everything I didn’t want it to be. I flung my backpack over my shoulder and made my way down the crowded hallway through a sea of royal blue blazers and plaid skirts.

“Five weeks down and only thirty-five more to go,” I muttered as my sneakers squeaked on the scuffed floors, my nostrils flaring at the intrusive scent of pine cleaning solution and freshly sharpened pencils.

I reached my locker, thankful to be out of the mob, and scratched at the neck of my collar. The wool fabric itched against my skin. I hate these uniforms.

Everything about ninth grade sucked, but nothing was worse than my classmates. How can we be the same age and be so infinitely different? I wondered for the hundredth time. I felt like a thirty-year-old woman trapped in a fourteen-year-old’s body, surrounded by babbling toddlers. I stepped to the side, shuddering as one of the boys hollered at the top of his lungs while slamming his friend into a locker, sending a shock wave of vibrations down the row of metal. I had zero to nothing in common with any of the boys in my year, and this adolescent display proved it.

I welcomed the cold steel under my fingertips as I swirled the dial on my combination lock, momentarily escaping into my favorite daydream—that I wasn’t at St. Hope’s High School but instead back in Ambrosia Hill with my Aunts Luna and Stella. And Billie.

Lately, my only escape from high school had been burying myself in the gothic novels I kept stashed away on a shelf in my locker. I found great comfort in sketching the characters from each book I read. Reading gave me an excuse to slip away from the teenage drama and tune out the gossip from everyone around me, but I couldn’t lose myself in the popular romance fantasy tropes. I found teenage vampire novels a joke. Even though I’d tried reading a couple of them for the sake of reputation, I’d never made it past page thirty. I reached inside my bag and thumbed through a copy of my latest read—The Death of Jane Lawrence by Caitlin Starling. I held it in my hands like it was a life raft in a storm, my only protection from the annoying teenage angst and sophomoric jokes that bombarded the halls of high school. All I wanted to do was sit in the back of my next class and get lost within its pages.

Liv screeched behind me, snapping me back to reality. I held the book against my chest like a shield.

“Omigod, the autumn dance is, like, happening so soon, and you girls still don’t have dates?”

I flinched as I turned around, bracing myself for Liv and her gaggle of sycophants. I glared as Liv flicked her buttery-blonde hair behind her shoulder.

“You do realize you’ll be a total loser if you show up alone?” Liv turned to face me, angling herself like a spotlight. I could feel the weight of everyone’s stares as Liv settled her cold eyes on her favorite target—me. She raised her voice, making sure everyone in the hallway could hear her say, “Only lesbos go to a school dance with other girls.”

I rolled my eyes, mentally preparing for Liv’s next words. She was nothing if not predictable, and I waited for her to toss her next barb.

“Isn’t that right, Zinnia?” She never missed an opportunity to call me out on being a lesbian, and her band of idiot friends giggled as if she’d told a hilarious joke. I flung open my locker door a bit too aggressively, hitting the boy next to me. He looked at me, startled, and I offered a small frown as an apology as I tried to steady my temper. Liv was coming for me, and I needed to be ready.

The annoying click-clack of her high-heeled boots came to a stop behind me. Her cloying perfume was a noxious cloud invading my space, threatening to make me sick. I sighed loudly, leaning my forehead against a shelf in my locker, buying myself a few steadying beats as I took a deep breath, tossed my backpack aside and turned around to face Liv. She was so close to me I could feel her warm breath on my neck, and it made me want to vomit all over her school blazer.

“Um, a little space, please?” I quipped as I placed a hand on her shoulder and moved her back a step. “I thought I was the gay one?” Liv’s band of morons grinned as they looked from me to Liv, elbowing each other in the ribs, their guffaws echoing off the metal lockers. Anger flashed in Liv’s eyes.

Oh boy, I just added fuel to this fire. But I knew Liv, and I knew to defeat a bully like her was to stand my ground. I was the only teen in high school who could out-punk Liv. Being her best friend all through elementary up until junior high had schooled me on what type of person she was. Even though she was St. Hope’s biggest jerk, I knew her secret— Liv was just as insecure and fragile as the rest of us. However, she was a champion at hiding it behind a veil of cruelty

“Ugh, try to keep your hands off me, gay girl.” Liv tossed her long hair over her shoulder. “Everyone knows you’re obsessed with me, but ew, I don’t want to catch your lesbo germs.”

I rolled my eyes before picking up my backpack. “Right, because being gay is a virus and you’re afraid that you might catch my lesbian bug and make out with me.” I turned my back on Liv as I swapped out my textbooks for my next class. “Get over yourself, Liv. Homophobia has been out of style for years.”

She growled as her lackeys tittered around us. I could feel Liv’s temper boil like water in a kettle.

“You’re just avoiding the truth—no one here wants to touch your lesbo-butt and go to the dance with you.” Liv looked behind her and raised her arms at the crowd that had gathered around us. “Anyone willing to be Lesbo-butt’s date to the dance?”

I cringed. Lesbo-butt, guess that’s my new nickname for the school year. Awesome. Thanks, Liv.

