Sep 03

New Release Blitz: Dread by J. Hali Steele (Excerpt & Giveaway)

 

Title: Dread

Series: Scorned Devils MC, Book One

Author: J. Hali Steele

Publisher:  Changeling Press

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Release Date: 09/03/2024

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 90 Pages

Genre: Action Adventure, Contemporary, Romance, Suspense, Age Gap (Older Man), Gay, MC Romance

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Description

Dread: Nicholas “Dread” Derickson is all about his MC, Scorned Devils — until he spies a young man who sets his rebel blood on fire. Sexy bastard might be his undoing if Dread can’t get the president to turn a blind eye to his entanglement, which is cutting into club business just as a splinter group from another club moves into the area. One rider of the wayward gang rubs Dread the wrong way — particularly when he discovers the biker had a prior relationship with the man Dread wants to make his.

Marvin: Marvin Branch hadn’t planned on attending an outlaw biker club party with a woman he’d met at his new job, but now he can’t stop eyeing the handsome older guy who’s definitely a member. Marv’s last liaison ended because the biker he hooked up with refused to be open about their relationship. Vowing not to go down that road again, Marv can’t help being enthralled by Nicholas. Soon Marvin struggles with his new lover’s actions, and his fear of what will happen when he walks away gets the better of him. The man is not only possessive, he’s hell-bent on keeping Marv until he’s had his fill.

Excerpt

Dread (Scorned Devils MC 1)
J. Hali Steele
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2024 J. Hali Steele

Dread

“Nicholas, about the two prospects.”

Dread hated these damn open-air parties. The park was jammed with bodies. Giving back to the community was necessary now and again. They deserved something, because unless things really got out of hand, the two small local police forces turned a blind eye to most of the Scorned Devils motorcycle club’s bullshit.

More importantly, he hated being called Nicholas. Nicholas Derickson had ceased to exist a long time ago. His death had occurred the first time Dread killed a man. The culprit had missed being on the Scorned Devils MC’s radar, but he should have been. That body had never been found. Never will be, either.

There had been two others. Members who’d become disruptive and had to be dealt with outside the law. Dread felt no guilt, as they understood the rules when they prospected. There had been one more. Club president Barton “Battle” Graves hadn’t been sure of the last death. Even after finding the man’s cut in the clubhouse chest only he and Dread had access to, Battle left it alone at first, ignoring the incident for a time because Dread was Scorned Devils inside out, and Bat knew beyond a doubt he intended to protect his club and anyone they vowed allegiance until Dread took his last breath.

Hell, the man had screwed around with Bat’s older and only sister, Glory Graves. Treated her like shit. She’d been abused, then abandoned after the bastard fathered the pres’ niece, Belinda. He’d occasionally turn up when he was down on his luck, to demand money, or a room for a few days. If it was easier for Bat to believe the man walked away for good, so be it.

Bat had asked about the disappearance once. Dread never responded. And that skull never got painted on Dread’s bikes. However, if he delayed answering Battle now, the jackass would never shut up.

“Nicholas, you hear me?”

“Don’t fucking call me that.” Dread had not taken his gaze off the stranger who’d arrived accompanied by Bat’s niece, Belinda. Jesus, he’s hot! The thought surprised Dread. The man was lean, clean shaven and, fuck, downright pretty — and those types never excited him. Something about the way the man carried himself, how he returned Dread’s scrutiny without blinking, excited him, though. Bastard exuded confidence.

Nodding in their direction, Dread asked, “Who’s that with Belinda?” Dread had no interest in diving back into the same pond he swam in for the last six months. His sex life had drifted into no man’s land, but the youngster he eyed was a bright spot on the horizon. I will fuck him until he can’t walk.

“How the hell would I know? Ask Belinda. No matter how much I bitch, she cozies up to some man. Shit, she calls you uncle more often than me.” Attempting to imitate his niece, Bat mocked, “Why can’t you call me Bell, like Uncle Dread?”

“What’s the big deal?”

“My sister’s crap’s the big deal. She’s biting my ass. Doesn’t like her daughter anywhere near me. Hell, I don’t either.”

“Barton, grab your balls and tell your sister to fuck off.” Dread’s attention remained on the newcomer.

“Kiss my ass. Anyway, he likely works with Belinda at one of your establishments.” Kicking the dirt, Bat added, “All the strangers here, you’re concerned by my niece’s latest conquest?”

Holding eye contact, Dread smiled at the fucker. He knew the sexy young man slinking behind Belinda wasn’t a lady’s man. “He’s not her type.” There would be no complaint from Dread about her dragging this one along, yet Dread made note to talk with his managers, keep better tabs on who they hired. “You asked me to give her a job, Battle. It was Cutters or Hell’s Lair.”

“She’s not to be in any part of the Lair, Dread. Bar, clubhouse, nothing. I mean it.”

Dread observed Bell’s friend laughing at something a member’s old lady had said. He is not Hell’s Lair material, either. Dread owned both Cutters, a nice restaurant featuring live music on weekends, and Hell’s Lair, a straight up hole-in-the-wall biker’s bar. He received nice compensation monthly from the Scorned Devils MC treasury for renting them the large, wide-open storage area behind the bar. It doubled as the clubhouse.

The spot had had another name before Dread changed it to Hell’s Lair. Paid pennies on the dollar when he violently wrestled ownership from a man who didn’t deserve it. Jackass mistreated his employees and fired anyone he discovered was gay. For a moment Dread wondered where that bastard had ended up after being beaten to within an inch of his life and chased out the city. One thing Dread was sure of, the son of a bitch would never open his mouth about what had occurred.

Subsequently, the bar made enough for Dread to snatch Cutters up when it came on the market. Only a handful of his crew were aware who owned Cutters, and none ever set foot inside. Too fancy for their liking. Even he couldn’t buy respectability, but Dread liked having one thing in his life that felt decent.

“Too much talk in the Lair’s bar area. That shit must be addressed and I don’t trust Belinda to follow my rule about visiting the club.”

“I’ll handle the loose lips. Anyway, our guys know not to permit your niece inside. If she sneaks in, you or I will get a call. If they ever touch a hair on her head, they’ll see me sooner than later.” Angling toward Battle, Dread slapped the pres’ shoulder. “That’s what you have me for.”

“And sometimes you worry me.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Dread was the only one who dared speak to the club president like that. “What were you saying about prospects?”

“A vote on patching is necessary. They’ve both proved themselves.” Bat’s sigh filled the air. “We got to watch those five hellions out of Philadelphia. Shit, been too long since I had a sit-down with the pres of Bayside Specters. Sons of bitches didn’t even have the courage or respect to announce themselves. Still, I’d like to avoid trouble. Devils have grown. We established ourselves in the county and Coatesville is home. It’s a small city and trouble of any sort marring our MC’s reputation will not be tolerated.”

Growth was important. Thirty-four members strong, Scorned Devils had become a club to be reckoned with in Pennsylvania but Bat was right. “We’ll take it up at the next meeting. This isn’t the time or place.”

Over the last couple months, several instances had developed that Dread wished the president had allowed him to handle. He understood Bat’s caution, yet appearing weak wasn’t suitable. Dread had turned down running the Devils, or becoming vice president as Battle had hoped, as they moved up through club ranks. Dread liked his position of sergeant at arms. Trusting anyone else to ensure club rules would be followed and appropriate punishment doled out when necessary didn’t suit Dread, either.

“Don’t know how you can tell, but you’re probably right about that young man. Anyway, I know I’m not getting anything useful out of you until you make yourself known to him.” Turning serious, Bat added, “Be careful.”

“Careful?” Bat knew who Dread was and he also understood some things would never change. “That shit flew out the window twenty years ago when I screwed the fourth prospect who patched for the Devils. I can handle members who scoff at what I am.” A few hard cases, kept under Dread’s scrutiny, disdained gay activity, but not one of the Devils would dare say a word about his or any other member’s sexual inclination. “Terror’s not here to protect the fuckers, and they like having their teeth.”

The Scorned Devils vice president was near the end of a three-year sentence for assault. Nineteen years younger than Dread, Terror was fucking nuts, and Dread didn’t relish the time he would return. Made him wish, sometimes, he had accepted vice president under Battle. Luckily, Bat had succeeded in keeping them from tearing each other apart. At least for now. But the day would come.

“You know what the fuck I mean. He’s not one of us. He’s too clean cut for the likes of us, and he reeks of decency. Hell, the kid isn’t even your usual hairy type.” Bat’s eyes shuttered. “Not as if… Look, Dread, club culture doesn’t favor settling down.”

“What? Fuck that, man, I’m not looking for anything permanent. Scorned Devils requires my attention, I’m here, Battle. That shit will never change.” Jerking away, Dread made his way through the crowd to lay claim to his next conquest.

Purchase at Changeling Press

 

Meet the Author

A former MC associate, J. Hali Steele loves anything with wheels, including motorcycles, classic automobiles, and race cars. A retired winning ex-quarter mile drag racer, J. Hali often angles to get her butt back in the driver’s seat!

J. Hali is a multi-published, best-selling author of romance in Contemporary MC, ReligErotica, Paranormal, Fantasy, and LGBTQ stories where humans, vampyres, shapeshifters, and angels collide – and they collide a lot! When J. Hali’s not writing or reading, she can be found snuggled in front of the TV with a cat in her lap and a cup of her favorite beverage of the moment.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

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Aug 27

New Release Blitz: The Chef by Mell Eight (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Chef

Series: Princes of Toval, Book One

Author: Mell Eight

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 08/27/2024

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 62200

Genre: Fantasy, culinary arts, royalty, mercenaries, soldiers, politics, magic, road trip

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Description

Char is a level one chef, capable of imbuing magic into his cooking. Offered a job in a new city where he can further develop his skills and grow toward his goal of one day owning his own restaurant, Char undertakes a dangerous journey through the Spikehorn Mountain pass. However, deadly beasts, thieves, and dodgy recipe ingredients aren’t the only challenges in the mountains. When the mercenary group he travels with is attacked and killed, Char wows their killers with his skills and chooses to join them instead of being left to travel on his own.

