Apr 15

New Release Blitz: The Night Menagerie by Kathryne Lentes (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: The Night Menagerie

Series: The Pact of the Veil, Book One

Author: Kathryne Lentes

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 04/15/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 25400

Genre: Paranormal Romance, Romance, paranormal, urban fantasy, lesbian, trans, shapeshifters, police detective, disappearance, role-playing game

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Description

Sah Williams is used to navigating the fantastical worlds of her own creation, but when her sister disappears, she is thrust into a world of magic and shapeshifters beyond anything she would have put to page. The only things she might be able to count on are a mysterious detective who she suspects has their own agenda and her novel’s main character’s voice whispering her advice.

Excerpt

The Night Menagerie
Kathryne Lentes © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

I woke to the sound of a person screaming. I sat bolt upright in bed and looked around, trying to remember where I was. There was no one else in the room, and I realized it had been me who had screamed. My heart beat like a jackhammer and I clutched the blanket to myself. Instinctually, I reached out to the right side of the bed, but there was no one there. There had not been anyone there for almost six months, and most nights, I had no problem remembering that. Robert had been a comfort in the darkness, able to quiet the nightmares I had. Nisha, my sister, had loved him for that. He could also make you laugh, no matter how hard times were. Everyone loved Robert—everyone but me, I guess, or at least I could not love him in the way he needed me to. I was most at home in solitude and did not really believe in just one person, one love, for the rest of a person’s life.

I reached out and ran my hands along my shoulder; the pain had been so intense in the dream when the beast had torn a chunk of flesh, I half expected to find blood on my fingers. I looked around at the plain white walls barely visible in the moonlight and took several long, slow breaths, forcing myself to calm down. Slowly, my heart began to beat slower, and my mind distanced itself from the nightmare and came back to reality. Okay, let’s start with the first question: where was I?

The room was small and sparsely furnished. I could hear the hustle and bustle of the street outside, even at this hour, and remembered this was my new apartment. I had not decided if I would stay in New York after my breakup. There were a lot of memories here, good and bad, and it was where Dominique lived. Dominique Fortune, an international thief and woman of mystery, is a character I created for my novels. Dominique had given me everything I had dreamed of when I was a kid. She lived in New York so, as soon as I could afford it, I moved here, even though I have always felt my real home is Saint Louis. Some people are method actors; I think I am a method author. I had to get into all the details and experiences of a character if the book was going to feel real when I was writing it.

I reached out for the notebook I kept by the side of my bed and tried to remember the dream that had shocked me awake. That notebook had served as a constant stream of inspiration, and I wrote down almost every one of my dreams, from the scary to the spicy. This dream was different somehow, and it seemed to be fading quickly; the only thing reverberating in my head was the howl of an animal and that searing moment of pain.

I involuntarily reached out again to the untouched right side of the bed. I knew I could have been using the whole bed, but even after six months, the right side was still Robert’s side. Not sure if the loss of the relationship had hit me so hard because of what it said about us or what it said about me, I lay back and closed my eyes to dispel thoughts of him and tried to return to sleep, but when I did the fear rose inside me like the beast was waiting for me in my dreams. I gave up and looked at my phone, but it was dead. The clock on the wall said 4:45 a.m. Well, it was too late for warm milk and cookies and too early for a shot of whiskey and a beer, so I figured I might as well go for a jaunt.

I got up out of bed and pulled out some sweats and a baggy T-shirt from the top drawer. Before I met Robert, my choice of outfits had been sexier, but now all I wanted was something that would not shred when I did a jump or tumble. Dominique had taken up parkour. Thus, so had I, joining lock picking, mastering security systems, combat driving, and generally being sneaky in a series of skills I had acquired to make the novels feel more real. Parkour or free running was all about trying to cover a distance from one point to the next in the most efficient way; usually that included flips, rolls, and jumps using any piece of available architecture to maintain your momentum.

“If you’re not moving forward, you’re moving backward.” As I said it out loud, I could hear my dad speaking. It was something he picked up in the service from some drill sergeant and passed on to us. I’m not sure what Dad would have said about my current career. His life had been built on service, and all I did was entertain.

I had grown up as an army brat traveling with my father. He went from infantry to the rangers, to OCS, and finally to a battalion command. It had been a long road and my only companion had been my twin sister Nisha. I allowed myself a smile that turned bittersweet. Whenever I thought of my sister, my thoughts naturally went to our mother. She had died in childbirth, and the only thing we had to remember her by was our names, Nisha and Sah; they were small pieces of her—well, our—Nepal ancestry. My parents had met when my dad had been serving in East Asia, and from all the stories he told, it had been true love at first sight. After she had died, he refused to be apart from us except when he was deployed in a forward position. He even put special effort into allowing us to develop our own identities and never dressed us the same or pigeonholed us into being like each other, except when it came naturally. Nisha was more of a girly girl and loved fancy clothes, while I was more of a tomboy and could usually be found halfway up a tree or on a rooftop.

He also decided at an early age to teach us how to take care of ourselves. We both learned general hand-to-hand combat, but he also gave each of us specialized instruction. Nisha was trained on how to handle knives and blades of assorted sizes, while I was taught how to shoot. When I was young, it had always seemed strange that my father had split things up between us, with him constantly trying for us to be a family, but I soon realized that it provided time for each of us to be with him individually. Also, it meant any of the boys who had tried to go too far in high school had an unpleasant surprise waiting for them.

We did have one thing that united us: no matter where we went, we loved stories. It started when we would constantly ask our father to tell the story of how he and our mother had met and their courtship. Then, when Dad was deployed, we would tell each other those stories, and it soon grew into us creating new stories all our own. We would while away the hours working on huge, convoluted sagas filled with action and romance. Nisha would come up with a grandiose flight of fantasy, and I would populate it with the day-to-day details that would make the story believable.

I was still focused on my memories to get rid of the aftereffects of the nightmare when I climbed out onto the fire escape. A moment later, I was on top of the building and sprinting across the heights, leaping, and rolling from one elevated position to another, hopefully looking like a cross between Jackie Chan and Spider-Man.

I had been a gymnast in high school, but this was so much more intense, and after a couple of months in the gym, I was hooked. I had replaced my daily jog with a run over the rooftops in my neighborhood. As I sped through the city, I saw a huge divide looming in front of me. The gap between the buildings was large, but nothing I had not done with pads on the floor. I dug my heels in and propelled myself faster and faster, but as I got closer, a little voice spoke up inside my head.

You’re not Dominique. That is a long way down. You can’t do this.

Contrary to what most people believed, being too gutsy was not the greatest danger to a free runner; the biggest threat was hesitation. The moment you were not confident, a person got hurt, and suddenly, my attention was diverted.

I panicked and slammed on the brakes, breaking into a slide. My feet kept moving on the gravel.

A moment later, I felt air under me. I started to tumble downwards. As I fell, I saw out of the corner of my eye a clothesline between the buildings. I had no thoughts, just a blind instinct to reach out my hands. I grabbed the rope, the impact causing the line to cut into my fingers, but I held on; for one long moment, my descent was stopped. I took a deep breath as I hung there, then the hook holding the rope to the far building pulled out of the wall. I swung backward, desperately keeping a grip on the rope, and slammed into the wall. The impact smacked the wind out of me, and I tumbled onto the fire escape.

“What the fuck are you doing out there?” A guy looked at me with a menacing glare and turned back to cooking his breakfast.

You gotta love Brooklyn. If I did this in Hell’s Kitchen, I would probably get some yuppie calling the cops. Brooklyn, a little profanity and everything is forgotten. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the protest of my body, and swiftly went down the fire escape to the street before the person I woke up decided I was a burglar.

I limped my way back to my apartment. As I walked in, I grabbed my mail. There was a package wrapped in brown paper from my sister in there. I threw the rest of the mail on the nearby counter and ripped into the packaging. It was a thick book with a note stuck to the front.

Hey, sis, I’ve been playing this new game and thought you might like it. I know you don’t normally do the DND thing, but you might find the world-building cool. Let me know what you think.

