Artifacts by Bailey Bradford

Book 1 in the Intrinsic series

General Release Date: 13th April 2021

Word Count: 54,742
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 215

Genres:

 CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE

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Book Description

Aldric Beamer thought working in an antique shop would be safe and boring. He never expected to find his life—or his heart—in danger…

Being the low man on the totem pole is nothing new for Aldric Beamer. The youngest of three siblings, he was always the afterthought in his family, but Aldric’s trying hard not to let the little confidence he has sink any lower.

Aldric loves the job he managed to land at Intrinsic Value, so much so that he often works off the clock—or maybe he doesn’t want to go home to his empty apartment. Just as he’s slowly learning to trust his boss and co-workers, he’s attacked outside the store, and all the security he thought he had vanishes with the force of a blow to the head.

San Antonio cop Darrell Williams takes one look at the beautiful, bruised man he finds in a dingy alley behind an antiques store, and something in his heart melts. This weakness scares him, making Darrell gruff and indifferent when he should have been—and longs to be—compassionate and caring.

Aldric’s no pushover, though. He’s had enough of being ignored and treated like he doesn’t matter as much as everyone else. And he’ll make damn sure Patrol Officer Williams doesn’t dismiss him in any way…

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence and assault. There are expressions of homophobia by several characters, mentions of non-nurturing parenting, references to addiction and a scene of attempted abduction.

Excerpt

The Help Wanted sign in the window stopped Aldric in his tracks. He’d been walking along San Antonio’s Pearl District, somewhat lost in his thoughts and worries, so why he noticed the sign, he couldn’t have said.

Maybe because it stood out in the day of internet-everything. All the job boards that he’d scanned and the applications for employment that he’d sent in had been online. That was just how it was done nowadays…except not at the business he’d stopped in front of.

Aldric stared at the sign for a solid minute while trying to calculate his chances of being hired if he went in and applied before going home and changing. Not that he had any fancier clothes. Jeans, T-shirts and one button-up were all that was in his wardrobe.

What are the chances someone else will apply and get hired by the time I go home, shower, shave, change and come back?

Whatever the odds were, his empty stomach didn’t want to risk them. Blinking away his musings, Aldric pushed his glasses farther up his nose, then caught himself screwing up his face to re-settle them exactly where they’d been. He attempted to smooth down his hair—being thick, it tended to tousle, even though it wasn’t long—and reached for the door handle, which was when he saw the name of the place that was hiring.

Intrinsic Value Antique Shop. At least shop wasn’t spelled all funky. It was a silly pet peeve he had, people adding extra letters onto words to make spellings like shoppe rather than shop. An antique store might have a better reason than most businesses or services to use an old spelling of the word, and he had no reason to be judgmental of anything—something he needed to keep in mind.

Even though he knew nothing about antiques, Aldric opened the door and stepped inside to the tinkling of chimes. He glanced down at the door handle inside and saw strings of silver and copper bells dangling from it.

“Good afternoon. May I help you?”

Aldric pivoted so quickly that he almost tripped over his own feet—nothing unusual for him. Heat rushed to his face, and he gulped as he spotted the older man standing with one hand on an ancient-looking cash register. “Er, yes, I, um, I—” Aldric took a deep breath and exhaled to the count of ten. If he didn’t get himself calmed down, he’d stumble over his words as well as his feet, as he tended to do when he was flustered.

“My name is Elliot Douglas. I’m the owner of Intrinsic Value. Please call me Elliot.” Elliot came around the counter and stopped in front of Aldric.

“Aldric Beamer.” Aldric offered his right hand to shake. “Nice to meet you, Elliot.” His mouth was dry, and a tickle started up in his throat.

“Nice to meet you, too.” Elliot pumped his hand one more time, then let go. “Are you here about the job? I noticed you standing outside and thought you might be considering it.”

Aldric covered his mouth and turned his head before he coughed. He lowered his hand and faced Elliot again. “Sorry, the mountain cedar is kicking my allergies into high gear. Yes, sir, I’m here about the job. Surprised me to see an actual sign in the window. Everything’s done online, it seems. I’ve been told to go home and apply online so often, I’ve quit thinking about actual signs.”

“Ah yes, the internet is an amazing tool for many things, but I prefer to meet people in person first, rather than online.” Elliot smiled, and Aldric realized the older, taller man, with his tawny-brown eyes and thick mane of slightly long, wavy light-brown hair that was just starting to silver, was quite handsome.

“Why don’t you come back this way and tell me what makes you think you’ll be a good fit at Intrinsic Value?” Elliot gestured in the direction of the cash register. “I was cleaning off my baby and would like to finish as we talk.”

“Yes, sir.” Aldric coughed again and wanted to melt into the floorboards.

“Would you like some cold water or hot tea?” Elliot offered. “I have both available.”

Aldric wasn’t sure about hot tea. He’d only ever had Texas tea—cold, with lots of sugar and ice in it. But maybe tea was a thing with Elliot. “Er, tea, please?”

Elliot glanced back at him. “You sound uncertain. Have you tried hot tea before?”

Lying wasn’t something Aldric did if he could help it. “I haven’t, but I thought a warm drink might help with my scratchy throat.”

“That it might. I have a few different kinds, but how about you try the chamomile? It’s good for all sorts of ailments.” Elliot stopped by an elegant-legged wooden table that had a silver tea kettle and several mismatched cups and saucers sitting on it.

A white ceramic dish held glass jars of tea and cubes of sugar, and a clear container was filled with what appeared to be honey. Delicate silver spoons were laid out as well. Aldric tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. Everything on that table looked delicate, not only the spoons, and he was afraid to touch anything.

Which had to mean he shouldn’t apply for the job.

“Aldric?” Elliot arched one thick eyebrow. “Is chamomile okay?”

Realizing he’d more than likely made sure he wouldn’t get hired, because Elliot had to think he was on the dense side, Aldric shook his head. “It’s okay, thank you. I’ll just—” He started to take a step back.

“Just what?” Elliot asked, scooping tea from a jar before he put it into a little oval-shaped strainer. “Are you not interested in the job after all?”

Aldric bit his bottom lip and pondered whether he should stay or not. For one thing, he’d already made some kind of impression, good or bad. For another, Elliot hadn’t run him off. That has to mean I still have a chance, right? Until I tell him I know nothing about what this shop sells. Damn it.