Thankfully, almost no one at St. Hope’s cared that I was into girls. The only one who was a bully about it was Liv. But that didn’t mean the school wouldn’t line up for one of Liv’s targeted rants. Everyone at St. Hope’s liked a good show, especially when it came at someone else’s expense.

Liv pointed at a random boy. Henry, a boy from my geometry class, looked over his shoulder, his face coloring when he realized Liv was talking to him. “How about you? The boy in the back? You’re not cute. I can’t imagine you have a date.” His face flushed crimson as he dropped his gaze to his feet. “Take Lesbo-butt to the dance. I’ll give you a hundred dollars if you can convert her to liking boys.”

I spun on my heel, my hand raised and itching to slap the smug look of cruel victory off Liv’s face. Instead I lowered my hand to finger the amethyst pendant at my throat, the heaviness of its chain settling me like an anchor. Needing to calm down, I willed my temper to ease.

“You’re such an idiot, Liv. You can’t convert a biologically gay person to straight and picking on Henry for not having a date is just low.” I glanced at the faces behind Liv and slowly returned my gaze to meet her cold blue eyes. “Why don’t you stop worrying about what everybody else is doing and just ask Jayden to the dance yourself, instead of making these pathetic attempts to get his attention?”

Liv flared her tiny nostrils as her eyes grew wild. Snickers were echoing behind her back, and I watched as her face turned as red as her lipstick. She curled her lips as she searched for a new insult. Liv’s pale hand whipped over my head to snatch a photo off my locker door.

“Who’s this, Lesbo-butt? Is this your boyfriend in Hicksville?” Liv pivoted on her heel to raise the photo to the crowd like a trophy. “I mean, maybe I’m wrong, but do you guys know if this is a photo of a boy or a girl?” Her eyes glittered with malice. “It’s just so confusing. It must be a girl because Lesbo-butt only likes girls. But omigod if it doesn’t look a lot like Harry over there.”

The boy ducked his head, staring at the floor as he mumbled, “It’s Henry,” but Liv didn’t pay him any attention.

Instead, she turned to face me, a defiant hand on her bony hip. “Does it have a name, Zinnia? Maybe that might help us decide if you’re into boys or girls these days.” Liv touched a finger to her chin and cocked her head, pretending to be in deep thought. “Wait, don’t tell me. Its name is Bobby.” Liv shook her head, her lips twisted in a cruel smile. “No, no, no, that’s not right,” she hummed, studying the picture before a flash of mischief danced across her smug face. “I remember now, its name is Billie. Am I right?” Liv shrugged with a malevolent laugh. “Guess that doesn’t help much with an androgynous name like Billie, does it?”

She turned to Henry, who looked miserable with humiliation. “Looks like you might still be in the running to take Zinnia to the dance, Harry.”

I lunged at Liv, snatching the photo out of her fingers. The photo tore in two, and Liv grinned at me as she waved her half of Billie’s photo in my face. I shook with anger as Liv hooted.

I held my half of the photo with shaking fingers. “Liv, you’re such a psycho! You know Billie is a girl, but you’re being a total jerk because you’re jealous that she’s hotter than Jayden.” Liv’s grin snapped shut and her eyes narrowed at me. Her idiot friends bounced their eyes back and forth between us, grinning like a pack of bloodthirsty hyenas. “And by the way,” I continued, “everyone knows you’re obsessed with him. You’ve been drooling over that boy since second grade, but you don’t have the guts to tell him.” My voice bellowed out louder than I had meant to, and I realized I was yelling.

I looked down at the torn photo in my hand. An emerald-green eye stared back at me. I snapped my locker shut and stuffed the photo in my back pocket. “And his name is Henry, not Harry, you bully!” I slammed my shoulder into Liv’s as I made my way through the snickering faces and stormed off into my next class.

I slid into my seat seconds before the bell rang and stared down at my desk. Everyone else was already seated, and I could feel their eyes on me. I sank deep into my chair at the back of the room, glowering. I was certain the entire science class had heard Liv roaring at me in the hallway. My science teacher Mr. Kurt lifted his head, glancing at me through his smudged glasses, his eyebrows raised in concern. I offered a weak smile and hung my head low.

My stomach churned as I cupped my mouth with my hands, swallowing hard to repress the urge to vomit. The classroom reeked of dill pickles and rubbing alcohol, and I moaned. Could this day get any worse? I had totally forgotten we were dissecting frogs this week, and my mouth filled with bile as the image of my aunt’s toad Merle danced in my mind. I swallowed hard against the rising nausea at the mental image of me dissecting the corpse of a helpless frog. The last thing I wanted was a dozen sets of eyes gawking at me while I mutilated a dead creature.

The teacher droned on about the upcoming dissection, and students were called one by one to the front to claim a dead frog. I ran my hands through my shaggy blonde hair before reaching for my phone. I needed a friend to commiserate with. A real friend, one who always made me feel better. Billie was a diehard animal lover. If anyone knew how to get out of dissecting a frog, it would be her.