Hmm.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Kathryne Lentes has been writing stories as long as she could hold a pen in her hand. She is a transwoman who, when not working on her own projects, operates Paper Phoenix Ink, a blog showcasing queer creators. She is currently living in Saint Louis with her wife, two cats, and a pile of science fiction and fantasy books.

Website | Facebook | Twitter

Giveaway

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


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Apr 11

New Release Blitz: Sanguine Shadows by Will Okati (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Sanguine Shadows

Author: Will Okati

Cover Art: Marteeka Karland

Genres: Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, New Releases, Paranormal, Romance, Wildest West

Themes: Age Gap (Older Man), LGBTQ+ Gay, Vampires

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 50

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Synopsis

This is where everything changes.

Darce has done his best to live off the radar as one of the bloodkind, keeping himself separate from the company of other vampires and the danger they court. The cowboy might be lonely in his solitude, but he’s safe.

Raven’s come to change that. He’s come to change everything.

A newly made bloodkind, Raven’s out to shake up the old world order that oppresses their kind. He carries Darce along in his wake like a leaf on the tide, pushes and goads and tops from the bottom, inciting Darce to lust, passion and action. He makes a centuries-old cowboy feel alive again, something well worth taking risks for.

But when Raven challenges the Sanguine, the most dangerous of all vampires, has he gone too far?

Excerpt

Sanguine Shadows
Second Edition
Will Okati
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Will Okati

All he’d wanted was a quiet drink.

Darce swirled the drop or three of tequila left in his shot glass and raised it to the guy who tended bar in this backwoods dive. If he had a name, or if the bar did, Darce didn’t know it and he liked it that way. Tall and skinny as a pool cue, his head shaved just as bald, he didn’t talk much and took Darce’s glass with a grunt. Didn’t ask what Darce wanted. You had your choice here of PBR, Bud, Jose and JD. Like ’em or find somewhere else to drink.

Tequila suited Darce fine. Didn’t do anything for him, no, his being a dead man walking and all — vampire, as some might say — but he’d developed a taste for agave over the years. He held up one finger. Already had two, and three was one more than his usual.

The bartender shrugged, not giving too much of a damn. Maybe the folks around here knew what he was. Maybe they didn’t. Knew enough to keep their mouths shut, anyway.

One more drink in peace and it’d be time to walk. He had a peaceful stretch of road home, nothing but the cicadas and bullfrogs and the yellow half-moon to guide him on his way. Nothing to hinder him.

Until the stranger slid onto the bar stool next to Darce and jostled him like they were old friends, bumping his shoulder. “I’ve got this one,” he said. Sounded young. “One for me, too.”

The bartender eyed Darce’s new companion.

“I’ll pay my own way,” Darce said; that, and nothing more.

“Ouch. Not too friendly there, cowboy,” the new arrival said. He swung around to give Darce a bold once-over.

Out of his peripheral vision, Darce got a good enough look at the new kid. Pretty. Fresh-faced and young, his jaw cut firm and his grin made for promising wicked deeds in the dark. He had a dusting of freckles on his nose and cheeks that nearly tempted Darce into a snort of humor because he’d seen a lot in his time but a vampire with a scattering of pale sepia freckles was a new one on even him.

“I’m Raven,” the vamp said, offering his hand along with his unlikely name. Darce snorted quietly. Raven, Silvershadow, Witchlight, Darce had heard ’em all and believed none. This one would be newly made, then, not knowing of the rules by which their kind lived. Which were no rules at all, for the most part, except to watch your back in case someone was sneaking up to shove a silver knife in it, and most of all to keep to yourself.

“That a fact,” Darce said, not asking it. He caught the shot glass as the bartender slid it his way, amber drops spilling over the backs of his fingers.

Raven waited, then laughed under his breath. “And you’re not going to tell me your name. That’s okay. I already know who you are.”

Darce stilled. That was more than he cared to have bandied about. “You’d be wise to keep that to yourself. That and your own name. Names get you in trouble.”

“Do they really,” Raven murmured. He swallowed his drink like a man with nary a grimace nor a cough. Not new to that game, at least.

Darce shot him a sideways glare. He shook his hair back and slammed the tequila neat, no salt or lime around here. Damn hair; it’d been long, near to chin length when he’d come across, and no matter how he cut it back it’d grow out by the next new moon.

Freckles there had short hair, crisp-cut dark, some kind of gel keeping it stuck up in spikes that looked sharp enough to prick a finger on. So young he was damn near veal, and fresh meat for any who cared to take a bite. No wonder he’d been turned. Someone had wanted to keep him that young and pretty for good, was Darce’s bet.

And he’d gotten away. Darce wondered how, for a second, then discarded the question. Not his business. He backslapped his empty shot glass across the bar and licked his lips to get the last of the burning-hot taste off them.

“Now there’s a pretty sight,” Raven said, his gaze hot where it glanced over Darce’s face.

A vampire sometimes liked to pretend to breathe, to mix in all the better, and for the most part Darce did it well. He drew air in through his nose and let it out slow and smooth. “You want to watch that kind of talk around here,” he said. “Matter of fact, you want to keep your mouth tighter shut overall if you don’t want trouble.”

Raven laughed loud enough to draw a few wary looks. No one who drank in that backwater Texas dive wanted to draw attention, except this young’un. “You honestly think you’re fooling anyone?” He lazily drew his finger around the rim of his shot glass. “Look around you, old man. Pretty crowded in here tonight for a place like this. I count fifteen heads, yours and mine and Baldy’s not included, and it’s not a big bar. Yet there’s an empty space three men deep all around you. No one wants to get too close. They all know, even if they don’t say. Maybe they don’t want to admit it’s true, but somewhere inside them they all know what you are — what I am — and that’s why they leave you be.”

Darce ground his back teeth together. His fangs, folded up against the top of his mouth usually, rattlesnake-style, slid down and pricked his tongue as he clamped his jaw shut.

“Must be lonely.” Raven pushed his luck, shifting closer. “How long’s it been since you traded more than a handful of words with anyone else? How long have you been around, old man?”

Something cool and firm brushed the top of Darce’s thigh, tantalizingly close to his groin. He inhaled sharp and quick, and cursed it as a giveaway that Raven pounced on as sly and quick as a fox.

“If you want,” Raven said, thumbing half an inch away from Darce’s stiffening cock — it had been a long, long time, whether he’d admit it out loud or not, “I’ll leave you be. All you have to do is say ‘go,’ and I’ll be out the door.”

“Like hell you would.”

“I think we’re gonna get along, you and me.” Raven stroked higher up and closer. “You know me already.”

“I know you’re trouble walking on two legs,” Darce said. He fought with the urge to rise into the teasing pressure. Damn, it’d been half of forever since someone, anyone, laid a hand on him not in anger or with an addict’s mindless craving. “I know I want you on your way as fast as you think you can run.”

“No, you don’t.” Raven’s palm molded over Darce’s cock, his touch firm and strong as any vampire’s, and for half a moment Darce burned with curiosity over what this kid’s story was, anyway. What’d shaped him this way? He forgot that in the next second when Raven moved fast in the way of their kind, faster than most, his lips brushing Darce’s ear, and said, “I could leave, or I could take you around back and suck your dick.” He pierced Darce’s earlobe with one of his fangs, slim and needle-sharp. “Your choice.”

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Will Okati (formerly known as Willa) has lived through a few Interesting Times, but come out the other side a little grayer, a little wiser, and ready to get writing. Still as passionate about coffee, cats, and crafts as ever, but knowing that to your own self you must be true. Also still one of the quiet ones to watch out for, but life — like storytelling — is always a work in progress.

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


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Apr 08

New Release Blitz: Through Smoke and Shadows by L. Alyse Amidon (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Through Smoke and Shadows

Series: Beyond a Shadow, Book One

Author: L. Alyse Amidon

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 04/08/2025

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 79400

Genre: Para, paranormal, lit/genre fiction, gay, trans, crime/mystery, action/adventure, dark, immortal, law enforcement, magic/magic users, slow burn/UST, mental illness, revenge, monsters, violence, guns and knives

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Description

A long-hidden force stirs in the heart of the Utah desert, and a killer sets out on a path to power and vengeance, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake.

