Runaway Royal by Wendi Zwaduk

General Release Date: 30th March 2021

Word Count: 50,742
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 198
Heat Rating: Sizzling
Sexometer: 2

Genres:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
ROYALS

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Book Description

Will this runaway royal ever find her place…and true love?

All Princess Catherine Zara of Lysianna wants to do is attend college like everyone else her age. So she’s a royal and requires a security guard to move about in public, but if she goes to university, she doesn’t have to marry the man chosen for her. He’s not her true love, so why torture herself? All she has to do to get her life started is to run away to the US…

And then she meets Luke.

Luke Cobb wants to survive college with a degree in studio art and guarantees that he can show his paintings in the local galleries. All he needs is the right break to get his work mainstream and the right woman to stoke his dormant muse. When he meets Zara, he’s smitten and his creativity sparks.

Except, she’s a princess and he’s a commoner, which could be a big problem…

Excerpt

“I can do this.” Princess Catherine shored up her courage. She was a royal. A princess. She could do anything she set her mind to—except stand up to the king and queen.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her parents, the king and queen of Lysianna, wouldn’t allow her to head to another country on her own. They insisted she be an advisor to her brother, the future king. Charlie could handle himself and he’d be a great king—whenever the time came.

If she didn’t practice what she wanted to say, she’d flounder and this was not the time to lose her nerve. She tucked her hair behind her ears. “Mother, Father, I need to speak with you. I’ve completed two years of online schooling towards a degree in art history and I’m going to Kenton State College in the United States to finish it.” Did she sound convincing enough?

She’d already completed her application for acceptance on campus, chosen her classes for the first semester and landed a good apartment in a building just across from the main portion of the campus. Her plane ticket had been paid for and she’d packed most of her things. All she needed to do was tell her parents she’d be leaving.

She abandoned her image in the mirror and resumed packing the last of her things—her brushes, photos and stuffed rabbit in her bag. She’d come back, but she wasn’t sure when. Sadness filled her mind. Change would be hard—she’d only ever lived in the castle—but she needed to move forward with her life. She’d never be happy living as part of the court. Even if she did nothing more than teach an art class or run a portion of a museum back home, she’d be happy and doing something with her life.

Her lady-in-waiting, Corinne, hurried into the room. “I guess you’re ready to go.” She folded her arms. “Want me to go with you? I should.”

She had plans for her lady and wasn’t about to disclose them now. Corinne was terrible with secrets and would’ve told her parents before the point of no return. “It’s handled.”

Corinne sat on the bed. “What am I going to do with myself? I have nothing to do if you’re not here. They might let me go.”

“They won’t.” She closed her bag. “They like you. If my brother wasn’t gay, they’d have married you off to him by now.”

“But he is gay.” Corinne groaned. “Sucks.”

Her lady hadn’t been shy about her crush on Charlie. In the whole of their time together, Corinne had insisted to Catherine she wanted to marry Charlie. The problem? Besides Charlie being gay, he wasn’t going to marry Corinne simply to make an heir. He refused to change just for the royal line.

“Your parents would rather you marry Duke Elmore. He’s handsome,” Corinne said. “If you’re into older guys.”

Catherine shivered. “Older isn’t the half of it. He’s almost twenty years older than me, he’s not handsome at all and I don’t like him. I don’t want to be married to someone who sees me as a ticket to the good life. He wants a title beyond duke.” Her stepmother would never understand. She’d married the king, despite their ten-year age difference, just to have a title.

“So you’re going to America to avoid him?”

“No.” She simply refused to marry someone out of duty, not love. “I want to finish my degree. Art makes me happy. Him? Not so much.”

“Well, it’s time to talk to your parents.” Corinne walked with her to the corridor. “Need me to do anything?”

“Nope. I’ve got this handled.” Catherine gave her bag to the butler. “Thank you.” She shored herself up again and headed down to the throne room. The car was ready and once she reached the airport, the plane would be waiting to whisk her to the States. Even if her parents said no, she’d left nothing to chance.

“Catherine.” Her stepmother, Eloise, closed her book. “You look determined. Have you made a decision concerning the duke?”

“I have.” She clasped her hands together. “I refuse to marry him.” She stood tall. “I’ve made a choice about my future, too.”

“Oh?” Her father finally looked up from his paperwork. “What have you decided?”

She sucked in a ragged breath, then sighed. “Mother, Father, I’m attending college.”

Her father tipped his head and said nothing. Her stepmother gasped. “Why? You’re a royal. You don’t have to do schooling. Elmore will take care of you and you can play with your art all you want. Royals don’t dirty their hands with studies.”

Her stepmother spit the words out like sour candies. Catherine didn’t care. She had to focus. “I want a degree in art history. I’d like to learn about the art here in Lysianna and around the world—like my mother used to know.”

“Interesting,” her father said. He tapped his pen on the table. “Why do you want to follow in your mother’s footsteps?”

She’d prepared for this question. “I need to have something that’s mine. I love art and I’m dying to continue my studies.” She had to keep her explanation short and sweet. The more she talked, the greater the chance her parents would coerce her to change her mind. “I want something to hold on to that reminds me of my mother. I don’t remember her and this is my private link.”

“She’s gone,” her stepmother snapped.

“Let her have this, Queen. It’s her choice,” her father said. “She’ll get bored after a year or she’ll find this is the thing she wants to do. As for Elmore, he can wait. Or maybe he can’t and he’ll choose someone else. Doesn’t matter to me. He’s a pest.”

She wasn’t going to get bored, but if her father thought Elmore was a pest, then why try to palm her off on him?

“What about Charles?” her stepmother said. “He should be the one to go first. Yes, he deserves a degree.”

“He already has one.” Catherine gritted her teeth. Their parents didn’t know Charlie well. He hated being referred to as Charles and he wasn’t interested in going to college again. Charlie had attained a degree on his own and had his plan for making his own way without their parents to intervene. Now was her chance to do the same.

“Anyway, I’m leaving.” She turned on her heel and left the room. If she looked back, she risked changing her mind. Only forward now.