Billie’s penetrating green eyes stared back at me as I looked at my screen saver. Her long, willowy arm was wrapped around my shoulder as we sat by Lake Cauldron, the sun setting behind us. It was a picture taken of our last day together before I had to leave my aunts’ house in Ambrosia Hill and return to the city with my mom.

My heart had broken the day I’d said goodbye to Billie. Even though Billie was not my girlfriend, my feelings for her were beyond platonic. The crush I’d tried to repress all summer long had exploded into full, deep feelings that I’d never imagined I could have at fourteen. But they were there, and I couldn’t deny that I liked Billie, thought of her every day and missed her even more than that. Even though we never spoke about any feelings for each other, I was confident she felt the same way, and I was eager to get back to her and confess my emotions face to face, like I should have before my mom and I had left Ambrosia Hill behind.

Liv attacked me, again.

I texted Billie, my thumbs flying over the screen.

And now Mr. Kurt has us dissecting amphibians.

I hit send on my phone with a sad face and frog emoji.

Billie replied immediately.

Tell Mr. Kill that dissecting a poor creature is against your religion, and you want to go to the library and do a report on the anatomy of a frog instead of brutally and inhumanely cutting open a dead corpse with a scalpel.

She sent an angry face emoji, then a gif that said, “Frogs are friends, not food,” with a pair of frog legs jumping off a table. At that moment, I missed her and her pet pig Bacon more than ever, almost as much as I yearned for my familiar kitten, Opal. I swallowed a lump that formed in the back of my throat and choked down my tears.

Billie was just getting started. I saw the three dots that indicated she was typing.

And tell Liv to go shove it. I hate that she bullies you! Don’t let her get to you, Zinnia! She’s just jealous you have the strength to be who you are. Her fake and bake tan butt could never be as strong as you.

I smiled at her text as I wiped a tear from my eye. Mr. Kurt called my name from beside the classroom’s freezer. Before I put my phone away, I saw one last message from Billie.

You’ll be back here with me before you know it, City Girl.

How I wish I were there now, I thought for the millionth time. Next summer seemed like an eternity away. I had begged my mom to move to Ambrosia Hill. After Dad had divorced her and moved away to Brazil, there was no reason for us to stay in the city.

“Dad’s gone, you’re not married anymore and our family and friends are in Ambrosia Hill. We belong with the aunts.” I had pleaded with her that morning before I left for school. Mom had only looked at me with a sympathetic face, the one universal to moms all over—the expression every mom has when their kid wants something they won’t give them. I loathed that look and wanted her to see things my way for once.

Because of her, I had to keep my identity a secret—no one in New York City could know that I came from a lineage of green witches. Over the summer, I had written my name in my own Book of Shadows and claimed my heritage as a hereditary witch. It angered me that my mom had forfeited her birthright to become a witch and instead chose to live a normal life. A normal life would never be available for me. Being fourteen, in high school, an openly gay girl and a witch? Well, that was an overload of baggage for one teen to handle on her own. What I needed most in my life was community, and my people were in Ambrosia Hill, not in the city attending high school at St. Hope’s.

“Zinnia.” My mother had sighed. “My career is in the city. I’ve worked too hard at the law firm to quit now.” Mom had tucked a strand of my blonde hair behind my ear as she inhaled a deep breath.

“But you could open your own private practice in Ambrosia Hill,” I had implored, “and do environmental work instead of tax law, which I know you hate.” I had wiggled my eyebrows at her, as if I were dangling a juicy worm as bait on a hook.

Mom had laughed as she shook her head. “You make everything seem so easy, Zinnia. Effortless, even.”

I had wrapped my arms around her neck, pressing my forehead to hers. “That’s because it can be, Mom. All we have to do is go. Let’s just pack up and go.” It was more of a plea than a request, and my voice had broken into a brittle whisper.

Mom had shaken her head, and I knew the answer was no. It was the same answer she had been giving me all through September and October since we’d returned to our small apartment, far away from my great aunts’ witchy house on Ambrosia Hill—my other home, my real home.

“It’s October, your favorite time of the year,” Mom had chirped, trying to distract me, but it didn’t work. Nothing cheered me up anymore. “How about we go to Autumn Week in Greenwich Village? I bet they will have cider and caramel apples. We can even get our pumpkins there and carve them later this evening.” Mom clapped her hands together, trying to convince me to muster up some enthusiasm for her plan. “We can watch a scary movie!” She pointed a finger in the air. “But not too scary. I will have nightmares without your…” Her words trailed off, and I knew what she was going to say. She missed my dad.

“Sure, Mom. Why not?” I had replied with a shrug as I slung my bookbag over my shoulder and drifted out of the front door for school.

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About the Author

Rebecca Henry

Rebecca Henry is an American author living abroad in England. She is a devoted vegan who gardens, practices yoga, crafts, travels the world, and bakes. Rebecca’s favorite holiday is Halloween, and she is obsessed with anything and everything witchy! Besides writing fiction, Rebecca is also the author of her vegan holiday cookbook collection. Her love for animals, baking with her family, having a plant-based diet and cruelty-free food all came together in her holiday cookbook collection.

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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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