Gene Bradshaw and Jack Cartwright, newly partnered detectives, are called to a gruesome murder scene, and neither knows what to make of it. The mutilated body is so unidentifiable it’d be easy to call it an animal attack, but neither detective buys such a simple explanation. While Gene relies on his gut that something more sinister is afoot, Jack knows the killer isn’t an animal, and it’s certainly not a human.

To catch the murderer, Jack and Gene must set their differences aside and learn to work together. But the closer they become, the more the lines blur between personal and professional. When the case takes an unexpected turn, Gene learns there’s more to his partner’s world than he ever imagined, and he has to dive headfirst into it, whether he’s ready or not.

Set against the deep, desolate canyons and the endless landscape of Southern Utah, Through Smoke and Shadows weaves a twisting tale of the evil that lurks down dark alleys, in our closets, and even in plain sight.

Excerpt

Through Smoke and Shadows
L. Alyse Amidon © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Little Cottonwood Canyon

About six miles west of Solitude Mountain Resort

You got demons inside you, girl.” His sweet, sickly Southern drawl made my skin itch.

Real original, I thought, turning my head to spit blood on the floor.

“Someone ought to help you with that.”

The man was older than others I’d met, maybe forty-five and tall, with a somewhat portly build to him. It was embarrassing to admit, but I’d dismissed him earlier, thought him harmless. Now, chained to a chair, beaten and torn, I was paying for that mistake. But I wasn’t too worried.

He walked over to the far corner of the…barn? Was that where we were? It had to be something akin to a barn, with its high ceilings, unfinished floors, and walls made of wood. It didn’t smell like animals, though, so perhaps it was an outbuilding.

“Been tracking you for a while,” he said as he pulled out a knife, the blade catching the small bit of moonlight seeping in through the cracks in the roof. “Never thought I’d catch you.”

“First mistake was underestimating yourself.”

The man’s eyes narrowed as he approached. “More like I was overestimating you.”

He smiled a cruel smile before sticking the blade into my stomach. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t that bad. I’d probably had worse menstrual pains if I were being honest.

The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth yet again, and I returned his smile with my own. I squirmed forward as best I could, considering my bindings, and pulled the blade further into my gut.

“You really think I got demons inside me?” I asked. “You think a knife’s gonna do anything?” I laughed.

The man’s face turned from haughty to frustrated in an instant, and he twisted the knife, causing blood to rise in my throat. I didn’t stop laughing, though, and it sounded as if I was gurgling mouthwash. Blood dribbled down my chin.

With a huff, the man pulled the blade out abruptly and stalked over to his corner, where he rifled through his bag of toys. I went limp and opened my mouth, letting gravity pull the blood from it, watching as it ebbed out of me ever so slowly. I wasn’t sure how long the man stayed in his corner, but sooner than I would have liked, his shoes came into view before the pool of blood.

The hilt of a different knife, a larger one, pushed my chin up so that I was forced to meet his gaze, and I noticed he was older than I thought. His eyes…they held so much more light than I realized.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you? You think you can go around doing whatever you want, huh? You can’t.”

The edge of my mouth quirked up on instinct. “I beg to differ.”

A hint of challenge gleamed in his eyes.

In the next instant, his free hand gripped my hair in a tight hold while the other flipped the knife around and used it to slice my throat from end to end.

Now, that one? That one hurt. A lot. And a considerable amount of blood was added to the little pool I had going.

For a beat, neither of us breathed.

When he released his hold, I let my head and body fall limp. He stumbled back, his breathing labored—the sounds of a man who had completed some long-awaited task. I gave him time to get a hold of himself. When he started cleaning up his mess, I made my move. He came over to unchain my body, and I snapped the chains around my wrists, lifting my gaze to meet his.

Fear filled his eyes as I took hold of his lapels. I pulled him in close.

“I told you the knife wasn’t going to work.”

I shoved him to the ground, and he grunted on impact, rolling over to his front and then trying to push himself up.

I stood, and the rest of the chains slid down my body. I picked up a broken piece, wrapped it around his neck, and pulled him upright. His hands shot to his throat, desperately clawing at it to pull the chain away from his skin.

“What? You thought that’s all it would take?” I tsked. “You should have known better.”

He elbowed me in the ribs, but I just tightened my grip. His mouth agape, he tried to suck air into his lungs, though his efforts were futile. As his face drained of color and his eyes rolled up into his head, I released him, shoving him away.

He gasped for breath on all fours. I kicked him over onto his back, and he stared up at me in fear. I stood over him and imagined how I must appear to him. A tall, pale woman with bruises he’d inflicted littering her skin, fresh knife wounds on her neck and stomach. Blood draining out of her. I gave him a wicked smile.

“For the record, there are no demons inside me.”

His eyes grew wide as I lunged for his throat.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

L. Alyse likes stories that push against and break genre norms. She likes to crack genres open and write about what’s most interesting. She’s fascinated by characters who are different, unapologetically themselves, and morally complex. Her stories are filled with dark, twisty plots that let the characters breathe.

When she’s not working or writing, L. loves to crochet, watch TV, cuddle her dog, and spend as much time outside as she can.

Website | Instagram

Giveaway

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


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Apr 04

New Release Blitz: Warrior Queen by Mikala Ash (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Warrior Queen

Author: Mikala Ash

Cover Art: Bryan Keller

Genres: Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, New Releases, Paranormal, Romance, Sci-Fi

Themes: Alien Encounters, Alternative Universe, Dark Ages, Gaslamp, Victorian & Edwardian, LGBTQ+ /Bisexual, Nonbinary, Transgender, Magic, Sorcery, and Witchcraft, Multiple Partners /Polyamory, Murder Mystery, Steampunk

Series: Empire of the Sky (#6)

Multiverse: Steam and Spells (#5)

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 121

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Synopsis

A volatile cauldron of magic, love, and the empire may be on the edge of a precipice, but witches, humans, and automatons indulge in pleasures of the flesh.

Victoria has been dubbed by her adoring public as their Warrior Queen. Destroying her Continental enemies is nothing to the challenge she faces now. For years, the Lunarians, goblins from the moon, led by the powerful witch Mon Ilson, have been murdering humans and stealing the bodies for his followers to “adopt.”

Beautiful witch Selena Whiteheart, Mon Ilson’s human agent on Earth, is closely watched by Home Office Agent Harry Kincaid, whose loyalty to the Queen suppresses his ability to show Selena his true feelings. Spiritualist Miss Cordelia Warrington has been exploring the carnal attributes and mechanical stamina of Adam, her automaton butler. Now Selena needs Cordelia’s help, and allows herself to be entertained by the amorous pair in a steamy ménage à trois.

Meanwhile, Agent of the Queen Rachel Clayton is instantly attracted to the hauntingly handsome Major Guy Tremayne, hero of the Coronation Island disaster. Can he be trusted? She throws all caution to the wind to find out. At a crucial moment the Queen is cruelly betrayed and threatened with assassination. Selena, Rachel, and Victoria all face difficult choices as love and lust compete with their duty to the Empire.

Author’s Note: Enjoy Warrior Queen as a standalone tale or as part of a continuing narrative.

Excerpt

Warrior Queen (Empire of the Sky 6)
Mikala Ash
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Mikala Ash

Thwack!

Thwack!

The sound of two cane sticks striking each other reminded me of how a scant two hours ago the Home Secretary had slapped my posterior as he ravaged me. Pressed for time he’d unceremoniously bent me over his Whitehall desk, pulled down my culottes and drawers, grabbed my shoulders for leverage, and drove his prodigious erection into me with frightful force. A few minutes later he flooded my quivering cunt with his lava hot seed. It had been a perfunctory fuck, short and sharp, and my climax perversely satisfying.