Figuring out how to cook over a campfire with only salted and dried ingredients is a unique challenge for Char, but the fighters promised to deliver Char safely to his new job once their own task in the mountains is complete. But the new fighters aren’t everything they appear to be, especially Captain Fen, who makes Char think about something other than cooking for the first time in years. Surviving the mountain crossing was supposed to be tough, but surviving this new journey might prove impossible.

Excerpt

The Chef
Mell Eight © 2024
All Rights Reserved

The sounds of battle had been going on for at least ten minutes. Char ignored them. The harsh metal clanging of sword against sword, the screech as a sword slid against armor, and the groaning and gasping of fighters as they exerted themselves—and ultimately died. Char let all that mess flow around him.

Keeping the oatmeal from burning was much more important after all.

Char gave the deep pot a stir, gauging the softness of the oats. Satisfied with the consistency, he opened the pouch of dried fruit and tipped it over the pot, letting half the pouch fall into the oatmeal below. The heat and residual water would soften and partially rehydrate the fruit, making it a perfect addition to breakfast. Char also put in about a tablespoon of brown sugar—calibrated to be enough for a pot this large without forgetting the natural sweetness the fruit would also add.

He glanced below the pot at the cooking fire that was mostly embers and decided it didn’t need more wood. The oatmeal would be ready about the time the battle against whichever thieves had been airheaded enough to attack an armed mercenary company was over. After the mercenaries ate and tended their wounded, Char expected them to move out. He didn’t need to maintain the fire to make lunch, since lunch would likely be jerky eaten in the saddle. At least Char had a pouch of his own homemade chicken jerky, carefully spiced with sage and smoked with onion and garlic. He didn’t want to know what the rest of the band were actually eating when it didn’t come out of a pot or pan of something he prepared; Char suspected it would be something gross.

The oatmeal was starting to bubble and blurp, very close to being ready. Char gave it another stir and then stopped to actually pay attention to his surroundings.

Sounds of battle came from all directions, so whatever enemy the mercenaries were fighting had tried to flank them. Still, the number of bangs, clangs, and groans of pain hidden from him by the thick brush and rocky terrain surrounding the campsite were diminishing, so the battle was definitely nearly ended. Char stood, went over to the bags adjacent to where their pack donkey was picketed, and pulled out bowls and spoons. He returned to the fire and started laying out his supplies until he had two lines of bowls, each with a spoon resting inside. The last bowl and spoon he kept for himself.

He was just reaching for the pot to fill his bowl so he could eat before the onslaught of hungry postbattle mercenaries when something hard tapped him on the shoulder.

Char glanced back and froze in place, the tip of a bloodied sword brushing against his cheek.

“No blood near the food, please,” he said automatically.

But, as his eyes followed the length of the blade up to the owner, he wasn’t met with one of the mercenaries he had been feeding for the last week. The stranger was tall and his fair hair, where it poked out beneath his helmet, was darkened with sweat. A splash of someone else’s blood crossed his even features, and his hard hazel eyes glared down at Char.

“Er, hello?” Char forced out, unsure how to react.

“Captain, I think that’s the last of them,” someone else called from the edge of the clearing. “We can move out when you’re done with him.”

The stranger—the captain—only moved his eyes away as he replied, the sword not wavering against Char’s neck. “Check their supplies. I want any orders or paperwork indicating what they were doing out here, and we might as well take anything of use.” His gaze immediately returned to Char. “You’re a noncombatant?” he asked.

“Hired to cook and maintain camp for the mercenary company,” Char replied. “Do you want some oatmeal? It’s just about ready, and it sounds like the people I made it for are no longer around to eat it.”

“Are you bonded to a merc company or freelance?” the captain asked.

He was asking whether Char had any emotional investment linked to the mercenaries the captain and his people had just killed. Char didn’t. What he wanted was their armed escort through the mountain pass and, incidentally, their coin. A lone traveler wouldn’t survive the mountain lions, let alone the bandits looking for the easy pickings of travelers exhausted after the arduous climb. Adding a little spending money to help him get on his feet at his destination was an added benefit. Besides, aside from the mercenary captain, Char hadn’t learned their names or really spoken with any of them. They hadn’t been a friendly bunch, really more of a means to an end, so he wasn’t particularly upset they were gone.

“Freelance,” Char replied, trying to sound convincing. He would have shrugged, but that sword still hadn’t moved. “I wanted to travel east; they wanted someone to maintain their camp. Getting paid is a side bonus. I’m headed for Etoval. No idea where they were going. We only contracted through to Marketon.”

The captain continued to glare, his frown full of distrust.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

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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Aug 20

New Release Blitz: The Black Lily Society by Alice G. Holmes (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Black Lily Society

Series: April Oaks, Book Two

Author: Alice G. Holmes

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 08/20/2024

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Female

Length: 106500

Genre: Paranormal, paranormal, urban fantasy, asexual, demisexual, lesbian, gay, bisexual, queer, poly, ghosts, vampires, Night Hag, empath, neurodivergent, New Orleans

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Description

Lyric Morrison is looking to get away. After the Phoenix Coup, she wants to forget all about vampires. She decides to move to New Orleans, the perfect place for a fresh start. However, upon moving into her new apartment, Lyric meets a woman named Heather Campbell. She’s bright, she’s cheerful, and she’s dead. Heather is a ghost, and she wants Lyric to solve her murder.

Suddenly, Lyric finds herself pulled back into the world of vampires and magic by a power she didn’t know she possessed. Lyric is a medium, with the ability to communicate with the dead. As she’s drawn further into the investigation, she meets Elias—the vampire who saved her life in Phoenix, who is also the number one suspect in Heather’s untimely death.

Along the way, Lyric befriends another vampire named Lionel and Verity, a clairvoyant, both of whom have a dark secret tied to Lyric’s own past. Torn between her feelings for Elias and her promise to help Heather, Lyric is caught in a tangled web of mystery that may be her undoing.

Excerpt

The Black Lily Society
Alice G. Holmes © 2024
All Rights Reserved

Sweat poured down my back. My glasses fogged up from the exertion. My muscles ached, and I grunted as I pushed against the heavy box. I panted as I shoved the box up the steps, until finally it was in the apartment. I wiped my brow and exhaled, exhaustion creeping over me. “That’s the last one,” I said. No one was around to hear me. It was the last week of August, and the heat and humidity were getting to me.

I sighed, went inside, and closed and locked the door behind me. Thankfully, I’d already assembled the furniture. I stepped around the last box and collapsed, boneless, onto the bed. I winced as I was a sweaty, smelly mess and these were clean sheets.

“Good thing I got the washer,” I said. I’d technically moved in a week ago. But there was a delay in getting my boxes from Miss Sophie’s in the Bywater to my new place in the Lower Garden District. Not an easy task without a truck. Or help.

The elation I’d felt with a job well done slowly ebbed away. As I stared at the high ceiling of my new studio apartment, I reflected on how I’d ended up there. My original plan to move involved about two years of working and scrimping and saving but two things happened.

Firstly, everyone who’d been in Phoenix during the coup was given a check for damages from the government. Mine wasn’t huge, since it was just me and no one in my family died. As though a check could make up for what happened. A city taken hostage by the undead, people terrorized and killed, and the government just says, “Here, have money to help you forget about it.” Still, I wouldn’t turn down free money. And it was enough that I was able to pay down some debt. I used the rest to book a stay at a long-term rental in New Orleans and mail most of my belongings there.

The second was my job. In an effort to save money (and because the coup had been hard on everyone) we went fully remote. I was given a company laptop, headphones, and microphone and told not to come into the office anymore. When I asked if I could move and still keep my job, my supervisor discussed it with the company president. They got back to me a few days later and said it was fine.

My therapist agreed a change of scenery would be good for me, though I wouldn’t be able to see her anymore. Fifteen hundred miles was a bit far to travel for an appointment.

On our last visit, she’d asked, “Are you still having nightmares?”

I shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“And will you still go to therapy once you relocate?”

“I don’t know yet. I still have my job, and I can work from home. But my benefits may change.”

“I would recommend you look into it as soon as possible.”

“Otherwise, I might go crazier? Great.”

She gave me a sympathetic look. “Lyric, you’re not crazy. You’ve had a traumatic experience, preceded by a traumatic childhood. Trauma exacerbated by an undiagnosed neurodivergent disorder. You may be fragile, but you’re not crazy.”

“Same thing, different name.”

I was flippant because I was terrible at goodbyes. I knew despite requests to keep in touch, I wouldn’t. It always played out the same in the past. I’d call and email and make a nuisance of myself. Then I’d come to my senses and stop pestering people who wouldn’t write or call me back.

It was nice to finally have a name for my “genius syndrome” as my father called it. Autism, I was autistic. Dr. Cade said if it were still in the DSM I would have been diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome—as though it lightened the stigma surrounding my diagnosis. Though I’m glad I didn’t get saddled with that. After reading online that Asperger’s was a term coined by a Nazi, I was happy to leave it behind.

Dr. Cade encouraged me to alert my employers, but I chose to keep my diagnosis to myself, and I was glad I did. Otherwise, when those vampires took over Phoenix, they may have dragged me away, never to be seen again.

A constant point of contention between myself and Dr. Cade: She insisted they weren’t real vampires but “troubled people who believed they were,” I argued they were and showed her footage I found displaying their fangs and their super strength. She dismissed it as trickery. I stopped short of telling her what I’d seen with my own two eyes. I didn’t want to end up like my former boss.

“Stop,” I said aloud. I knew where my thoughts were going, and it would only upset me. I needed to focus on the joy of the situation. I was hundreds of miles away, in my new home in New Orleans.

Before the coup, I’d gone to New Orleans on vacation with a friend. I fell in love with the city straight away. I had the strangest sensation I’d been there before. The day I had to return to Phoenix was the day I decided I would go back to New Orleans in the fall. I was originally going to visit on another vacation. I ended up relocating instead.