“You’re what?” Her stepmother chased after her. “You cannot. We need to arrange lodgings and security and everything else. You’ll need handlers and Elmore should accompany you for protection. Or he should set up a security detail so he can keep you safe, but stay here to run his businesses.”

God, no. Catherine headed through the foyer to the waiting car. “Goodbye, Mother.” The idea of calling her stepmother Mother annoyed her. She’d had a mother and the queen wasn’t a very good substitute.

“Catherine.” Her stepmother caught up to her. “We’ll summon Elmore. You cannot make the flight unprotected.”

She sighed. “He’s old enough to be my father and he’s not attractive, so no.” She tossed her bag onto the seat. “I’ll be fine. No one in the United States knows me, so I won’t need the huge protection you’re planning.” She’d have her roommate in her new apartment and a few transplanted palace security guards around, but out of sight.

“Take Corinne, please?” Her stepmother pushed Corinne at her. “You can’t go alone. And don’t forget, you need to have an approved consort by the time of your official portrait reveal.”

“Fine.” Catherine nodded to her lady-in-waiting. “Let’s go.” She ducked into the car without bothering for hugs or kisses from her stepmother. That wasn’t her stepmother’s style. Her father hadn’t left the throne room. Her stepmother glared at her, but didn’t otherwise show emotion. She wouldn’t dare. Any bit of cracking might show she was human and the people of Lysianna didn’t think she had emotions. She wanted to say goodbye to her brother, but he wasn’t even in the country.

Catherine settled on the seat and sighed. “That worked out exactly as I planned.”

“What about me?” Corinne asked. “You said I’d stay here.”

“I lied.” She winked. “I couldn’t go totally alone. They’re right. I do need someone with me that I can trust.” Well, mostly trust. “I packed you a bag and added your name to the charter. You’re flying with me.”

Corinne’s eyes widened. “My princess.” She grinned. “Naughty.”

She sighed again. “I’ve never been naughty a day in my life. Crafty, maybe, but never naughty.”

“You’ve lived in your brother’s shadow for too long.”

“He’ll be king and I won’t hold the throne. Even if something happens to him, they won’t let me be queen, so why not have something that’s mine?” Catherine asked. “I don’t mind.” She didn’t. “This way I’m out from under their thumb and can experience life.” She couldn’t wait for the next chapter to start. There was a great big world out there just waiting for her to explore it.

There was the tricky thing about her needing a consort, but she had plenty of time. The portrait reveal wasn’t for another year. The world wouldn’t wait a year—not when her consort might be out there somewhere.

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About the Author

Wendi Zwaduk

Wendi Zwaduk is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to BDSM and LGBTQ themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been the runner up in the Kink Category at Love Romances Café as well as nominated at the LRC for best contemporary, best ménage and best anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on Amazon.com and the former AllRomance Ebooks. She also writes under the name of Megan Slayer.

When she’s not writing, she spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice.

You can find out more about Wendi on her website or on her blog. You can also find her on Instagram, Bookbub and Amazon.

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Runaway Royal by Wendi Zwaduk

WENDI ZWADUK IS GIVING AWAY THIS FABULOUS PRIZE TO ONE LUCKY WINNER. ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A LOVELY GIFT PACKAGE AND GET A FREE EBOOK FROM THE AUTHOR! Notice: This competition ends on 13TH April 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

Ridden Hard by Jon Keys

Book 4 in the Leather and Grit series

General Release Date: 30th March 2021

Word Count: 52,387
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 193

Genres:

CONTEMPORARY
COWBOYS AND WESTERN
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI

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Book Description

Seth and Travis are single parents of junior rodeo competitors. Now their lives are changing, and the two men are fighting for their futures and finding love.

Only a few years ago, Travis and Seth began letting their kids compete in the junior rodeo circuit. Seth’s son is working his way through his final season while Travis’ daughter’s interest in her events wanes. No matter what life throws at them, however, their attraction grows, and the two men become closer.

Travis is the latest generation of ranchers, beginning with his great-grandfather who migrated to the area from Mexico. Now years of drought and dwindling cattle markets have him questioning how long he can keep the ranch afloat. Seth is a city boy by rearing but a cowboy by heart, and when he loses his marketing job, he and his daughter move in with Travis and his son to save money. Keeping their relationship platonic seemed to be a good idea years ago, but sharing a bedroom now reveals the men’s need to revisit that arrangement.

Both Travis and Seth are invested in not only seeing their children succeed but also having their own dreams come true. Unfortunately, even the elements are high on the list of hurdles stacking up against them.

Excerpt

Seth sat on the bleachers in the scorching Texas sun, which made him feel like an overcooked piece of beef. But the day’s brutal heat was far from his primary concern. What made his legs tremble and shake like an alcoholic at the end of a three-day bender? That would be the frenzy of the rodeo arena located only a few dozen feet away. The clang of metal against metal had become part of the symphony he lived for every summer weekend. Yes, that was the source of the uproar, but the cause was the two-thousand-pound bull trying to break free of its narrow confines.

Anyone who witnessed the scene before him understood. Seth’s distilled emotions weren’t over the animal itself but the seventeen-year-old cowboy who would shortly be fighting to stay on for eight agonizing seconds.

To put the cherry on the stress sundae, the bull rider who would be trying to keep his seat was…his son.

His friend Travis slid onto the bench beside him. He turned to Seth with a smile. “Zane’s having a good run. He drew his bull from one of the best stock operations on the circuit. He should build up some points this round.”

Seth studied Travis briefly then shrugged. “I know. We’ve been doing this since he was big enough to throw his leg over the sheep they ride in the mutton-busting competition. But the lambs have morphed into huge ugly bulls who live to break every bone in Zane’s body. It’s been the same for years, but somehow, with each rodeo it’s more of my focus,” Seth said.

“Well, every rodeo puts you nearer to your goal of Zane winning the scholarship he needs to pay for his college education. I can’t seem to get my Amy too excited about anything since my divorce from her mother was finalized.”

Seth’s glance at his friend revealed a troubling change from his typical smart-ass attitude as Travis became lost in his thoughts. The arrangement they had reached years ago when both families had begun competing on the junior rodeo circuit was that they would not be more than supportive friends. He and Travis were in agreement that their kids were the focus, not any potential attraction between the two of them.

