Book Blitz: Drifter by Eden Winters (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Drifter

Author: Eden Winters

Publisher: Rocky Ridge Books

Release Date: 7/7/20

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 238

Genre: Romance, Contemporary, Rocker

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Synopsis

Some legends never die.

Killian Desmond met his end in the fiery crash that killed his band, or so the newspapers say. Now a nameless drifter, he plays one pick-up gig after another in a haze of pain and regret, moving on the minute someone says, “You sound like that guy from Trickster.”

Getting outed cost Mike Rose his musical family. A bassist without a band, he’ll play any kind of music to earn a paycheck, but Trickster’s music provides light during the darkest moments of his life.

A chance meeting brings together two lost souls who spark enough heat to set their guitars on fire. Their chemistry, both onstage and off, feels like something written in the words of a song and gives them courage to face life again.

But to seize their future, they have to confront their past.

Excerpt

The throbbing beat blended with screams from the crowd; a crowd hidden by bright lights. Sweat and cologne and beer filled Killian Desmond’s nose. Familiar sounds. Familiar scents.

Home.

Did he love this life or hate it? Who cared, he’d never known another. Back to back with his brother Elliot, he shredded his electric acoustic guitar, improvising for the fans. The strings bent to his callused fingertips, note after note falling from his guitar.

Elliot kept up. Elliot always kept up. Others might get lost in Killy’s musical fantasies, but El gauged Killy’s intentions by the way he moved, held his shoulders, or gestures, like pausing to flip his sweat-dampened hair out of his eyes.

The drummer and keyboardist faded away, letting El set the tone with a deep bass beat.

Killy strutted to the front of the stage. Hot lights illuminated him from behind, shining on sweat-soaked skin. “What you wanna hear?” He didn’t need the words to know they’d be sticking to their prearranged lineup. At their manager’s urging, he’d saved the best for last.

Highway!” roared through the arena.

He grinned and cupped a hand to one ear. “What’s that? I can’t hear you.”

Highway!” roughly six thousand voices cried out in unison, louder this time.

“Aw, c’mon, now,” Killy teased. “We’ll play whatever you want, but you gotta tell us.”

The thunderous chant of  “Highway! Highway! Highway!” threatened to blow the roof off the building.

Strolling over a few paces and throwing an arm around his brother, Killy said, “Well, I reckon we better do as they say.”

“Since when have you ever taken orders?” Elliot shot back.

Faster than most could follow, Killy slung his guitar back into place and launched into their best-known riff.

The screaming nearly deafened him. He tried again. On his sixth attempt the crowd settled enough to begin.

He grinned. Adoration and energy flowed from the crowd, straight into his veins, to gather strength and escape through his fingers and his voice.

His deep growl purred through the arena, pouring out the melody he’d written in a single night in a hotel room God knew where. High on life, cheap vodka, and the rush of their first big show, he’d settled onto the bed in the dark, except for the flickering image of a black and white movie on the TV, sound turned down, and began strumming.

The words flowed out of him unbidden, leaving him raw, shaken, and in possession of a number one hit.

He didn’t sing or play Highway—the melody made him its bitch, possessing him, demanding release into the world.

Who was he to refuse?

“Some were born to sand and wind, on the sea they make their home

Some may live a hermit’s life, on a mountain all alone

Or in a glass and metal cage, high up in the sky

Packed in tight with a thousand souls, all trying to get by

Nine to five may work for some, but that don’t work for me

Saddled to day in day out, no, I need to be free

Living a life all on my own, free of family, lover or friend

On the highway I was born, it’s there I’ll meet my end.”

Alone, just him and the highway, until the chorus.

“On the highway I was born, it’s there I’ll meet my end.”

Elliot’s sweet tenor wrapped around Killy’s pack-a-day growl, blending together seamlessly.

The audience joined in, chanting, “Highway! Highway! Live and die on the highway!”

