Book Blitz: Magic & Home by Alexa Piper (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Magic & Home

Series: Monster Apocalypse 2

Author: Alexa Piper

Publisher: Changeling Press, LLC

Release Date: 10/7/2022

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 156

Genre: Romance, Erotica

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Synopsis

Over the past two years, Rory has learned that other people aren’t the best of company, that the guilt of causing the Apocalypse is a heavy burden, and that monsters only see him as a meal. Until Rory met Inkiri, who sees Rory as his mate.

Now, Rory has to navigate what it means to be with someone who not only isn’t human but who also is from another world altogether… and since Rory finds himself in that otherworld all of a sudden, he has to adapt fast. Inkiri definitely has no intention of slowing down in his quest to make his human mate happy.

While Rory is beginning to wrap his head around liking the new place and the new customs, he can’t relax into a peaceful happily ever after because whatever connection Rory has to the magic that unleashed the Apocalypse, people want that, meaning they want him. Where Rory and his newfound family ran to may not have been far enough to escape their pursuers’ clutches.

Excerpt

Magic & Home (Monster Apocalypse 2)
Alexa Piper
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Alexa Piper

The sun had risen, and the room in the hotel was no longer shadows of charcoal and ash but honeyed wood and fabrics of red and blue in the bedding and pillows. I was wrapped in big blue monster. Literally. Inkiri, the big blue monster in question, was all over me. Also still in me, but really, a barbed cock in my ass no longer felt as weird as maybe it should have.

“How do you even sleep with those horns?” I asked. Inkiri had been devotedly licking my neck, and with him being so much bigger than me, that meant his ibex horns had gotten pretty close to my face. They were a little bit intimidating.

Inkiri looked up, and it was now bright enough in the room that I could see him properly — the light blue skin, the ink-dark hair and indigo eyes. His hair was still unbraided. I knew we’d only gotten here, to Aër, yesterday after the shootout and the violence that had happened at the Stone of Destiny back in Ireland, and he’d mostly taken care of me. Doing his braids had been pretty low on his list of important things. What I did remember from that strange state of being unable to interact but knowing was that I had been Inkiri’s top priority, that he’d cared for me, worried for me. He’d barely even left my side.

“Pillows,” he said and fluffed one above my head. Among all the fluffy ones on the bed I’d noticed, the one he was showing me was harder than any pillow I would find comfortable, but that made sense. More support so he wouldn’t lie on those horns. “How are you feeling, sweet thing?” he asked in his sexy, British accent.

He looked down on me with those cat eyes. Those very loving cat eyes. A warm shiver chased over my skin, and it was a bit much, to be honest. Or almost a bit much. Well, with being on Earth no longer, it was a bit much.

“Fine,” I said and looked around the room.

It was now really bright out, a sunny day, but milky screens on the inside of the windows hid the glass and dimmed the light.

I could tell the room was not quite what you’d find on Earth. Most of it was hardwood flooring except for where we were, the bed, or bedding. Thickly woven carpets were piled beneath the bedding, which was pretty soft, actually. Surprisingly soft for pretty much sleeping on the floor, futon-style.

Inkiri’s swords were on the floor next to the bedding, which was not where I would have put them, but okay. Maybe sleeping next to your swords was a thing here.

The only other thing I could see in the room was a low table with several seating cushions around it and a stoneware pot of tea or water next to some cups.

My stomach immediately reacted to the visual cue of food-related items and growled noisily.

Inkiri chuckled. “Fine but hungry?” He kissed the side of my mouth human-style. “Come, let’s clean you up and feed you, sweet thing.”

“I guess I could eat,” I said, and I definitely could. A whole… whatever they served here. I wasn’t sure when my last meal had been, but probably before I had puked all over the corpse of the big orange spider back at the monster place.

The memory of the memorable arachnid also brought back the memory of how the cola ash — the Koa Esher — had waylaid us and how Inkiri had said good-bye to me when Vergis had dragged me away. Remember it always, sadir, he’d said. That I loved you. From the moment I saw you. I buried my head in his chest at the memory, relieved to the bottom of my soul that I didn’t have to remember but that he was still here to remind me.

“I love you,” I told him. What can I say? Dwelling on the past always made me very emotional.

“And I you, sadir,” Inkiri said. He clicked at me and ran his warm palms down my back. “But as much as I would like to keep you in bed, I’ll not let you go hungry.”

Inkiri clicked as he pulled out of me slowly. His barb had gone down, thankfully, and also thankfully, he was still slick with his own lubricant. I looked down between us at his massive, self-lubricating and darker blue dick. The top part with its more bulbous and pointier tip still amazed me as did that fact that thing had been in me. With barbs that kept it inside. And I’d sort of liked the thing with the barbs. That was the weirdest part.

Inkiri was extremely graceful for his size, and he was on his feet quickly and just as quickly, he gathered me in his arms.

“I think you are a bit too light,” he said as he walked to the wall on the opposite side of the bed area. “I’d like to plump you up.”

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Meet the Author

Alexa (she/her) has a lot of characters living in her head and wanting their stories told. Many of these people get snarky and won’t stop complaining if Alexa is too slow writing them, which means that for this author, sleep is a luxury. Consequently, Alexa is a coffee addict, but she is sure she has it under control (six cups of coffee are normal in a morning, right? Right!?)

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New Release Blitz ~ Wings by Ellen Mint (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Wings by Ellen Mint

Book 5 in the Coven of Desire series

Word Count:  84,127
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 318

Genres:

ANGELS AND DEMONS
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
MÉNAGE AND MULTIPLE PARTNERS
MULTICULTURAL
PARANORMAL
REVERSE HAREM
WERESHIFTERS

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Book Description

Layla’s life is hell. She could really use an angel.

After a month and no sign of the witch hunters, Layla thought she was in the clear. A gigantic werewolf has different plans. As if her life being threatened by a mad werewolf isn’t enough, the world seems to be ending. At least that’s what an impossible, deadly-to-gaze-upon angel living underground claims.

Layla is tasked to find whatever is ripping tears in the realms, causing creatures to appear and unravel everything in the world. Good thing she has an angel by her side. Garavel may not technically be angel, despite having white wings and a golden glow, but he’s sweeter than sugar and adores witches. It’s impossible to not fall for the cuddly teddy bear. Except, once Layla finds the culprit, Garavel must return to his master’s side and she’ll never see him again.

She’s going to need her sarcastic incubus, steadfast werewolf and stately ghost at her side. If not, she doesn’t stand a chance in hell of surviving the ride.

General Release Date: 4th October 2022

Author Giveaway

Enter to win this awesome ‘Coven of Desire’ giveaway! One person will win a Skeleton Cat Pillow, a Spooky Spatula, a Witch Cauldron Tumbler, a Lilith Candle, and paperback copies of Claw, Fang, Whisper, and Badge.

Click HERE to enter

Contest runs from October 4th to October 18th

Excerpt

“I’m late!”

My shout, ten seconds after I blearily checked my phone, reverberated off low wooden beams that I was shocked had never beaned my boyfriend. Stumbling on the slick floors in my wool socks, I slid for the closet and grabbed the first shirt I found. It wasn’t until I already had my arms through the sleeves that I smelled the musk of man and a hint of wet fur. Even a month later, most of my clothing was scattered between four cardboard boxes I swore I’d unpack once the semester was over.

I began to reach for the top one, hoping to hit summer tees and not sweaters, when my phone’s alarm went off again. Damn it, there wasn’t time. While half-hopping into my sweatpants, I dashed down Cal’s… No, he wanted me to think of it as my hallway, too. The bathroom door was partially open. At my blur, my werewolf boyfriend called out, “Babe!”

“Yes?” I skidded in my tracks and turned to find him in nothing but a nearly see-through pair of gray boxers.

Even with his blond hair smooshed on one side and his eyes drooping after our long night cramming—of both the academic and carnal variety—he was perfect. Cal smiled with his total sunshine grin and my legs began to wobble. He slipped a hand around my waist and pulled me into the bathroom.

“Morning,” he whispered before kissing me. “I still love doing that.”

I’d had no choice but to take the leap to live-in girlfriend thanks to evil witch hunters, and it’d taken some adjusting. I can’t say I’d have been so quick to move in with Cal minus the pitchfork-wielding agents, but he’d been trying his best to make it all work.

Cal picked up the blue toothbrush from the cup, leaving my purple one alone. “Are you ready for the last one?”

“No,” I admitted without pause.

He squirted out a huge glob of toothpaste, then stared at me. “You’ve got this. Or should we”—Cal cocked an eyebrow and full-on smirked—“cram again?”

A laugh escaped my lips even as goosebumps rippled up my legs and arms. It sure as hell was a cramming session with him, even using lube, but I didn’t have time. “I can’t.” I groaned. “I’m already late. Do you know where I left my purse?”

“Maybe downstairs?” He went to town on his incisors with the toothbrush before stopping and turning to me. “How are you late? We’ve got at least a half hour until exam time.”

“Only a half hour?” I repeated, the sarcasm thick. Talking to Cal wasn’t getting me to class any faster. “I hate boys.”

As I dashed down the stairs, Cal called out, “I have proof you love certain parts of us.”

Upon reaching the landing, I was greeted by the sound of pans striking a stove. That could be just one thing. I took a quick look around the living room. The TV was running through a mess of old sitcoms, but no one was watching. No sign of my purse or book. I remembered needing it when the pizza arrived, but wasn’t certain where it went after the demon and werewolf ambushed me.

If the latter didn’t know, maybe the former would. Dashing down the narrow hallway, I had to cling to the walls to avoid tripping. The last lightbulb had burned out and no one had bothered to replace it. I pushed open the kitchen door with my foot and it swung in on a baking disaster.

Standing in the middle of an egg-and-flour apocalypse was my own personal incubus. Ink’s go-to outfit was splattered in white powder and dough while he held a far-too-small bowl in the crook of his arm and stabbed it with a knife. I must have made a sound as he looked up from his concoction and smiled.

Unlike Cal’s sweet sunshine, Ink’s smile was panty-melting nefarious even when he was covered in flour prints. My mouth dried and I tried to think. Why was I here? I was doing something important, something that didn’t involve him swiping the pans off the counter and taking me now.

“I’m late,” my mouth supplied to my frozen brain.

“I assume that is not in reference to your moon cycle,” Ink said, straight-faced, before smirking. “Unless you’re far more devious than I imagined.”

“That isn’t. I can’t even…” I slapped him on the arm with barely any force, not that it mattered. I’d seen him take knives to the chest without reacting. “I wouldn’t.”

“It was but a jest. Your virtue is pure.”

“Ha!” It was hard to think myself virtuous when three men shared my bed, often two or more at a time. “Have you seen my purse?”

“I believe I last viewed it in the galley when I’d bent over your back and pressed your hands to the wood while the wolf—”

“Yes!” I interrupted, my cheeks hitting ten thousand degrees at the reminder of where Ink and Cal had been. “I remember that part. Thanks.”