“I’m interested, but I don’t have any experience with antiques,” Aldric rushed out, watching Elliot pour hot water over the strainer holding the tea. Elliot had put a lid on it so the tea leaves didn’t flow out.

Aldric took a step closer, unable to resist getting a better look at what Elliot was doing. He took off his round-framed glasses, polished them and shoved them back on.

“The tea needs to steep for a few minutes,” Elliot explained. “The infuser keeps most of the bits of tea leaves from escaping, but you still might have a few pieces in your cup. Those will usually settle at the bottom.”

“That’s the infuser?” Aldric asked when Elliot nudged the strainer holding the tea.

Elliot smiled at him. “Yes, it is. Do you like honey?”

“I—” Aldric’s stomach picked that moment to let out a rumbling growl. He dropped his gaze and pressed a fist to his belly. “Sorry. Skipped breakfast.”

“Well, that won’t do. It’s almost time for dinner. I’ll order us something to eat, then you and I will sit down for a proper interview—if you’re interested in the job?” Elliot picked up the jar of honey.

“Oh, I…I am, I just thought I’d blown any chance I had at it.” Aldric ducked his head and stared at the worn toes of his tennis shoes. “I don’t have any experience for it. I’ve only worked at fast-food places. I don’t know anything about antiques. I didn’t even know what that thing—the infuser—was.” His ignorance was embarrassing, and he hated that he didn’t know more.

“So,” Elliot drawled, one corner of his mouth curving up. “No experience at all? That would mean I’d have a clean slate in you, if I were to hire you. Wouldn’t have to rid you of bad habits and misinformation.”

Aldric was almost too afraid to believe he might have a chance of keeping his shitty apartment and not going hungry for much longer, after all. “Are you serious?”

“Utterly. Here, let me fix your tea, then I’ll order something from the restaurant across the street. It has a little of everything. I have a menu for it behind the counter. This won’t take a moment…” Elliot took the infuser out, then added honey to the tea.

“Thank you.” Aldric should have refused the offer of a meal, but the truth was, he was too hungry to let pride cost him sustenance. He took the warm cup of tea from Elliot and inhaled the fragrant steam rising from it. “Oh! This smells good.”

Elliot smiled at him, a delighted expression, if Aldric wasn’t reading him wrong. “I hope you’ll like the way it tastes as well. Let me grab that menu, then you can peruse it with me.”

“Okay, thanks.” Aldric took a sip of the tea. It was hotter on his tongue than he’d expected, and he winced as he swallowed. He was glad Elliot hadn’t seen him do that. The next sip he took was slower. The taste was as pleasant as the smell of the tea, the honey sweet but not overpowering.

“Here we go. I haven’t had anything bad from here yet, but then again, I always order the same thing. I’m a creature of habit in many ways.” Elliot’s smile had turned rueful.

“What do you get?” Aldric asked before taking another drink. He could get addicted to hot tea.

“Nothing adventurous, just the grilled salmon with steamed vegetables and mashed sweet potatoes.” Elliot handed him the menu. “I think the burgers should be good, though. Whenever I’m in the restaurant and see and smell them, they remind me very much of the ones my brother used to love.”

“Younger or older brother?” Aldric flipped the paper menu open to scan the selections.

Elliot froze for a second, as though something were wrong. Before Aldric could ask him if he was okay, Elliot drew in a breath, then touched his temples, where he had a few strands of gray. “Younger. Chris is thirty-two, Natty is thirty-four and I’m the old man at forty-something. Do you have any siblings?”

Aldric decided he’d get the bacon burger and sweet potato fries. He’d never had the latter before. “I have two, like you. Twins. They’re almost twenty years older than me.”

Elliot’s eyes widened. “That’s two whole decades!”

“Yeah. I was a surprise,” Aldric muttered. That was a nicer description than his family had called him at times. “Gregory and Simon are forty. I’m twenty-one.” He hoped Elliot wouldn’t ask any more questions about them, or Aldric’s family, period. Hoping to avert such possibilities, Aldric tapped the menu. “Can I get this? The bacon-mushroom burger?”

“Of course, of course.” Elliot moved back behind the counter and picked up something black. He stuck one finger in a silver ring that had smaller holes in it, and it took Aldric a moment to realize Elliot was using some kind of old phone.

Aldric had vague memories of his parents having a landline, but by the time he’d been old enough to care about it, they’d had cell phones. Even so, none of the phones Aldric had ever seen had looked like the one Elliot was now speaking into.

Elliot grinned as if he knew what Aldric was thinking, making Aldric look away and take another drink of his tea. When Elliot had looked at him then, it had occurred to Aldric that his potential boss was not only quite handsome, but very attractive. He’s about the same age as my brothers, so gross. Aldric needed a job more than he needed to get laid, and he’d never been attracted to older men, either—and he wasn’t about to start down that road now.

Not that Elliot would be interested in someone like him. Even though he’d only spent fifteen minutes in Elliot’s presence, Aldric could already tell that the guy was much classier than he’d ever be. There was also the very real possibility that Elliot wasn’t gay, despite the vibes Aldric was reading. Well, it didn’t matter one way or another.

Elliot hung up and tapped the black phone. “It’s an ancient rotary phone. My grandparents and parents had these, way back when, although we’d upgraded to a push-button phone by the time I started school. Want to see how it works?”

Aldric was itching to do just that. “Yeah, I mean, yes, I’d like that.”

The lesson taught him more than how to dial out on the phone—it taught him that Elliot was a patient and kind man. He encouraged and answered any questions Aldric had, which was freeing in a way that Aldric hadn’t experienced before. The old saying about children being seen but not heard had been a rule in his parents’ home.

“You have an inquisitive nature and a good brain.” Elliot propped a hip against the counter. “I think you’ll do well here.”

Aldric blinked in surprise. He was glad he’d set the teacup down, or else he might have dropped it, considering how much his hands trembled. “I have the job?”

Elliot nodded. “You do.”

“But…what about references and work history?” Aldric regretted asking as soon as the words were spoken.

“I like to believe I have excellent judgment when it comes to people,” Elliot said. “Am I wrong in regard to you?”

Aldric shook his head. “No. It’s just, I don’t know anything about antiques, or what I’ll be doing.”