With a snort from the bull and the ring of metal against metal, Seth’s focus snapped back to Zane as his ride was about to begin.

Zane cocked his head and double-checked his helmet. That was one of Seth’s unbendable rules, that he would wear all the safety equipment possible, starting with the helmet and vest. The bull rider’s dance began when Zane’s head bobbed his readiness and the gate swung open.

The brindle-colored animal with its massive hump paused for a millisecond to identify its targets before exiting the chute with a single jump. Zane stuck his arm in the air like a proud flagpole on Independence Day. The bull filled his part of the contract with leaps and spins Seth would’ve thought impossible. The animal tang of arena rodeo filled Seth’s nostrils. Seth jumped up and down with enough nervous energy to make a hummingbird proud. Then they reached the part of the performance that drove Seth crazy—the other seven seconds of the ride.

He held on to the bleachers with the tenacity of a pack of winter-starved wolves after an elk. The crowd groaned and Seth cringed as Zane swung wide, almost losing his grip. But he knew his son’s determination only grew with each competition driving him closer to his goal. Seth ground his teeth together and held his laser-focus through the spectacle. Seth had heard rodeo cowboys called ‘modern-day gladiators’. Watching his son, he could see where that came from.

They reached the point where Seth wasn’t sure Zane could go any further and the timer went off. It felt like a reprieve from death row.

Seth glanced down just in time to see Zane hit the ground on two feet with his hands thrust above him. That’s when he realized Zane had stopped paying attention to the bull. Bad mistake. In a split second it had turned and taken aim at his son and was lunging forward with a sound like a diesel engine. Some kind of animal vendetta his son hadn’t watched for came to life. Seth wanted to scream, to run into the arena to protect his child, but none of that happened. Zane would have a record-setting shit-fit if he did, and he wouldn’t have to anyway. That situation was the exact reason the bullfighter was in the arena. Even better, today’s was among the best. Seth was confident everything would turn out fine so long as Shane Neri was in charge. He sprinted toward the bull still wearing some of the clown outfit from his earlier entertainment routine, but this was not a performance. This was life-threatening serious, which was what brought people to the rodeo—to see the rider pitted against the bull and become wrapped in the drama of life and death.

The pickup men charged the bull on their muscular quarter horses, forcing it out of the arena while Shane provided a distraction. It took only seconds. Zane ran for the fence and Shane finished his job.

Travis jumped up and down with excitement while his daughter Amy was relieved that her friend had survived another battle against nature, due in part to Shane’s athletic performance.

“It was a fantastic dismount! You can bank on Zane sticking them every time,” said Travis while pounding Seth on the back. He dodged the blow from his muscular friend with a laugh. “He’s showboating and he knows it. This isn’t gymnastics. There are no more points for sticking a dismount. Hell, it’s not even called a dismount. It’s getting off the bull without being hurt.”

“Damn! Did you see that? Shane’s an amazing bullfighter,” Amy said.

“You got that right, I’m glad he was there when we needed him. I’ll help Zane check everything and make sure he can get through his next ride with as few problems as possible,” Seth said.

The other two nodded in agreement and the trio made their way off the scorching aluminum bleachers. People underestimated the cumulative impact the unending parade of rodeos had on the contestants. Most discounted today’s performance as just another county fair event in Texas. But the competition’s points counted toward the state championship—and a college scholarship.

They left in search of Zane and reached the penning area. It didn’t take long before they found him strutting in his leather chaps, swinging his helmet from his hand. He saw Seth and ran to his father, wrapping his arms tight around him.

“Dad, did you see? That bull pulled every trick it had, and I rode right on the edge. It might not have been a perfect ride, but it was a damn good one,” Zane said.

“Zane! Watch your mouth. What would your mother think if she heard you talking like that?”

He calmed down, but only a little. “She would tell me it was okay occasionally. Sometimes you even have to drop a big one.”

He studied his son and formed a slight smile. “Okay. I’ll let you off on that one. She would give you some slack since that was a nasty bull. I’m just glad you’re not hurt.”

About the time he thought the conversation would end, Travis and Amy chimed in.

“That was amazing. There’s no way they won’t give you a scholarship. Who else would be better competing for Texas than Zane Davis?” Amy said.

Travis added to the support. “It was a great ride, Zane…one of your best in the last few weeks. Keep it up and you’ll win that scholarship.”

A smile grew across Seth’s face. “You two are getting carried away. Let’s get the boy in college and have it paid for with no injuries. That’s the basic goal. Once that’s accomplished, we can talk about him taking over the ranch and raising his own kids on it.” He glanced at Zane, uncertain about what he might see on his son’s face at those bits of information.

Travis lifted an eyebrow but resisted any comments about ranch ownership. “Okay, there’s only a few more contestants left before they announce the winners of the senior boys bull riding. Let’s get a Coke, then we’ll see what happens.”

None of the next contestants came close to Zane’s score, and Travis offered to take everyone out to eat if Zane won. Close by was one of the best taqueria trucks, so devouring tacos might be the activity of the night.

But shortly afterward, it was announced that Zane was the winner for his category, and after the cheering subsided, the teenagers clamored for food, especially the kind that might fill a teenage boy. Travis could remember those days when puberty had left him famished most of the time. They found a favorite truck, not tacos but the best corndogs on the fairgrounds. He’d been waiting in line for several minutes when someone called his name. He turned and smiled at a familiar face in the truck waiting to take his order.

“Hey, Cheryl. It’s good to see you. How did you end up making corndogs?”

“Oh, you know how it is. The kids are in college and we retired the old man. I thought it would be a perfect chance for me to earn extra Christmas money. Grandma doesn’t pay well.”

Travis chuckled, “That’s ambitious…doing everything this early.”

“Yup, that’s me. Now, what can I get for you?”

“Well, I have the whole crowd, so hang on.”

“No problem, ready when you are.”

“We need a corndog for Amy. No, scratch that. Amy wants one hotdog with the neon-green relish.” He shook his head. “She loves those things. I don’t get it. A corndog each for Seth and me. Then, for the champion junior bull rider four—yes, count them, four—corndogs with a side of waffle fries coated in chili.”