I reached into my pocket and took out my phone. I opened Eris, my favorite chat app. I saw a message from Psyche. She wanted to know how I was.

EratoONine: Finally done.

Psychepomp: About time!

EratoONine: Yeah, sorry for the delay. The boxes were heavy, and I didn’t have any help.

Psychepomp: I thought you were going to hire movers.

EratoONine: This was cheaper.

Psychepomp: But not easier.

EratoONine: You got me.

Psychepomp: You’re going to hurt yourself.

EratoONine: I’m fine.

Psychepomp: Liar. So, what are you doing tonight?

EratoONine: I’m going to take a shower and head downtown.

Psychepomp: Ooo! Anything fun planned?

EratoONine: Not really. Walk the Quarter, get some dinner.

Psychepomp: You should go to Port of Call! They have awesome burgers, and they serve them with baked potatoes.

EratoONine: I’ll put a pin in that for another time. I’m not in the mood for beef today.

Psychepomp: Suit yourself. Take lots of pictures! I gotta go; the kids are home.

EratoONine: Give them my love. See you later.

She sent me a kiss emoji and went offline. I put the phone away and groaned as I got to my feet. I had overdone it because I just had to do everything myself. I admit it, I have difficulty asking for help. And yeah, I still managed to pull it off on my own, but at the cost of aching muscles and smelling like a dead water buffalo.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Alice was born in California in the 80s, which explains so much, really. Before becoming a writer they were in a punk band and also worked as a nurse. In their spare time they enjoy television shows about ghosts and baking as well as a wide spectrum of music. They currently live in Arizona with their collection of Funko Pops and comic book figurines. Find Alice on Facebook.

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Aug 13

New Release Blitz: Wild Ginger in the Rhubarb by Eule Grey (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Wild Ginger in the Rhubarb

Author: Eule Grey

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 08/13/2024

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 23600

Genre: Contemporary, contemporary, romance, lesbian/sapphic, butch/femme, detective, gin-maker, bikes/bike shop, siblings, first love, secrets, family drama, sweet, steamy, summer fete, flip-flop love, synaesthesia

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Description

The rules for ex-undercover cops are clear: No girlfriend, no sex, no snuggles—too risky for everyone concerned. After a year of spying on gangsters, tough Charlie couldn’t agree more. She doesn’t want a girlfriend or a relationship; she only needs power tools and a job in her brother’s bike shop.

Still, it’s difficult to leave the past behind. Charlie feels bad about betraying the gangster’s trust. Guilt comes with the job. So what? When a gorgeous gin artist becomes a neighbour, wanting to help is natural. Fix the fridge—yeah. Sexual attraction? Nope. Girlfriend? Double nope. All that matters is following the rules: No girlfriend, no sex, no sharing. Repeat.

Rose loves summer flowers, gin, pretty clothes, and butch lesbians. Owning a cocktail shop is a dream come true, even if the responsibility is tricky for one person to bear. If only she had friends and family! A caring friend would be extremely welcome to fix the fridge and put up the shelves. It’s strange how Charlie smells of wild ginger and Rose of sweet rhubarb, like an award-winning gin.

Rose has secrets, too, about the past. She doesn’t intend to cuddle up with Charlie. It’s just that the heart wants what the heart wants. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

One thing is certain… When wild ginger gets in the rhubarb, nothing can stop it.

Excerpt

Wild Ginger in the Rhubarb
Eule Grey © 2024
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Raspberry and Apple

Rose

Rose had never been more nervous. The uncomfortable bus journey from her dingy bedsit, which had been ‘home’ for the last three months, to a fabulous new shop took forever, or at least it seemed so. She expected something awful to happen with every jolt—engine trouble, catastrophic floods, planetary annihilation…

An abundant, gingery aroma soon ascended the suncream most people had liberally applied because of the heatwave. It was a trick of the senses, nothing more. As a child, Rose’s family had joked about her uncanny ability to identify flowers at a distance and how she’d associated strong smells with people. Dad was apple, Fionn, ginger.

A pang went through her when she remembered her family. She missed them, particularly Fionn, her twin, though it had been years since they’d been together. Rose glanced among the other passengers, looking eagerly for him anyway. If only he were here! She could have done with the support of family on today of all days. Ah, well.

The new shop door key had become embedded in her sweaty palm as if engraved forever. Legalities had long been finalised, contracts signed, and the deposit paid. Nevertheless, Rose couldn’t lose the certainty that something was bound to go wrong.

Because today meant everything. Everything. Ever since she was a small girl, her ambition had been to own and manage a business. The details of her fantasy changed with the years—spacewoman, dancer, nurse—but the dream remained: to begin work each morning hopeful, knowing exactly how the day would go. No bitchy managers or impossible targets, just blissful days spent doing what she loved, cocooned with the scent of flowers and herbs, in charge of her destiny at last.

It had taken years to save for a deposit while learning the ancient art of ginmaking. Rose planned to build a small but loyal customer following at the shop on the high street next to a greengrocer. It would be lovely to hire an assistant, though she became quite nauseous at the thought of interviews. How would she know which candidate to pick? As a girl, she’d been useless at spotting a rogue from a sweetheart despite her status as the daughter of a gangster. No amount of lost dinner money or brotherly ‘lessons’ had made her a better judge of character.

To give herself something to think about other than Fionn, she planned an itinerary once inside the shop. First, scrub the rooms from top to bottom, then arrange some dried flowers in elegant bowls. A new venture required lavender, lemon balm, and jasmine to lift the mood and welcome in the summer. Once the place was fragrant, she could buy a cheap sleeping bag and work out where to sleep. With all of her savings used up, she reckoned she could live at the shop until the money started coming in.

Two women sitting close together across the bus aisle from Rose interrupted her daydreams. They were holding hands, giggling, and sharing stories. The elder wore a sleeveless top, which revealed an impressively muscular physique; the younger a short, pretty dress Rose might have chosen for herself. They fit together perfectly, brawn, snuggling petite. If Rose had to guess their scents, she’d have selected clematis with olive.

She could hardly tear her gaze away. The big woman slung an arm around her girlfriend’s shoulders, kissing the top of her nose. She caught Rose staring and winked.

With a start, Rose looked away, embarrassed. A familiar ache entered her plans and then her lonely heart. If only she had someone to share her days—a woman with a loyal, caring fierceness who wouldn’t mind Rose had been born into a family of gangsters. Truth was, she was too nervous to meet such a woman. What if they found out about her infamous family? No. Life was too hectic anyway. A new business took much energy and time. Once established, she could better consider matters of the heart.

The bus finally trundled into the town centre. Rose walked with unsteady legs and a smile. She still expected a catastrophe to prevent her from reaching the shop, but the short walk had gone swimmingly. It was another hot day, with an azure sky, birds singing, and everywhere, laughing shoppers. The street boasted a busy, peaceful atmosphere, with a green park at one end and a cosy café at the other—a perfect location for a speciality gin shop: Gin, Gin. The whole area had recently been renovated. The grand opening ceremony was due midsummer, with a parade and a street party for all vendors planned, not that Rose would be going—she was far too shy.

Even without the extra sales the carnival would bring, Rose had a clear business plan. Shoppers could pop in after a long day or when they needed a special gift. Where better to purchase an individualised tipple made with love and care? Her gins were like no other. Long ago, she’d discovered how to listen to a story and identify what the person wanted through flowers and scents. Orange blossom to heal a jealous heart, honeysuckle for courage, mixed berries for love. Personalised gins offered a fun means to reach one’s goals. Rose adored making people smile better than anything else.

She reached the shop before noticing the monstrosity dumped on her doorstep—a rusty old bike covered with mud and grime. Some of the muck had rubbed onto her green door. Determined not to let an ancient bike ruin her day, she wheeled the contraption to a nearby communal bin, scribbled a quick note, rubbish, and attached it to the frame before hurrying back to the green door. Hers at last!

A bubble of happiness rose from her chest, lifting her from lingering worries. As she slotted her key into the lock, she hoped it was the moment she’d dreamed about, the event which would facilitate a happy, fulfilled life free from grime and crime. Her certainty was reinforced by the lime freshness zinging in the air and the faraway hint of a smoky bonfire.

Just as Rose stepped happily onto the shop’s threshold to begin her new life, an angry shout came from the bins.

“Oi! What the hell? I want a word with you, missus.”

Rose turned with alarm. A strapping, tattooed woman lifted the rusty bike from the bin with one hand and then stalked across, wearing heavy combat boots that might’ve been at home on an army base. Her expression became contorted by anger, and her fists were tightly clenched.

Fearing the worst, Rose did what she always did at times of crisis—she ran—straight into the shop, where she locked the door behind her. “Sorry! I thought it was scrap.” Please go away, please go away. An overwhelming scent of ginger almost caused her to gag. Mentally, she returned to ten years old, locked in the bathroom with Fionn and a bottle of ginger fizzy pop as the police kicked down the front door, searching for their parents.

Meanwhile, the muscled woman thumped rudely on the door. “Scrap indeed. How dare you. Don’t touch our bikes!”

Rose sank to the floor, hoping fervently the woman would disappear. Not for the first time, she wished she were braver, more able to assert herself instead of running at the first sign of trouble. But she didn’t know how to achieve the goal, and nobody was around to offer support. Not even honeysuckle had helped her be more assertive despite keeping bunches of the stuff in her underwear drawer.

After a while, ordinary street sounds returned: children laughing, birdsong, an ice cream vendor shouting his wares. Rose eventually peered outside, first from the window and then through the glass in the door. Once she was sure the woman had moved away, she gradually opened the door, blinking into the bright sunshine like a bear after hibernation.

The pavement was now littered with bikes, and it became apparent why. The shop next door was no longer a greengrocer but a bike shop. The tattooed woman stood inside, cleaning the window. When she saw Rose, she placed her hands on herculean hips, glaring like a Greek goddess, emanating anger and something else Rose tried hard to forget—the smell of ginger, different from Fionn’s but ginger nonetheless.