I had turned to find my purse when Ink hefted up a tray. “My bond, before you attend your academic gauntlet…”

I stared at whatever he’d been cooking with dread rising in my stomach. “What is it?” They looked like generic toaster pastries with a smear of chocolate on top, but it couldn’t be that simple.

“A sandwich of my own concoction to aid in breaking your fast.”

That was what I was terrified of. Still, I picked one up. Ink had been helpful as of late. I couldn’t even hazard a guess as to why he suddenly wanted to do the occasional bout of cooking and laundry, even if what he made was usually inedible. And I was never getting that dress back after it floated down the river. But turning him down felt mean. As I raised his sandwich, I realized it was two toaster pastries stuck together. What was in the middle was anyone’s guess. Could be more chocolate, mustard or even a thickened soy sauce.

With the tips of my teeth, I nibbled down on the edge, hoping to escape the answer when brown goo clogged my throat. “Peanut butter?” I coughed out. It oozed and dripped off the sides, like he’d heated it between the two pastries.

Ink only smiled wider. “Yes. I am quite ingenious.”

“Yep,” I agreed.

“Do have a delightful day.” He pulled me closer while I stared at the PB and T sandwich. Once the peanut butter cooled, it wasn’t too bad, the strawberry in the pastry combining well. I was about to take another test bite, when Ink whispered, “Upon your return, I shall…”

He plunged his teeth against my neck, just to the edge of breaking skin. The pressure rushed through me, filling me with pleasure. Ink pressed the tip of his long nose to the middle of his bite mark. “That is for your inner thigh, and this…” He darted his tongue around the wound, the slick heat causing the same in my panties. “You can decide where you wish it.”

I groaned as my entire body lit up with anticipation and my hand clenched, shattering the breakfast sandwich. We both stared when the soggy pastry halves hit the floor. “Sorry,” I muttered, struggling to get my breathing under control.

“No matter.” Ink popped open the oven and, without gloves, pulled out a bright red tray. “I made three sheets’ worth.”

“That’s…good?” I inched out of the kitchen, leaving Ink to it while hoping Cal wasn’t counting on the mega-box of toaster pastries to fuel his wolf metabolism. An impertinent brring chirped from my phone and I glared at it.

“Yes, I know. I’m working on it!” I shouted at my inanimate object while walking into what should have been the dining room. A man dressed for a punk concert in the nineties hovered next to where every book in the house had been scattered across the long dining table. As quite a few were nursing textbooks, the old wood was bowing in the middle.

“Daniel? Have you seen my purse?”

“Hm?” Slowly, the book lowered, revealing my ghost from his cheekbones up. Not that I was complaining—they were fantastic. His deep umber eyes flared blue a moment and he snapped the book shut.

I reared back in shock. “You can do that now?” Last I remembered, the best he could do was push a page and maybe the cover.

Daniel dropped the book where it landed on knowledge mountain and picked up another. “Yes, I found I could move the book much in the way I sit.”

“I assume you mean using muscle memory and not that you close it with your butt.”

The air froze at the serious glare buffeting from Daniel’s face. I swallowed haphazardly, the peanut butter still lodged at the hollow of my throat. Did I say something wrong? He’d been waffling between a debilitating state of sadness followed by manic bursts of certainty. I couldn’t handle pushing him back to the dark side again.

Slowly, Daniel scratched his chin and cocked his head, causing the single blue stripe of hair to fall to the side. “Is that something you’d like to see?” he asked with dead certainty.

“Ah…” I was about to laugh it off, when I remembered my werewolf boyfriend who was into leashes and the demon that’d do literally anything. What I found hot seemed to shift by the day. “I’ll get back to you on that. In the meantime, I need my purse.”

“Under the table,” he said, gesturing to exactly where Ink had said it was. As I bent over to pick it up, Daniel immersed himself in yet another book. I reached inside to find my spell book safe and sound. Running my finger down the spine calmed me. Ever since I had learned that a witch losing her book caused her to go mad, I’d taken to sleeping with it under my pillow. Only the dual exhausting talents of Cal and Ink could distract me from my mortal dread.

“Did you read all of those?” I asked, pointing to his stack. There had to be a good three thousand pages there.

“Oh no,” he said with a laugh. “I read the whole table. Which reminds me, I have a list of new books I’ll require.” Daniel gestured to an old tablet Cal let him use. He couldn’t pick it up, but with his ghostly powers he could use the apps and leave lots of lists.

“I’ll have to look later,” I said, trying to work around the book peaks to escape.

“I also discovered another three potential protection spells for the house.”

“And how many of them will banish a demon?” I asked.

He frowned. Their whole ghost and incubus bromance had lasted a few days after my rescue, then it was right back to openly hating each other. “To my knowledge, none. If you’d take a look?”

“I really have to run. Last day of exams.”

“That was today? Hm, I thought they’d already occurred. Or were going to…” The unsleeping ghost stared back at the dining room window as if it could act like a calendar.

“Nope. Happening in an hour. I’ve got to bolt.”

“Why are you not going with your wolf?”

I heard him but didn’t want to answer. ‘Because’ was a cheap response, but also the best I could give. If it were the usual lecture day, of course I’d go with Cal, even if he’d wait until the last second to leave. But the only way I could keep the letters on the page from dancing the dyslexia steps was if I had a half hour to myself to calm down. Sitting next to Cal this close to a full moon would make my brain more stupid.

As I approached the front door, I called out, “Bye,” to the house and opened it. A very small man in a bowtie stood outside holding an envelope. I gasped in surprise and he opened his mouth.

“For Lady—”

Before he could speak, a demon’s claw latched around his shoulders and hefted him off the ground. I reached over to stop Ink from damaging him, but a naked arm wrapped around my stomach and pulled me deeper into the house. “What’s going on?” Cal shouted behind my ear, his words garbled from the toothbrush still in his mouth.

“They seem to have sent a spy gnome. What do they have on you? Kidnapped your gnome wife? Threatened your fox? Out with it?”

“Layla?” Daniel rushed to my side. My three guys were now standing guard against a two-foot-tall man armed with a letter. “Gnomes are often indebted to powerful magic users.”

Ink groaned and glared back over his shoulder. “Shall you read to us from the Compendium of Wikis next? We all know what gnomes are. And this one has come bearing a piece of parchment. A written threat, perhaps?”

“It’s a note, you demented fucktoy,” the gnome snarled, his little legs kicking in the air.

“A likely… Ah, it is a note addressed to Layla. Wolf?” Rather than pass it to me, he handed it to Cal who stepped even further back while taking me along.

He breathed in the scent of the envelope. “I don’t smell the sewers, but there’s obvious magic.”

“No shit,” the gnome responded. “It’s from…”

“Allow me.” Daniel was the next one to excise the letter, somehow pulling it not only from Cal’s fingers, but flipping open the flap and lifting the paper free. We all watched him carefully unfold the paper.

Ink pulled the gnome closer. “If it is coated in a ghost purging powder, I will buy you a keg.”

Daniel didn’t respond to that, his focus on the letter.

“Well,” Cal snapped. “What’s it say?”

“It’s a letter for Layla.”

All three jerked to attention at once, as if certain it had to be a sign the witch hunters were on my trail. Daniel glanced down to the bottom and sighed, “From a Valerie. Were any of the hunters known as Valerie?”

“Val… That’s the witch that saved me.” I was about to rip the letter from his ethereal fingers to read myself, when Ink grabbed it first.

Where is the gnome? I stared around in a panic to find the small man scurrying down the stoop as fast as possible.

“‘To Lady Layla, so on and so forth. I have engaged in much research…’ Humans do like to prattle…oh. Oh, great.” Ink’s interpretation of the letter smashed to a halt and he raised his head to stare at the sky.

“What?” I tried to look closer, but Cal had ahold of my waist and he wasn’t about to let me get near it just in case.

With a sigh that rattled the windows, Ink said, “It is a potion to bring back the dead.”

“Really?” I gasped, tears springing to my eyes as I turned to Daniel. His mouth hung open as if he too couldn’t believe it. We’d been hunting for a month, him for all hours, day and night, and had found nothing. If it was true that I could bring him back, he could touch, feel, live…

“What does it need? What do I have to do?” My excitement hit a peak, then crashed hard as Ink stared at me not in exhaustion but a distressing concern. I gulped and asked, “Don’t tell me it’ll cost me an arm and a leg?”

“Not quite so macabre, lest you happen to be hiding a horn I am somehow unaware of?”

A horn? I wrenched the letter away from Ink who stared in surprise that I’d dare. Damn thing was addressed to me after all. I skipped past the preamble from the witch who’d saved me from the hunters to the helpful bullet points.

Blood of a demon

Piece between realms

Skin of a unicorn

Feather of an angel

Bone of the dead

Boil in a cauldron or available kettle for thirty minutes, then recite the intended’s name while pouring the potion out.

That was it. Laid out like a recipe, it felt easy, doable. I glanced to Daniel and hope shone in his eyes. Reaching over, I placed my hand above his. He took control, holding mine as we both grinned like two idiots who won a chocolate factory. Soon, he’d be able to hold me for real.

“We can do this,” I whispered to him, trying to seal the promise I made.

“Ah, yes.” Ink peered over my shoulder at the list he’d already read. “Only requires the blood and brains of two celestials and a piece of the void to seal it together. A light shopping list. Perhaps your interconnected webs have an all demon and angel body part store?”

They never said it would be easy. “You’re a demon…” I began to my incubus.

“Even ignoring the technicality, I am not a demon. My blood is not special enough for this spell.”

“I pray I don’t expire twice from the lack of surprise,” Daniel cut in.

Ink’s lips cut apart into a toothy grin aimed at the ghost. “Would be much easier to simply acquire a bowl of salt and a torch.”

I was about to cut in, when my phone gave its final warning. All of this demons and angels mess would have to wait. My other life needed me. “We’ll figure all of this out later. I’ve got to get to the test.” I started to fold the letter up, but Daniel held his hands out for it.

For a moment, I hesitated. Not only was it addressed to me, it was also a private letter between witches. But it was his life, literally, in my hands. I handed him the paper, which he managed to keep floating a millimeter above his palms while he stared at it.

Checking my purse once more to make certain my book hadn’t fallen out, I tugged open the front door. “And, if you wouldn’t mind, can you dial back the ‘big scary bodyguard’ routine? Not everyone in the world is trying to kill me.”

“Are you certain of that, my bond?” the one who’d assaulted the gnome asked without pause.

I glared at Ink, then caught a quick blown kiss from Cal. Daniel broke from the letter to give me one last smile before I slipped out of the house. I couldn’t blame them for being so overprotective, but it’d been a month since I had escaped the hunters. At some point, I had to return to normal life.