“You can learn. Someone gave me a chance a few years ago and made this”—Elliot swept a hand toward the antiques in the shop—“possible. I’m still learning, one might say. That’s one reason I keep alphabetized cards on every item in the store, as well as those in the back. If someone asks about, say, this…” Elliot walked over to the second row of shelves and pointed to a silver tray. “What does it look like to you?”

Sweat broke out on Aldric’s brow. He knew what the object looked like to him, and it seemed obvious—was Elliot trying to trick him? No, Elliot had been nothing but kind to him. Aldric couldn’t let his own insecurity get the better of him now. “A-a silver tray?”

Elliot’s smile could have lit up the room. “Yes! So you’d just open the gold-leafed book under the register—go ahead and find it. Open it and look up ‘silver tray’.”

Aldric did as directed and was delighted to discover that most of the cards also had a small image of the item on the right corner. “It’s an eighteenth-century silver salver.” He read off the rest of the information, relief coursing through him even as he stumbled over some of the words. He could do this job.

“You won’t be alone in the store often, not at first,” Elliot said. “I’ll be out on the floor with you or, once you’ve been here for a while, in my office. Sometimes I’m away for a day or so, for instance at a fair or auction, or I might have to leave the city, to procure or sell an antique or attend an event, but I close the shop then.”

Aldric’s excitement fizzled out. “Oh. How…how long would you be gone? How often does that happen?” He’d lose out on work, and if he couldn’t support himself—

“I’d have you come in and work in the back while I’m gone. There will always be plenty of cleaning that can be done. I’ll show you how to polish silver and clean antiques—the ones that should be cleaned,” Elliot added before the door opened, and a young woman carrying a box entered. “Meredith! You are an angel of mercy.”

Meredith shook her head, making her brown hair ruffle over her shoulders, and chuckled. “Hardly. I’m just the delivery chick from across the street. Who’s this?”

“Aldric Beamer, my new employee,” Elliot answered, glancing at Aldric. “Right?”

“He’s not sure?” Meredith asked before Aldric could answer. She winked at him. “You should work for Mr. Douglas. He’s cool, and I bet he pays well, judging by the tips he gives me.”

Aldric hadn’t even thought to ask what his wages would be. The whole job-thing had happened so fast it felt like a dream.

“We haven’t discussed his pay.” Elliot took out his wallet and removed several bills from it. “But, of course, I believe in paying a livable wage.”

Aldric knew first-hand that minimum wage wasn’t a livable wage. He’d worked just under full-time and had often skipped meals to make rent. More than once, his electricity had been cut off. No fast-food joint he’d worked at had wanted to employ him full-time—that would have meant offering him health insurance. Then things had taken a turn for the worse and he’d found himself unemployed and hovering at the edge of homelessness.

“Aldric?”

Aldric lifted his glasses with one hand and rubbed a knuckle of the other into his eye. “Sorry. I sort of drifted off. I promise I won’t do that while I’m on the clock.”

Elliot held out a box and a drink. “I have utter faith in your ability to work well. Here, take this and head to the back. Second door on the left is my office. We’ll dine in there.”

“Fancy,” Meredith said, her brown eyes alive with humor. “Nice meeting you, Aldric.”

“Nice meeting you, too,” he replied, his face heating because he’d mentally checked out in front of her and Elliot.

He found Elliot’s office and was almost afraid to sit down in the plush leather chairs. The whole room looked like something out of an old-time movie, with its shiny wood surfaces, smooth leather seats and framed black-and-white photos from decades ago on the walls.

“Have a seat. Well, scoot closer to the desk if you want to use it for a table.” Elliot came around to the other side of his desk and sat, placing his own food on it. “There’s a coaster for your drink in the wood tray to your left.”

Aldric found the coaster and set his drink and boxed meal down before moving one of the leather chairs closer. “This is a very nice office. Is everything in it antique?”

Elliot began removing his food from the box it had come in. “Yes, except the pens and paper. Although I do have a quill pen!” He pointed at a long white feather. “It’s not quite an antique, but I like it.”

Aldric took a bite of his burger, and his stomach gave a happy rumble. “This is good,” he muttered after he’d swallowed.

Elliot grinned. “I’m glad you like it. My salmon smells amazing, as always. Before I start in on it, though, I want to cover salary, hours and health insurance.”

Aldric almost choked on the sweet potato fry he’d just bitten into. “Health insurance?” No. His ears were playing tricks on him.

But they weren’t. Elliot explained how he’d make sure Aldric was covered, without a waiting period. Aldric would have a full forty hours a week, would be paid at time and a half for any hours over that, and while he wouldn’t get rich working at Intrinsic Value, he’d earn that much-longed-for livable wage. It seemed too good to be true, and Aldric quickly and gratefully accepted everything he was offered, hoping that nothing happened to make this dream-come-true come crashing down around him.

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About the Author

Bailey Bradford

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

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

You can follow Bailey Bradford on Twitter and Facebook.

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Holding onto Light by Lucien Grey

General Release Date: 13th April 2021

Word Count: 51,608
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 197

Genres:

FANTASY
GAY
GLBTQI
ROMANCE

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Book Description

Two strangers running from their dark pasts find redemption in each other.

Harry, a former army doctor, lives in isolation after the devastating war between Rasacara and the Empire came to a bloody and violent conclusion. His lonely life is disrupted by a young, beautiful man surrounded by secrets and suspicion, who would likely destroy Harry if he knew who he was.

Kit, former member of the witch army’s Blue Crows, now on the run from his former master, must keep his identity a secret as his enemy is closing in and Harry, the gruff, mysterious woodsman, is all that stands between him and the man who wants him dead.

Forced together by Kit’s injuries, the two lonely men find comfort in each other, both scarred by the darkness of their pasts, but when Kit’s enemy catches up with him, they are forced to fight, revealing to each other the evils both of them have committed, and testing the strength of their new, fledgling love.

Reader advisory: This book contains reference to child abuse, graphic violence and injury, death, torture, PTSD and slavery. There are mentions of suicidal thought and homophobia.

Excerpt

Sunlight injected the indigo sky with golden threads earlier each day. Spring was drawing near, its sweet scent suspended in the cold air, even as crisp frost from the persistent winter lingered, crystalizing the blades of grass into fields of sparkling emeralds.

Harry surveyed his small patch of land, watching the sun peek over the serene, silent meadows beyond the encroaching forest. It shot streaking bursts of pinks and yellows, shrinking the night sky into a mild blue, pushing back clouds as it rose, a glorious, near-blinding orange orb. Birds in nearby trees were already welcoming the dawn with their delicate song. He would never tire of waking to this peaceful serenity.