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Meet the Author

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

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

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

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Aug 06

New Release Blitz: The Red Twins by Dianne Hartsock (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Red Twins

Series: The Karthagana, Book Two

Author: Dianne Hartsock

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 08/06/2024

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 110100

Genre: Fantasy, fantasy, magic, sorcerers, mage, twins, psychic powers, military, hurt-comfort, established couples

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Description

Seventeen years of relative peace have passed in Belega while the Karthagans thrive. But this hard-won respite is drawing to an abrupt end. The Red Twins have come of age. Aiden is chosen to lead his people, as is his right as the older twin. But Ethan disagrees. Driven by jealousy, not only of Aiden’s status and friendships but also of his new lover, Ethan attacks, seeking to destroy all Aiden holds dear. But Aiden’s powers are growing, and at the moment, are far stronger than Ethan’s. Thwarted, Ethan flees Karthag, leaving Aiden alone to care for their people.

Things aren’t going any better for Natan on Sennia. Old jealousies are revived, and the Vice-King imprisons all with the ability to bend nature to their will. So far, Natan’s successor, Niko, has escaped capture, but his wife has been taken, and lies dying alone in her cell. Enraged, driven mad by grief, Niko attacks the Vice-King and flees to Belega, there to lick his wounds and gather his strength to return, seeking vengeance.

The Karthagan power over nature is stirring to life once more, and Aiden finds his people besieged from all sides. Niko takes refuge on the Isle of Wind, power and death in his hands. Ethan is in Siagan, calling up the power of the lake. And another enemy emerges: the lords of Fredrik’s Hall, set to learn the Karthagan secrets. Natan joins Aiden, and together with the Belegan armies, they strive to overcome the madness threatening their very lives. Aiden holds the power, but only Natan with his pure heart can heal the wounds of the earth. And then, only if he has the strength to do so.

Excerpt

The Red Twins
Dianne Hartsock © 2024
All Rights Reserved

Natan stood at the prow of the swift schooner and leaned over the rail, excitement coursing through him, with the sea spray stinging his cheeks into glowing life, his chestnut hair streaming as a banner behind him. He wished once again Kavi was with him. Kavi would love this. The morning sun glinted on the clear water and a few tattered clouds gave depth to the blue vault overhead. Natan drew a deep breath and laughed aloud in the pure joy of life.

His pulse sped as they approached Belega’s white shores after having been at sea for over a week. The anchor dragged, slowing the schooner, and men rushed to lower the sails and make ready the small boats to take the passengers to the dock. As they neared the harbor, Natan climbed onto the railing, gripping the rigging as he leaned out over the water, straining to see. His heart gave a bounding lurch when he spotted Kavi on the sand, and he leaped into the air, diving effortlessly into the deep sea.

He swam to the beach with practiced strokes. Kavi waited, flushed and smiling, as Natan climbed from the water and strode purposefully to him. Natan’s wet clothing clung to his lean body, and Kavi’s color deepened when he drew close, stirring Natan’s blood. Even after seventeen years together, Kavi still stole his breath. Engulfing Kavi in his arms, Natan lovingly whispered his name. He found Kavi’s lips and kissed him mercilessly before he pulled away with a self-conscious laugh and touched Kavi’s bruised mouth. “Sorry.”

“I’m not.” Kavi ran his fingers through Natan’s dripping hair. Natan’s chest heaved, and Kavi made an appreciative sound as he pressed against him.

A polite cough separated them. The remaining passengers had been rowed ashore along with Commander Cecil, who watched them with a grin on his face. Kavi gave Cecil a friendly nod, then turned to the young man at Cecil’s side and pulled him into an embrace. “I’m glad you came, Ellis. How was the voyage from Sennia?”

“Too long. It’s good to be on dry land again.”

“He never did gain his sea legs,” Natan divulged with a teasing smile.

“Ha!” Kavi kept Ellis at his side. “I’ll tell you a secret. No one enjoys the ocean like our dear Mage here.”

Natan’s face heated. “Probably true, Kavi.”

Ellis chuckled, warming Natan’s heart. Until recently, Ellis rarely smiled, never allowed anyone to touch him. Several years ago, he’d been made to watch his parents’ torture and murder by the Vice-King’s men for sedition. Only Natan’s impassioned plea to the court had saved his young life.

Natan had once again roused the animosity of Vice-King Danul that day, but well worth it. Ellis had his mother’s joyous features, his unique amber eyes standing out against his black hair and golden-brown skin, a combination of his mother’s fair Belegan complexion and his father’s darker Sennian heritage. Although not a tall man, he was agile and fearless and easily a match for the men he sparred with back home.

Natan glanced around expectantly. “Alek isn’t meeting us?”

“He was detained and sends his apologies,” Kavi told him. Natan wondered what was behind the shadow that fell over Cecil’s features on hearing his lover hadn’t come. As the head of the Karthagan people, Alek would be needed in the city. Especially these last few days, arranging for Aiden’s ascension ceremony. The Red Twin had come of age and would assume his role as leader. It was why Kavi had been with his kin a month now. To help with preparations.

Kavi held horses ready for the short ride to the city of Karthag. It delighted Natan to see Syros waiting for them at the city gates as they approached, and he slid from his mount. He hadn’t expected the Regent of Barkuit to meet them.

“My lord!” He bowed quickly, and Syros pushed the hand he held out aside to embrace him.

“How are you, Mage?”

“I’m well. How is your little boy?”

A tender smile touched Syros’s lips and he answered eagerly. “Excellent. I would have brought him, but Dani’s teething…” Syros flushed. “Forgive my enthusiasm, but of course I find him the most wonderful child on the planet. His mother would be proud—” Syros pressed his lips together, pain shadowing his gray eyes.

Natan touched his arm, compassion tightening his chest. Syros’s wife had died giving birth to their son. “I grieve for your loss, Syros. We all miss Sharana.”

The earnest young man waiting with Syros stepped forward and stretched out his hand. “Hello, Mage.” He nodded his head to Cecil and Ellis.

“My lord Willum.” Natan bowed to the Governor of Barkuit. At seventeen, Willum was a fit, muscular man of medium height, with the light attractive features of his mother, though there was a firmness to his lips that spoke of his strong-willed father.

He grinned at Natan now, eyeing his wet clothing, then flicked a glance at Kavi’s damp tunic. “Impatient, my lord? Never mind. Will you come to the castle? The air can turn chilly on the coast.” Willum’s mouth quirked and Natan’s smile broadened at the teasing.

“You know Ellis.” Natan pulled Ellis, who had been standing behind him, to his side.

“Of course.” Willum shook his hand while Syros bowed in his grave manner.

The group made their way to the courtyard, where they parted to clean up from the voyage. Natan noted the tiny smile playing on Kavi’s lips and caught his heated glances as Cecil led them up a stairway and down a long hallway of the castle, talking animatedly with Ellis all the while. Cecil paused outside the door to Kavi’s room and motioned them in but inexplicably remained in the doorway to belabor a point with Ellis. Natan watched them through narrowed eyes, then reached around Kavi to swing the door shut, Cecil barely managing to save his fingers as the heavy wood slammed on their grinning faces.

Once they were alone, Natan pulled Kavi close and Kavi laughed, tugging on Natan’s shirt. “Out of these wet clothes, Nattie.”

He helped Natan remove his sodden tunic, a hiss of anger escaping him on seeing the scars and fresh welts crisscrossing Natan’s chest and back. “The Vice-King goes too far. What was it this time? You can’t—”

“Hush.” Natan began to undo the braid in Kavi’s dark hair. He pulled Kavi into his arms as the familiar craving to have him ever closer took possession.

“The others will wonder where we are,” Kavi warned with a quick breath as Natan nimbly undid the ties on Kavi’s tunic, baring his torso.

“I don’t care,” Natan mumbled, staring at the dark nubs on Kavi’s chest, beautiful against his olive skin. He leaned down to blow cool air on a nipple and watched it tighten under his gaze. His mouth watered. “I haven’t seen you in a month. They can wait.”

He had to take tight control of his desire, slow down before he devoured Kavi whole, to be rewarded by Kavi’s gasp when he licked the sensitive point. A thrill shot through Natan. Even after all this time, his lover could still start that delicious ache inside as he anticipated Kavi’s skillful touch.

Drawing the tight little nub between his teeth, Natan tugged gently, Kavi’s deep moan jolting him with triumph and lust. Kavi squirmed as he licked and nibbled the tiny captive. Was he…? Natan dropped his hand and groped the front of Kavi’s pants, grinning when he felt the hard length under the thin material. Setting his palm on Kavi’s tight stomach, he slipped his hand inside his clothing.

Kavi’s breath hitched and he moaned Natan’s name. Natan momentarily lost his restraint. Kavi’s skin was warm and tight as Natan licked his way downward. He tugged off Kavi’s pants as he knelt and buried his face in the soft curls nestling his heavy cock. Natan’s heart tripped as he breathed in the heady scent of his man: his musk and sweat.

He needed more. Turning his head, he licked along the extended vein on Kavi’s hard length, took it in his mouth, and Kavi cried out when Natan lodged him in the back of his throat, swallowing convulsively. Kavi’s balls were heavy in his hand and he gently rolled them. Still not enough! He needed Kavi sprawled on the bed, spread open and eager for him.

He rose to his feet and gently pushed Kavi backward onto the soft quilts of the bed behind them, the yearning to find release in his lover’s body swamping him. His heart leaped at Kavi’s soft laugh and Kavi splayed his legs, offering himself for Natan’s pleasure. Natan widened his eyes at the erotic sight, his breath catching when Kavi lifted his hips. Moistening his lips, Natan bent and once again took Kavi’s delicious cock into his mouth, allowing his fingers to stray lower.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Dianne is the author of paranormal/suspense, fantasy adventure, m/m romance, the occasional thriller, and anything else that comes to mind. She lives in the beautiful Willamette Valley of Oregon with her incredibly patient husband, who puts up with the endless hours she spends hunched over the keyboard letting her characters play. She says Oregon’s raindrops are the perfect setting in which to write. There’s something about being cooped up in the house with a fire crackling on the hearth and a cup of hot coffee warming her hands, which kindles her imagination.