“Wait!” Cal dashed to my side. It was sweet that he didn’t want to say goodbye, but I really had to… He reached up and tugged my bonnet off my hair. “Didn’t think you wanted to leave the house with this on.”

A jab of embarrassment jolted through me. I had forgotten I even had it on. That he’d cared enough to tell me and it didn’t faze him warmed my heart. I pulled him close for a quick peck and whispered, “Thank you.”

“When will you return?” It was Daniel who spoke, still transfixed by the letter.

“Once this test is done, we can get to work on figuring out that potion.”

“Ah, Dana’s party,” Cal interrupted.

I winced at forgetting my friend’s ‘we’re free’ bash. I’d been so busy lately, the only time I spent with her or Fariah was during deathly quiet studying. “After that,” I promised Daniel. “Then we’ll bring you back to life.”

He smiled so sweetly that I ached to kiss him. It was Ink who sighed dramatically and turned. “I shall fetch the lightning rods and pitchforks then.”

I really had to go. With one arm around my purse, I stepped out of the door to the walkway lined with untrimmed bushes and tried to force my brain to think about gram-negative bacteria. What would it feel like to hold him? To touch warm skin instead of cool air? To pull off his jean jacket and lift the old band shirt to touch his body below? To feel his lips on mine?

I was electrified, certain I could take on the world. Pass my finals, bring back the dead, stop whatever evil Mr. White is, end the witch hunters once and for all. I was unstoppable.

The bushes rustled and an arm bigger than a fencepost shot out. It wrapped around my throat and pulled me back, tightening so fast I couldn’t even scream.

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About the Author

Ellen Mint

Ellen Mint adores the adorkable heroes who charm with their shy smiles and heroines that pack a punch. She recently won the Top Ten Handmaid’s Challenge on Wattpad where hers was chosen by Margaret Atwood. Her books, Undercover Siren and Fever are available at Amazon as well as a short story in the Lucky Between The Sheets anthology. Married, she lives in Nebraska with her dog named after Granny Weatherwax. Her hobbies include gaming, painting, and halloween prop making. The basement is full of skeletons because they ran out of room in the closets.

You can find Ellen at her website here and also on Bookbub.

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New Release Blitz: Ace of Hearts by Lucy Mason (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Ace of Hearts

Author: Lucy Mason

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/04/2022

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Female

Length: 60200

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, Romance, contemporary, new adult, family-drama, asexual, college students, sports injury, fake marriage, slow burn, friends to lovers, abusive father, depression

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Description

Hesper Stalides and Felix Morlan have been best friends for as long as they can remember, bonding over their troubled home lives. When a horrible sports injury derails Felix’s promising career and results in the loss of his scholarship, Hesper offers a proposition: a year-long marriage of convenience so he can get free tuition at the college where she works.

It isn’t supposed to be complicated…until they fall in love for real. When Hesper reveals that she’s asexual, Felix must reassess everything he thinks about love and ask himself what he’s willing to sacrifice for a future with Hesper—before the past she’s spent her life running from can take her away from him forever.

Excerpt

Ace of Hearts
Lucy Mason © 2022
All Rights Reserved

Hesper

It was not my Felix Morlan lying in the hospital bed, tangled in the sterile white sheets. He was the bravest, funniest, most cheerful man I knew, strong enough to make up for it when his friends were weak, and this wasn’t him. I brushed his dark hair away from his forehead, which was glistening with sweat, pain hazing over his eyes.

“Sorry I scared you, Hes.” His voice cracked, and I handed him a Styrofoam cup filled with cold water and ice chips.

“I’m just glad you’re…”

Okay? Of course he wasn’t okay. One of his teammates had shown me a replay of the hit that had hyperextended his knee and destroyed his ACL. It had been on mute, and Felix was wearing a helmet that obscured part of his face, but the contorted expression of agony was seared into my memory. He may or may not have blacked out from the pain; I wasn’t sure because I quit watching, unable to stomach it.

“Want me to call the nurse?” I asked tentatively.

He turned his head away, but not before I caught the shine of tears gathering in his eyes. His leg was wrapped heavily in dressings, but I’d seen it when he came out of surgery, exhausted but too frightened to sleep while I waited. The skin around his knee was swollen, an angry red color where staples held the surgical wounds closed. I’d sat by his bed, sketching on the small pad I kept in Calamity, my old Jeep, while he slept off the anesthesia. But he was awake now, and he twisted his calloused hands in the sheets.

“They’ll be keeping me for observation for a few days. Go home and get some rest.”

“Nope.”

“Some of the guys from the team will stop by and—”

“Nope,” I reiterated firmly, crossing my arms.

It was a policy we’d had with each other our whole lives, and it didn’t change even when we’d moved halfway across the country together for college: we had nobody else here, but we had each other. He’d watched my back, and I would watch his. Felix and I had been best friends since we were old enough to walk and talk. Now, his mom was in jail while his dad was busy raising his six younger siblings, and I had run away from Missouri to avoid getting an order of protection against my own father. We’d basically raised each other. I wasn’t running away at the first sign of trouble.

“Show me.” He held out one hand for my sketch pad and I clutched it to my chest. “Come on.”

Normally this was fine. I’d draw tables covered in leaves, teacups and books and pocket watches and chunks of amethyst and rusty old keys, the kind of things I found aesthetically soothing. But I’d been doing something different while he slept, trying to erase the memory of his pain in the video replay of his injury. I’d drawn the slightly blocky angle of his jaw, his mouth turned up in half a smile, a five-o’clock shadow dusting the sides of his face. I’d drawn him happy, my best copy of the way he looked in my favorite memory of him.

I contemplated crumpling the page before he could see it.

Instead, I flipped back to an earlier page where I’d been doing a study of the trees outside his hospital window, light filtering through them in an orange haze as the sun rose. I hadn’t been able to quite capture it with the small bag of pencils I had on hand, but it was enough that he got the idea.

“Remind me again why you aren’t going into this?” He sounded clearer than he had in several hours, his eyes focused on my sketch pad. It was an uncomfortable feeling, to see someone marvel at my work. Like being under a microscope.

“No steady paycheck,” I reminded him, counting the reasons I’d rehearsed to people a hundred thousand times off on my fingers. “Deadlines would push me to create when I didn’t feel like it. I would grow to hate it if I had to do it for a living. The pressure would be too intense.”

I didn’t list the other reason. Sometimes it took every ounce of energy I possessed just to get up in the morning. Sometimes I simply didn’t have enough inside me to both function and create. Art was my escape. If I turned it into another source of stress, where would I hide when the rest of the world got to be too much? What would I do to restore the balance?

“Those are all good reasons,” he agreed begrudgingly, and he reached back over to hand the pad back to me, twisting slightly to do so.

He didn’t say a word but the set of his mouth and eyebrows told me he’d moved wrong, in a way that would have left him screaming if he hadn’t been so heavily medicated. My chest hurt, my lungs burning because I just couldn’t get enough oxygen in, because I couldn’t breathe looking at the way my best friend suffered. This was the sort of thing you read about in the paper or heard about on the news. It happened to other people, sure. But it wasn’t supposed to happen to Felix.

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Meet the Author

Lucy lives in rural southern Illinois with a frankly ridiculous amount of yarn and books. During the day she works in adult education and by night she’s a writer and dabbler in yarncrafts. She knits, loves video games and podcasts, and cries over fictional characters regularly.

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New Release Blitz ~ Destined Prize by Bailey Bradford (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Destined Prize by Bailey Bradford

Book 3 in the Wild Ones series

Word Count: 45,576
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 183

Genres:

BONDAGE AND BDSM
CONTEMPORARY
COWBOYS AND WESTERN
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
PARANORMAL
WERESHIFTERS

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Book Description

 

Sam’s imagination was never this wild.

Coywolf shifter Emil Akers is still trying to find his own place in their world, with his dominant tendencies making him butt heads with his big brother and alpha, Casey. After trying to strike out on his own, Emil’s back, farming his own ranch, the Lone Pine, and taking care of his sexual needs with one-nighters, usually far from the small town his pack lives in.

Sensing a story in the accounts of unearthly wild creatures in a small Wyoming town, aspiring reporter Sam Brannigan comes to Britton to research, not have a one-night stand. But after a few drinks and a dark promise from tall, dark and buff in cowboy boots, he happily submits. Submits totally, in fact.

The problem is that the one-nighter proves the two of them are destined mates. Another snag is that both Emil and Sam, two men from two very different backgrounds, are keeping secrets—and Emil’s could shatter Sam’s world.

And when someone seems determined to make the existence of shifters known, Emil and Sam are caught in the crossfire. All hell’s breaking loose, and what they both have to do to ensure the other survives could make their relationship one of the casualties.

All his life, people told Sam he was too imaginative. But he could never have imagined anything this wild…

General Release Date: 4th October 2022

Excerpt

“What do I think? I think all this X-Files crap’s nothing more than jerk-off fodder for teenage weirdos who never step foot out of their mommas’ basements into the light of day. That’s what I think. Oh, and I also think that you’ve gone from having a hard-on over it to getting your balls in a twist about it.” Frank Bueller poked Sam Brannigan in the chest to punctuate his words.

Frank wasn’t from much farther south than Casper, Wyoming, where he lived and worked, but he threw colorful ‘southern’ expressions around the Herald’s newsroom like X-rated confetti. Sam’s theory was that Frank felt it was something a newsman had to do, and with the man dating from pre-internet days, no one had been able to check up on his background and call him out on it originally. Having gotten away with it, once he’d made editor, he’d run with it more.

Capisce, Brannigan?” Frank, also not of Italian background, added.

Versteht.” Having a German grandfather meant Sam could cobble bits of other languages together too. “Well, thanks for that.”

Still staring hard at Sam, Frank blew air down his nostrils in true Frank ‘The Bull’ Bueller style. He turned to rap on the glass of his office window, signaling something to someone out into the bullpen, finishing his message by tapping on his wristwatch and holding up four fingers. “Look, Brannigan,” he said.

“Don’t tell me. Walk with you to the break room,” Sam muttered and stood aside for Frank to lead the way.

He’d been prepared for this tactic even before he took up the job here almost two years ago. If Frank was pitched an idea that didn’t grab him right away, he’d get the writer to go through it again while walking to the staff break room with him. A Casper Herald journalist had to be really fired up about his idea to sell it bigger and louder in public like that, which would convince Frank. If the journalist didn’t want to make a public pitch, he’d drop it, which would save Frank the work of rejecting it.

And if it’s a yelling-down, explain and apologize for your screw-up and take your lumps right then and there in his office. Not the bullpen,” Sam’s father had also told him, having known Frank from their cub reporter days. Sam agreed with that. A public sales pitch was one thing, a public crucifixion another. Frank’s approach to staff development and mentoring was old-school.

Which was why him not shoving open his office door and barreling through into the public arena surprised Sam. Instead, Frank took a quick solo walk around his office, coming to a stop before the Herald’s wall of fame and its photo of award-winning journalist A.L. Brannigan, in all his late-eighties high hair and oversized-eyeglasses glory.