Six years. How many sunrises was that?

Shivering out the tense muscles up and down his back, Harry went to work. The cold was not a friend to the scarred muscles of his left arm, which made their complaints known as he picked up his saw. Setting his jaw, he bit the saw’s teeth into the strong flesh of an oak he’d cut down and stripped yesterday.

He cut the trunk down to decent workable lengths. They would do well to replace the rotten floorboards near the fireplace, soaked with moisture from the cellar after it had flooded during the fall. It had taken weeks to dry out and create a soakaway around the house. He shouldered and lugged the timber over to the mounted flat rock he used as a dining table or a makeshift bed when the weather grew warm enough to eat and sleep outside, but right now it was his work bench. It took him most of the morning to saw the wood down to size and most of the afternoon to sand it smooth. The oak was a gorgeous color, clean and creamy for such a strong, unbending timber. It was hard-going work with only one fully serviceable arm, and it took him the rest of the day to make the new floorboards. His muscles soon began to ache, forcing him to take a frustrating number of breaks.

He’d long stripped off his coat, gloves and frayed woolen shirt, but the afternoon was already chasing away the daylight, prickling gooseflesh over his arms and chest. He sucked in his breath and shivered, basking in the cool air before pulling his abandoned shirt over his head and collecting the naked timber. A frosty night was settling in again and he didn’t want the boards exposed to the elements.

He gave a lingering glance at the dying sun disappearing behind the trees, twinkling as branches swayed against their sisters.

But that wasn’t all.

Something else was casting shadows in the forest, a moving silhouette that didn’t belong. Harry squinted, the waning light speckling through the fluttering leaves stinging his straining eyes.

Retreating inside the cabin, Harry gingerly propped the timber against his fireside with his good arm before sprinting upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. Skidding to the floor, he pulled his rifle from under the bed. When he got back into the yard the light had dimmed to a low glimmer. Harry brought his rifle up and aimed his sights on the treeline, ignoring the tightness in his left arm and shoulder, heartbeat drumming in his temples.

All was quiet and still.

Then it wasn’t.

A man emerged from a tight crop of trees and bushes, tripping over the log pile and stumbling gracelessly to the muddy ground at Harry’s feet. Startled, Harry quickly recovered, gritting his teeth to steady his weak arm, his rifle trained on the man’s downturned head. The man moaned and choked, picking himself up out of the mud, brushing himself down unsuccessfully, ignorant of Harry and his loaded rifle.

Harry cleared his throat. The man’s head snapped up. Feral eyes glared at the barrel, then Harry. Harry’s breath caught. Dying evening light reflected in the eerily familiar cobalt blue of the man’s eyes.

Louis.

The stranger blinked, his lips curling into a poised smile. The illusion broke and Harry glared down at him.

“Tell me, my good man, is that your house?”

He was well-spoken, if a little effete, with a slight lilt disguising an accent. His hair, soaked from sweat and plastered to his scalp, grew past his shoulders, the color of dull gold. His wan complexion did nothing to hide the beauty of his high cheekbones and full, pale lips.

Harry grunted, remembering himself. “What business is it of yours?”

The stranger offered an uneven smile, flashing dimples in his cheeks. “Forgive me. Allow me to introduce myself—”

“I don’t need your name, or any other. What is your business here?”

“I…I am merely seeking shelter, just for tonight. My carriage wheel buckled and the horses ran free of it, leaving me stranded on the road.”

“The village is eleven miles south. Follow the river until you reach Paix.”

The stranger gave a humorless chuckle, his smile collapsing under Harry’s unwavering grimace. “It is close to nightfall. I don’t wish to impose, but I’m rather desperate.”

Everything about this man screamed suspicious. His clothes, though finely made, were well-worn and covered in forest debris. Mud plastered his knees and palms. Bruising blossomed under a  bleeding cut on his prominent cheekbone.

Harry continued to eye him. He didn’t want trouble. Yet here it was, scared and attractive and watching Harry with those painfully stunning eyes. But there was more. The way he held himself stiffly, drawing sharp breaths though he tried to hide it. He was in pain.

Harry set his jaw. He lowered the rifle. “One night.”

The dimples were back, the relieved exhale quickly smothered. “Thank you so much.”

“I want you gone at dawn.”

“Dawn?”

“Problem?”

“No, no, dawn it is.” He gestured to the house a little insistently. “Shall we?”

Already calculating over a dozen reasons not to let this man inside his home, Harry shouldered his rifle and led the way.

“Well, this is certainly…rustic,” the stranger said once inside.

“You’re free to try your luck in the forest.”

He said under his breath, “I think I already am.” He turned back to Harry, catching his scowl. “It’s wonderful. Thank you, mister…” He offered his hand. It was trembling. “Surely we can be civil?” he said when Harry continued to stare in silence.

“No ‘mister’. I’m Harry.”

“Harry, it’s a genuine pleasure.” He gripped Harry’s right hand. His shaking subsided a little. His palms were surprisingly rough where Harry had expected soft.

“I’m Kit.”

“Kit.”

“Just Kit, like you’re just Harry.”

Nodding, Harry released his hand.

“Don’t suppose there is any food going spare?”

“Not spare, but we can share what there is.”

“Wonderful.”

Harry set about lighting a fire and swung the remains of yesterday’s stew over the flames, the blackened pot squeaking loudly with age.

Stepping out of the cold and into the brewing heat inside the small room had brought a blush to Kit’s ashen cheeks. His hands trembled at his sides. “May I?” He gestured to a chair by the fire.

Harry eyed his mud-sodden clothes. “We should get you out of your wet things.”

“No.” Harry flinched at Kit’s vehemence. “They’ll be fine. The fire will dry them soon enough.” He stared into the flames, rubbing his dirtied hands together.

Harry nearly let the subject drop, but couldn’t. “I don’t know what you’re running from, but having you die from cold in my home will bring more trouble than I need. Also, I don’t want muck all over my furniture.”

Kit arched his brow then glanced guiltily at the wet trail he had brought in behind him. “Of course, I apologize.”

“I’ll get you a blanket and something for you to wear.”

“You…you’re very kind.”

Did Kit think him so uncivilized? Harry supposed he couldn’t blame Kit after having a rifle shoved in his face. He didn’t know what Kit had suffered. He didn’t want to know. It wasn’t his business.