Currently, Dianne works as a floral designer in a locally-owned gift shop. Which is the perfect job for her. When not writing, she can express herself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage.

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Aug 06

New Release Blitz: Regna Born by Erick Holmberg (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Regna Born

Series: The Regna Sagas, Book One

Author: Erick Holmberg

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 08/06/2024

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 86100

Genre: Fantasy, urban fantasy, paranormal, literature/general fiction, M/M, slow burn, murder mystery, magic, super powers, super humans, psychic abilities, culture war, action adventure, pets

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Description

“Beneath the veneer of everyday life, a clandestine world thrives in the shadows, filled with powerful telepaths who call themselves adepts. These superbeings have guarded their secrets for millennia, but when a brilliant scientist, Joe Martin, maps and prepares to publish their genome in a famous medical journal, the adepts realize they can’t hide forever and further exposure to the human world threatens their existence.

Gabriel Kelly has his life turned upside down when someone murders Joe, his ex, and the race to find the genetic map begins. Gabriel, an average adept, enlists the help of his best friend Sellers, who has his own secrets, in exposing the killer and securing the map.

Gabriel finds himself caught between the human cops who think he killed Joe and don’t know about the map, and rival adepts who don’t care who killed Joe but want the map for their own ends. Will Gabriel be the key to preserving the secrecy of adept society, or will the revelation of their existence alter the course of history forever?”

Excerpt

Regna Born
Erick Holmberg © 2024
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

adept / ˈæd.ɛpt/, /əˈdɛpt/

noun

The colloquial name of the human subspecies Homo sapiens psychica, born with enhanced senses, strength, and varying degrees of telepathy and telekinesis.
—National Intelligence Strategy White Paper: Top Secret (TS): Release of this document will cause severe damage to the security of the United States—Adept Assets

The rich green jungle could be the Garden of Eden. Too bad it’s just as full of snakes.

The journey was an endless cascade of rickety bridges and muddy craters, making travel in Myanmar dangerous, especially in remote areas. And this is the most remote of the remote areas.

Armies of mosquitoes cluster in clouds so thick they absorb the sunshine like miniature black holes. They stalk Gabriel in synchronized precision yet ignore the miners because the smorgasbord his unique blood presents is too enticing. A symphony of exotic birds and mournful crickets serenade predators and prey alike.

Which one is he?

He blocks the relentless sun with his hand and grins, recalling a quote from Rudyard Kipling: Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun. His Londoner father would be a shocking lobster color by now.

Gabriel’s sense of smell, enhanced by the wolf bond, struggles to decipher the onslaught of sensations in the heart of the jungle. Rich chocolate from the wild orchids and the subtle honey of cherry blossoms suffuse the thick, humid air. The scent of metal and oil from the jaws of the mine conspire to wipe this sweet fragrance from the face of the earth.

As he draws nearer, the clamor of machinery drowns out the jungle’s orchestra. The air pressure drops, and the siren song of gemstones laden with ley energy rushes to Gabriel’s head. The tug grows stronger, threatening to pull him into the ground. He closes his mind because he can’t risk getting ley drunk. Finally, he emerges into a stadium-sized pit of ravaged earth.

A guard carrying an ancient rifle and a scowl stands under a crooked sign written in English. “Welcome to Ruby Land,” it proclaims in blood-red letters set against a white background. The mine is new, but the sign’s battered lettering silently flakes away.

Tall and taciturn, the foreman’s question-mark posture proves he lives in a world not made for the different. Eyes that refuse to meet Gabriel’s dart about looking for a safe harbor but find none.

“They’ll meet you at the shrine.” The foreman jerks his head to the north. “This way.”

He grunts past the guard and leads them down a narrow, rocky path. They walk in silence, broken only by Gabriel’s dog, Zuko, sneezing from the dust kicked up in the foreman’s wake. Zuko’s massive paws carry his lean one hundred pounds silently behind Gabriel, his snow-white coat oddly untouched by the dust and mud. Despite his size, Zuko’s floppy ears and Snoopy-like face put everyone at ease. But if he were to bare all the gleaming white teeth Gabriel dutifully brushes each day, no one would be at ease.

Gabriel wipes sweat away from his eyes and takes in his surroundings. “Has anyone else been here?”

“No,” comes the quick reply. “You’re the first.”

Gabriel smiles when he detects no lie in the foreman’s answer.

Flowers cover the Buddhist shrine where he’ll meet the latest warlord laying claim to this profitable hole in the earth. He’s led to an open vestibule with a bird’s-eye view of the vast countryside. If they have a bird’s-eye view of the countryside, who has a bird’s-eye view of them?

“Wait here,” the foreman says. “It won’t be long.”

The distant rumble of a convoy snaps the foreman’s head to attention. He reaches for his gun, and beads of sweat break out on his forehead. For a long moment, his ragged breathing joins the rhapsodizing birds and crickets.

“It’s them,” Gabriel says, smashing a mosquito against his forearm. Without a word of goodbye, the foreman turns and scurries away.

Deep in the outback, Gabriel expects a ragtag group fighting for independence, but a high-tech armada of bulletproof glass and modern weaponry barrels into view. They drive and park in that careless way that says they drive and park however they please. Like cops, and a shiver runs up his spine. In the middle of the caravan, the doors of a black four-door SUV open in synchronized precision, and the occupants, dressed all in black, march toward him with ramrod-straight posture.

Two men and one woman carry Kalashnikov rifles in the low-ready position and surround an older man in a protective cocoon. Behind them, two men carry a large wooden trunk. Their stance indicates a threat, so Gabriel sweeps the area. This highly trained squadron can’t be mercenaries because they radiate military precision. Their conspicuous lack of uniforms means that whatever happens here will vanish without a trace.

When the man in the center enters the shrine, he makes eye contact with a slight tilt of his head. He’s wiry and vascular in a way only triathletes and career military are. His gray hair is cut regulation short, and his teeth are shark white.

Gabriel wishes he didn’t sweat so easily. He gingerly perches on the small wooden chair the leader offers him. Given his size, it feels as if he’s stolen it from a six-year-old. Please, don’t let the fragile thing collapse. A rickety table adorned with a single bright yellow flower sits in the center.

The leader sits opposite him, reminding Gabriel of a king on a throne. At his nod, two of the soldiers open the trunk, revealing the freshly unearthed rubies Gabriel’s crossed the world to buy. Their jagged red edges tell the story of a violent ejection from the earth. Gabriel feels the urge to whisper them an apology.

“May I see one?” Gabriel’s Burmese is tinged with a British accent. He wants to throw them off their game, which appears to work when the four exchange furtive glances. He opens his mind to one of the soldiers and touches the language skills part of his brain. As long as Gabriel is within close proximity of the man, he’ll be able to speak Burmese.

The leader smiles. “Do you have the money?”

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

 

Meet the Author

Erick grew up in Lunenburg, Massachusetts, where it was impossible to find fantasy novels with diverse characters and points of view. Erick lives in Boston with his husband and their dog, a giant Bernadoodle named Niko, and writes the books he always wanted to read and the lyrics he always wanted to hear. When he’s not writing, walking the dog, or making pasta, Erick is a vice president at an asset management firm.

Regna Born is Erick’s debut novel with NineStar Publishing.

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Aug 02

Book Blitz: Brotherhood Vol. 4 by Willa Okati (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Brotherhood Vol. 4

Author: Willa Okati

Publisher: Changeling Press

Release Date: August 2, 2024

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 272 pages

Genre: Action Adventure, Box Sets, Dark Fantasy, New Releases, Paranormal Romance, Romantic Comedy, Urban Fantasy

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Synopsis

Welcome to Amour Magique. Where gay paranormals come to find love…

Nothing Like Experience – Allen’s comfortable with his quiet life as a columnist and veterinarian, and he’s firmly off the dating market. Chance is determined to convince Allen that there’s nothing wrong with a May December Romance, but Allen’s even less sure when he discovers Chance happens to be something he never expected to find outside of science fiction: a lone wolf. Actually, a werewolf.

Believe It or Not — Harrison’s spent much of his career debunking urban myths. Then he receives a letter from someone claiming to be a mage and offering to prove it. Naturally there’s a catch. Harrison will have to pay a visit to Amour Magique to meet Martin in his lair. Harrison’s sure Martin’s a fraud, and Martin thinks Harrison is a blot on the paranormal community, but the sex is positively incendiary. The question isn’t magic but love, and the choice is set before them: believe it or not?

Incubus Call — Liam’s in a lot of trouble — not an unusual position for an incubus, even one as harmless and good-natured as himself. But his enemies have it in for him in a big way. Jordan may not be a magical prodigy or a supernatural anything, but he’s intelligent and determined. He won’t let his lover stand alone. Not even if it costs him his life.

Excerpt

The Brotherhood Vol. 4
Willa Okati
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2024 Willa Okati
Excerpt from Nothing Like Experience

“Buckle your seatbelt.” Damned if the short words weren’t all Allen trusted himself with. Simple sentences were great. Monosyllables would be best. With a guy like Chance in his car, nothing more than polite, mundane, and completely boring conversation would be the absolute safest course.

Now why don’t I think that’s within the realm of possibility while I’m in the company of this guy? Allen thought as Chance wriggled a little on the smooth leather seat, the perfect curve of his ass settling in as if the passenger side had been made for him.

Chance gave Allen a questioning look before reaching for the safety harness. “I always wear my seatbelt,” he said in that voice which made Allen want to throw Chance down on the floor, cover him with chocolate sauce, and lick it all off. “I know it’s safer.”

“Also the law,” Allen bit out. Almost all single syllables; good. “Let’s go.” Hey, I’m not bad at this. See? I can even do it when I think. Although I’d better not ramble on to myself — damn, two syllables — or he’ll start staring — damn — like he is now.