My cunny still retained a fair quantity of his ejaculation, and I shifted in my seat contriving to put pressure on my fleshy nether lips to keep it from escaping. My apparently not-so-subtle contortions did not escape the notice of the fine-looking man sitting opposite me. I’d quite forgotten about him as I relived the morning’s carnal adventure. He cleared his throat which brought me back to the here and now.

I was sitting in a Buckingham Palace anteroom, and I felt my cheeks warm under the scrutiny of this ruggedly handsome and smartly uniformed officer. When I’d first arrived, he’d introduced himself as Guy Tremayne. He was in fact the famous Major of the Southern Royal Air Corps who’d distinguished himself by leading the survivors of an airship crash on Coronation Island, a frozen rock midway between Tierra Del Fuego and Antarctica. Their inspirational struggle for survival on the barren island was a true Boys Own Adventure. I’d read his file during my recent convalescence and believed Major Tremayne to be a brave and resourceful officer, respected by his men and superiors alike.

He had given me an elegant bow, took my proffered hand, and lightly brushed his lips against my knuckles. To say I was instantly attracted would be an understatement. He was the epitome of masculinity: well over six feet tall, slim, and long legged. His hips were narrow, his chest deep, and his shoulders broad. His sharply chiselled face was suntanned, and above a thin black moustache his nose was pleasantly symmetrical. The palest of blue eyes gave his countenance a strikingly mysterious and yet desirable aspect.

My cunny throbbed.

He was sitting as if he was on parade with his back straight as a board. He’d started his career in the cavalry, and I couldn’t help but imagine him in the saddle riding into battle, his sabre held high, its razor edge glinting in the sun. He’d actually seen combat, and his curly hair disguised the missing left ear, lost during a bloody skirmish in the Punjab.

Thwack! Thwack!

“Do you singlestick?” I asked him, my mouth dry, and my voice husky.

Thwack! Thwack!

The corners of his mouth curled into a smile. “Indeed, I do. The sabre is my weapon of choice.”

Singlestick fighting had been a feature of English martial life for centuries and cavalry men used it for practicing sabre strokes from horseback. Though the sport had become highly regimented, it required fast reflexes and strict discipline. I found it useful for developing forearm and wrist strength.

Thwack! Thwack!

“Perhaps we should have a bout?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Thwack! Thwack!

My cunt throbbed lustily, and inside my blouse, my nipples ached. I licked my bottom lip, slowly. “Are you residing in London?”

He threw up his hands. “Alas. I exist at the whim of the War Department.”

Thwack! Thwack!

“Then we should arrange a time soon.”

“I believe I am free tomorrow evening.”

“As it happens, so am I.”

Thwack! Thwack!

We’d just concluded arrangements to meet at a restaurant in Chelsea when the door to the anteroom opened, and a footman showed in a slim, elegantly dressed woman. She was about forty years of age, with an attractive oval face and perfect complexion accentuated by challenging hazel eyes and provocatively painted red lips. Her luxurious auburn hair was coiled expertly around her head in such a way that suggested considerable length. The bulk was held in place with gem-tipped pins which glinted in the harsh electric light. I imagined her standing naked, her hair cascading over her ample breasts, reaching and discreetly hiding her mound of Venus. I recognised her as the wife of a member of the House of Lords, and this sensual impression I’d constructed was at odds with her reputation. She was known as a straitlaced prude, active in charitable institutions and a fierce and passionate advocate for women’s suffrage. On one occasion she’d been seen at a rally striking a constable with a placard after she accused him of taking undisclosed liberties.

I curtsied. “Lady Fogerty, I’m Rachel Clayton.”

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on X.

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Apr 01

New Release Blitz: The Break of Dawn by Eule Grey (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Break of Dawn

Author: Eule Grey

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 04/01/2025

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 28400

Genre: Contemporary, British, Yorkshire, YSP, Art, Sculpture, Easter, Spring, second chances, new beginnings, first love, baby animals

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Description

Cora ‘I am all that I need’ Richards has a prison reputation for being an ice queen. She exists via a strict code of survival: people equal pain—the end. Surprises lead to disappointment; therefore, Cora won’t tolerate the unexpected. Friends? No. Lovers? Never. A hollow nighttime ache in her chest is bothersome, true, but the issue certainly isn’t caused by loneliness. Cora knows who she is and what she isn’t. She gladly accepts a placement at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, not to meet the elusive artist, Sky Sunday, but to finish her prison sentence early. It’s work, nothing more.

But the breathtaking landscape, woolly lambs, fluffy ducklings, and friendly artists challenge a woman trying not to feel. Life at the Sculpture Park is vibrant, messy, and warm. Still, it would take someone extraordinary to melt an ice queen such as Cora—the end.

Sky Sunday wears dungarees and muddy yellow boots, talks in riddles, listens to Cora’s suggestions, and never belittles her. From the first awkward meeting, attraction sizzles between them. But Sky is rubbish at talking. So is Cora. How can two impenetrable women ever get close?

From dawn to dusk, the workers toil on a mysterious, humming sculpture, and nobody knows what it’s supposed to be. If they trust their instincts, Sky insists that something unique will happen on Easter Sunday. Cora abandons the last of her ice armour as dawn breaks, but is it too late to be vulnerable and take a second chance?

What happens when an ice queen and a fluffy chick kiss? Can Cora and Sky forget their past and begin a new life together? This story is not the end.

Excerpt

The Break of Dawn
Eule Grey © 2025
All Rights Reserved

February 1

It started with a shout.

“Richards! Gov’s office.”

The yell left a deafening silence in the dining hall. Chatter ceased, the insistent bang-bang of doors stopped, and even the pitter-patter of rain on the windows faded as if it knew that a shout from Miss Holmes always signalled terrible news, and especially for me—my prison release date was mere months away.

Potential crimes flashed through my mind. Had I left a mess in the kitchen during my shift? Did I piss someone off? Had my sentence been lengthened due to a technical hitch?

It wouldn’t be the first time they’d messed up the dates. Three sentences ago, a fight led to six additional weeks on the wing. Gah. The incident hadn’t been my fault. When someone insulted me, I fought back. If you didn’t stand up for yourself, you’d end up on the floor with a broken nose.

When the yell settled, the women gleefully nudged one another, glad to see me in trouble—I wasn’t popular.

My roommate, Jenny, tugged insistently at my standard prison-grey sleeve. “Cora. You better go. She sounds pissed.”

We exchanged worried looks. I stood as if to head to the office but legged it to our room instead, my stomach clenching about the bottle of hooch brewing beneath my bed. Jenny and I had started the brew a few weeks before. I’d reckoned we could celebrate my release with a few drinks. After eight months of sharing a cell, we’d grown pretty close. As close as I allowed people, anyway, which meant a chasm the size of a planet crouched between us. We were very different. Jenny carelessly revealed every facet of her life as we lay in our beds, whereas I shared bare essentials, such as my favourite brand of chocolate. Stuffed animals covered her bed while mine was bare. Enough said.

The hooch was not the problem. Bubbling quietly and consistently, our concoction hadn’t been discovered. Hooch constituted a minor offence anyway. What the hell else had I done?

The officer shouted again, more aggressively. “Richards! Gov’s office.”

The tone of her voice pissed me off. I wouldn’t go without a fight. Yeah, I should’ve accepted defeat and walked to the office with a sorry expression. Only a spanner with a death wish as strong as the undead would have ignored a call from the governor. I didn’t say sorry or play nice. Thirty-two was too old to change the habits of a lifetime.

Jenny thundered into our cell, banging the door behind her. “Did someone snitch? You better go before you get a warning.” At forty, she was serving her first sentence, naïve as a baby. Jenny still believed the prison rules existed to protect us, bless her cotton socks.

I made myself comfy on the bed. “Nope. Miss Snotty Holmes will have to come and fetch me.”

Years of practice in front of a mirror hadn’t been wasted. I could steel my face into an impenetrable fortress without much effort. Nobody saw the real me, the kid who’d cried during beatings and hoped her momma would visit at the children’s home over Christmas time.

Needless to say, my weak years were a very long time ago.