She finished taking the last of the order and winked at Travis. “Nothing else? A side of beef? Moose?”

Travis chuckled. “Nope. If he wants dessert, I’m sending him back alone.”

She laughed then disappeared to fill his request.

Soon he was being passed two paper bags full of food. He spotted his group where he’d left them, under the awning with a picnic table that Seth had located after Zane and Amy had joined them for refueling.

The closer he got, the more uncertain Travis was that he wanted to deal with the hungry denizens he traveled with. They looked like extras from Shark Week. But as soon as they ate, especially Zane, life would be better.

He pulled his food out of the sack, sat beside Amy and doused his meal with a couple of squirts of ketchup and mustard. The meal lasted only a few minutes before the young ones had eaten everything and wanted more. This time Travis was not as congenial.

“It’s your turn now. There’s plenty of junk food to eat when you get out on the midway. Just watch out for each other, please,” Travis said.

Amy gave him a condescending glance and patted his head. “Father, Father… We’ll be fine. We are not still the little munchkins from your childhood. Cowboys know how to survive.”

“It’s not a joke, Amy. People are different now than they were when I was your age. Back in the old days, we had a quarter for a call and people knocked on your door to use your phone because they’d had a wreck. We let them in because it was the decent thing to do. Nowadays I’m not sure you’d get anybody to let you in their house unless you were dripping blood—and probably not even then.”

“I was just teasing. Sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. I know how that gets your goat,” Amy said.

Zane finished the last of the fries, adding ketchup and homemade hot sauce to the chili. He wiped the remnants from his face and turned to the adults. “We recognize what you guys went through. It’s not like we don’t think about being careful. We’ll watch out for each other.”

Travis was vacillating—and by the look in Seth’s eyes, he was thinking similarly—as to whether their kids were humorous or obnoxious. In the next few moments, Zane and Amy broke into a spontaneous chorus of We Will Survive, and the choice for ‘obnoxious’ was made.

Travis let out a long, exhausted sigh. Why do I keep trying to educate modern-day kids? Though they don’t seem much like kids anymore. A consolation, if there was one, might be that none of the other parents were in any better situation. Travis’ sixteen-year-old girl was wearing him out just as fast as Zane was doing to Seth.

Travis glanced at his watch and waved to their kids. “Go. Have fun. Take care of each other. Yes, I know I’ve told you the same thing a dozen times. Make your parents happy and pretend to listen—and be back here when we told you to be.”

To their surprise, the kids left with hugs and reassurances, even though they sprinted the last fifty feet before disappearing into the midway crowd. Travis watched for a moment, wishing the pair would revert to five-year-olds and come running back to be protected by their fathers. That wasn’t happening, Travis knew, but he was sure Seth wished the same thing.

Seth gave him a crooked smile. “We can hope for their safety, and we’ll have to keep each other sane in the meantime. I’m feeling too old for the midway, even if it’s like Disney on Ice.”

Travis smiled and did the two-step for a few feet before motioning Seth ahead of him. “Let’s go through the 4-H and FFA exhibits. We can pretend we aren’t parents with blood, sweat and tears invested in our children’s projects.”

“Sounds like a good idea. Maybe it will give us more perspective.”

Seth nodded and Travis tried not to react to his endearing expression. It was times like these he wished they hadn’t agreed to keep their relationship to just friendship. Travis didn’t think he’d mind exploring something more intimate.

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About the Author

Jon Keys

Jon Keys’ earliest memories revolve around books; with the first ones he can recall reading himself being “The Warlord of Mars” and anything with Tarzan. (The local library wasn’t particularly up to date.) But as puberty set in, he started sneaking his mother’s romance magazines and added the world of romance and erotica to his mix of science fiction, fantasy, Native American, westerns and comic books.

A voracious reader for almost half a century, Jon has only recently begun creating his own flights of fiction for the entertainment of others. Born in the Southwest and now living in the Midwest, Jon has worked as a ranch hand, teacher, computer tech, roughneck, designer, retail clerk, welder, artist, and, yes, pool boy; with interests ranging from kayaking and hunting to painting and cooking, he draws from a wide range of life experiences to create written works that draw the reader in and wrap them in a good story.

You can follow Jon on Twitter and Facebook.

Giveaway

Enter to win a fabulous gift package and get a FREE romance book from the author!

Jon Keys Ridden Hard Giveaway

JON KEYS IS GIVING AWAY THIS FABULOUS PRIZE TO ONE LUCKY WINNER. ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A LOVELY GIFT PACKAGE AND GET A FREE EBOOK FROM THE AUTHOR! Notice: This competition ends on 13TH April 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

Various Persuasions by AE Lister

General Release Date: 23rd March 2021

Word Count:  67,764
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 273

Genres:

BONDAGE AND BDSM
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
TRANSGENDER

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Book Description

A non-binary Dom. An eager young sub. Service, orgasm control, bondage. An initial encounter leads to a synchronous exploration of identity and intimacy.

Nic Walker is not your typical Dom—physically female but identifying as male. And Vincent Blake is not your typical twenty-four-year-old straight guy—seductively submissive with a penchant for lacy underwear.

When Nic’s Dominatrix friend Daphne encourages them to get together, she can only hope they recognize the compatibility of their desires and personalities.

Nic has been holing up alone in their townhouse for too long, getting over a bad ‘relationship’, and it’s time for them to start living again. When Nic meets Vincent, neither expects the tentative relationship to take off like a runaway train. But each layer of the attractive and seemingly vulnerable young man Nic exposes ignites their own desires and leads both on a path to revealing the most interesting parts of themselves.

Who knew piano practice could be a form of sexual service? Or that a pair of overpriced panties could inspire such devotion?

Through bondage, service, objectification and the purchase of large quantities of lacy unmentionables, as well as a few specific sex toys and devices, Nic explores how far Vincent will go to please them and how much of themself they will risk to have him.

Reader advisory: This book contains mention of a Dom’s abuse of a sub, anal play, and public sex.

Excerpt

The call came in near midnight that Friday.

I was sitting down with a beer and my remote to watch The Great British Baking Show when my phone started playing Sympathy for the Devil—Daphne’s ringtone.