At least Frank didn’t cast a glance back at Sam, comparing and contrasting father and son. Sam’s strawberry-blond hair, while longer on top than at the sides, was more messy from running his fingers through it than piled high with product, and his glasses more nerd-hipster—the jury was still out—than the red statement frames his father wore in the photo.

“You ain’t totally happy here.” Frank spun around to accuse Sam. “Is it business news in particular or the Oil City in general?”

Hell. Sam glanced down at the carpet, half expecting to see he was standing in a black circle—he’d been put on the spot. “I’m grateful you gave me a chance after I graduated,” he started, wishing they had gone to the break room. He could use a glass of water right about now.

He knew he was lucky—not many grads went from college to a state’s largest print newspaper, whose daily and Sunday circulation was over twenty thousand and to which the Wyoming Press Association annually awarded the cup for best large newspaper in the state.

“And true, settling in Wyoming was never on my wish-list growing up, but I’m fine here in Casper.” It was a big enough city for him. “But while Casper’s a regional center of banking and commerce, I don’t intend to report business news forever, no.”

“Hey, I already started you working on energy-related stories,” Frank reminded him. He took another look at Alexander Brannigan. His photo didn’t show the Pulitzer Prize for Excellence in Public Service Journalism he’d won for his investigation into a Wyoming utility company whose shady cartel practice had allowed them to overcharge their natural gas customers for years, but Frank’s smile smacked of reminiscence for his former co-worker.

“We couldn’t keep him here after that,” he commented.

“So you got me. Hoping I’m a chip off the old block.” Sam regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth.

“Yeah.” Frank had probably never sugar-coated anything in his life. “Took you on as a favor. A legacy.” He gave a bull-like snort at the idea. “And you’re proving yourself. Your work ain’t all bad. It needs less ripping to shreds every story.”

“I— Thanks.” Sam meant it. That was praise indeed. And true. He was learning a lot here. More than he’d learned at Syracuse, in many ways. Frank’s dark-brown stare pinned him, demanding a fuller answer, so Sam tried to provide one. “Journalism…it’s more than a family thing, a legacy, to me. I wouldn’t have studied it if not.” Well, he’d double majored in Creative Writing too, but there was no point bringing that up. He’d only get accused of having an ‘itchy pen’.

Frank studied him for a few more seconds, then grunted. “So this is all about this cyber chatroom stuff you’re nuts-deep in?”

“ShareAlike? It’s a social news aggregation and discussion website network—” Sam started. Again. Only for Frank’s upraised hand to cut him off. Again.

“You don’t get enough of that virtual stuff with the computer edition?” Frank’s scowl lowered his brows right down to his flared nostrils.

Sam did work a lot on the Herald’s online paper, pushing for more frequent updates and integrated video and other multimedia content. Someone had to. Maybe that could be his legacy to the Herald. Well, it wasn’t as though he had a lot else to do. He was hardly out on a date every night. That scene had lacked any interest for him for a while now.

“These weirdo forums, with rednecks sighting Bigfoot and the wolfman, or whatever the latest craze is, after they get slung out of the bar…” Frank looked like he did when he ate spicy food. Sam expected him to rub his stomach to go along with the wince.

“So are the users heavy drinkers in rural communities who think they’ve seen something when they stagger out of the bar drunk, or teenage shut-ins who live in their mothers’ basements?” Sam looped back to Frank’s earlier pronouncement.

“Who the hell cares!” Frank sucked in a breath. “Nah, kid. You’re doing okay work in this uranium mine story. I think it’s gonna go big. Keep on that and keep pumping that environmentalist contact. Not these nutballs in chatrooms. You—”

“Sam!”

Both Sam and Frank whirled around at Tony LeDoux’s urgent call from outside…at the same time as a tall, heavy-set guy shouldered Frank’s door open and barged in, more furious than even Frank on a Monday morning. He stopped on seeing Sam.

“Just the lying piece of crap I’m here to complain to your boss about!” he barked, squaring up to Sam.

“Frank Bueller, John Keef from Cheyenne, CEO of Logistics Transportation Inc.,” Sam said over his shoulder to Frank. Stubborn, he didn’t step aside for Keef, and so staggered a little when the guy shoved him aside to round on Frank.

“And he’s hella mad and hella strong,” Sam’s partner, Tony, added from the doorway.

“What’s this about, Keef?” Frank didn’t back down either. He also didn’t look in the least bit fazed.

“This piece of shit here wrote that bunch of lies about my drivers taking goddamn pills to stay awake and that I knew about it!” Keef yelled, gesticulating at Sam. “That I was okay with it—that I fucking encouraged it!”

“Mr. Keef’s logistics firm transports overweight and outsized components used in the wind power industry, you remember,” Sam filled Frank in. Not that there was any need, with the boss’ memory for details of stories, current and past. Frank regularly forgot his wife’s and kids’ birthdays and his own wedding anniversary, but never any specifics of stories.

“Oh yeah. They take the windmill blades to the landfill.” Frank nodded.

“Bueller, I’m here to tell you that if one of my employees—”

“Several,” Sam interrupted the CEO, using a fake cough to do so.

“—pops pills, I don’t know anything about it. That’s what I’m here about—I don’t give a crap about the blades,” Keef snarled.

“You don’t? Then why are you cutting corners to meet the disposal targets?” Frank snapped back. “Like making your drivers work double shifts because you’re not hiring enough men or got enough trucks?”

What?” gasped Keef.

“What we ain’t figured out yet is if it’s because your business is in trouble or because you got greedy,” Frank continued, the verbal equivalent of a one-two punch. “But we’ll find out.”

He raised his voice over Keef’s strangled-sounding protests, his insistence that the lying bag of shit who wrote this garbage be fired before Logistics Transportation sued him, the editor and the paper if it dared print the story.

“Shout the odds all you like, big guy. I stand by my men. Which, heh, is more than you do. We gave you a chance by sending you the copy and requesting an interview—the story runs tomorrow,” Frank announced.

Shouting “The hell it does!” Keef charged at Frank, who absorbed the impact and grabbed Keef in turn.

“See this? This is more like it!” Frank, mid-grapple, called over to Sam and Tony who were backing out of the door. “More like the old days! Proves this is the sort of stuff you should cover!” He paused to block a punch from his enraged opponent and land one in Keef’s stomach. Both Sam and Tony winced. “This is the kind of story to get your nuts in a knot about!”

The two men’s struggle had Keef knocking into the door, hard enough to slam it shut.

“Should we…?” Sam started to ask but subsided. No one else looked concerned, and Frank certainly hadn’t.

“Guess we got Keef where it hurts.” Tony cocked his head at the office. He raised his hand for a high-five, but when Sam didn’t raise his, folded his arms instead. “You okay? Oh, The Bull shoot you down in flames?”

Sam didn’t bother replying.

“Funny. You’d think he’d be more into it when all that UFO and crop circles shit is so retro.” Tony cast a final look at Frank’s office and made for his desk. “Guess you should move on, then. You know what it means when a guy gets obsessed with something that crazy to this degree?” He waited until a couple of their co-workers looked up. “Means he needs to get laid!”

“Like I told you, you’re not really my type.” Sam spoke even louder than Tony had. “But keep trying, and I might get desperate enough to take you up on it one day.” He blew his partner a kiss.

“In your dreams.” Tony blew him a raspberry in reply.

“Oh, you are. Wanna hear what I did to you?” Sam would never back down and usually wanted the last word. “It involved scented body oil, furry pink handcuffs and a rolled-up copy of the Casper Herald…”

“Oh, Jesus,” Tony whimpered as Sam sat.

There was no malice in the exchanges he had with Tony, or any of the other writers, just a sense of familiarity, of having slipped into a role and playing it out, as if Sam had been there longer than two years. Most of the others had. Was he bored? He tried to follow the thought through. He liked the job, yeah. He enjoyed investigative journalism…but he liked features, and long pieces too.

A tiny beep sounded—the new message alert Sam had set up for the ShareAlike forum he visited. Okay, haunted. Maybe he was in a rut, and this was escapism—it had his heart beating quicker than the stories he chased for the Herald. He took discreet glances around and clicked onto the forum. Inaspectus had posted again! Sam scanned it. The guy, or woman, not only believed all the stories about the sightings in that one area but reiterated his own, the details the same.

Sam took off his glasses to rub his eyes. Did he really believe there was a wolfman—a beast on two legs, bipedal, as Inaspectus swore he’d seen it—loose in a small Wyoming town? Inaspectus claimed he’d been clawed by the mutant, and another user had a similar tale of a lucky escape from a ‘were’. Sam didn’t know why he was so into this crazy story…any more than he knew why he opened a map of the state to see where this place was. All he knew was that he was drawn there.

He looked up at two of the building’s security guards hurrying onto the floor, just as Frank kicked his door open and elbowed his visitor out.

“Thanks, guys. Take out the trash,” Frank instructed them. He handed the spluttering Keef over and pointed at Tony then Sam. “Write up the heated denial from the subject of the story, could ya? The piece is taking shape!”

“Sure, boss.” Tony grinned.

Sam spoke before he knew he was going to. “Oh, hey, could I have a couple of days off?”

“Sure!” Spreading his hands, Frank went to set his office to rights. Tony followed, glaring at Sam for having gotten in first.

Sam looked down at his mouse mat. A gag gift from a friend when he’d been packing to head to Wyoming, it said SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWBOY. Well, the big cities didn’t have many of the latter, but he knew where there’d be some.

Out in ranching country, where all these weird sightings had been…and where he was planning to go for the long weekend he was taking.

To the small town of Britton, Fallon County.

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About the Author

Bailey Bradford

A native Texan, Bailey spends her days spinning stories around in her head, which has contributed to more than one incident of tripping over her own feet. Evenings are reserved for pounding away at the keyboard, as are early morning hours. Sleep? Doesn’t happen much. Writing is too much fun, and there are too many characters bouncing about, tapping on Bailey’s brain demanding to be let out.

Caffeine and chocolate are permanent fixtures in Bailey’s office and are never far from hand at any given time. Removing either of those necessities from Bailey’s presence can result in what is known as A Very, Very Scary Bailey and is not advised under any circumstances.

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New Release Blitz: Death Growl by Layla Dorine (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Death Growl

Series: Comet Lake Chronicles, Book Three

Author: Layla Dorine

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/04/2022

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male, Male/Male Menage

Length: 90400

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, menage, shifters, bonded mates, hurt-comfort, doctors, musicians, motorcycle club, enemies to lovers, intersex, nonbinary

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Description

The fates say all three of them belong together, like broken pieces of carnival glass just itching for a bit of glue, and the fates are never wrong, are they? Graham doesn’t think so, but convincing Zane and Cormac of that might take words never covered in his anatomy books.