With shaking fingers, Kit gingerly plucked open the buttons of his sodden coat, fine beneath the brown sludge and forest debris. He turned to Harry. Harry blinked away, heat rising under his skin.

“Would you mind giving a chap some privacy?”

Harry scowled. “Excuse me, your lordship, would you like me to wait outside?”

“No. Sorry. I just—”

Harry shook his head. “I’ll go get that blanket.” Begrudgingly, he left the warmth and the stranger and trotted upstairs. He tore the one decent blanket from his bed, unwilling, ridiculous as it was, to show the gentleman his moth-eaten linen stash. His clothes would be too big on Kit’s lithe form, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, especially beggars who arrived with nothing but the clothes on their back and suspicion circling them like flies around shit.

Harry shook his head. He’d been on his own too long to easily allow a strange gentleman into his house, into his haven.

A stranger he had left alone while his back was turned.

Swearing, he made his way quietly back downstairs, as though to catch the man in some criminal act.

Instead he caught sight of pale, naked flesh. Harry stopped in his tracks, half hidden by the stair bannister. Blood bloomed under his skin and his breath caught. It was alien for something so rare and beautiful to grace these humble, shabby walls. Kit’s fair skin was marked with numerous scars consistent with sword wounds, silvery lines atop a white canvas, some thicker than others. His chest and stomach were tightly muscled, his hips tapered, swaying a little as he moved out of his trousers and bent to drape them in front of the fire. His legs were sprinkled with a light covering of hair, matching the drying locks curling into loose golden ringlets around his face.

Wetting his lips, Harry knew he should look away. Kit wanted privacy. But he couldn’t bring himself to blink and risk missing a second of it. Kit’s naked ass was nothing short of glorious, small and pert, muscles clenching as he shivered, gooseflesh erupting all over. Old, long-buried sensations stirred, aching inside him. Harry imagined the pebbled texture under his fingers, his tongue, bathing it with warmth until it smoothed. His lame hand clenched at his side.

Kit gingerly lifted his shirt, hissing as he peeled the fabric from his side, and Harry’s unwelcome arousal withered.

Tight scar tissue stretched the skin on Kit’s side just above his hipbone, a white brand in the shape of a ‘W’. Witch. An equally cruel brand, fresh and raw, outlined with inflamed flesh beside the healed scar, branded him with a distorted ‘T’ for tethered, a binding brand cutting off his connection to magic.

Fuck.

Kit pulled the tatty knitted throw off the chair and wrapped it tight around his body. It was too small, full of holes and dropped stitches, but it covered the brands. He clutched it to his body, rubbing his hands up and down his bare legs, wincing with every movement.

Harry breathed out a deep sigh then cleared his throat. Kit whipped around before offering a small, grateful smile. He stared in surprise when instead of offering the blanket Harry draped it around his shoulders, hoping to catch a glimpse of the wounds. Their eyes met. Heat flared and traveled from Harry’s face to his chest.

Don’t get involved.

He shuffled around Kit to the now boiling stew, dropping the bundle of clothes in front of the fire to warm them through. He took it off the fire and moved to a safe distance, searching through the only cupboard not holding books or tools and digging out his two least-chipped bowls. He chastised himself, but couldn’t stop the urge to show this man he wasn’t an unsophisticated lout. He ladled them each a hearty bowlful.

Kit muttered his thanks and hugged the bowl close before abandoning his careful manners and clamping his mouth on the lip of the bowl, gulping it down in great guttural swallows. The stew overflowed and trickled down his chin. He paused for breath only to lick the bowl clean and wipe his mouth, sucking broth from his fingers.

His eyes flicked to Harry’s wide-eyed disbelief, his face growing red. “Forgive my enthusiasm. I have not eaten in days.”

Harry had guessed as much. His cooking wasn’t the worst, but it never warranted such gusto.

“More?” Harry offered.

“Thank you.” This time Kit sipped slowly, giving a satisfying smile, dimples back in place.

They sat in silence as they ate. Kit broke it first. “I am terribly sorry to put you through this trouble.”

Harry grunted. “As long as it’s the only trouble you bring me.”

Kit smiled weakly and lost eye contact, suddenly interested in his bowl. “I’ll do my best on that score.”

Harry finished his food, ruminating, fighting the urge to ask more. Bored curiosity, he told himself. He didn’t need another man’s problems. But his mind once more wandered back to the brands on Kit’s skin, worrying about the fresh wound. He opened his mouth then quickly shut it.

Kit finished his bowl and a third before finally lounging back in his seat, sighing contently. “That was wonderful. Thank you.” His smile was tired, his eyes blinking slowly.

“There’s a bed upstairs.”

Kit tensed. Feral eyes glinted in the firelight.

“I’ll stay down here,” Harry clarified calmly, as though he hadn’t noticed Kit’s discomfort.

Kit attempted a smile, but it looked uncomfortable on his ashen face. “That’s not necessary. You don’t need to give up your bed for me.”

Harry gestured to his rifle. “I’ll keep watch tonight.”

Kit opened his mouth to argue, but Harry was not stupid and offered a skeptical brow. Someone was after this man and Harry would not be caught unawares. Kit nodded. “Thank you,” he said again, his voice small. He blinked tiredly.

Harry offered Kit the clothes as he stood. Kit took them with a tight smile.

Well, better make myself comfortable, Harry thought as he watched the strange man disappear up the creaking stairs in a wobbly daze. Hooking his good arm through the back of his chair, he maneuvered it to the window. He pulled the other chair over to rest his feet on. Not the comfiest bed in the world, but he’d endured worse. He sat and watched the dark treeline, wondering what the hell he was doing allowing this man into his home.

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About the Author

Born and bred in the Midlands, Lucien spends most of his time inside his small bedroom/library/office reading and writing gay fiction, sacrificing his wardrobe space for his bookcases.

Stumbling upon Yaoi in his teens, Lucien’s passion for gay romance/erotica began, starting his once small, now consuming book collection. Not too long after, he started writing his own fiction and never looked back, even writing a lesbian themed short story in his GSCE English exam.

While a fan of most subgenres, he enjoys writing historical, fantasy and BDSM stories.