Jenny adopted her melting-biscuit look. She was pretty, with an expressive face that hid nothing. My helpful lessons about concealing one’s feelings hadn’t done anything for her. She cried or shouted wilfully, drawing attention, revealing weaknesses and vulnerabilities she should’ve kept hidden. I’d probably have demanded a new cellmate months ago if she wasn’t so kind. Oh, I didn’t like her—god forbid. Jenny was inoffensive to live with. Like and dislike had become irrelevant feelings to me. But she never gave up trying to improve or save me, the poor woman.

Jenny hovered at my bedside, looking like the apocalypse was coming, bristling with kindness. “Go and see what Miss wants? Maybe it’s good news. You know they’ve been handing out certificates from education this week? You did well in your exams.” She nodded encouragingly as if I were a silly kid needing a hug rather than a tough bitch who could cope with any amount of trouble. Bring it on.

She lunged. I held my breath, willing her not to touch. Jenny had a crush on me. It wasn’t unusual. Most women inside welcomed a ‘special relationship’ with a roommate. Not me. Jenny had attempted many touchy-feely incidents over the months. Obviously, I’d ignored them all. Whether hand-holding or hair brushing, every contact was disgusting to me. Why would I welcome another woman’s baggage on top of my own? No. It was better to be alone than abandoned. Hugs equalled pain. The end.

Jenny attempted a sudden, unexpected hug. “Aww, babe.”

I held up a practised iron fist. “Don’t touch me and never call me babe.” It was laughable and sad how she shrank back, believing I would hurt her. I never would. Jenny might be a nuisance, but she didn’t deserve or need a slap, only a little reminder now and then about boundaries.

She abruptly drew her hand back. “I just wanted—” She sounded wounded, almost tearful.

The grief in her eyes was too much. I closed my eyes.

“Yeah, well, don’t tell me because I’m as interested as a cardboard box would be. I’m having a nap if anyone asks.”

It was a relief to shut her out. Why women wanted to be special, I’d never understand. Yuck.

I began silently counting. At six hundred, a stern voice broke my concentration.

“Didn’t you hear? The gov wants you in her office.”

I swung my legs off my bed and crammed cold feet into my shoes. “I didn’t hear, Miss. On my way.”

What had been gained from the extra few moments alone? Even I didn’t understand myself. Maybe it was part of my nature to rebel, or perhaps every victory, however tiny, kept me going. I was a narky cow. The end.

Jenny watched me silently and reproachfully. As I passed her, I stuck out my tongue. She rolled her eyes.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

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

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

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

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


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Mar 28

New Release Blitz: Out-Houses by Kira Stone (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Out-Houses

Author: Kira Stone

Cover Art: Marteeka Karland

Genres: Contemporary Romance, New Releases, Romance

Themes: Age Gap (Older Man), LGBTQ+ Gay, Multicultural & Interracial, Multiple Partners /Polyamory, New Adult

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 55

Synopsis

Out-Houses.com. The hottest gay-owned interior design business in Northern California.

When Paul joins the owners of Out-Houses.com, Alex and Toby, at their secluded cabin, it’s supposed to be a chance for them to work away from the distractions of the office. Instead Paul finds himself more distracted than ever — and wanting to join in the fun.

Andy is late for a very important date — with Toby, one of the owners of Out-Houses. Toby doesn’t like to be kept waiting and decides to teach Andy a lesson by giving him a spanking. Not the traditional way to start an interview, but at Out-Houses, anything goes.

Alex and Toby are great fun, but Paul wants a man of his own. Not just any man — he’s got his sights set on Andy. Which would be fine, except Andy’s not looking his way. Or is he?

Excerpt

Out-Houses
Kira Stone
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Kira Stone

“Fuck me.” There was a startled gasp, then, “Harder!”

“You want it bad, don’t you?”

The sounds of slapping flesh accompanied the masculine voices emanating from the other side of the bedroom wall. Paul groaned and rolled over. His hard-on stabbed the mattress and he groaned again, this time from pain. It was gonna be a long, exhausting week if he had to listen to his bosses, the owners of Out-Houses — the newest, hottest gay interior designer company in Northern California — get it on in the living room every night.

Especially given his recent, secret aspiration of becoming the meat in their cum sandwich.

“Oh, yeah. Just like that. Don’t stop.”

Must be Alex doing the begging, the little slut. Paul pictured him on his knees, his fine caramel colored ass in the air. Desperate for what satisfaction only his partner could give him.

Toby’s deep bass rumbled in response. “Heh. No worries there.”

“Oh, fuck. More. More!”

Placing a pillow over his head didn’t help stifle the erotic noises coming from the nearby room. If he had to hear it, then Paul wanted to see it. Feel it. Be fully engaged in the action. Eavesdropping was a poor substitute for sating carnal lust. Last night he’d been jet-lagged enough to fall asleep. A drag queen in full voice wouldn’t have woken him. However, after spending the day shoulder to shoulder with his gorgeous employers, hunched over a work table studying a ream of concept drawings for a gay-oriented housing project, pinned between their two rock solid bodies…

Damn. Rock solid. Just like his cock.

He was never going to get to sleep as long as he had to listen to them fuck.

Paul tossed off the sheet covering him and slipped out through the sliding glass doors onto the balcony overlooking the Pacific Ocean. He didn’t bother to dress. Dense shrubs on either side of the isolated beach house created a privacy screen from anyone walking along the cliffs. The only people he was likely to encounter were otherwise… engaged.

Two long flights of stairs descended from the deck to meet a short expanse of pristine white sand. Paul didn’t feel comfortable going near the water, in part because walking around in the dark in a strange, wild area had “potentially fatal” written all over it, but also because it took him farther away from where he really wanted to be. Inside. In the living room. On his knees. Sucking Alex’s cock while Toby pounded into him from behind.

Like that’s going to happen. Face it, Paulie, you may be ready, willing and able to bat for the home team, but that doesn’t mean you’ll get a chance to play in this ballpark.

Paul lifted his face to the ocean breeze, trying to clear his mind. He failed, miserably. No matter what lust-killing thoughts he injected into his brain, his libido returned him to the action inside. Toby’s large frame, black skin over corded muscle, wrapped around Alex’s lithe Latino body. Fucking like bunnies.

If it were just about the sex, he might have stood a chance at stemming this hormonal rampage, but Paul admired their internal qualities too. Both had high IQs and more ambition than a rookie Triple-A player after a spot on a major league bench. They were risk takers. Adrenaline junkies. And it was a good thing, because it would take as much guts as money to make their fledgling company, Out-Houses, a success.

But if anyone could do it, Toby and Alex were capable of pulling it off. Paul wasn’t sure how these two alpha males managed to work together so well, or how long their partnership, in and out of bed, could last. Meeting them through their website had been a fluke when Paul needed help with his bathroom plumbing. They’d needed an architect though, and he was ready for a change in jobs. However, the youth of their business and their relationship made signing on with them a gamble. If they broke up, chances were the company wouldn’t survive. Paul chose to take the risk with them. It was hard to walk away from a dream job.

And his dream of joining Alex and Toby during one of their lunchtime quickies.

Paul relaxed against the balcony rail. Moonlight spilled over his milk white skin, giving it a silvery sheen. He ran his hand down his chest, following the thin arrow of reddish-blond hair to his cock. In order to get any sleep at all, he’d have to appease his woodie sooner or later. Might as well be now.

But not quickly. Not something that would be over and forgotten in a minute like a quick jerk-off during a morning shower. Paul wanted to treat himself to something special. Something he’d remember for a long time to make up for the erotic ménage memories he’d have to live without.

Purchase at Changeling

Meet the Author

Kira Stone lives in a warm cave tucked away in the remote Scottish Highlands, where a small band of ever-changing heroes serves as company. As they relax in front of a roaring fire, demons dance in leather pants and angels stroke tunes from the harp strings, while the Fae stop in to share tales from other worlds. Bound by pen and imagination, these are the folk who wait to greet you from the pages of Kira’s stories. Visit Kira’s Website.