One season: that’s the longest Zane stays anywhere. When the snow thaws and the pass is clear, he and his band will limp out of town in their battered RV, leaving Graham and his bruised heart behind, unless he can find a way to convince Zane to take a chance on something no one has ever taken the time to explain to him.

Bond marks might be a desire for some wolves, but for Zane, they mean the end of the only family he’s ever known. On stage, he’s not the pup some angry wolf tossed out an open window, he’s Z—wild, charismatic, nymphomaniac lead singer of Howling Rain. His aftershow activities are what put the bond marks on his wrists in the first place, much to the dismay of his bandmates who fear that those other kinds of mates will be the end of the success they’ve found together.

It’s up to Graham to teach them all that compromise and understanding are a big part of the mating process, and that their found families can be expanded to fit a couple more wolves. After all, the attraction is there, and in those soft, cuddly moments where Z fades and Zane emerges, all their little wolf wants is cuddles, warm blankets, and lots of love.

Excerpt

Death Growl
Layla Dorine © 2022
All Rights Reserved

Come check out the music, they said. You’ll love the band. Z always puts on the best shows.

What no one had thought to inform him was that the show was interactive, and that Zane—or at least, Graham was certain the white wolf who’d pulled him up on the stage to dance was Zane—was the definition of sinful. The wolf had gone from belting out lyrics to gyrating with the mic stand, their waist-length white hair damp with sweat, those silver-blue eyes seeming to glow every time the strobe lights flashed silver. When the mic stand got boring, Zane growled into the mic, prompting the crowd to howl back. The energy in the room was electric, crackling like a live wire, revved up even more when the singer leapt, twisting to land in the crowd, where the wolves then surfed them around the room, which was how they’d come to land in front of Graham in the first place.

Androgynous, with high cheekbones, their features soft, like a shimmering sprite, ethereal and enchanting as all get-out, this close he could see the dusting of glitter on their cheekbones, the kohl around their eyes, and the sparkle of purple lip gloss that was smeared from where they’d made out with one of their bandmates earlier in the show. Zane smirked, flicked their tongue out, rolled their shoulders, and wiggled their hips, growling when Graham said to hell with teasing, yanked the singer into his arms, and started to grind against them, making sure they felt the strength in Graham’s embrace. Grinning, Zane wrapped their arms around Graham’s neck, straddled his thigh, and howled, hips rocking like a fuckin’ jackrabbit in heat.

Someone grabbed Zane’s hair, tugging their head back until they were looking at the ceiling. The bold stranger’s midnight eyes held a hint of challenge as he smirked at Graham before howling, the crowd and Zane responding with howls while the guitars in the background raced on. On any other night, Graham would have let go of the singer, conceding to the other wolf so this pack wouldn’t find out their new doctor had a temper and a jealous streak that had gotten him in trouble in the past. Tonight, though, with the way Zane fit in his arms and the wild crackle of energy surrounding them, there was no way he was letting go.

Grabbing midnight-eyes’ wrist, he found the pressure point, squeezing until the other wolf grimaced and released his hold on Zane’s hair. Snarling, Graham glared at him until he threw his hands up and backed away, leaving Graham with the lithe figure dancing in his arms. The look Zane was giving him—wicked, wild, and full of seduction—had Graham’s jeans feeling tight and his heart hammering like he’d just finished a three-mile sprint. Behind them the song wound down, but rather than return to the stage, Zane turned enough to shake their hand across their throat several times, telling the band to cut.

Any other place he’d ever been would have erupted into boos and protests, but here there were good-natured chuckles, lewd comments, and a reminder to come back in three days for another show.

“My place or yours?” Zane hissed, leaning in and licking the shell of Graham’s ear.

“Whichever is closer,” Graham growled.

“In that case, there’s an RV out back. Band knows better than to load out until it stops rockin’.”

“Does it ever?”

Chuckling, Zane grabbed him by the hand and practically dragged him through the packed bar, downing a drink someone shoved at them and catching a beer pitched in their direction on the way out the door. The ease with which they’d done it, automatically flinging their hand up without ever looking in the direction it was thrown from, told Graham the action was commonplace.

The white-haired wolf had that beer open and sliding down their throat before they got out the back door, where a large, dented gray-and-black RV sat parked beneath a bright streetlight.

“What happened? Play too rough?”

“Is that even a thing?” Zane replied, their speaking voice as musical as their singing one. “I mean, how can one play too rough?”

“Well, from a physician’s standpoint, I’d have to say that if those dents were made by your body, then whoever was helping you put them there might have been just a smidge rough.”

“Really,” Zane asked, opening the door and leading Graham onto the bus, passing a trash receptacle where they deposited the now-empty bottle. “And if that’s what I asked for?”

“Was it?”

Snickering, Zane peeled their half-shredded T-shirt off and tossed it aside, leading Graham through to the back of the RV. “Nope, but now that you put it in my head, I’m gonna have to try it sometime.”

Shaking his head, Graham barely resisted the urge to tell them they’d be seeing Graham again if they did, but the sight of moonlight gleaming off the piercings in Zane’s nipples and belly button rendered him mute. It was rare to see a pierced-up shifter because the holes tended to close before a piercing could be switched out. That left most shifters with only two options if they truly wanted to have them—never remove anything but the end pieces, or have the piercing redone each and every time they wanted to change them, an act Graham suspected would get painful after a while.

“See something you like?” Zane asked as they kicked off their boots.

“All that metal you’ve got stuck in your skin.”

“Those are just the teasers, wait until you see the whole show.”

Dropping his T-shirt on a chair, Graham waved his hand in Zane’s direction. “We’ll you’ve got my undivided attention; have at it.”

Winking, Zane stripped out of the black jeans they’d been prancing about the stage in, a dozen buckles up each leg with zips on the front and hips that made it easy for them to shimmy out. Of course, being zipped the way they were also allowed for a skintight fit, and speaking of fit, holy shit, was that lithe form Zane uncovered ripped with just a hint of curves!

The jeans hit the floor, revealing a Prince Albert piercing in an extremely small, hard cock, but what truly blew Graham away was when Zane turned to shove laundry off a bed, only to display a corset piercing up their back, threaded through with purple and silver ribbon.

“Holy fuck me,” Graham muttered, stalking across the small space to run his fingers over them and give a gentle tug to one of the laces.

“Hmm, yeah,” Zane groaned. “Nice, aren’t they? I wanna get both forearms done and the backs of my thighs, though I’ve seen a few folks with just their calves done and that looks amazing. Maybe I’ll do a diagonal slash across the front of both thighs and have the calves done too. You have to admit the effect would be stunning.”

“Is it pain you like, or the look of them?” Graham asked, still running his fingers over those lines of rings, “And if it’s the look, why cover them up on stage?”

“They aren’t always covered. On the nights I perform in miniskirts and crop tops the audience has plenty to see.”

“And the pain part?”

“Love it.”

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Meet the Author

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

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

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New Release Blitz ~ Bewitched by the Barista by Jason Wrench (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Bewitched by the Barista By Jason Wrench

Book 2 in the Up on the Farm series

Word Count: 74,034
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 282

Genres:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI

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Book Description

Finding love and coffee in the unlikeliest of places…

After finding him in bed with another man, Roger Havemeyer needs to escape his life and his ex. Dale Devereux, an old friend of his now lives up near Woodstock with his boyfriend Talgat. After visiting Dale and Talgat one weekend, Roger decides a change of scenery may be just what he needs. Roger’s job as a marketing executive allows him to work remotely now, so he puts in an offer on a house. One evening, while deleting a slew of emails, he accidentally clicks on a link to a website called CammBate. Not familiar with the website, he finds himself really drawn to one of the young models, which surprises him, since he rarely likes younger guys.

Wesley Phelps is a twenty-year-old college student paying his way through college. He has a small apartment that he shares with his best friend. A friend of his told him that with his good looks, he could make a lot of money on CammBate, so he started performing. Even as the money starts rolling in from his online sex work, he keeps his job as a part-time barista at the local coffee shop, Java Junkie Café & Roastery.

After closing the deal on his house, Roger walks into Java Junkie Café & Roastery and almost has a heart attack when he recognizes Wes. Of course, Roger is used to their ‘relationship’ being completely one-sided. Wes finds himself drawn to the attractive forty-year-old but isn’t even sure if the older man knows he’s alive.

Roger and Wes must work to get past their twenty-year age gap, and Roger also must learn how to cope with Wes’ jobs…both of them.

Reader advisory: This book features online sex performance.

Excerpt

Christmas music filled the elevator as I rode in silence up to our apartment, thankful my new client had signed on the dotted line with little fuss. I think we had both been trying to get home for the holidays. Nothing sped up the process like a late afternoon meeting on the day before Christmas, I guessed.

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped out into the empty hallway. Even on busy days, people in our building were quiet, respectful and kept to themselves, which was how I liked it. My fiancé, Jeremy, wasn’t expecting me for at least another couple of hours. I kind of looked forward to surprising him. We had reservations at nine for dinner, so it would be nice to chill out, maybe throw on some news before we headed into the frosty night. Well, for New York City, it wasn’t the coldest Christmas I’d seen. In fact, it was downright seasonal.

I pulled my keys out of my pocket and slipped the right one into the lock before turning it clockwise and pushing open the door. I stepped in and was immediately surprised by the dimmed lights and a handful of lit candles glowing inside. Sometimes, Jeremy takes relaxing baths. I opted not to yell out and didn’t want to break his mood. Hell, if I’m lucky, maybe I’ll slip into the tub and join him.

I hung up my coat on the hook near the door and set my briefcase down on the counter. I walked into the living room and immediately saw clothes strewn about the apartment. Well then, I thought to myself. If that’s how he wants this evening, I don’t want to disappoint him. We’d played this little game before. I’d come home, Jeremy would have stripped and had been waiting for me on our bed. Once, for Valentine’s Day, he’d had a trail of rose petals leading me into the bedroom.

Without thinking, I shrugged out of my suit coat, laying it over the back of the sofa. I kicked off my loafers and made quick work of my tie. Before long, I was naked as the day I’d been born. I stared down at my washboard stomach. Not as flat as when I’d been a teenager, but I still looked pretty damn hot. Just staring at my nude body and its tightly manscaped features had me growing in anticipation.

The bedroom door was closed. I reached out, grabbed the handle and twisted it. I pushed it open quietly, just in case Jeremy had fallen asleep while he was waiting for me. The thought of walking in on a nude Jeremy lying on our bed facedown definitely caused my cock to twitch. I looked down at all eight inches of me standing as straight and hard as a ship’s mast.

It took a second for my eyes to adjust.

“What the fuck!” I yelled.

Jeremy was mid-thrust into some young twink’s ass.

He whipped his head in my direction. “Roger,” Jeremy started, his voice trailing off.