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Synapse Nine by Eilis Muir

Book 1 in the Deep Mesa series

General Release Date: 13th April 2021

Word Count: 70,759
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 282

Genres:

EROTIC ROMANCE
FUTURISTIC AND SCIENCE FICTION
PARANORMAL
TIMETRAVEL

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Book Description

Elana denied her special abilities so she could live an ordinary life—until she’s recruited into a top-secret project involving something otherworldly.

The demands of followers seeking answers from Elana Ryan’s special abilities had taken a toll. To feel normal again, she got a job working at Los Alamos National Lab. It worked—until she was recruited into a top-secret project to use the very gifts she’d left behind.

The project’s head scientist, Dr. Cameron Graeme, is pushy and arrogant, but Elana is also inexplicably drawn to him. As her abilities grow, she finds that his presence amplifies her powers. Now she fears her feelings for him and the intentions of the government.

Dr. Graeme finds Elana irresistibly alluring, which conflicts with his responsibilities for her as an asset.

They resist their mounting mutual desires, but something more powerful than either of them has a different plan in mind.

Excerpt

This was the farthest Elana had ever been on the Los Alamos National Lab campus. She unzipped the soft-top window of her 2005 lime-green Jeep Wrangler at the gate and handed her badge to the guard. He inspected it and handed it back with a smile. “Have a nice day!”

Another day, another interview, she thought. She passed several technical area intersections with buildings that resembled prisons fenced in with barbed-wire coils before she turned at the TA17 sign. Ponderosa pines straddled the straight road for the ten-minute drive to a group of one-story concrete buildings marked TA17, at the end of the mesa. She parked in front of building TA17-1, the Weapon Experiments Control Center, refreshed her red lipstick, straightened the barrette holding her strawberry-blonde mane and checked for smudges in her tortoise-shell glasses in the visor mirror. Good to go. She clipped her badge to her blazer, and with her portfolio case in hand, she headed to the entrance. Signs on the door read ‘Q’, which meant ‘Q-level cleared only, no electronic devices’. She inserted her badge into a console, entered a code into the keypad and the door clicked for entry.

At the reception, Elana greeted a young Hispanic woman. “Hi, I’m Elana Ryan, special investigator with the Defense Counterintelligence and Security Agency.” She flashed her credentials. “I have an appointment with Wayne Fordham.”

“Have a seat. He’ll be right with you.”

Being so official was second nature to Elana after working for the feds for over a year, something she’d never imagined she would do. After traveling the country in her RV, making a living from her book and related sales over the Internet, she welcomed the regularity. She had fallen for the wild, dramatic sweeping skylines of New Mexico, but lots of open space meant it was sparsely populated. The national lab was one of the few significant employers in the area. With a clearance backlog, there was a demand for investigators, and with her communications background, it made sense.

In many ways, the job stood for everything Elana Ryan did not. She told herself that it wasn’t all about weapons. There was important science happening here, great minds working for the future of humanity. After living an unconventional lifestyle, being in the secret city where the atomic bomb had been invented, working for the government at thirty-five was a turn of events she couldn’t have predicted. It’s just another adventure, she told herself.

Wayne Fordham, white-haired with a dry-cleaned dress shirt tucked into plain-front slacks, greeted Elana and ushered her into one of the larger offices she’d been to at the lab that had a view, as was expected for a division leader. Wayne moved a few piles of papers from a round table and gestured for her to sit.

As she’d done for hundreds of such interviews, Elana presented her credentials, checked his ID and opened her portfolio to take notes. She made small talk before running through a standard introduction, such as how being untruthful about any issue more often had a greater negative influence on the outcome of their case than any underlying issue, that Title 18 US code 1001 stated that hiding a material fact was a felony and could lead to fines, imprisonment and so on, ending with him swearing under penalty of perjury under the laws of the United States to tell the truth to the best of his knowledge and belief.

He appeared to be relaxed, this being his fifth clearance re-investigation. He would have done these interviews every five years, so it was obviously familiar.

“Your full name is Wayne Fordham—no middle name—and you have not used any other names?” She looked up from the papers to check his expression through her glasses.

“That’s correct.”

She went through his security questionnaire and took notes of changes or items that needed clarification, glancing up at him periodically.

To lighten the serious tone, she asked about his being from New Jersey and commented on his lack of a ‘Joyzee’ accent. He chuckled but didn’t give an explanation, so she offered, “I’m originally from the only New England state that has no accent but is surrounded by states with strong accents.” She often made people guess which state it was, but she wasn’t in the mood at the moment, so she just told him she was from Connecticut.

Fordham had a pleasant demeanor and conversed with an ease not typical among the socially challenged scientific community, which was likely why he was in management, but he was also a respected scientist, as the awards on the wall and the work history on his form suggested.

There were no red flags on Fordham’s case, so Elana expected to be done before the usual hour. She wrote down the references he gave her to interview and was about to wrap up the counterintelligence questions when there was a knock on the door.

“Excuse me,” Wayne said politely as he got up and opened it.

It was his receptionist. “I’m sorry to interrupt. Dr. Graeme is insisting he speak with you right now. It’s urgent. He’s on the line.”

“Patch him through.” A hint of irritation marked his brow as he shut the door, raised his index finger to Elana and picked up the phone on his desk. “What’s so important, Cam? I’m in a meeting.” He turned to look out at the Jemez Mountains. “Yes.” He turned back to look at Elana. “That’s right. How did you know that?”

Elana organized her papers. In her peripheral vision, she caught Wayne squinting at her as he fiddled with items on his desk. “He says what?” He turned his back to Elana again and exhaled. “Really? Okay. Okay… I’ll get back to you.” He hung up the phone, his forehead furrowed.

He sat across from Elana. “Sorry about that. Where were we? Connecticut, the Northeast. Winters are bitter there, eh?” He feigned nonchalance.

“Yeah. I like the dry climate here.”

“What about Christmas? The traditions—you know, with the farolitos and all—it’s different.”

His question seemed contrived, but she played along. “I don’t put much stock in the holiday anymore.”

“No? Why not?”

His whole attitude had shifted. He was pushing for something and it made her uneasy. She was supposed to be pushing him, not the other way around. Oddly compelled, she revealed, “I was born on Christmas Eve, so it has had a lot of loaded meaning for me, but I left that behind long ago.” Why did I share that personal information?

“So your birthday is Christmas Eve,” he said with a conclusive satisfaction that was a bit creepy and differed from his earlier apathy.