Sure enough, those big blue eyes were gazing at Allen in frank curiosity. Allen swallowed down a lump in his throat. He’d seen that kind of look before in a Siberian Husky’s eyes. The dog had been sweet as sugar pie, but he’d still given Allen a measuring look, as if trying to decide whether he was lunch, a friend, or just plain nuts.

Allen had an uncomfortable feeling that Chance was leaning toward the “nuts” side. “I’m not angry,” he said, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. “Where to?”

Chance clicked the end of his seatbelt into the holster and nodded. Still very much wary. “It’s not far. Since, um, the guys who showed up weren’t any help… do you think I can call a tow truck this late to come and get my Bug?” He took on a worried air. “I don’t have much. The car is the biggest thing I own.”

Spot chose that moment to whine and poke his muzzle up between the seats. Allen automatically reached out to pet the animal. As luck would have it, Chance chose that moment to do the exact same thing. When their fingers collided, Allen sat utterly still. Logic told him to move his hand back, but his idiotic body wasn’t listening. It felt the snap! crackle! pop! of electricity between himself and Chance and told Allen in no uncertain terms Uh-uh. We’re staying right here.

Chance made a small noise Allen couldn’t interpret and began rubbing Spot’s nose. The way his fingers flexed and moved beneath Allen’s couldn’t help but make Allen wonder what it would be like if Chance’s hand were on the younger man’s no-doubt thick, solid cock, Allen’s hand wrapped around his, stroking hard up and down and…

“Whoa, momma,” Allen whispered out loud. Then he mentally smacked himself. Way to go in the not-insane department. But then again, what did he care? He was driving Chance home, dropping him and Spot off, and with any luck he’d never see the kid again. He didn’t think Chance would jump out of a moving car even if he was riding with a madman… but he wasn’t all too sure how Chance would react to the nascent erection starting to prod at the back of Allen’s zipper.

So, why did he care?

I don’t, Allen told himself firmly. He readjusted himself with his free hand for a little ease and to hide his condition, knowing that the move made him look like a jackass but frankly not caring all that much. “Ready?” he asked, moving his other hand to the keys dangling from the ignition. “You have to tell me where to go.”

Chance ducked his head, peeking up through his eyelashes. “It’s not far, but it’s kind of complicated to get there,” he murmured. “A lot of twists and turns. I’m really, really sorry.”

Allen shrugged. In for a penny, in for a pound. He’d just have to be careful about retracing his steps. He started to turn the key, and then a thought occurred to him. “Chance?”

Chance was still looking at him through that thick fan of lashes. “Yes?” he asked, his voice tremulous, as if he expected to be hit. A large part of Allen’s emotions directed themselves in the direction of serious ass-kickings for those who had made Chance this uncertain of himself.

With those thoughts in mind, Allen tried to gentle his voice. “How far is ‘far,’ exactly?”

Chance turned the most appealing shade of pink yet. He was a bigger blusher than anyone Allen had ever seen, and Allen hadn’t ever thought he’d see someone topping that gentle bear, David, another member of the Brotherhood. Okay, not topping him, topping, because that led his mind down all sorts of paths he just didn’t feel up to navigating at the moment.

“It’s outside the city,” Chance said apologetically. “But we’re pretty close to the outskirts anyway, right?”

“Actually no,” Allen pointed out, proud of himself for remaining calm. “We’re in the dead center, hence the name of the veterinary clinic. We cover the region. Regional. Seeing a connection?”

Chance’s flush darkened. “It didn’t seem like that far when I was driving in,” he apologized. “But I guess I got distracted.”

“I’d never have guessed,” Allen said dryly. “Okay, which direction do I head in?”

“Out of the parking lot first.”

Allen cut Chance a sharp glance. Was the kid actually making a joke? “Very funny,” he replied just in case Chance had been teasing. “Don’t nettle the driver. Which way, once we’re on the road?”

Chance shifted again in his seat, that damnable leather molding against his ass. Allen couldn’t help staring. Forget the chocolate sauce; he’d just like to throw Chance down and lick him without condiments.

Allen’s erection agreed. Behave! he scolded himself.

If his cock had been capable, Allen knew it would have laughed at him. He grimly acknowledged the surge of blood to his prick as inescapable, repositioned himself once more and turned the key in the ignition. “Okay. Heading out now. You navigate and tell me where to turn.”

Chance nodded demurely, then added, in that too-tempting voice, “Yes.” He rubbed Spot’s nose again, smiling gently as the dog lapped his fingers. “Sit, Spot. Sit.”

“Good dog,” Allen wasn’t able to stop himself from saying. At Chance’s puzzled expression, he qualified his statement. “You know, like Ubu? Sit, Ubu, sit? Good dog?”

Chance frowned and shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“That’s probably a good thing,” Allen said, feeling glum and old. But, hey, a little unbridgeable culture gap was all to the good, right? If Chance didn’t get his jokes, it was a fair bet that Chance wouldn’t get him either. No getting of Chance. The logic was flawless.

Allen shifted gears and began to drive. A thick fog was settling over Charleston in the evening as the air outside cooled, making it increasingly difficult to see as he manipulated his car in and out of traffic. He spared a devout prayer of thanks to whichever saint took care of men in trouble that Chance was quiet except for an occasional “turn here” and “turn there, after the stoplight.”

His cock decided it wasn’t happy with the lack of conversation. It wanted more of Chance, to say nothing of some additional physical contact, and it nudged upward insistently as if to draw Allen’s attention to his condition. Allen resisted the urge to thwap himself. One, because it would hurt like hell. He knew this much from past experience. Two, because it would draw Chance’s attention to his burgeoning hard-on, and that wouldn’t do in all kinds of ways. Oh, no.

Hell, he didn’t even know for sure that Chance was gay. Gay and interested in a man like Allen. There wasn’t any kind of magical Rainbow Connection going to happen between them. Not lovers, possibly dreamers — damn it — but just him. Driving a client home. See? I can be good, even if certain parts of my anatomy disagree.

Shame to waste a hard-on, though, wasn’t it?

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Willa Okati (AKA Will) is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray cat hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for winter weather, a little more coffee, a whole lot of flowering plants and a lifelong love of storytelling. Will’s definitely one of the quiet ones you have to watch out for, though he — not she anymore — is a lot less quiet these days.

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Aug 02

Book Blitz: Newton’s First by Stephanie Burke & Areana Senoj (Excerpt & Giveaway)

 

Title: Newton’s First

Series: Motherboards & Magic (#1)

Author: Stephanie Burke & Areana Senoj

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: August 2, 2024

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Length: 175 pages

Genre: Action Adventure, Futuristic, New Releases, Sci-Fi , Suspense

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Synopsis

Newton’s First Law: An object in motion remains in motion. Until an outside force screws it all up.

As a grieving child in a burned-out husk of a body, Asher Syphamus was given an impersonal room within the Company’s cold labs — until he was offered a second chance with illegal and painful cybernetic augmentations. Now, after many decades of martial arts training and mental conditioning, Ash is the all powerful DPL’s top agent and never misses a target. Along with his beautiful, hyper-sexed purple partner, Vers, the unstoppable duo hunts down the most dangerous hackers and criminals for punishment or elimination.

Korya Funo is full of privileged DPL information downloaded into her brain. If caught, she would be deleted from the census. That keeps her running — until her luck runs out in Paradise, Nevada. When she’s captured by Ash and Vers, Korya accidentally reveals the truth about Asher’s parents’ deaths, and then all hell breaks loose.

Now with all their lives on the line and the fate of the planet riding on their backs, they trio will show the world why Newton’s First Law is not to be screwed with.

Excerpt

Newton’s First (Motherboards and Magic 1)
Stephanie Burke & Areana Senoj
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2024 Stephanie Burke & Areana Senoj

“Fuck, Vers. Where are you?” Asher Syphamus muttered softly, knowing the cochlear implant installed just above his jaw bone and below his ear would pick up his words.

The wind whipped back the few tendrils of hair that escaped the tight bun containing his long hair. The bun hid locks tipped a rich blue almost matching the color of his cybernetic left eye.

As he walked away from the Virt Dive, the virtual reality diving bar where his mark had been lost earlier in the Blue, he wondered why people even bothered to hide from real life. The fucking Blue was where everyone logged in, turned on, and turned up in cyberspace. The Blue was a whole world inside the actual world, one that many used to escape life, spread joy, disappear into a sea of information, of education… to be your avatar while you fled your body and got lost in a way that only total computer immersion could bring. And above the Blue was the White.

The White was a shady, dangerous place where only the most experienced divers dared to venture — the environment was just too dangerous for a diver used to only dealing with the Blue. The White was physically a small blank plane existing between the connection of the Blue and the person putting out information. Here, the world’s best hackers snatched dangerous information from accidental info dumps from those who purposefully stole and sold the data to the highest bidder. No matter how many protocols were put in place to protect the vulnerable space, the White divers always found a way in. And his latest ping had come from the mark he’d finally tracked down to this dive.

He felt the signal he was tracking start to move again and watched as his target slipped out, looking over her shoulder as if she knew he was there and following her. As he walked past the large, mirrored wall to the shop, he caught a quick glimpse of himself as he passed. His face was pale, creamy tan, the same as his mother’s. He had her eyes too, large but with an epicanthic fold that proclaimed his Asian ancestry. His eyebrows had some thickness but with a natural arch that made his eyes rather pretty. He had his African father’s full lips, though not the same concentration of melanin, more’s the pity. He could use more sun protection in this bright-assed desert. His nose was broad though, its bridge straight as a knife, and his cheekbones were high and sharp, like his dad’s. His thick, wavy hair was kept long and confined now so it wouldn’t get in his way.

Though he only caught a glimpse of himself as he followed after his mark, he could barely stand to look at his reflection. He was a damn near perfect combination of both his parents from what he could recall, though he didn’t dwell on that much. The pain of it all was still too crushing.

The air circulating through his lungs was quiet as he pulled in his emotions. Barely a sound emerged from his body as his booted feet slammed down on the concrete when his body lurched forward. His little trip into nostalgia had given his mark time to run and now he had to give chase.