Rob kept pace on the drums, a musician not really worthy of the band they’d become, and Ace, a friend and one hell of a musician, wound his way through the twists and turns on his keyboards.

“The only home I’ll ever know stretches from sea to sea

No start, no end, no in between, just miles of road and me

Living a life all on my own free of family, lover or friend

On the highway I was born, it’s there I’ll meet my end

Highway! Highway! Live and die on the highway!

Highway! Highway! Live and die on the highway!

Highway! Highway! Live and die on the highway!”

The mass of humanity might have started chanting again for all Killy knew. His world boiled down to this moment, the music, his brother, his friend, and the life laid out for him long ago, the first time his mother brought him and Elliot onstage.

They’d stayed. She’d gone.

Here they still stood, though she didn’t.

Never would again.

Nope, no bad thoughts. Just the music.

Note after note poured from him like rain, blocking thought and feeling.

He crashed to his knees, striking a chord and letting his guitar speak for him. Caught in the spotlight, he leaned back in a signature move his manager made him practice, making his shirt ride up to show some skin, while his hair fell back, glittering like gold in a strategically placed spotlight.

The blue streak, his own addition, voiced his defiance at being a commodity.

He should’ve been exhausted after the show they’d put on, but in that moment, he swore he could go all night.

He jumped to his feet, racing across the stage and running through part of the guitar solo for those seated to the left of the stage, then reversed course to the right, repeating the solo.

Arms reached for him, a thousand voices calling his name.

Rejoining Elliot centerstage, he launched into the chorus and let the others join him.

After extending the song by two more choruses, he finally wound down.

An announcer stepped up on stage, to catcalls, whistles and ear-splitting shouts. “Let’s hear it for Trickster!”

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Meet the Author

You will know Eden Winters by her distinctive white plumage and exuberant cry of “Hey, y’all!” in a Southern US drawl so thick it renders even the simplest of words unrecognizable. Watch out, she hugs!

Driven by insatiable curiosity, she possibly holds the world’s record for curriculum changes to the point that she’s never quite earned a degree but is a force to be reckoned with at Trivial Pursuit.

She’s trudged down hallways with police detectives, learned to disarm knife-wielding bad guys, and witnessed the correct way to blow doors off buildings. Her e-mail contains various snippets of forensic wisdom, such as “What would a dead body left in a Mexican drug tunnel look like after six months?” In the process of her adventures she has written twenty gay romance novels, has won Rainbow Awards, was a Lambda Awards Finalist, and lives in terror of authorities showing up at her door to question her Internet searches.

When not putting characters in dangerous situations she’s a mild-mannered business executive, mother, grandmother, vegetarian, and PFLAG activist.

Her natural habitats are airports, coffee shops, and on the backs of motorcycles.

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New Release Blitz: Goldie by Danni Maxwell (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Goldie

Author: Danni Maxwell

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: July 6, 2020

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 12400

Genre: Fantasy, LGBTQIA+, mythical creatures, Magic/Magic users, Fairy tales, fantasy, romance

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Synopsis

Cast out of her village after being accused of killing her father, Marigold Lovelock has nothing but the clothes on her back and the willpower to make it into the woods.

With the company of an Ursidae, a mythical creature known as Squeak, she seeks out The One, the Storyteller who speaks the truth.

Throw in a nasty beast called the Gromas, a pack of wolves, and a girl with lips as red as blood, Marigold knows she must learn how to embrace the person she was always been destined to be.

Excerpt

Goldie
Danni Maxwell © 2020
All Rights Reserved

A person falls in love with three people in their lifetime. At least that’s what the Storytellers will show you in their legends.

Each love will come at a time in a person’s life when they need it most. Even if they don’t realise they needed it in the first place.

There’s the first love, the one who teaches what the magical thing called love is. It’s young love. It’s innocent, and it’s pure. It ends far before it can truly begin, but it will always remain the first love of one’s life.