Wayne’s desk phone rang, and he sprang to answer it. “Yes. Okay. Give me about ten minutes.” He hung up and sat back down at the table.

“That was my colleague. He can do my reference interview. You can do it here when we’re finished.”

When they’d concluded the interview, Wayne invited Dr. Cameron Graeme in, introduced him to Elana and left them alone. So this is the Dr. Graeme with the urgent matter. He sat down at the table with Elana. He was at least a decade younger than Wayne, closer to her age. His full head of hair was still more pepper than salt and he was more casually dressed in blue jeans and a pale green button-down shirt that wasn’t perfectly pressed. He’s cute, in a dorky-scientist kind of way, she thought as he peered at her from behind round, metal-framed glasses. She was flustered. Is it his stare or that odd phone call?

She showed him her credentials and asked if he was aware of the Privacy Act of 1974, as was required of her job. He said “Yes,” and she indicated that on her pad. He confirmed the spelling of his name and she asked his title.

“Senior Scientist.”

She scribbled ‘Sr. Sci.’, and began asking the forty questions that she had almost entirely memorized, starting with, “What has been the frequency and nature of your contact with Wayne?”

“We met five years ago working on a project at the Remote Sensing Lab, and about three months ago I came to work with him in this division. We’ve had daily work contact.”

As she jotted down his answer, she noticed him scanning her intently, like he was taking a grid sample of every inch. Another weird scientist thing? “Is Wayne married?” Cameron folded his hands together. No wedding ring, she observed.

“Yes, to Marge. They have three grown kids, but I can’t recall their names.” He rattled off answers to her list of questions, clearly having done these interviews before. Every position, from janitors on up, needed a clearance to work there. She also noticed he had a remnant accent—not Irish, maybe Scottish.

The fifteen-minute interview felt like an eternity. Something hung in the air between them that slowed time. She tried to ignore it and was relieved when she got to the final questions. “Is there any reason to question Wayne’s loyalty to the United States?”

“No.” He caressed his chin with his entwined fingers.

“Is there anything in his background that would make him susceptible to coercion or blackmail?”

“Not that I know of,” he answered abruptly. Did he even give a thought to the answers? Is he thinking of something entirely different? Finally, the last question. “Do you recommend Wayne continue to have a position impacting national security and hold a clearance?”

“Absolutely.” He leaned back in his chair, his clasped hands now in his lap.

She slipped her notes into her portfolio. “Well, that’s all we need. Thank you for your time.” She was about to get up, but he didn’t move, so she paused.

His gaze penetrated her. “Do you like your job?”

“Sure. I meet interesting people and work from home. It could pay better, but I’ve got no complaints overall.” She zipped her portfolio to hint again that she was ready to go.

He leaned forward. “What other kind of work background do you have?

It’s my job to give the third degree. What’s up? She stood. He did the same but didn’t move toward the door. He was a couple of inches taller than her five foot nine, even with her two-inch heels on. He raised his eyebrows in anticipation of an answer.

“Communications.”

“Perfect. We need someone like you in our division. Can you come tomorrow for an interview?” She was surprised at this curt and assumptive invite. She had applied for jobs at the lab, which she’d thought had to be done via proper channels, and had never gotten called for an interview.

“What’s the job?”

“Communications Specialist.” Did he just come up with that in the moment? Employment directly with the lab paid better than her Department of Defense position, so she was intrigued. Weapons division—not her first choice, but somehow she couldn’t refuse. “Okay, why not?”

“Tell Denise at the front desk to give you an appointment in the morning. Email me your resume tonight.” He handed her his business card.

“Sure.” He couldn’t wait until tomorrow for that?

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About the Author

Eilis Muir

Eilis (Irish Gaelic, pronounced Eye-Lish) has always gone her own way, which has led to an unconventional life full of adventure.  She spent many years videotaping whales in Cape Cod, MA and off season she traveled.  She has hiked glaciers in Patagonia, kayaked fjords in Norway, and sailed from Key West to Cuba.  Eilis lived in the US Virgin Islands for eight years and sailed throughout the Caribbean and in the Mediterranean.

She later spent three years driving across the US in an RV on a book tour and landed in the mountains of New Mexico where she built a natural off grid cabin. After living there for a few years, she ventured across the Sangre de Christo mountain range to Los Alamos where she published a community magazine and worked as a clearance investigator. She fell in love with a scientist there and now lives with him and two lovable cats.

Eilis has always believed in stretching limits. Her greatest joy is found in allowing her imagination to run wild. Since she was a child, Eilis has dreamed up elaborate plots and characters in situations that push boundaries.  Much of her writing is inspired by her own experiences, deep thoughts, and her intuitions about human potential and the passions that drive us.

Find out more at her website.

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Eilis Muir Synapse Nine Giveaway

EILIS MUIR IS GIVING AWAY THIS FABULOUS PRIZE TO ONE LUCKY WINNER. ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A LOVELY GIFT PACKAGE AND GET A FIRST FOR ROMANCE GIFT CARD! Notice: This competition ends on 27TH April 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

Love’s Bloom Collection

Spring is a time of renewal, of new life and new love. Maybe it’s a spring fling, or a second chance at love! This is a collection of Spring-themed stories, where new relationships grow and love blooms.

General Release Date: 6th April 2021

Garden of Cupid by Elizabeth Hollows

Will doesn’t want a relationship. Blain isn’t looking for a boyfriend. But with an old lady playing Cupid, how can they ignore a chance at love?

Will Brewer is a shy artist living with only his cat for company. He’s not good with people and even worse with relationships. He isn’t looking for a boyfriend. He just wants to paint. In fact, he would happily be living the life of a hermit if his eighty-year-old neighbor, Mrs. O’Grady, wasn’t constantly roping him into tasks around her house.

And he isn’t the only one she’s preying on.

The new and gorgeous mechanic Blain Stewart has just moved in next door. Where Will feels like an awkward fool around Blain, the mechanic finds him adorable.

Blain has just ended a bad long-term relationship with a high-maintenance man who didn’t understand him. He feels like he’s starting all over again and he’s hesitant for his fresh start to include the talented and charming Will.

But when Mrs. O’Grady asks them to plant some flowers in her garden, the tension between them skyrockets.

They both think friendship would be safer than a new romance. But when attraction, connection and an enthusiastic old lady are pushing them together, can they resist?

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Love Next Door by Megan Slayer

Can three tiny kittens really bring these two men together and prove love can bloom despite the chilly spring days?