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Mar 25

New Release Blitz: At Her Service by K.S. Trenten (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  At Her Service

Author: K.S. Trenten

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 03/25/2025

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 23500

Genre: Fantasy, Cinderella, F/F fairy tales, nonbinary characters, romance, magic, royalty, humor, glass shoes

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Description

There are one too many Ariellas in our family chateau, when my stepmother becomes its mistress. She’s the rightful Ariella, and Ariella is a name she’ll only share with her daughter. Fortunately, the lady doesn’t realize I’m more than happy to give her daughter anything, including my name. I’ve come to live for the moments when I tickle her feet into her glass slippers. Why would I wish for anything more?

Magic, however, is going to whisk me away from my pallet in the cinders for a night of lights, dancing, and mystery. Mischief will try to sweep me off my feet, but I’m not so easy to sway. For princes are not what they seem, and a servant’s loyalty can be as strong as any spell.

Excerpt

At Her Service
K.S. Trenten © 2025
All Rights Reserved

One Ariella Too Many

I’ll never forget the first time my mistress offered me her hand.

“Every woman should dance once.” She hadn’t been my mistress yet. She was my stepsister, a bewitching girl with sapphire-blue eyes and a husky voice.

No, the other Ariella’s voice was more than husky. I could feel every syllable caressing the inside of my ear. Nor did the sensation stop there. The sound glided down my spine, raising the hairs of my neck, awakening my entire body.

“Shall I show you how, Ariella?” She kept her strong fingers steady, ready to catch and claim me.

Shy, uncertain, I dared to raise my hand to touch hers.

“Ariella, stay away from that girl!” Harsh as the caw of a crow, those words stopped us where we stood.

Ariella stiffened, turning to face its owner at the same moment as I did.

The lady of the chateau wasn’t a tall woman, but her presence loomed within the room, ready to quell anyone who dared to irritate her.

I could already tell I more than irritated her.

“Ariella was only showing me how to dance…” I began, trailing off when I saw the expression in my stepmother’s eyes. How could she look so much like Ariella herself, yet be so different?

“You will address my daughter as the Lady Ariella.” The lady of the chateau spoke in a tone as cold and flat as her eyes. “This is not your home, not anymore. You may no longer dance around as if you owned it.”

“Mother…” Ariella began, but her mother cut her off.

“This is our ancestral estate, the Lady Ariella’s and mine.” She advanced upon me, raising one hand in a claw. It reminded me of a chicken who’d once challenged a hound dog for dominion over a pile of sand. The chicken had won.

“Even if your ancestor managed to steal this chateau from ours, we have taken it back.” She kept her hand raised, a ring flashing upon it. It may have once belonged to my mother, but she hadn’t worn it very often.

“Isn’t it my father’s estate?” Frightened as I was, I hadn’t learned yet not to contradict the lady. “Aren’t you only here because my father married you?”

She struck me, a sharp, glancing blow which might have been no more than a slap to a sturdier woman.

I had never been particularly sturdy. I was tiny, overimaginative, and lacking in a sense of balance.

The lady’s strike knocked me off my feet. I hit the ground in an ungraceful pile at the lady’s own.

“How dare you!”

I’ll never forget the angry snarl that distorted her face. What she’d constrained within her eyes and pinched lips had finally been set free.

I crawled to my knees, not getting up. It seemed better to stay down. One glance at the lady’s twisted, quivering mouth was enough to convince me. I covered my head with my hands.

No, I’ve never been particularly brave. I try to avoid conflict. I suppose I’m like my father in this.

Submitting didn’t appease my stepmother. She raised her hand. Perhaps she meant to hit me again once she’d grabbed my hair, pulling me up to the level of her fist.

“Mother, stop.” Ariella’s husky voice rose with a firm authority I’d never heard her use.

I opened my eyes to glimpse her ankles peeking out from under the hem of a dark-blue skirt.

They were pale, bony, but there was a strength to them. They were planted on the floor between the lady and myself, drawing energy from beneath her heels. I could feel it, traveling up her legs to her torso, heart, and head. The shape of the bone protruding from her ankles reminded me of a rock jutting out from the coastline, standing in proud defiance of the coming waves.

I wanted to grab her ankles, kiss her feet, to give her whatever I could to help her withstand her mother’s rage. Or anything else that might crash against her.

Not that I could do any of those things while huddled on the floor.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

I’m a California Bay Area author, exploring the borders of reality and gender to create new worlds and populate them with compelling characters. I live with my husband and our two four footed children, i.e. cats.

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


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Mar 21

New Release Blitz: To Tempt a Troubled Earl by Fearne Hill (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: To Tempt a Troubled Earl

Series: Regency Rossingley, Book One

Author: Fearne Hill

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 03/04/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 77200

Genre: Historical, historical romance, gay, UK, aristocracy, rich man/poor man, enemies to lovers, hurt-comfort, humorous, slow burn, opposites attract, scoundrels

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Description

A chancer and a rogue, Kit Angel is down on his luck. Presenting himself at Rossingley Hall in the dead of night, he begs an audience with the eleventh earl, the most enigmatic nobleman in Regency England.
The visit has purpose. Kit, hungry to ruin the baronet who ruined his sister, believes Rossingley is the only man who can help him.

Lando Duchamps-Avery, Eleventh Earl of Rossingley, doesn’t trust the sinfully handsome stranger one bit. He does not care for the tales he spins, his hot temper, or his thick, ebony curls. And, most definitely, he is not in thrall to the delicious golden hoop dangling from Kit Angel’s left ear. Lando has his own motivations to ruin the same lord, and the two men form an uneasy alliance.

As the dangerous plot they hatch unfurls, the suspicious earl and the shady scoundrel are increasingly thrown together. Whilst the wily earl gradually surrenders to his growing attraction, Kit can’t make up his mind if he wants to swive him, declare undying love for him, or throttle him.

Bit by bit, as mutual desire swells between them, Kit wins over the earl’s body, his passion, and his trust.
But in order to win the earl’s elusive heart? The scoundrel must risk losing everything.

This first book in the new Rossingley Regency romance series introduces Lando Duchamps-Avery, nineteenth-century predecessor to Dr Lucian Avery of the contemporary Rossingley romance series. With Lando’s story, we return to southern England and the Rossingley estate. This book can be read as a standalone.

Excerpt

To Tempt a Troubled Earl
Fearne Hill © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Rossingley Estate

Summer, 1821

“You have visitors, my lord.”

Inglis floated across the eleventh Earl of Rossingley’s sleepy eyeline, looking peevish. Lando swore the man had silken castors in place of feet. With white-gloved hands clasped together in front of his vexed frame, his head butler awaited his response.

“And you have chosen to disturb me about this because…” Lando tilted his balloon of brandy this way and that, playing the flickering candlelight against the delicately engraved crystal. That the evening was late was an irrelevance. He and his butler were of the same accord; visitors at any time of day were unusual, unwarranted, and unwelcome.

“A Mr Christopher Angel, my lord. And his sister, Miss Anne. The young man says it’s important.”

One of a pair, the balloon glass had been a gift from dear Charles. “I know of no one named Angel. Begging the question ‘important for whom’?”

“He didn’t make that distinction, my lord,” admitted Inglis. “But he gave the impression the matter is somewhat urgent.”

Lando took a warming sip of brandy. The drink of the damned. He didn’t especially care for it, but he fancied it lent him a louche, philosophic air. “What is urgent is seldom important, Inglis,” he deemed, pleased with his wisdom. Rousseau himself might make a similar pronouncement. “If it’s alms he’s after, toss him a half-crown, some cold meats, and send him on his way.”

The gloved hands wrung together. “I did try that, my lord. But he’s…ah…more insistent than our usual callers, and neither is he a pauper. And…” Inglis paused. Never let it be said the butler couldn’t milk a drama. “He…he mentioned one of his close relations. His uncle. One…ah…a former cavalry officer sadly no longer with us, God rest his soul.”

As Inglis made the sign of the cross, Lando took another, more contemplative sip. So many good men had fallen during the wars in France, and a chap struggled to keep up. “Oh, yes?”

Inglis cleared his throat. “Yes. A…ah…Captain Charles Prosser, my lord.”