The second love is a hard love to endure. It changes a person, teaches them that a heart can break, that a person can wound you more than a knife, that not every love is a fairy tale. It makes a person stronger; it shapes them, helps them grow, teaches them that a heart can mend in time.

Then there is the third love, a love that has no warning, that sneaks up on a person and takes them by surprise. It’s the love that they didn’t know they needed, the one they were not looking for. It’s the love that will truly last the test of time. This is the love that can withstand all the battles a person has to endure. It’s unwavering. This is the love that feels like a fairy tale.

*

Marigold Lovelock had heard these legends more times than she could count, but she never once believed in them.

Her father was a Storyteller. His job was to be the one a person seeks for the knowledge, the truth, the wisdom. His job was his life. It took precedence over everything else, including Marigold. Her father’s favourite thing about his title, his powers, was the fact that people blindly adored him. They believed her father could do no wrong, that he was the one with all the answers. He could gather as many of the townspeople as he wanted, tell them of the stories, the legends, the prophecies that had been passed down to him by Storytellers past. And the townspeople would gather; they would flock, run, rally to the town’s centre to hear a new story each day; their eyes and hearts full of belief, of wonder and whimsy.

They truly loved her father, for he could tell them all the things their hearts desired to hear, could warn them of the dangers of the beasts and demons that lay beyond the town’s edge. Her father was the light, and Marigold his shadow. The people treated her like she was nothing, like all she did was bring the darkness wherever she went. They skittered away if she got too close, made shifty, judging glances with narrowed eyes and lips pressed in tight lines. The children were ushered away and taught to keep their distance.

Though Goldie never knew why they did this, she wondered if it was out of fear, and if that were true, perhaps she was afraid of them too. She’d shy away from everyone as they would hiss and pull away from her. Because why would you even try to fit in when you’re a puzzle with one too many pieces that will never be completed?

Her life had never been easy. She lost her mother to childbirth, she lost her father to the Storytellers, and she lost herself to the darkness of being alone. The darkness enveloped the townspeople too but not as heavy as it weighed on her. They all had lost their light; her father had died this past spring, and though the doctor had said he passed from age and peacefully in his sleep, Marigold wondered if he had died of a broken heart. He was always so lost without her mother, and he blamed Marigold for that loss; it’s why she never felt close to him, to anyone.

Everyone believed Marigold was cursed, that she possessed something inside her so dark and wicked that it had killed her mother, and that anyone who got close to her, anyone who loved her, would fall dead to the curse too. Her father was just another reason for them to fear her. The townspeople were lost without their Storyteller. The next was still learning the stories and prophecies, and so they had no one to turn to for guidance, for what should be done about Marigold, about who they thought she was, what she was to become, and who she might hurt in the process. The elders of the town were brought up on the stories, but they could only remember so much. Only the mind of a Storyteller could remember all. Their older minds were forgetting, slowly with time, but they never failed to forget the prophecy of the Kalakuta. That is what they believed Marigold was.

The Kalakuta were ancient beings, the ones the elders and Storytellers alike would call “the potion people of death.” Their prophecy tells of the Kalakuta being a sentient being that lived long before the time of people. Beings that, once they found a host, would kill any human or being in its path, for the darkness inside told them to do so. They were the makers of death. Her father, the Storyteller, had spoken of a Kalakuta preying on their town, feasting on the sick, the weak, the lost, believing that over time they would eventually take everyone, and there would be no one left to stop it. The minute Marigold’s father had passed, it was like any suspicion they had of Marigold being a Kalakuta had all but been confirmed.

This is why she now stood at the edge of the wood, at the final edge of sand between the unknown and the town, her only belongings scattered just beyond the trees, and the entire town standing at her back, waiting to be rid of her at last. Their mourning period was over for the Storyteller. The townspeople were no longer grieving; they were rioting. The moment their mourning cloud had lifted, they went on a manhunt for her. They found Marigold hidden away, wishing to be forgotten in her small hut of a home. They were all afraid of her, just as she was afraid of them. No one was willing to get too close to her. She cowered in her corner, begging someone, anyone, to leave her alone.