Tommy Davis considered himself a loner. He spent his days writing and running, all while keeping everyone else at bay. That is, until he discovers three kittens abandoned in his shrubbery. His fatherly instincts kick in, and he goes to the one person he knows can help—his sexy-as-sin next-door neighbor who happens to be a veterinarian.

Matthew James wasn’t looking for love, but the moment Tommy shows up on his doorstep, he can’t send him away. He’s had a thing for Tommy since the first time he saw him, but his shyness has kept him from making a move.

The melting snow, blossoming flowers and a trio of kittens could be more than the guys can handle, but they just might be the push Matthew needs to find his forever with Tommy.

Reader advisory: This book contains references of past sexual assault and mentions of an abusive ex.

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About the Authors

Elizabeth Hollows

Elizabeth Hollows is an Australian writer of LGBT love stories specializing in homosexual or lesbian romance.

Her preferred genres are fantasy, science fiction and contemporary/modern.

She has been writing since she was twelve, but has spent the last few years writing romance stories and discovering a passion for LGBT romance.

When Elizabeth is not writing she embroiders, reads and plots her next novel. She is a fan of the winter months and always has a book in her handbag and a cup of tea nearby.

You can find Elizabeth at her website here

Megan Slayer

Megan Slayer, aka 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 LGBTQ and BDSM 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 author, best contemporary, best ménage and best anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on Amazon.com.

When she’s not writing, Megan 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.

Find out more about Megan on her website, and sign up for the newsletter here. You can also check out her Blog, Amazon Author Page, Bookbub and Instagram.

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Love’s Bloom Giveaway

THE LOVE’S BLOOM AUTHORS ARE GIVING AWAY THIS FABULOUS PRIZE TO ONE LUCKY WINNER. ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A LOVELY GIFT PACKAGE AND GET A FIRST FOR ROMANCE GIFT CARD! Notice: This competition ends on 20TH April 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

Love’s Bloom Collection

Spring is a time of renewal, of new life and new love. Maybe it’s a spring fling, or a second chance at love! This is a collection of Spring-themed stories, where new relationships grow and love blooms.

General Release Date: 6th April 2021

Second Chance at First Love By Zoe Allison

Can their second chance at love succeed?

Eva Mathers is a successful woman, except for when it comes to matters of the heart. When she returns home to Yorkshire as a pending divorcee, she realises her childhood friend and first love Damon Evans is also newly single. It’s a pity he’s never noticed her romantically and had no idea that she was in love with him at school. But at least they can support each other as friends again.

Damon is attempting to adjust to life sharing the kids with his ex. His reconnection with Eva is strong, but she was always too good for him and made her indifference clear after they drifted apart during their younger years. In any case, she still seems to be hung up on her charismatic ex-husband. Eva is hiding things from Damon, secrets from her past. He wants to be there for her, so why can’t she let him in?

Eva is dealing with trauma, but she won’t confide in her loved ones. Can Damon help her break down her walls before it’s too late and they miss their second chance at first love?

Reader advisory: This book cointans mention of the death of a child.

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Dear Elliot By P. Stormcrow

Love or hate… It’s a fine line for two broken souls.

The last thing Emma Jones needed was for her past to walk back into her life. She has a sick mother to care for, a mansion to mind and bills to be paid. But when Elliot Carmichaels saunters in with a facade of cavalier arrogance, she is faced with more questions than those she had written in her diary.

As an author with writer’s block, Elliot, aka E.A. Jones, needed a change in scenery, even it meant he had to live with the childhood crush he had ghosted. He could handle it, he told himself. He was wrong. Now stuck with a fiery woman who both tempts and infuriates him, he has to figure out if he’s going to kiss her or push her away.

Secrets must be told and pain confronted if Emma and Elliot want to salvage their relationship. But life has a way of throwing curveballs, and they will have to navigate them together or fall apart.

It all begins with two words. Dear Elliot…

Reader advisory: This book contains a scene of attempted sexual assault/date rape and mentions of PTSD. It includes the use of a date-rape drug. There are several deaths, including that of an infant.

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The Daisy Chain By Raven McAllan

Life is what you make it. Daisy has to decide—stay with the same old, same old, or take a leap of faith and move on.

What with a hippy mum, a free-wheeling dad and ditching a loser for a boyfriend, is it any wonder Daisy is wary of what life holds in store?

Then there’s the so-called Cave of the Dragon, an inquisitive reporter, the wedding of her best mate and a hot as Hades, arsy-as-hell best man.

Daisy has her hands full.

But life is what you make of it…

Is Daisy ready to take a leap into the unknown and go with the flow? Chance her luck, have faith in Callum and see what the future brings? Or will she decide to ignore everything that shouts ‘go for it’, and opt for a quiet—but boring—life instead?

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About the Authors

Zoe Allison

Zoe lives in Edinburgh, Scotland with her husband and two children. A medic by day, she started writing in her spare time as a means to counter burn out and found that this was a balm for the soul.

She is a fan of the romantic genre and it’s ‘happily ever after’ ethos. A sharp contrast to what she can, at times, see in her day job. Zoe is keen for the female lead in romantic fiction to disabuse stereotypes and walk on an equal footing with her male counterparts. She prefers male leads who do not display signs of toxic masculinity and believes and that positive masculinity is much more attractive to women and healthier for men.

P. Stormcrow

P. Stormcrow has always been an avid reader across the fantasy and sci fi genres but early on, found herself always looking for the love story in each book. Coming to terms with her love for love later in life, she now writes steamy romances that examine social norms and challenge conventional tropes of the genre, usually on her phone. And yes, she has walked into walls and poles doing so.

When she’s not reading or writing (or even when she is), she enjoys copious amounts of tea, way too much sugary treats, one too many sci fi / fantasy / paranormal TV shows (team Dean all the way) and every otome game she can possibly find.

You can find out more at P. Stormcrow’s website.

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.

Giveaway

Enter to win a fabulous gift package and get a First For Romance Gift Card!

Love’s Bloom Giveaway

THE LOVE’S BLOOM AUTHORS ARE GIVING AWAY THIS FABULOUS PRIZE TO ONE LUCKY WINNER. ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A LOVELY GIFT PACKAGE AND GET A FIRST FOR ROMANCE GIFT CARD! Notice: This competition ends on 20TH April 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.