What could she possibly want from me at this hour? She should have been working. I knew she was working. It was Friday night, for fuck’s sake. But the curiosity got to me.

“Hey, doll.” My standard greeting for Daphne.

“My lovely Nic. Are you busy?”

“Never too busy for you, Daphne. What’s up?”

She giggled. I pictured her face, its pixy-like innocence that belied a very dark soul. “I have this client—”

“No,” I said without thinking. I knew what she wanted, and the answer was no. It was always no.

“But, Nic, I haven’t even told you—”

“You know I don’t do that anymore.”

She sighed. “Just listen, okay? Just listen to what I have to say.”

My jaw tightened and I wanted to hang up, but I wouldn’t do that to Daphne. We’d been friends for too long. She’d known me, like…forever.

“Fine. But the answer is still no.”

Not to be deterred, Daphne continued. “This client… His name is Vincent.”

I snorted with derision. “A guy, Daphne?”

“Yes, Nic, a guy. Get over it. You, of all people, shouldn’t get hung up on gender.”

I mean, she was right. But…still. “I don’t have experience with guys, Daphne. You know that.”

“Look… Hear me out. Please, Nic.”

I looked at the clock above my flatscreen. It was twelve-oh-four. “You have five minutes.”

She giggled. “Okay. So, he just left. And our session was…interesting.”

“Really.” I tried to sound remotely engaged.

“I don’t think he’s into women like me,” she said with a pout in her voice.

“Huh.”

“I mean, he’s into submitting. That’s for sure. And he did submit for me. And he liked submitting for me. But…”

“But?” I picked up a pen from the coffee table and started pushing the button with my thumb. It made a comforting clicking sound.

“I think he needs something else. I think he’d respond better to something else.”

I closed my eyes. Click. “To what?”

“To you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Daphne?”

“No.”

I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to be reeled in. “I don’t do that anymore.”

“Well, that’s a damn shame, Nic, because you were the best at it.”

I snorted again. “That’s debatable.”

“Not by anyone I’ve ever spoken to about you.”

I held my breath. “Who have you spoken to?”

She hesitated and I knew the answer.

“Fuck you.” Click, click, click.

“I mean, I know a lot of people who knew you when you—”

“Daphne,” I said and closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the wall. “Did you talk to Zane?”

She hesitated again and I knew she had. “He misses you.”

My heart shattered a little bit, but I put it back together with sheer will. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Nic, he didn’t mean to treat you badly.”

“Doesn’t matter. He did.”

“But you don’t have to stop doing what you’re good at.”

My voice, when I found it, sounded small. “I’m only good at it…because of him.”

“I know he taught you. I know he mentored you. But you surpassed him a long time ago.”

“Daphne, that’s not true.”

“It is true. And he told me that.”

That surprised me…and didn’t. Zane had never been one to hand out compliments directly. It figured this would be how I found out.

“He did?”

“You know I wouldn’t lie about this, Nic.”

“I know.” My voice was barely above a whisper.

She continued in a soft voice. “Can I please just tell you about Vincent? Please?”

Maybe it was because she was such a good friend. Maybe it was because we’d known each other for so long. Maybe it was because what she’d just told me about Zane was something I’d wanted to hear for so long.

“Fine. Tell me.”

“Okay. Well, he’s twenty-four and cute as shit. You know I only agree to the cute ones.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Daphne had high standards when it came to physical attractiveness. I’d never cared about that as much as she had. Still…

“Twenty-four? That’s way too young, Daphne.”

“Too young for him to know what he wants?”

“I thought you said he’s not working out.”

“Yes, but that’s my fault, not his.”

“Why is it your fault?”

She giggled again and I heard her self-deprecating sigh. “I’m too girly.”

“Fuck, Daphne.”

Honestly, she was girly. She was fucking high heels and corsets and ribbons, doling out praise and punishment with crops and paddles and rulers. Most of her clients dug that. Maybe not this one?

“It’s true. He needs something else.”

“Um, like a guy maybe?”

“Not exactly. Like you, Nic.”

“Is he gay?” He might have been gay and closeted—trying to get off on a Dominatrix when he really wanted a Dom.

“I don’t think so. Maybe bi. He likes lady parts. I mean really likes lady parts.” She paused. “I think he’s attracted to the masculine but not necessarily to men.”

“So, what am I, Daphne?” That was the question I’d been trying to answer my whole life.

“You are my Nic. You’re a guy, a man for all intents and purposes. Except you have that unique element…”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “A pussy?”

She laughed too. “Well, yes.”

Honestly, I didn’t feel like a man or a woman and I didn’t feel like I had to choose between those two things. I was myself. I was Nic Walker.

My name had been Nicole, but people had started calling me Nicky, then Nic. That was probably because I’d never really looked like a girl—and I’d never really acted like a girl and I’d never really felt like a girl. But I’d never questioned what I was.

Physically, I was female. I had a pussy and I had boobs, albeit really small ones—small enough that I could ignore them for the most part, which I generally did. I didn’t need a bra or a binder. If I had been stereotypically female, their size would have been a problem. I could pass as male most of the time. I did pass as male most of the time and I had no problem with that, except romantic relationships could be tricky.

I had predominantly dated women. I was predominantly attracted to women. There had been the occasional man—like Zane—and I’d always regretted those experiences. But Zane had taught me to embrace my Dominant side, and he’d taught me the practical skills to do it—not with him, but with women. Daphne had helped too. She had helped me to accept who I was and what I liked to do.

When Zane and I had ‘broken up’, for lack of a better term, I had turned my back on all that. And here was Daphne bringing it back up when it was really the last thing I wanted.

“What’s his story?”

“He’s lost, Nic. He’s shy and he’s ashamed of himself and what he wants. But he’s at a point that he can’t deny himself anymore. So, he came to me. But I think he needs you.”

“How do you figure?” Click.

“He’s not looking for stereotypes. I don’t…do it for him.”