Like rancid vinegar, the fine liquor soured on the earl’s tongue. He fought to swallow it down. Perhaps he should have stuck to port after dinner. Maybe it would have better softened the dull ache now swelling behind his rib cage. Captain Prosser. His dearest Charles, his lover. His heart.

Lando didn’t make his older lover’s acquaintance until after the wars, from which Charles returned hale and hearty. But where French bayonets and the battlefields of Trafalgar had failed, the insidious wasting disease prevailed. An annoying tickle became a cough, a cough tinged with blood. Slowly, inexorably, his lover faded away, their time together, in all of its perfection, too brief. A life only half lived; a conversation forever unfinished. Lando, not daring to be at Charles’s bedside at the end, heard the news of his passing from a mutual friend some two weeks after his lover had been buried beneath Kentish loamy earth.

Three long years ago. Yet even now, at unprepared moments such as this—and was there ever such a thing as a prepared one?—that name still had a powerful hold upon the eleventh earl. If Inglis hadn’t broken the crushing silence, it might have persisted well into the night.

“I have taken the liberty of passing the young man’s sister over to Mrs Sugden, my lord. The girl is in a state of great distress. And I have shown her brother to the small parlour. He’s…ah…not fit for the library.”

Inglis’s waspish voice sounded as if coming from an awfully long way away. “My lord might wish to be more suitably attired before receiving him?”

Tipping back his fair head, Lando forced another swallow of fiery amber liquid. For a second or two, it threatened to reappear, then he pulled himself together. Ridiculous. Three years gone and one mention of Charles turned him into a limp dishrag. Well, it was high time it didn’t. Time to make a clean breast of things. Time to stop bloody moping. Charles would have hated him squandering his salad days drinking alone and brooding in front of a dying fire.

He cast his gaze down his spare frame. Fussy Inglis might wish him more suitably attired, but Lando gave not a fig. As purportedly one of the richest men in England, Lando could host a ball clad in only his underclothes, and the ton would declare it the latest fashion in Paris. He pinned Inglis to the spot with his pale eyes.

“I’m decent. Uninvited callers find me as I am, or not at all. As you damned well know.”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Fearne Hill lives deep in the southern British countryside with three untamed sons, varying numbers of hens, a few tortoises, and a beautiful cocker spaniel.

When she is not overseeing her small menagerie, she enjoys writing contemporary romantic fiction. And when she is not doing either of those things, she works as an anaesthesiologist.

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


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Mar 14

New Release Blitz: Eight Second Magic by WM Kirkland (Excerpt & Giveaway)

 

Title: Eight Second Magic

Author: WM Kirkland

Publisher: Changeling Press

Release Date: March 14, 2025

Cover Art: Marteeka Karland

Genres: New Releases, Paranormal, Romance, Wildest West

Themes: Gay, Magic, Sorcery, and Witchcraft, Multiple Partners /Polyamory, Sports Romance, Vampires, Werewolves & Wolf Shifters

Series: Cowboy Matchmaker (#1)

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 89

Add to Goodreads

 Synopsis

When vampire Beau Hollings falls into rodeo clown Leon Lavoie’s arms as he comes off a bull, he’s more than grateful for the save.

Sparks fly when Beau meets the sexy vampire clown after the event for drinks, and a night of passion makes the night complete. But what should have been a one-night stand turns into something more when Leon reveals that they were matched by Cowboy Magic, a dating service for paranormal rodeo performers.

Wolf shifter Rhody Tallwood, one of the famous Tallwood brothers of bronc riding fame, put in a request with Cowboy Magic, then forgot — until he’s told to watch the bull riding.
Now he’s got to juggle not one, but two vampire mates, as well as his brothers’ displeasure, because the three of them together are magic, and each of them wants their relationship to last a lot longer than eight seconds.

TRIGGER WARNING: Rodeo Clown, may be a trigger for those with clown phobia. Adult language and situations.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Each book in the Cowboy Magic series contains stories of queer cowboy/cowgirl/cowthey love across the LGBTQIA+ spectrum.

Excerpt

Eight Second Magic (Cowboy Matchmaker 1)
WM Kirkland
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 WM Kirkland

Beau didn’t think he had unreasonable requirements — at least six feet tall, familiar with bull riding and the danger that came with it, understands the life of a traveling cowboy — but as he hit send on the preferences form at Cowboy Matchmaker, he thought he was asking for a trip to the moon or something. Though depending on how good the cowboy was at giving a blow job, it might feel as if he’d gone into orbit. He grinned at his mental joke, then quickly sobered. He hadn’t had so much as a quick hand job in the men’s room for a very long time.

He’d been focusing on his career and watching his bank account get fatter. It was nice to skyrocket in the standings. It was even better to know he would have a nest egg for when he was ready to hang up his bullrope. At some point he’d have to leave because even though people knew about vampires, the fact he aged more slowly still creeped most of them out. Guess that would be another requirement — not icky about vampires.

He checked his ride time. The rodeo would be starting soon, and he wanted to find a good place to watch before the bull riding closed out the event. Grabbing his travel mug, he drained the last of its contents before heading out.

He made it to the arena just as the first event, bareback riding, was starting, and found a spot behind the chutes to watch. He waved at the bull riders passing by to go scope out their rides and see what they were up against. He already knew. He’d drawn Smoke Demon, a big, dark gray bull that few cowboys could stay on for the required eight seconds. He could, though. He knew it, and tonight would be his night to add to his winnings and his legend.

The cowboy in the arena spurred in rhythm with the bronc’s big bucks, the two of them as pretty as a postcard. His white hat tumbled off about three jumps in, and his long, dark ponytail fanned out behind him like a horse’s tail. Dirk was good, one of the best, and a good friend. The crowd cheered and hollered as the buzzer sounded, and the pick-up men helped Dirk off the big chestnut paint bronc. When his score hit the board, the arena erupted even louder. Beau drank it in, thinking the crowd would cheer just as loudly for him, too.

He watched the rest of the bareback and saddle bronc riding, then as the first roping events started, he went back to the locker room to begin his preparations for tonight’s ride. He wove through the workers behind the chutes, giving some nods of hello to men busy moving stock to and from the pens and those working the chute. He reached the locker room, surprised to find it lightly populated, and went to his trunk where he kept his chaps and bullrope.

He sat on the bench, trying to focus on the visualization exercises he did before his ride, but he couldn’t stop thinking about that Cowboy Matchmaker application he’d submitted. After paying and filling out the form, all he had to do was wait and see who he’d be connected with and just how well and how fast they’d hit things off.

Word of the service had spread through the cowboys, with most of them calling it magic. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in magic. He was a vampire, and he knew magic existed. It was just, well, cowboys like him didn’t get a happily ever after, and even the mortal, completely non-paranormal cowboys had rough relationships with the stress and danger of the road. A vampire? Who rode bulls? After living for a few hundred years, he loved the adrenaline. He also knew he’d have to move on in a decade or so. He could only claim a great skincare regimen for so long.

Beau removed his hat and raked his fingers through his long sandy-brown hair, cut just shaggy enough to give him a rakish look.

“Worried about your ride tonight?” a familiar voice asked as he walked into the locker room.

Beau replaced his hat and put on a big grin. “I’ve ridden worse. Who’d you draw?” he asked to deflect the conversation from him. Brand Bennings had chased his place at the top of the standings for the past few years, and the younger vampire was always trying to give him a hard time.

“Spit Stain.” He rolled his eyes. “He’s so predictable. One hop out of the chute, then spin to the left. Yawn. I’ll have to be perfect to get a good score tonight.”

“Stay on your rope. Sometimes he’ll go to the right and dump you in the well.” They might be competitors, but Brand had to ride well for them to be in close contention, which was exactly what the fans wanted.

“Right-O.” He gave a two-fingered salute at the tan brim of his cowboy hat, then went to his trunk.

Beau returned to his visualizing the ride. He knew Smoke Demon’s moves, had watched countless videos of him after the draw. The trick to staying on was to expect the unexpected, because Smoke Demon didn’t have a single way of going. He could do this. He moved to his stretches, and by the time barrel racing started, he exchanged his cowboy hat for his helmet and was ready to ride.