His heart would be racing if it actually had the capacity to pump hot blood through his veins. His target was pulling a jackrabbit, dodging in between early morning foot traffic on the busy city street as she looked around her, prey knowing she was being stalked by an apex predator. Only the bright and very visible green of her plaits kept him from moving any faster. No matter how much he wanted to knock people aside to reach his target, he knew that drawing more attention to himself would be detrimental to their mission.

“I’ve been at this since the ass crack of dawn and I would really like to get some accurate intel from you, you one-being orgy.”

Don’t get cheeky, Vers responded. You’re just upset you don’t get laid.

Vers’ answer through Asher’s implanted microphone sounded more amused than insulted. That wasn’t what Asher had hoped for. When Vers was annoyed, his work efficiency increased by almost three percent and he could use some of that efficiency now, at least until he caught up with the woman who pinged on his internal sensors.

“Hmph,” Asher huffed. “Can you keep your mind out of your pants and on the job? I need to know if she’s the one.”

The green-haired woman in question cast one more furtive look over her shoulder before trying to hide herself in a gaggle of schoolchildren, all racing and gleefully dodging through the streets teeming with people traveling to get to their jobs and appointments in the watery light of a new sun. With their connection pads in hand, the tourist masses were an explosion of color, a flock of bright, chattering birds that raced through the smiling crowds. Their laughter was contagious, and it made Asher grit his teeth. In a firefight, mundanes always seemed to run right in the path of danger. He wished they would all just disappear.

I’m working on it. Give me a mo. Paradaise has a complicated network of —

“You just don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.” Asher managed to dodge several children, keeping one eye on the green of his mark’s hair as she ducked around a corner. He was closing in.

He moved faster, desperate not to lose her or give his position away. She couldn’t know if he was actually chasing her and he wanted to stay in that pocket of the unknown. She might sense someone or something was hot on her tail, but she had no idea from which direction the attack would come. And it wasn’t like there were a lot of places to hide in Paradaise, Nevada.

And then he wanted to smack himself stupid for thinking that a woman who could possibly be the government hacker he was sent out to find wouldn’t be wily enough to actually give him the slip. Underestimation was going to cost him dearly because the moment he turned the corner, he lost sight of her in a sea of green, low-flying kites.

Hey buddy, guess what? Did you know there’s a butterfly kite flying festival today? There’s gonna be a lot of kids and old people so maybe you wanna keep an eye out for that.

“Gee, thanks, Vers. You couldn’t fucking tell me that five minutes earlier?” As he spoke, he heard a cheer, and a wall of sound rushed past him as the hum of several hundred robotic and some basic silk cloth kites took to the sky. People looked up in awe as dancing holograms of colorful transparent butterflies took to the sky, spinning and dancing as safe holographic fireworks exploded over them.

Well, it’s a point of historical interest, as they’ve been having the butterfly festival for over a hundred years. Get some culture, you asshole. You need it more than you need to get laid.

“What I need is a way around this mess.” Asher looked around at the mass of people, made up mostly of children and old people gathered in groups, each holding massive butterfly kites of their own. Some held remotes that controlled the flight of the butterfly kites, both real and illusory. Most of them, unfortunately, glittered and glowed the same primarily green color that matched his mark’s hair.

Pinging your location, Vers purred in his ear after a moment of quiet while more and more people filed onto the special moving sidewalk heading toward the restored MGM Grand, singing and chanting as they moved. Oh! You aren’t far from the New Bellagio. One of these days I’m going to get you there for a real upgrade instead of the crap the powers that be keep sending you to.

“Vers –”

I mean it. You’re in a town right outside of Vegas, baby! Almost to the cybernetic playground of the whole entire continent ever since the redesign of the area. To get anything better you’d have to hop a streaker across the Pacific to Japan. It’s amazing what they can do with both artistry and circuitry.

“Whatever the fuck,” Asher grumbled, casting his gaze around. He ignored the small vibration in his brain as the ocular implant adjusted and repositioned, sending his mind a feed of information calculating the height of the buildings and the large vehicles passing by.

Turning to a small three-story building to his right, Asher took three fast, bounding steps then flexed his leg muscles. With a mechanical whisper, he launched himself skywards, a blurred silver flash through the backdrop of colorful fluttering kites, before he landed on the flat solar tiles of the roof.

Bent over, he raced along the edges of the closely placed buildings, jumping the odd ones that bordered on alleys, leaping up to the higher ones, his eyes constantly searching, feeding him data so he could adjust his flight.

He was contemplating going back to the ground and following her along the crowded streets when he saw a blur of green headed away from the celebration and toward a small, dark street that led away from the sound of laughter and merriment.

There, in between a closed toy shop on one side and ironically, an adult toy shop, was where his prey was fleeing.

To the left, Casanova, Vers confirmed softly with the just the right amount of sarcasm for the nickname. And you better move swiftly. She’s about to head to a parking lot and if she has her vehicle shielded, well, we are shit out of luck, Ash. If she gets away, you’d be better off hitting a pleasure palace and getting your freak on ‘cause that signal is going to be scattered and lost. And I urge you to take advantage of the many wonderful and erotic amenities that this run-down trash heap of a city provides. Besides, your cherry needs plucking ‘cause that bitch is overripe.

Purchase at Changeling Press LLC

Meet the Authors

Stephanie Burke

Stephanie is a USA Today Best Selling, multi published, multi award-winning author, Master Costumer, handicapped, wife and mother of two.

From sex-shifting, shape-shifting dragons to undersea worlds, sexually confused elemental Fey and homo-erotic mysteries, all the way to pastel-challenged urban sprites, Stephanie has done it all, and hopes to do more.

Stephanie is an orator on her favorite subjects of writing and world-building, a sometime teacher when you feed her enough tea and donuts, an anime nut, a costumer, and a frequent guest of various sci-fi and writing cons where she can be found leading panel discussions or researching varied legends and theories to improve her writing skills.

Stephanie is known for her love of the outrageous, strong female characters, believable worlds, male characters filled with depth, and multi-cultural stories that make the reader sit up and take notice.

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Areana Senoj

Areana Senoj is a multi-genre writer of erotic romance, paranormal, and sci-fi fantasy fiction. She’s been an actress, singer, dancer, educator, and, briefly, a stay-at-home “tennis, soccer, and band mom,” as well as a small business entrepreneur. Now she’s enjoying a new career living life as a full-time writer. She’s thrilled to join Changeling Press, where she’s teamed up with USA Today Best Selling Author Stephanie Burke, co-authoring Motherboards and Magic.

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Aug 01

New Release Blitz: Resurrecting My Magic by Timoteo Tong (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Resurrecting My Magic

Series: The Magic Alliance, Book Two

Author: Timoteo Tong

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 07/23/2024

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 118100

Genre: Paranormal, YA, fantasy, coming of age, LGBT, MM romance, self-acceptance, angsty, supernatural, magic, young love, virgins

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Description

In the thrilling sequel to Magic, Monsters and Me, Elijah Delomary steps into a whirlwind of challenges that test his strength, his identity, and the depth of his relationships. Confronting Zid’dra, the diabolical king of the menacing Gloom, Elijah faces a web of deceit spun by the sinister force, luring him toward his demise. However, his escape is orchestrated by the intervention of the Áuqala, who guides him back to Earth with a crucial message—to believe in his innate magic. Meanwhile, Elijah’s mother undergoes a profound transformation, shifting her focus to support her son, amend past mistakes, and discover a newfound love for herself along the way.

Elijah’s journey isn’t just about reclaiming his powers and rekindling his relationship with Austin, his boyfriend; it’s a battle against Zid’dra’s relentless pursuit. As he struggles with his identity and seeks reconciliation, he becomes entangled in a dangerous game with Zid’dra, all while being shadowed by Devlina, his nemesis. An unfortunate accident sidelines Elijah, forcing him into a period of introspection and healing, where he grapples with self-acceptance and finds his true essence.

Amidst a summer blooming with rekindled love, Elijah is drawn into a chaotic conflict as the battle between Zid’dra and Devlina escalates into a full-blown war, pitting the coven against Devlina. Faced with a terrifying revelation, Elijah is pushed to protect his family, Austin, and the very fabric of existence. The weight of these challenges tests Elijah’s strength, forcing him to confront the darkest forces while proving the unwavering strength of his love to Austin.

Excerpt

Resurrecting My Magic
Timoteo Tong © 2024
All Rights Reserved

Long, long ago, under a layer of red and brown smog in the sprawl of the San Fernando Valley, northwest of downtown Los Angeles, before Elijah Delomary lived in the purple-and-white Victorian mansion at the top of Magnolia Boulevard in Burbank, a terrible event happened that changed the trajectory of his life. His mother, Belinda Delomary, made a mistake, setting in motion the course of events culminating with him in a field in Homer’s Glenn watching Devlina, the Queen of the Gloom, battling monsters named Henges, or “Zusqoe” in the Dark Language. His mother was very much the reason why Devlina was at war with the Gloom.

Belinda Delomary stood in the dining room of the tiny ranch house painted olive green—not her choice, but rather her ex-husband’s. Ex—that described him. Gone from her life. And yet, here, in the fading light of another terrible day after he walked out on her and their young children, he was present, still able to inflict pain on her.

“Notice of foreclosure,” emblazoned on top of the official document, with the seal of the court and signed by some bureaucrat in a courthouse downtown, instructed her the sheriff would evict her and her children from the house in the next week due to nonpayment of mortgage. Belinda fumed, balled up the paper, and tossed it in the trash can. She went to the kitchen, opened the back door, and walked across the rutted, overgrown backyard to the detached garage, closing the door behind her. She proceeded to scream at the top of her lungs for ten minutes.

When her red-hot anger subsided enough for her to not use her magic to smite the world, she marched out of the garage, back across the knee-high grass. Larry, her ex, had promised to give her a wonderful garden, but instead, she had a weed-strewn mess. Just like Larry, all promises and no action. She stumbled over a worn tire he had left among the weeds.