I leaned my head back against the wall and propped one bare foot on the sofa. It was small, perhaps the most feminine part of me and the reason I generally wore boots and clunky shoes. I didn’t deny I dressed like a guy. I looked like a guy. I felt like a guy most of the time. But I didn’t hide the fact that I had female parts. It simply didn’t come up in conversation. I wasn’t ashamed to be atypical. To be honest, I liked it. I strived after uniqueness. I didn’t want to be like everyone else, and I wasn’t.

“You’re not a stereotype, Daphne.” I felt like I had to say that, even though if you looked up ‘Dominatrix’ on Google, you’d see Daphne or someone who looked a lot like her.

She laughed again. “I kind of am.”

“Okay, you kind of are, but you’re lovely.” The truth of this choked me up and I realized I’d missed her. “I don’t think I can compete with you.”

“I’m not asking you to compete with me. I’m just asking you to meet with Vincent and see what happens.”

“Have you told him anything about me?” Click.

“No. I feel like he should make up his own mind.” She said this with confidence.

Daphne was perceptive and smart. “Good.”

I heard a squeal on the end of the phone. “Then you’ll meet him?”

What am I doing? “Okay. Sure.”

“Yes! Even if it doesn’t work out the way I think it will, thank you for agreeing to do this, Nic. It means everything to me.”

“Sure. I know.”

She cleared her throat. “I should mention that he’s not a paying client. I took him on as a favor to someone.”

“That’s fine. You know I don’t monetize this sort of thing.”

“I know, and you’re nuts. Do you know how much money you could make?”

“Yes, Daphne, I know. I’ve really got to go.”

“Listen… He’s really sweet. You’re going to like him.”

“We’ll see.”

“Love you, Nic.”

“Love you, Daphne.”

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About the Author

AE Lister 

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

“Sensual and visceral BDSM.” – Amazon.ca

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

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Adorned in Blood by L.S. Barron

General Release Date: 23rd March 2021

Word Count: 52,184
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 201

Genres:

ACTION AND ADVENTURE
CONTEMPORARY
GLBTQI
SWEET ROMANCE
TRANSGENDER
VAMPIRES
YOUNG ADULT
YOUNGER READERS

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Book Description

Once Jenna, now Michael…soaked in blood but cleansed by love. I sink my teeth into the pulsating artery. Crimson red blood sprays across the misty fog.

Michael is a transgender teenager who is well on his way with his gender transition and finding a life path that better suits him. And as if that weren’t enough of a freak-out for the teen, he’s been turned into a vampire…a Nosferatu!

Luckily, Michael has a group of good friends to help him through his struggles, and who would think that this would be when he’d find love for the first time?

But just to keep his already-interesting life in a wee bit more turmoil, a murder leads to a discovery that could change not only his life but the lives of everyone he knows…and loves.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence and murder, the death of a parent, attempted suicide, and bullying.

Excerpt

The golden rays from the alleyway streetlamp glimmered through the mist and fog. The drizzly rain fell lightly upon my eyelashes. I felt the coldness as it wreaked an ill chill through my body. Somehow, the thirst had taken over once again. Everything else in my mind had been put aside.

The back door of the diner opened. It was a shabby place—hardly even a rat dared linger there, except the rat that ran the place. There in the mist was the man himself, throwing out the night’s garbage into the already rank alleyway. He was a savage of a being. He was mean to my kind, mean to all kinds.

“Hey, kid, what are you doing back here?” the crotchety man asked.

I wiped the rain from my eyes. The saliva ran down the side of my mouth. Attack!

It was soon over. I so liked the color blue and how it looked on me. I thought it brought out more of the blue in my hazel eyes. Almost all my shirts were some shade of blue. Dang, I shouldn’t have worn my favorite.

The blue T-shirt had streams of crimson red blood running down it, like it was a newly designed pattern, meant to be that way.

The savage lay at my feet, lifeless. No more will he be unkind to me…or to anyone, for that matter. I pushed the man’s side with my sneaker to make sure he was now lifeless. There was no movement, no breath. Dead.

I wiped the blood from my face on my arm. I looked up into the drizzly rain, letting it rinse my face clean, erasing my sinful act. I admired the rays of light from the streetlamp. I felt pure, rejuvenated. I was not mournful for the beast of a man. There was no regret. I felt renewed and fell into a deep, restful sleep.

My alarm clock sounded. Morning had quickly arrived, with the memories of the night only a fleeting moment in my mind. The school day ahead was not what I was worried about. I combed my now short blondish-brown hair as I stood in front of my bedside mirror. I glanced down at one of my old swimming trophies. ‘High Point Award, 9–10 girls, Jenna Holliday’. Jenna Michelle Holliday, hmm… I chuckled. Yes, that once had been my name. Now, however, it is simply Michael Holliday.

I repeated that in the mirror out loud. “Michael Holliday.”

The name flowed so much better off my tongue. It felt right. It felt comfortable, fitting.

When did I know that I was Michael and not that lost girl Jenna? Probably before I even had memories. My mom told me that by the time I was two, I had already started showing preferences toward the other gender. She told me that I would just drag my doll around by its hair like I hated the thing. Then I would fight the neighbor boy for his Matchbox trucks.

In my memory, I’d known by kindergarten at least. I’d known for sure dresses were out. All I’d wanted to wear were jeans and a T-shirt so that I could play roughhousing games with the boys any chance I got. I’d loved to fight, play football and wrestle. I’d wanted everything in a boy’s life. I’d found no use for my girlie body and didn’t feel like it belonged to me. I’d kept it at a distance, almost, like looking into the mirror and not seeing my real self.

Things have changed now. I was F2M post-op, at least the top half of my body, which I now loved. I was going to leave the lower stuff alone for now. Mom and Dad had been super supportive, so that was pretty cool, not like some kids who I’ve seen struggling. I’m on the T—testosterone injections. I was starting to finally show some facial scruff. That was pretty sick. I could do without the excessive underarm odor, but that was what Axe was for, I guessed. I have noticed of late that my shoulders are getting broader, but I also work out in the gym pretty hard.

However, right now, besides all this, I have this new thing to deal with. It’s not like being sixteen brings enough problems already. Now I’m cursed with this bloodthirst too. I can’t even remember who did this to me, but I’ll find out. I’m going to have my revenge!