He went behind the chutes with the rest of the riders, giving a nod to Brand as he passed him on the bleachers. Beau would be riding fifth, so when the barrels were removed from the arena and the spotlights dimmed, he was ready and already getting stationed behind the chutes where the first three bulls were being guided into place.

Normally he’d ignore the announcer’s hype. He knew the sport was rough and dangerous, that he was epitomizing the essence of the cowboy, especially since he’d been part of the Wild West when it was truly wild.

Smoke Demon went into the chute, and it was showtime. Upon reaching the chute, he climbed down, straddling the gate while he adjusted the bullrope. When he was ready and the arena cleared of the last rider, he settled on Smoke Demon’s back. He fastened his bullrope, and though he’d done this a thousand times, he wasn’t sure if it was like strapping himself to a rocket or a fifteen-hundred-pound rattlesnake. One wrong move and it’d hurt like hell at the very least. He was immune to a lot, but a horn through the chest wasn’t one of them.

Out of habit, he reached to press down his cowboy hat, his hands encountering his helmet instead, and gave the nod. The gate swung open and Smoke Demon exploded. He jumped from the gate, hitting the ground with his front feet solidly in the dirt and his hind feet up over his ass. A long thread of snot whipped from the bull’s nose to slap across the toe of Beau’s boot with the remainder hitting the ground. Beau ignored it, because just as the hind feet landed, the bull bucked again — another leap and snort and all Beau’s focus remained on his center of gravity locking with the bull’s.

One more jump, then the bull settled down to turn to the right, into his hand. He didn’t get cocky, didn’t think he had the ride. Instead, he rode each spin, each jump as it came, and when Smoke Demon whirled out of the spin, reversing like a cat pouncing on its prey, he rode with the bull. He’d never been one to count the seconds. He didn’t even try to view the board, but surely he’d ridden eight seconds by now.

He dimly registered the bullfighters staying in position in case he needed help. One, dressed all in black, a mop of curly blond hair poking from beneath his black cowboy hat, gave him a thumbs-upas the bull twisted and spun. More jumps, more bucks — how the hell could so much beef be so athletic?

Then the whistle blew.

Beau yanked on the bullrope.

It didn’t budge.

Fuck.

He yanked again as the pressure on his hands tightened, his fingers swelling from the loss of circulation.

The bullfighter in black was there. “I got you,” he yelled over the crowd’s gasp as they realized what was happening. “Relax your hand.”

Relax his hand? He was trying to cling to a pile of angry fucking hamburger. He also knew the bullfighter was right.

“I got you. Look into my eyes,” the bullfighter said again, and something about his voice, a bit of compulsion, captivated Beau, mesmerized him, and his hand relaxed.

The bull jumped.

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Books2Read | Changeling Press

Meet the Author

WM Kirkland loves the smell of the forest after a thunderstorm and listening to the pounding of hooves as the horses come to the fence for attention. A pen name for a prolific author, WM focuses on writing stories of steamy queer love between shifters, magical creatures, cowboys, and the occasional time-traveling gladiator. They’re proud to have been telling tales for the past two decades and hope for many more.

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


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Mar 11

New Release Blitz: Specimen by C. Quince (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Specimen

Series: PRISM Agents, Book One

Author: C. Quince

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 03/11/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 105100

Genre: Science Fiction, MM romance, sci-fi, interracial/intercultural, former military, spies, secret agents, aliens, vampires, covert missions, cosy mystery, paranormal, paranormal sleuthing, sci-fi fantasy, action, British humour

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Description

David Cortez, a decorated US Marine, is now on the run from his own government after escaping a top-secret CIA lab when an experimental medical procedure turned sour.

While lying low in Mexico, an assassin sent from British Intelligence tracks him down. However, Sonny from MI6, a British-Iranian with a cockney accent, offers David a choice: join his team, or be killed.

David chooses to work with Sonny, not only because he wants his life back, but because he feels a kinship with the man.

They’re also both in the unique position of being the only living test subjects with alien DNA in their blood. Could that explain the strong attraction between them?

Excerpt

Specimen
C. Quince © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Tijuana, Mexico

David was being followed.

He couldn’t see who the tail was; every time David paused to do a little window shopping on the street and check his six in the window’s reflection, the tail managed to hide. Whoever they were, they were good at slipping by undetected.

David wasn’t sure who it was. Agency, probably, or another US-based shadowy government division. He should’ve picked Venezuela to lie low, but Mexico was his home, his heritage. He had lingered here longer than he should; he knew that, but he’d been so careful, using different names and cash only. He’d grown a beard to blend in and kept moving from place to place, never settling. David had been looking over his shoulder for six months. Now it seemed the bastards had finally caught up to him.

The sun was low in the sky, turning the clouds pink and orange. Vendors in the busy street were out in full force, providing good cover. David calmly made his way down the street, not letting on that he knew he was being followed—but if his tail was worth their salt, they’d know that he knew.

If his tail was a US Government agency like David suspected they were, they wanted one of two things: One, they wanted to keep tabs on him. Two, they wanted to bring him in. The latter would involve kidnap in some form or other; then they’d transport him to a black site—a soundproofed lab where nobody would hear him scream.

David should know. He’d been through that scenario once, and once was enough. If they thought he would come in quietly after what they’d done to him, they had another thing coming.

In the early evening hubbub of Tijuana, David led his tail down side streets and off the beaten path. He knew this town like the back of his hand, and it gave him the advantage.

On an ill-lit street, popular with gang members from the local cartel, a neon bar sign flickered on and off over an open doorway. David ducked in there. Immediately inside the door was a set of steps descending into darkness. David hurried down. At the bottom of the stairs, another open doorway awaited him. David knew the bar; it was small, gloomy, lit only by neon, and it was popular with drug dealers. Today it was busy enough, with music playing loud, and David was able to slip in without attracting attention.

He planned to lie in wait and watch who came through the door after him, so he situated himself at the far end of the bar, facing the entrance. He ordered a light beer. The bartender opened a bottle and stuck a wedge of lime in the top before handing it over.

David took the beer but didn’t drink yet. His eyes were trained on the doorway. Nobody had followed him in, which meant they were hanging back.

If the shoe had been on the other foot and David was the one doing the tailing, he wouldn’t have run straight into the unknown either. That meant this tail wasn’t a local, much as he’d suspected.

David leaned on the bar more casually and poked the lime wedge down into the bottle so he could take a sip of beer. He happened to catch his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Illuminated by red neon light, David’s tan skin looked darker than it usually did. He’d grown his hair out to ear length, the colour a mid-brown shade kissed by the sun. His full beard was a darker shade of brown. He looked like a local.

It was ironic; he’d spent his youth in California trying to look less Mexican, trying to fit in with the White kids in his grade. He’d lightened his hair with frosted tips for a while there—hair in the early ’00s…not great. David was half Mexican on his father’s side. His mother was Caucasian American from San Diego.

Now David had fled the US, he wanted to look more Mexican. He had felt shielded by his disguise so far, but maybe it was time for a new disguise. A new location.

Still no one had come through the door. That was nearly five minutes, a lifetime in surveillance work.

David was about to cut and run, when a figure appeared at the entrance. For a moment David tensed, but he soon saw that this figure was tiny. A short Mexican woman, and likely not his tail. She was the first of a group of local youths entering the bar. Two women, three men.

David relaxed some. These were Mexican kids. He could tell by looking at them; their dark hair, their complexions, and their clothes. The shoes gave it away: slides and sandals weren’t exactly standard surveillance footwear. These were civilians.

As the lively group came further into the bar to order their drinks, David noticed that one pair of feet among them had on black boots.

Bingo.

That was his tail, the man at the back of the group. Likely he had waited for a group to enter the bar and tacked himself on. Clever.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Quince is a MENA-British author who lives in England, enjoys sci-fi and fantasy, history, and Halloween.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Bluesky

Giveaway

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


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