I stared in disbelief as Jeremy’s cock sat nestled in the guy. The twink, whose face was shoved into the mattress, lifted his head and looked at me.

“Oh…hey, Roger,” Avery said. “Wanna join?” He winked at me and licked the top of his lip.

Part of me wanted to go over and shove something between those lips to see if he’d choke on it. But with my luck, he’d have no gag reflex. Instead, I narrowed my eyes and said, “Avery Addington.” I sounded like a principal who wasn’t too surprised to see a pupil in the main office. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Avery looked at me with a ‘are you fucking kidding me’ look, before he said, “Uh…having a good time.”

My nails bit into my palms in clenched fists. Jeremy sat there with his cock still sitting inside the kid. Then he slowly slid out.

“And you’re not wearing a condom!” I was pretty sure neighbors up and down the hall heard that one.

“Don’t worry, daddy,” Avery said, drawing out the word ‘daddy’ like it was some kind of badge of honor for reaching the ancient age of forty. “I’m totally on PrEP.”

“I’m. No. One’s. Father.”

I knew if I didn’t get out of there, I was going to say a few things I wouldn’t want to repeat in polite company, not that Avery was polite. Avery was one of those kids who had a reputation, and now I saw the reputation in all its glory splayed out on my bed…and on the sheets I’d bought!

I shut the door.

I looked out at the living room. Only then did I notice that there’d been two pairs of pants on the floor. How had I been so blind?

I walked over to where I’d discarded my clothes and heard the bedroom door open.

“You don’t get the right to be angry with me,” Jeremy said.

“What?” I spun around and looked at Jeremy. “I’m not the one who was fucking around on my fiancé…on Christmas Eve!”

“Well, if you weren’t working all the time…”

“I work all the time so we can afford to live here, so we can afford that dream wedding you’ve been wanting.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault I’m having a problem landing a job.”

“Jeremy,” I said, trying to keep the venom out of my voice as much as possible, “you’ve been having a problem landing work for years. When are you going to realize that you’re a two-bit hack of an actor who will never make it big? Sure, you’re hot, but you don’t have any fucking talent.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I kind of regretted them—but not really.

“Well… How long have you been holding that in?”

I breathed in through my nose and let it out. “This is neither the time nor the place to have this conversation.”

“Oh, and why not?”

“You’re naked. I’m naked. And that two-bit hustling twink is in my bedroom.”

Our bedroom.”

“As if that makes it better?” I groused.

Avery chose that moment to make his appearance. He reached up and rested his arm on Jeremy’s shoulder as he draped himself around my fiancé. I couldn’t help but focus downward, seeing that Avery was the only one in the room who was on full alert.

“I am not a hustler,” Avery said.

“You’re what? Twelve—?”

“I’m twenty-five, I’ll have you know.”

“And yet you act like you’re a child. You’re the fucking gay version of Peter Pan. All the rumors about you are true, aren’t they?”

“I don’t pay attention to rumors. Anyone who has a problem with me isn’t my problem.”

“What the fuck ever,” I said. “I just can’t—”

“We need to talk about this,” Jeremy said, cutting into my dressing down of Avery.

“Talk about what?” I asked. In the flickering candlelight, I realized that all three of us were standing there stark naked. I was so mad at Jeremy that I hadn’t thought about the fact that I was letting an absolute stranger stare at my naked body. “I can’t talk to you now…not like this—”

“Roger—”

“Don’t, Roger, me.” I found my underwear on the ground, reached down, grabbed them and pulled them up. When I was finally covered, I looked back up at Avery and Jeremy. “I hope you two are happy together.”

“Oh, I’m not looking for a relationship,” Avery said, with almost a hint of disgust at the thought of it. “I found him on Grindr and thought he looked like fun.”

“Grindr!” I yelled again. “You’re on Grindr?”

“It’s not like that—”

“Like what? Like you created a profile on a dating app behind my back.” Only then did I realize what other implications this had. “Is Avery even the first?”

The look on Jeremy’s face was all I needed to see. Avery clearly wasn’t the first. My face went slack.

“Roger…”

I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. I’d never felt more betrayed by anyone in my entire life.

“Roger!”

I got dressed. I heard Jeremy’s voice in the background, but I’d honestly stopped listening. At some point, Avery had slunk back into the bedroom. I looked up at one point and could see the kid acting like he owned the place. Avery was propped up with his arms crossed behind his head. The light from the living room provided me enough to see the smug look on the little prick’s face.

I laced up my shoes, stood, walked to the front door, grabbed my briefcase, pulled down my coat and left.

Even as I shut the door behind myself, I could hear Jeremy calling after me. I walked in a haze to the elevator. A happy, smiling couple stood in the small box hand-in-hand when the doors opened. That should have been me. As much as I wanted to make a snide comment about how love was fake, I plastered on a smile and turned my back to the couple. On the ride down, a tear fell down my cheek.

I walked through the lobby and quickly realized I did not know where I was going. Out in the cold air, I pulled out my phone and pulled up my favorite hotel app. On Christmas Eve, there wasn’t exactly much availability, and the prices for booking this late made my eyes bulge. I found a hotel I’d always wanted to stay at and booked it. I had the money in my savings, so I might as well enjoy the stay. I booked for three nights. I needed distance. I needed to figure out what my next move was.

Fuck! I have nothing with me. Thankfully, Duane Reade was always open, so I could get my necessities there. If I hurried, I could buy some new clothes for a few days. At least, I hoped I could find a department store still open. I hailed the first cab I saw and said, “Take me to Macy’s Harold Square.”

The guy got a weary look on his face before saying, “Whatever. It’s your funeral.”

I leaned back and stared at my reflection in the cab’s window as we passed the familiar sights of the city. What am I going to do now?

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About the Author

Jason Wrench

Jason Wrench is a professor in the Department of Communication at SUNY New Paltz and has authored/edited 15+ books and over 35 academic research articles. He is also an avid reader and regularly reviews books for publishers in a wide number of genres. This book marks his first full-length work of fiction.

Find out more about Jason at his website.

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New Release Blitz: The Oracle’s Sprite by Mell Eight (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Oracle’s Sprite

Series: Oracle, Book Four

Author: Mell Eight

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 09/27/2022

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 26100

Genre: Paranormal Fantasy, LGBTQIA+, MM romance, explicit, anthropomorphic, mythical creatures/dragons, magic users, hurt-comfort, soldiers

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Description

Keir became the leader of the opposition army when he was barely eighteen years old. He led the fight against the usurper king from land while Prince Edan and Regent Egan led from the sea. Keir also had hundreds of men at his command and one invisible dragon, nicknamed Sprite, who likes to help out from time to time.

Sprite is friendly and fun-loving, happy to play tricks on Keir’s sister and keep Keir company. When a letter arrives from the Oracle asking for Keir’s presence, he expects Sprite to calmly travel with him. Instead, the strong gale that erupts sends Keir flying overboard and into an adventure he and Sprite might not walk away from alive.

Excerpt

The Oracle’s Sprite
Mell Eight © 2022
All Rights Reserved

Keir smelled blood in the air. He knew that scent intimately from growing up with the Captain of the Guard as his father. He had stood at the man’s knee while his father directed the army against the marauding thieves plaguing the people of northern Altnoia. Keir had learned to wield a sword and fire a pistol in training grounds soaked with the blood and sweat of the trainees before him.

It was a scent he was all too familiar with, but he had never before smelled it inside his mother’s home. She insisted that blood belonged on the battlefield and training grounds, not on her fancy rugs. Neither Father nor Keir had ever dared allow even a speck of blood into the house for fear of her wrath.

Keir rolled out of bed and grabbed his muzzleloader out of the nearby cabinet. A fast peek into the hallway showed nothing out of the ordinary. He quickly pulled on sturdy breeches and a shirt, over which he clumsily laced a vest of leather armor. If the scent of blood was only his imagination acting up, Keir didn’t want to scandalize anyone by walking through the halls naked. He tied his sword to his belt, hiking it high because Father had ordered he train with the sword into which he would grow as an adult rather than a child-sized one, and made sure his gun was loaded.

When he opened the door this time, the smell in the hallway was even worse than in his bedroom, which he hadn’t noticed when he’d first glanced out. Keir carefully peeked around the doorway into the hall. A stranger stood in front of his parents’ room at the far end; he hadn’t been there moments before, and Keir didn’t recognize him as one of his father’s men.

“Make sure they’re dead, then hurry,” the man snarled.

Keir lifted his pistol, aimed, and fired. The man fell to the ground in a spray of blood, a hole in his forehead. Blood and death weren’t something Keir shied away from after everything his father had taught him; this didn’t faze him now. Keir ducked back into his room to reload, then poked his head back into the hall. Two men had run out of his parents’ room at the noise and stood there exclaiming over their leader’s death. They hadn’t seen Keir yet, and he killed one of them with another headshot.

It gave away his position, but one-on-one odds were better than trying to take on both of them at once anyway. With no time to reload, he tucked his gun back into its holster and drew his sword. He rushed the lone man and slashed at him. The man clumsily blocked with his own sword; he hadn’t had the training Keir had. After a few more thrusts, Keir impaled the stranger, and he fell to the floor, dead.

Keir hurried to his parents’ room and stopped short in the doorway. He gagged, trying not to vomit even as tears blurred his vision. They were both dead, their necks thoroughly cut in their sleep. Blood stained the bedclothes around their bodies, their eyes closed peacefully, as if they hadn’t even known their death was approaching so swiftly. Keir spun around and forced himself to walk away. He couldn’t do anything for them, but his baby sister might still be alive.

Her room was down the hall in the nursery. Her nurse had no doubt snuck into the kitchen for a bit of fun with the butler once Claire was asleep. Claire still slept in her crib, unknowing of all that had just happened. Keir carefully gathered her into his nondominant arm, just in case he needed to fight again, and hurried from the nursery. He went upward, traveling the many steps to the bell tower. In ringing the bell, he signaled warning and death to everyone within hearing distance. His father’s loyal troops would come, and they would find out who had murdered the Captain of the Guard of Altnoia.

Should the child test anywhere but the Air Caste, his spirit would be crushed. The Oracle knew that without a doubt. The child looked the part prior to his testing. Thin and willowy, it seemed as if his body had been carved slender by the constant gusting of air. His hair was long and pale blond, barely a shade too colorful for someone in the Air Caste. His eyes were the gray of a wind-tossed sky before a storm. A flighty child, he liked to skip while everyone else walked and to hum to himself. He was echoing the flow of air inside the Monastery and giving voice to the sounds the wind carried to him. It made him seem odd to many of his peers, yet those who knew the wind understood the strange child perfectly. The Oracle had him test first, as she did with all children destined for greatness.

He was expected to test highly, given his strong ties with the Air Caste as a child, and he did. The previous Dragon of Air had passed away forty-five years ago; the fact that no new Dragon had arrived to replace her for so very long set an unhappy record. It wasn’t a surprise that when he emerged from the testing chamber, his hair had paled to pure white, and the Dragon of Air was tattooed on his back.