I had my suspects. Number one on my list? Mr. Drakon Branikov, my high school’s history teacher. I think he’s from Bulgaria—or maybe Hungary. I’m not sure, but he’s definitely not from around here.

Mr. Branikov has long hair that he keeps pulled back in a ponytail and dark brown eyes, almost black. I feel like he could stare into my soul, though the girls seem to gaze at him in adoration. He dresses strangely, almost old-style, yet he seems young. That brought another question to my mind. Why does he always seem to look the same age? Other teachers had gotten older over the years. Not Mr. Branikov. I had lived in this town all my life. I had paid attention. This teacher was not what he seemed.

I had permission that night to go out with friends after the high-school football game. My plan, though, was something completely different. I would follow my suspect.

There had been criminals missing around town. There had been missing girls, not schoolgirls but ladies of the night, the skanky kind. I had done my research at the library. It seemed that the local papers showed that there had been several unsolved deaths and missing persons in recent years. Guess what? All since Mr. Branikov and his family had moved into town.

It seemed the cops didn’t care much. Why would they? The town was becoming a safer and nicer place to live.

It had been a while since anyone had been missing or killed. I figured, if Mr. Branikov was like me, it was time to rejuvenate. I knew I could go a month or so, but not much longer. I didn’t know about Mr. Branikov. Is he an old Nosferatu? Did he draw the blood from my body first? Did he cause my thirst? Why?

This notion that one should be moral and only live on animals? Yeah, that didn’t work. I’d tried. No, only the pulsating blood of a human would suffice. So, I’d choose the most immoral beings that I could find—at least I’d try.

This would be a good night to feed. Town would be busy. Lowlifes would be crawling about, looking for trouble. If my suspicions were right, Mr. Branikov would feed and I would be there!

Mr. Branikov departed the stadium from the back entrance. It was dark and quiet, leading down the back alleyway of the high school. I followed at a distance. I thought we were alone.

“Hey, Michael…or is it Michelle? No wait! Wasn’t it Jenna?” I heard from behind me, along with sudden laughter.

I turned. It was James Day and his pack, some of the popular boys who I found to be very irritating.

“Come on, James. It doesn’t even know what it is,” another boy said, as they all laughed again.

The pack walked closer to me. James looked at me and shook his head. “Well, it got rid of its boobs. Maybe we should see if it has any balls.”

My anger rose and I saw the vein in James’ neck pulsate. He was a jerk. I was losing my thoughts. Everything was starting to spin. Attack!

In the blur of the moment, out of the darkness, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Not now. It’s okay,” a calming voice whispered in my ear.

I turned to find Mr. Branikov behind me. I heard the pack of boys scatter. Mr. Branikov was standing there. He smiled, pushed the hair away from my eyes and gently said, “Walk with me.”

I learned that night that Mr. Branikov was who I’d thought him to be. However, he had not doomed me to this life but had saved me. I learned that while I had still been Jenna, before I had come forward about my true self, I had been very unhappy. Mr. Branikov told me that he’d found me below the old town bridge with hardly a breath left. He’d chosen to save me.

I didn’t remember any of this. It was after this moment that I had gone forward in my life. I’d found my new self. I found new meaning. I’m a new creature—actually two new creatures—although I think I’ve always been the one. I’ve found happiness at last.

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About the Author

L.S. Barron

Laurie enjoys taking advantage of the warm desert air in the winters and roams the mountains of Colorado in the summers. She is a retired fire captain and is now taking advantage of her time to develop her writing skills. On many occasions you can find her at the local coffee shop working on her next story.

Laurie likes to point out that her six grandchildren contribute many of the ideas for her stories and she often uses their creative thoughts in her books. Their language skills come in handy when working on any middle-grade or young-adult book. “Bro, that is so lit!”

Find out more about Laurie at her website.

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Love by the Stroke of Midnight
by Raven McAllan

General Release Date: 23rd March 2021

Word Count: 30,503
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 124
Heat Rating: Simmering
Sexometer: 1

Genres:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
PARANORMAL

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Book Description

History, family, fate. Accept it or deny it at your will.

The day you discover your boyfriend is using you as a free meal ticket—and a way to save his money—is the day you say bye-bye.

Marcail Drummond does better than that.

She sells up, plans the rest of her life and heads north. It’s time to go home, to a castle on an island in a Scottish loch, and face up to the fact she’s not quite the same as the rest of her family. They can see the past—and the future—and hear others. Heal the sick and help the broken-hearted.

She can’t.

After all, talking to yourself isn’t the same thing, even if one of the voices in your head is male and argues a lot.

As far as Marcail is concerned, it’s just her way of amusing herself.

To Paden, it’s more than that.

To him, it’s a matter of life and death.

Excerpt

Loch Lomond and the Trossachs, Scotland

Present Day

Marcail Drummond staggered out of bed, tired and sated, and wished she could sleep for a few hours more. As it wasn’t going to happen, she turned to speak to the man who had shared her night to…to what?

To see no second indent in the pillows. No crumpled sheets except where she’d slept—or not slept, as the case may be.

In fact no sign of any occupant—except herself.

She surely hadn’t imagined the night she’d just had? The sinfully sexy, hot, male, aroused body next to hers. The way his hands had caressed her so skilfully and held her close when she flew over the edge and into one of the best climaxes ever. How he’d gradually inched inside her, almost reverently, until she’d tightened herself around him and begged… “Please fill me now…please.” And he’d obliged so they could move together.

Then another climax, this time as he also came hard and fast, and the long gradual coming down to earth, held close and cherished.

The soft words in her ear… “Mo ghaol, it’s been oh so long…”

Marcail blinked. Had she dreamed it all, or…or what?

There couldn’t be any other explanation—could there?

Somewhat disgruntled, she stood up and stretched.

Boy she ached. Ached in places she hadn’t known it was possible. If that was what happened after an erotic dream, she wasn’t sure she’d have another one in a hurry.

“I’m here when you need me.”

That was the last thing she wanted. She had enough to worry about, without him niggling her. It was bad enough to know his voice was in her head—whoever he was—but surely he wasn’t in her dreams as well?