“Goddamn it!” she cursed out loud. “I hate you and your very birth, Larry Eugene Smith!” She walked carefully up the rutted, concrete steps—another item from the honey-do list Larry had never completed—and back into the house. She went to the den, Larry’s preferred room—with the awful paneled walls, stone fireplace, and mini-bar filled with bottles of whiskey, his drink of choice. The room smelled of his cologne, Brash, a foul-smelling holdover from the eighties. She sat down at his little desk and stared at the landline. She hated the thought of making this call. She had ignored her mother’s warnings to not marry the man, to be smart, to be a “Delomary.”

“Be better. Think twice, girl,” her younger sister Lisa, the pragmatic, brainiac one, had warned her.

“I love him,” she’d told Lisa and the youngest sister, Christine, the afternoon before they were set to elope and get married in Vegas.

“He looks like a crook,” Christine, the no-nonsense sister, said, filing her nails at the kitchen table in their parents’ mansion in Holmby Hills. “And he smells like mothballs.”

“That’s his cologne,” Belinda had said.

Christine gagged, “Brash? That’s a sign. He buys his cologne at the chain pharmacy. No good. No good.”

“Elitist,” Belinda had said.

“Brainless.”

“Belinda,” Lisa had interrupted them, “I think you know we’re right. He’s not right for you.”

“I love him,” Belinda had said, then stood and stalked across the large, sunlight-filled kitchen. “You’re either with me or against me!”

“Bye, fool,” Christine said.

“Bye, haters.”

The joke, of course, was on Belinda. She married Larry at a drive-in wedding chapel off the strip in Vegas and then they honeymooned at a motel far off strip, infamous for being a hotspot for homicides

Her sisters and mother warned Belinda and yet she married him and he had ruined her. She had no money and was about to lose her children’s home because she believed him when he assured her he’d pay the mortgage in lieu of child support. She gritted her teeth, prepared to hear her mother’s words, “I told you so.” Still, she had to hear them. Her mother wasn’t wrong, and now she needed the family money and the family lawyers to save her—from herself and her bad choices. She was terrible at making decisions. She was terrible at love. She had fallen for a con artist. A man who pretended to be something he wasn’t. A prince in shining armor. Instead, she got a magician of sorts. No, he wasn’t magical. Instead, he was good with sleight of hand. He paid the mortgage with one credit card, then opened another to pay the first credit card. He never worked; rather, he lived off credit and a game of cat and mouse with the creditors until the game ended, and he lost. She lost. The kids lost. In a few days, the sheriff would come and evict them from their home.

Late at night, as rain thundered off the roof from a late season storm from the Gulf of Alaska, Belinda accepted defeat and called her mother.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Timoteo K. Tong grew up in the San Fernando Valley of Los Angeles dreaming of living in a rambling Victorian mansion. He currently lives with his husband and way too many plants in San Francisco. He is obsessed with cheese pizza, drinking cola, and daydreaming about magic. He sold his first book when he was age eight, a story about his beloved stuffed animal named Crocker Spaniel. He is a member of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators International.

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Jul 30

New Release Blitz: Larger Than Love by Jole Cannon (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Larger Than Love

Series: Big Boys of Gilroy, Book One

Author: Jole Cannon

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 07/30/2024

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 81600

Genre: Contemporary, 1990s, bears, coming out, family drama, gay, in the closet, romance

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Description

Bernard feels like an outsider in the gay community. Thirty-five, chubby, and hairy, he doesn’t fit the image of the stereotypical gay man. Failed relationships in his past solidify the idea he is destined to be alone.

Rory is struggling with his identity. At thirty-five, he is still single. When he reunites with his childhood friend, his religious convictions and the desire to be with a man clash as he must choose between what the Church taught him is right and what his heart desires.

The two men are forced to face their fears and make a choice. Live alone and accept their fate or take a leap and challenge what they believe.

Excerpt

Larger Than Love
Jole Cannon © 2024
All Rights Reserved

Bernard

Friday, April 10, 1998

Bernard sat at the bar with a glass of soda. Smoke blurred his vision as it wafted from machines. The scents of overpriced colognes, fruity drinks, and a hint of hair spray assaulted his nose. Thin twinks with platinum hair and gym bunnies in tank tops flooded the dance floor. The repetitive techno music pounded in his head as the dancers moved under the strobe lights. He couldn’t tell when one song ended and another began.

Liquid Pearl was the nearest gay bar to home. It was a place Bernard believed he would fit in. His mistake. Close by these fitness gods sat a bear of a man. Him. Bernard was a few inches shy of six feet and carried a thick two hundred and seventy-five pounds. His round belly pushed against the bar as he attempted to find a comfortable position on the small bar stool. His once-muscular arms flexed as he lifted his glass, a shadow of his youth on the farm. Beefy calves strained against his jeans, the byproduct of years of milking cows. Short-cropped black hair matched his groomed beard. His plaid flannel shirt and blue jeans contrasted with the skinny jeans, muscle shirts, and salon-styled hair of the men surrounding him. The average age was twenty-five, and he was in his mid-thirties. Over the hill in the gay community. Odd man out was an understatement.

Bernard received a few looks and even had men approach him. However, every conversation revealed their true intentions. He never received more than a second glance or a chat because he didn’t sleep around. They viewed him as a piece of meat, something to consume, rather than a person. He didn’t accept their invitation. Bernard was not someone to conquer, and he wouldn’t cave into the temptation of anonymous sex, no matter how strong the urge to touch another man became. He refused to settle for less than what he deserved. And he deserved happiness.

Regulars came in to unwind, dance, and have fun. Some men, like him, didn’t fit the mold of Liquid Pearl but they didn’t stick out the way he did. Friends surrounded them. Bernard didn’t have friends here, and those who approached him didn’t want his friendship.

While Bernard drank his soda, someone slid onto the stool next to him.

“Bartender, a Sex on the Beach,” the man demanded.

What a rude way to order a drink. Doesn’t he have any manners?

“Hey there, sexy.” The newcomer’s tone changed. He sounded less aggressive but still manipulative. Bernard shifted in his seat.

“I’m Chance,” he said.

He shoved his hand in front of Bernard’s face.

“Bernard.” He gripped Chance’s hand harder than he should have and refused to make eye contact.

Bernard recognized the name and voice. Platinum-blond hair, bright-blue eyes, and tanning booth skin. A hottie men fawned over, but not his type. Bernard returned to his drink.

“You look kind of lonely sitting here all by your lonesome,” Chance said. “I see you here sometimes, but you don’t talk to anyone.”

Bernard glared back at Chance and caught him pouting. Clearly, he was used to a certain amount of attention and Bernard wasn’t showing him enough.

“Why don’t we go back to my place and get to know each other?” He caressed Bernard’s shoulder.

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m here to drink and relax.”

Bernard eyed Chance. He pinned him at twenty-one or twenty-two. There was no reason someone this young, a boy compared to him, would be interested in him except as a conquest. Chance’s smile did not falter. His bleached teeth gleamed beneath the neon lights. Does he think I’m so desperate I’ll go home with the first person who shows an interest in me? I have standards, and this guy does not meet them.

“Come on, I’m sure I can thrill you tonight.” He lowered his hand below Bernard’s belly. “I’m sure you could use a little attention. A guy like you probably doesn’t get much. I can change that.” His lips were close to Bernard’s ear as his hand traced a path to Bernard’s crotch. The stench of his cologne overwhelmed Bernard’s senses. Chance’s hand moved to find Bernard’s cock but appeared lost between his thick thighs.

Bernard grabbed Chance’s hand and moved it off him. Did he think that was a compliment? That I should take what I can get? Not a chance, Chance. Heat warmed his cheeks.

“I said no, thank you.”

“Oh, honey, I don’t get told no.” Chance placed his hand on Bernard’s chest. The bartender placed Chance’s drink on the bar and moved to the next patron.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” He removed his hand again. “Oh look, your drink is here. Now you can go.”

But Chance continued his pursuit. “Sweetie, I know you want me, and I want you. There’s no need to play hard to get. So, why don’t we get out of here? What do you say?”

He slipped his hand into Bernard’s shirt and stroked his chest. A flicker of disgust passed across his flawless face as he rubbed Bernard’s chest hair. He composed himself, but not before Bernard caught him. Does this guy have no shame? It’s clear he isn’t into me. What’s he after?

Bernard grabbed Chance’s hand, rougher this time, and took it out of his shirt. He glared. “Touch me again, and I will break your hand, ‘sweetie.’” He tossed his hand away.

“You fat bastard!” Chance yelled loud enough to drown out the music. Patrons closest to them turned. Chance stepped back and gestured at his body with a theatrical up-and-down sweep of his hands. “You have a hot guy right in front of you, willing to take your disgusting ass home to actually fuck, which I doubt you’ve had in a long time, and you turn it down? You’re not only fat, but you’re also fucking stupid! No one around here is going to touch your ugly, fat ass.” He made a show of including the entire club. “You should get it when you can. You’re old as shit and going to die alone!”

Silence followed the outburst. The music still thumped its rhythmic sounds while the dancers continued, oblivious to the exchange. Those nearby waited with bated breath for Bernard’s reaction.

Bernard silently stood. His mass eclipsed Chance’s frame. He closed his eyes and took two deep breaths then released them.

He spoke slowly and softly. “Listen to me, you egotistical, carbon-copy asshole. I may not have your looks, but I do have standards, dignity, and self-respect. You think I’m so desperate that I’ll go home with the first person who talks to me? I am going to guess that you talked to me on a bet. I’ve seen your type. You’re not interested in me. You don’t want to have sex with someone like me.” Bernard pointed out the musclemen who surrounded them. “Those are the guys I’ve seen you leave with. Either way, I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole, so leave me alone.”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Jole Cannon is a high school math and math programming teacher. When he’s not shaping the mathematical minds of tomorrow, he’s playing video games with his partner, watching television, doing math for fun, and working on his master’s in history.

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