The dragon was formless. His back might have still looked blank if it weren’t for the slightest blurring of the skin as if an invisible wind was forever etched there. The Oracle could see a pair of eyes hidden there, as well as a pair of clear wings attached to a massive body. She knew where to look to find the dragon tattoo, as did the watching Masters.

Her Dragon of Air remained in the Monastery only a short year for training. It was an unhappy time for him, she knew. Her Monastery was sick, and that sickness fixated on those with prestige, particularly the Dragons, and in the end made him suffer for testing well with both physical and psychological attacks. The Dragon of Air tried hiding away, and he even tried ineffectually confronting it, only to fail. Eventually, he simply flittered off wherever the Air would take him. He traveled the world on the wings of the wind. The Oracle smiled and let him go, glad to let him finally escape. Confining the Dragon of Air in the Monastery for her to eventually send him out on a quest would be cruel. Besides, her Dragon of Fire would soon come of age, and she needed to focus on his future if she wanted the world to survive for the Dragon of Air to continue his aimless travels.

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Meet the Author

When Mell Eight was in high school, she discovered dragons. Beautiful, wondrous creatures that took her on epic adventures both to faraway lands and on journeys of the heart. Mell wanted to create dragons of her own, so she put pen to paper. Mell Eight is now known for her own soaring dragons, as well as for other wonderful characters dancing across the pages of her books. While she mostly writes paranormal or fantasy stories, she has been seen exploring the real world once or twice.

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New Release Blitz: Blood Harvest by Meghan Schubert (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Blood Harvest

Series: The Harvest

Author: Meghan Schubert

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 09/27/2022

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 79200

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, paranormal, urban fantasy, lesbian, vampire, shifter, angel, succubus, roommates, blood, death, conspiracy

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Description

If you were losing your humanity, how hard would you fight to hold on to it? What would you be willing to do, to give up, to make sure you remained the human you were, rather than the demon you seemed to be turning into? Hope McKinley, former advertising student turned newly undead, finds herself wrestling with these questions and so much more.

Blood Harvest delves into the depths of the human psyche and grapples with the struggle between light and dark in all of us as seen through the eyes of one forced out of the human race and fighting to return.

Excerpt

Blood Harvest
Meghan M. Schubert © 2022
All Rights Reserved

“Shh.” He trailed the finger down my chin and rested it in the crook of my neck. I suppressed a shudder. He leaned in, too close for comfort, hands gripping my hips tighter and guiding my pelvis toward his while his lips grazed my neck. My stomach flipped. My insides felt like they were on fire.

Did he just sniff me?

“Ian, what’re you—”

“Quiet.” He kissed me once, twice, his lips caressing, teasing, the heat in me rising, then turning into a sharp, stabbing pain. A pain that shot through my shoulder, up my neck, and exploded into the back of my head. My eyes widened and then closed tight, mouth open in a silent scream as I tried to breathe. I forced myself forward, trying to push against him, but he was heavier than me, and all it seemed to do was aggravate him. Ian slammed his weight against me, and I yelped as the bricks dug into my back. The way he had me pinned, I couldn’t even shift enough to get a knee in his groin.

Shit, now what?

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had people bite me in a kinky sort of way, but this was so much more. He was drawing blood, my blood, his mouth hot and wet on my neck. The gentle motion of his lips sent waves of electric heat through me, cascading down, the pain giving way to a pleasurable numbness, and I thrust my hips against him hungrily as his teeth sank deeper. I groaned, my body slumping against his as my legs started to give out. It hurt like hell, but it felt so good. I just didn’t want to fight anymore.

Everything began to blur and melt away as I succumbed to the bliss. It felt like falling; you know the end is coming but you just don’t know when. Is this what it’s like to die? What a way to go.

Before I was able to let myself completely go, something hot and sticky pressed against my lips. It smelled of old pennies and leather and cologne. Smelled like Ian. Without warning, a hand fisted into my hair, forcing my mouth on the warm liquid. I had no desire to taste it, but something inside compelled me, drew me to it. It smelled so good.

The liquid burned the whole way down, igniting my throat and stomach. I was torn between wanting to throw up and wanting to drink more. This was insane. What was I doing?

The mingling of pleasure and pain was almost too much, and soon I was seeing white. Still, I refused to let go.

Wait. Let go? What am I holding?

I finally blinked bleary eyes open to find myself sucking on Ian’s bleeding arm, my fingers clutching him like a vise. I still refused to let go. In fact, I started sucking harder, drawing more of his blood into my mouth, throat convulsing, burning, as I gulped it down.

After what seemed like several excruciating hours, he pulled away, and I whimpered like a kicked puppy. He knelt and kissed me gently, licking the excess blood from my mouth.

“I’ll be back, Hope. Until then, take care of yourself.”

I felt him run his hand through my hair and then the cold cement as I hit it hard.

I know what you’re thinking, but this isn’t your typical vampire love story. In fact, love is a laughable concept for me, especially after the shit I’m about to get dragged through.

But you can see for yourself. Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?

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Meet the Author

Meghan Schubert, born in 1985 in the greater city of Philadelphia, has always been a nerd at heart. Dubbing herself an “elder millennial,” Meghan grew up with a love of video games, horror, and Goosebumps books. In high school, she wrote short stories for the school newspaper before working her way up to editor. That love turned into a passion when she took up Video Game Design in college, where the premise of her first novel came to light. Her pursuit of game design was short-lived, however, when Meghan realized that programming was not her forte; the stories behind the games were. Thus, a writer was born.

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New Release Blitz ~ Syndicate Rising by Amy Craig (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Syndicate Rising by Amy Craig

Book 1 in the Sun Valley Mafia series

Word Count: 88,158
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 365

Genres:

 BILLIONAIRE
CONTEMPORARY
CRIME AND MYSTERY
EROTIC ROMANCE
MAFIA/GANGS
THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE

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Book Description

 

A one-night stand turns serious…

Nina’s neighbor sets her up on a blind date with a handsome insurance salesman. After a candlelit dinner, Nina hooks up with him in a posh New York hotel room, but she writes off the date as a one-night stand. Returning home, she discovers her neighbor’s death, her dog’s abduction and the salesman’s possible involvement.

Traipsing across the city with her date in tow, she realizes he’s a quarrelsome billionaire and that her dog may never return. Grieving her losses, she accompanies her date to a ‘billionaire summer camp’ in Sun Valley, Idaho, but the idyllic setting revolves around his whims—and the person who took her dog follows them.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence and murder.

Excerpt

Nina backed into the high-rise’s smudged glass door and sacrificed her favorite red suit to the city’s germs. The skirt displayed her ass to an advantage, so her immune system had better appreciate the tradeoff. Half of New York had left their handprints on the panel, and the other half would visit tomorrow. After the year she’d had, the limited contact approach made sense. Since Nan’s death, she had wondered what she wanted out of life, but influenza wasn’t the answer.

Free of the law office where she worked as a legal mediator, she adjusted her leather tote and inhaled a mix of freesia, exhaust and hot-dog fumes. Summer humidity hovered over the sunbaked sidewalks.

In a few hours, the concrete would cool, and the city’s professional class would congregate in packed restaurants, dim bars and quiet subway stations. She would be home with the dog she’d recently adopted, Victor, a few journal articles and a chilled salad.

The red suit would go to the dry cleaners.

Most Fridays, she treated herself to a car, but her favorite driver had left town for a funeral. She headed for the subway station, but she missed the light. Standing on the street corner, she watched the cars jostle for position. The city felt impossibly big, but she carved out a place for herself and the achievement satisfied her.

An unkempt man rattled a cup full of change. “Heya.”

Keeping her expression neutral, she focused on the opposite street corner. Her career trained her to avoid conflict, but she snuck a glance. Arms wrapped around his knees, he held the cup. A large, purple birthmark covered one cheek and his nearly black bare feet tapped to a private beat.

“Can you spare a dollar?” he asked.

She often gave money to people on the street, but she tried not to let their plights ruin her day. An unfolded newspaper lay next to this man, and the lead story detailed overcrowding at area homeless shelters. If she had a few million dollars to spare, she would do more than give him a dollar. Fishing in her tote, she pulled out a bill and offered it. Too late, she realized she held a twenty.

His face lit up, and he snatched the bill. “What’s your name?”

“I don’t think so.” Shifting her stance, she eyed his bare feet. She’d spent more than twenty dollars on Victor’s collar. If she couldn’t afford the same generosity for another human, she might need to reevaluate her priorities. “If I give you another twenty, will you buy shoes?”

“Nope.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

“Never needed them.” He stretched out his legs. “I do need a hamburger.”

“Okay then.”

The light changed.

Striding across the intersection, she glanced over her shoulder. The unkempt man chatted with another suit-clad commuter, and she released the tension in her shoulders. Checking the time, she wondered if she would make her train, quickened her pace and descended the subway stairs.

On the last step, her red heel quivered.

Grabbing for the railing, she held fast.

The crowd rushed past.

If she had fallen, would someone have stopped to help her? Shaking her head, she continued into the station and lingered near the platform’s back wall.

The train roared to a stop.

Gauging the flow of passengers, she squeezed into the cramped train and stood elbow to elbow with her fellow New Yorkers. More than anything else, the subway normalized the city’s population. In a rocking and rolling subway car, everyone widened their stance, gripped the handlebars and hung on for dear life. She did the same, but she did it better than most.

After a few stops, the train’s shaking rhythm lulled her, and she closed her eyes. She didn’t really need a day off work. She needed a way to unwind. As a legal mediator, she helped opposing parties feel in control, but she could halt the discussions at any time. Some people were selfish morons and some were lovesick fools, but she stayed calm.

The first year in law school, she’d worn black. By graduation, she’d secured her place on the honors list and had turned red into her signature color. When people asked about the color, she told them she liked to put out fires, and they paid her good money to do it. The sense of achievement brought a smile to her lips, but in a city this big, her compensation bought her little luxuries, and she remembered her grandmother’s admonishment to savor them.

“You look happy,” a woman said.

She opened her eyes. An older woman held a cane between her knees. She nodded with the train’s rhythm, but her pale blue eyes looked clear. “I am.”

“But tired.” The woman pointed a crooked, arthritic finger. “You should take better care of yourself.”

“Great advice. You, too.” Clearing her throat, she checked the train’s progress toward Murray Hill. The borough’s tree-lined streets were quintessential old New York City. Apple orchards, windswept daisies and benevolent livestock were an ideal childhood setting, but she craved museums, restaurants and the city’s vibrant, diverse flavors. If Nan had decided to haunt her, she could go straight back to the countryside.

The rider dug in her purse. “I have a tea you could try.”