“You know I’m yours, however, wherever and…”

“Enough.” She put her hands to her hot cheeks. “Go away and let me get on in peace.”

“As ever, I’ll do your bidding.”

That’ll be the day. Marcail muttered under her breath, stripped the bed, got washed and dressed and headed out. She hadn’t the time to argue with herself, voices, or the man in the moon. Dammit, she hadn’t even seen his face.

“You’ll know me.”

“Ha, as if I’m bothered.” She ignored the laughter that appeared to surround her at that mental comment. The long drive ahead was her priority.

The journey north wasn’t easy. Especially after that night of very explicit, erotic dreams, where she woke up hot and bothered, every nerve in her body throbbing, and dozed off again before she welcomed ‘him’ into her bed. The man who, she understood, was important, but whose face she couldn’t see.

Why? What was she missing?

“Me.”

“Go to hell.”

The laugh in her mind echoed around the room. “Naughty.”

“Look, head voice, go away.” She was used to it, but at times she could see it far enough. “You were annoying when I was two, albeit I thought it was normal to talk to myself and a mysterious other. You never knew when to butt out in the past and it seems you still don’t. Why? What does it all mean? I thought everyone must have a head friend.”

“Only people like us.”

She didn’t bother to say ‘define us’, as she’d tried before and been met with an uncompromising ‘you’ll know when the time is right’. Instead she carried on with her list. “An embarrassment when I was ten and my teacher told my parents they might need to take me to see a doctor as I was talking to myself a lot. She suggested a psychiatrist might be able to discover what my troubles were. Luckily Mum and Dad told her they were sorting it and told me to ignore her. That she was close-minded and would never open it to what we believed and understood. If that wasn’t enough, whenever I met a bloke I really liked you…” She gritted her teeth. “Grr.” Was that why nothing happened with her ex-fiancé? He hadn’t been as important as she assumed he was?

“Had to get him out of your system. He was no threat.”

That was as maybe, but, her fledgling kisses and fumbles had never got past the peck on the cheek and hands removed as if by osmosis, and the would-be suitor was never seen again, or if he was, he turned and nigh on ran in the other direction. “Then a sodding intruder at twenty, when…” Marcail shut up, conscious her voice was rising. If she wasn’t careful she’d be screaming like a termagant.

Take a deep breath, and count to ten.

She wasn’t going to add, have sex or get intimate with someone. It had been bad enough at the time when the voice went on about condoms, safe sex and how the bloke in question had a shifty look about him.

The fact the said bloke stated, somewhat belligerently, that he hated condoms and the withdrawal method worked for him, was enough for her to tell him nothing doing and to sling his hook. The head voice adding he told her so had done nothing to help her temper then and, remembering her humiliation, did nothing for it now.

“Bless you, always grumpy when you don’t get your eight hours, aren’t you?”

“Too right, now shut up.” She swore as yet another sheep decided it would try to outrun her down the narrow track that led to the landing stage where, God willing, the boat would be waiting to take her across the loch. If not they might have more lamb than they bargained for when she turned around and drove back up the track.

The sheep meandered to the verge and turned to stare at her, as if to ask how she dare travel down that track at that time, when it wanted to use it.

“I’m going home, mate, you got a beef with that?” Marcail said. “Or should it be a lamb? Anyhow…I’m off home and this is the way.”

If sheep could grin, that one did. And strangely its eyes glowed briefly, and she would swear it winked.

I’m losing it. I need a holiday. Or one of Mum’s casseroles. I need to go home. Chill and not think about stuff that can’t be possible. Voices I accept, winking sheep not so much.

Home. Castle Bearradh—Hill Castle. A bit of a misnomer as the so-called hill was no more than a slight incline on the middle of a craggy, cliff-edged island that was less than two miles from tip to toe and around half that across, midway between two shores of a loch. The place her family had lived for years. Where she and her two siblings had been born. And where, with a bit of luck, they and their parents would get together to celebrate her birthday, and All Hallows’ Eve. Samhain. When the veil between the living and those who had passed was at its thinnest.

How long was it, Marcail mused, as the errant sheep swerved off into a field and she was able to drive without fear of depleting the local flock, since they’d all been together at home?

Too long.

“I’m going home,” she said out loud. “To Scotland, where I want to be for a while.” Just to admit it was a relief. “Not in England, managing a flower shop where Bloody Roddy wanted to be.” Nor slowly, unhappily discovering Roddy—her not so long before live-in boyfriend—was using her as a convenient way to save money.

A few weeks before, Marcail had left the house and realised she’d forgotten her phone. She’d gone back inside and not bothered to shout hello or anything. Before she’d even closed the door or taken any steps along the corridor to the kitchen, where she remembered putting her phone on the worktop, she’d heard him laugh.

“I tell you, mate, I’ve never had it so good,” he’d boomed in the voice he used for phone calls. “I’m saving half of each month’s salary and even though the sex is only so-so, it’s worth it. I close my eyes and think of my bank balance.”

That had opened her eyes. She’d gone back to her car, driven out of sight and rung her colleague to say she was sick.

Five minutes later she’d watched Roddy drive past on his way to work. By the time he’d come back that evening, all his belongings had been on the path outside the house. The fact he didn’t even try to bluster his way through an explanation had told her everything. She should have burned the stuff and left him the ashes.

Marcail had decided it had been a wake-up call. She’d handed in her notice, put her house on the market, sold it within a week and booked a ticket to New Zealand. She’d promised herself a trip there for years, now she was going to take herself up on her promise. All Hallows’ Eve and her birthday at home, a month to get everything sorted and she was off.

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About the Author

Raven McAllan

After 30 plus years in Scotland, Raven now lives near the east Yorkshire coast, with her long-suffering husband, who is used to rescuing the dinner, when she gets immersed in her writing, keeping her coffee pot warm and making sure the wine is chilled.

With a new home to decorate and a garden to plan, she’s never short of things to do, but writing is always at the top of her list.

Her other hobbies include walking along the coast and spotting the wildlife, reading, researching, cros stitch and trying not to drop stitches as she endeavours to knit.

Being left-handed, and knitting right-handed, that’s not always easy.

She loves hearing from her readers, either via her website, by email or social media.

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