“Oh. Um…” She tamped down her horror. If she wanted to land on Page Six, she could have a lot more fun before accepting drugs from a stranger. Rows of white subway tiles came into view and the train lumbered into the stop at 33rd Street. She pushed her way toward the train door. “Maybe next time!”

The woman snapped her purse closed.

Emerging from the station into fading late-afternoon light, Nina adjusted her skirt and turned toward the pre-war Park Avenue condo building she loved.

José, her building’s doorman, spotted her and waved.

She waved back. His stomach stretched his black doorman’s jacket, but he wore his hair like Elvis. When she smuggled Victor out of the back of the building for walks, she often heard him singing in the service hallways. More than once, she wondered if the songs served as an audible warning. She doted on her new dog, but she hadn’t finished her pet application. Stopping at José’s side where she could chat without interrupting his work, she adjusted her tote. “Anything good today?”

“Couple of packages,” he said. “A new guy moved onto the twelfth floor.”

“Oh?”

Pulling open the door, he winked. “The man’s eighty.”

“Good for him.” She needed a way to unwind, but she could do better than eighty. Maybe she could make friends with the man and set him up with the lady on the train. Smiling, she slipped past José and made her way to the elevator. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

She rode the elevator to her floor.

After typing her access code into her door’s security panel, she dropped her tote on the hardwood floor and circled the leather couch. Victor pawed at the crate door, but the clever animal made no sounds. Lifting the crate’s door release, she stepped back.

He bounded out, play-bowed and wagged his tail.

She held out her arms for the silly white animal.

Acting coy, he cocked his head.

“Come here, you little stinker.”

He growled.

Crouching, she scooped him into her arms and buried her nose in his soft fur. “I missed you.”

He licked her cheek.

After she’d checked her houseplants and emptied her tote, she lowered him into the leather purse and eased closed her condo’s door. Looking both ways down the hallway, she found it empty and exhaled. “Quiet or some snooty neighbor will bust us, and we’ll have to find you a new home.”

He whimpered.

“Don’t worry. They’re all good people at heart.” Stroking his head, she ferried him to the small park behind the building. She would present him to the condo board, but she needed time to complete the board’s lengthy pet application. Who wouldn’t love this dog?

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About the Author

Amy Craig

Amy Craig lives in Baton Rouge, Louisiana USA with her family and a small menagerie of pets. She writes women’s fiction and contemporary romances with intelligent and empathetic heroines. She can’t always vouch for the men. She has worked as an engineer, project manager, and incompetent waitress. In her spare time, she plays tennis and expands her husband’s honey-do list.

Find Amy at her website, on Amazon and follow her at BookBub.

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New Release Blitz ~ Whispers by Jayce Carter (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Whispers by Jayce Carter

Book 2 in the Larkwood Academy series

Word Count:  77,834
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 285

GENRES:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
MÉNAGE AND MULTIPLE PARTNERS
PARANORMAL
REVERSE HAREM

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Book Description

 

Escape or die—Larkwood Academy isn’t for the weak.

When I first arrived at Larkwood Academy, I was sure someone would rescue me. After months here at the mercy of the guards, the other residents and even the Warden, I’ve realized the only person who can save me is myself.

In order to escape, I’ve teamed up with three other shades—Wade, a young and carefree void, Knox, an incubus afraid of his own powers, and Brax, a berserker who seems to hate me as much as he wants me. Meanwhile, we have to hide our plans from Deacon, a guard who isn’t quite human or shade, and Kit, an adjunct professor with a terrifying power and far too much connection to the Warden.

Even as I uncover the truths behind the secretive and dangerous North Tower, as the Warden takes an ever-increasing interest in me and my powers and as I search desperately for a way out, I realize there is only one option.

Escape or die, and I’m not ready to die…

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of incarceration, violence and assault. There are also references to inadequate parenting.

Excerpt

I never missed my voice more than when Deacon touched me, when I opened my mouth and wanted to moan his name.

Sure, there were other times it annoyed me—when I wanted to tell someone off, when I wanted to explain myself, when I just wanted to be heard. Those times irked, but the loss never bothered me as much as when Deacon teased his lips over my breast, when the lack of noise from me made it feel incomplete.

Not that Deacon seemed to mind—or perhaps it was better to say he could make up for it easily. He might not have been the most vocal man in his normal life, but that all changed in bed.

I looked around for a moment, noting the quiet corner of a shed in the yard where we’d tucked ourselves away. Maybe bed is a stretch…

We couldn’t risk people catching on to us, which had left us finding out-of-the-way spots like this for our little rendezvous. Neither of us wanted to turn into a weakness for the other.

“I missed you,” Deacon whispered in his low, rough voice against my skin, his breath warm and rapid.

I loved these moments, how he lost that composure he usually had, how he seemed like anyone else. Normally Deacon was bigger than life, a guard at Larkwood Academy who even the other guards feared and distrusted.

In these moments, though, he wasn’t any of that. He was just mine.

I set my hand on the back of his neck and brought him closer, pulled him to my body until I could use my lips to try to tell him the things I couldn’t say with my kiss.

He groaned against my lips, then grabbed my thigh to pull it around him. My ass pressed against the small table I sat on, but I didn’t care about anything. Not splinters, not discomfort, nothing but drowning myself in these rare moments of happiness.

I’d lived at Larkwood for months and had mostly accepted the brutality that made up my world now, but that made these moments even more important. When Deacon touched me, when he growled into my ear, it made the rest of the ugliness of my life drift away.

He sank his cock into me, and I dug my nails into his back. It always gave me this wonderful burn when he took me, when I could feel entirely filled by him.

So I lost myself in him, in his strength, in the rough whispered praise he offered. Too soon, it ended. Too quickly, I wiped off and pulled my sweats back on, brushing my hair with my fingers to appear presentable. We never had much time, never got to indulge in the quiet happiness normal people could when they enjoyed languid motions and gentle kisses through the night.

Deacon buttoned his pants, his expression having shifted back to the usual closed-off one he showed to everyone else. No doubt that was one reason I so cherished the times we had, because they were the only chances I got to really see him.

“You need to be more careful,” he muttered.

I turned toward him, furrowing my brows.

The zipper of his pants was loud in the quiet shed. “You’ve got guards watching you. Warden put out a memo to keep a close eye on you. You think they don’t know you’ve been meeting up with those delinquents you seem to think are friends?”

I pressed my lips together and narrowed my eyes. Of course Deacon didn’t care for the other connections I’d made—he considered all the shades dangerous, so he saw any other resident as a risk to me.

What he didn’t understand was that everything was a risk to me. The whole damned world seemed to want to take me apart, to pull me to pieces until nothing was left.

He came forward and set his hand on the back of my neck, angling my face so I looked right into those bright purple eyes of his. Those eyes had ushered me into my new life at one time, but they meant so much more to me now. “I don’t want to lose you, Hera. You can’t trust anyone, can’t let your guard down. Whatever they’re talking you into, it’ll get you killed.”

I set my hand on his chest and pushed. He didn’t move because of the pressure I applied, but because he chose to. I could have used my powers, my ability to control sound waves, but I tried my hardest to keep that hidden. I’d finally gotten to where I didn’t do it on accident, so I kept it on a tight leash. While he’d witnessed that skill, he had no idea of the extent of it.

“Nothing to say?” Anger flashed across his features, but I didn’t fear him. I knew him too well already, knew he’d never hurt me, at least not on purpose. Sure, he was a guard at the very place holding me captive, but he did all he could to protect me.

No one makes me do anything,” I signed to him.

“You’re too naïve,” he snapped. “You think I don’t know they’re trouble? That they’re looking for some magical way out? Look, this place has stood for a long damned time, and no level-one shade has ever escaped. A lot of them have died trying, though. I don’t care how good a friend you think they are, they’ll let you take the fall if it benefits them at all.”

Deacon’s words were callous but not unexpected.

We’d done this for weeks, ever since I’d left solitary after being caught breaking into a file room. Deacon was smart enough to know I was up to something, but pushing too much might just end up making me a bigger target. It had driven a wedge between us, one that hurt more than I liked to admit.

I hated having to separate my life, to keep things from all the people around me, but I didn’t have a choice.

Deacon couldn’t find out about the plans I had with Wade, Knox and Brax, and the three of them couldn’t know the extent of my relationship with Deacon.

Though I had a feeling all the men in my life had made wrong guesses about one another. It was in the looks, in the aggression they all showed when talking about each other. No doubt each of them assumed I was sleeping with all the others in my life.

Which wasn’t true.

Though…not because of lack of effort on my part.

It just turned out romance was as foreign a concept to me as the economics of other countries and how football worked. Getting people into bed was much more difficult than I’d have ever imagined. I recalled all the times I’d heard as a teenager how boys were animals who only wanted one thing, how I had to be careful as a woman or I’d get taken advantage of.

Yet most of these men were not taking advantage of me in the way I wanted them to, no matter how I tried to tempt them.

Not that telling them that would matter. Deception was a way of life here at Larkwood, and we all had our secrets.

“Don’t fight with me. We don’t have long.”

“I’m not trying to fight,” he assured me, despite the aggressive tone of voice that he used almost exclusively for fighting. “I just worry about you. I’m afraid I’ll open my email and see your name on the North Tower list. I don’t want that.”

To be fair, neither did I. Despite the fact that the North Tower seemed my only real escape option, I wasn’t ready to face that horror just yet. I needed a better plan, more information—anything to give me an edge.

But it wasn’t as if I could admit any of that to Deacon. If he discovered any plan for escape I had, he’d just ruin it to protect me.

So I had to keep that all close to my chest and play dumb. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

He made a soft sound low in his throat, as if he couldn’t believe what an idiot I was. “Of course I do. You’re trouble, Hera, and you attract trouble like a fucking magnet. Don’t forget, I was the one who saved you that night when you changed. I saw it all. I know exactly how much you need someone worrying about you.”

I dropped my gaze at the painful reminder. If it wasn’t for him, I’d have died on that parking structure floor. I’d have bled out because of the man who had slit my throat, the one who had taken my voice.

Instead, Deacon had heard my scream, had come and saved me.

Then he’d brought me to Larkwood…

It was a complicated relationship.

He reached forward again, but he didn’t touch my cheek. Instead, he touched the scar at my throat, the whole reason I couldn’t speak. “You almost died. This happened because the world didn’t like what you were. I saved you that time, but I’m terrified I won’t be able to the next, that you’ll do something stupid and end up in a situation I can’t do anything about.” His words were so soft, so sad that they took me aback.

I forced myself to stare into his eyes, to witness the pain and fear there. For all Deacon’s faults—and there were a lot of them—he wasn’t a bad man. He wanted the best for me.

The problem?

We didn’t agree on what was best. He wanted me alive even if it meant losing everything else. I wanted freedom, even if it meant risking my life for it.

It was an impasse I didn’t know how to fix.

“I don’t want to see you get finished off because you want to escape,” he whispered.

I forced my hand up so I could sign back. “I’m not planning anything.”

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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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