Someone looped rope around her body, cinching it at her waist and all but dragging her out of her home toward the dark wood. She was scrambling to grab anything she possibly could, begging them to stop, promising them that she would willingly go if they just let her grab her things. They stopped for a moment, enough time for her to grab a satchel with two dresses to change, her pouch of every coin she had saved that her father had hesitated to give her as gifts on special days, and the only drawing she had of her mother, one that her father had tried to throw away in anger and mourning on the anniversary of her death, Marigold’s birthday. It was the one thing Marigold had treasured all her life. It was the last thing she had.

“Now. Get going,” the man holding the end of the rope had grunted, tugging on the rope so hard her chest ached with the effort to breathe.

The people gathered in her hut parted at the door. They led Marigold out of the town to the wood with a rope around her waist, something hard pressing into her back, pushing her forward while tears streamed down her face. She gripped at her satchel, her heart breaking with every step she put in behind her. Please, she had begged them. Please don’t send me away.

All that resulted in was her being shoved even harder, falling to the ground, her crying out in pain as something hard, no doubt the broom handle of a local keeper, cracked down on her back. Her things were grabbed by the children, her satchel tossed, her dresses strewn, her photo crumpled into the tiniest ball. Her pouch of money pressed against her hip, hidden in the pocket she’d sewn into her dress herself. It was the only thing they couldn’t take from her.

“Be gone, Kalakuta!” They were all shouting obscene comments at her now, where she stood straight as a pin, her bare toes touching the edges of the dark wood.

“Please, I am not a—”

“You are a killer, Marigold Lovelock. You killed your parents; you kill the elders, the children even! You have a darkness in you that will never settle. We ought to kill you, but that would be too kind of us. We shall let the beasts of the woods decide your fate. Never return to Veritas, or we will change our minds. Kalakuta.” The man spit at her. The crowds were throwing things at her, rocks and sticks and anything they could use to hurt her.

“Please—” Marigold pleaded one last time, her cheeks dripped with tears, her whole body trembling. She had never been so scared in all her life.

“She does not learn. We have no pity,” an elder breathed in hushed tones.

“Let us show her what we do to Kalakuta.”

This was the last thing Marigold heard before she felt a sharp, blunt pain at the back of her skull, and the world went black.

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NineStar Press | Amazon

Meet the Author

Danni Maxwell has been writing stories for as long as she can remember. Born and raised in Ontario, Canada, she is a debut author who is currently studying to become a librarian, a job she defines as the best of both the reading and writing world. She has won multiple prestigious writing awards in the past few years. Her favourite genres to write are contemporary, LGBT+, and more recently she’s been dabbling in YA, sci-fi and poetry. When she’s not writing, you can find her creating book- and writing-related videos on Youtube’s Booktube community, at Danni Darling.

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New Release Blitz: The Secrets We Keep by Rick R. Reed (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Secrets We Keep

Author: Rick R. Reed

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: July 6, 2020

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 61200

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, MM romance, family drama, age-gap, men over 40, celebrities, family estrangement

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Synopsis

Jasper Warren is a happy-go-lucky young man in spite of the tragedy that’s marred his life. He’s on a road to nowhere with his roommate, Lacy, whom he adores, and a dead-end retail job in Chicago.

And then everything changes in a single night. Though Jasper doesn’t know it, his road is going somewhere after all. This time when tragedy strikes, it brings with it Lacy’s older, wealthy, sexy uncle Rob. Despite the heart-wrenching circumstances, an immediate connection forms between the two men.

But the secrets between them test their attraction. Will their revelations destroy the bloom of new love… or encourage it to grow?

Excerpt

The Secrets We Keep
Rick R. Reed © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Prologue
“Hey! I don’t think you should go through that,” Rob said, barely audible because he didn’t want his fear to show. He sucked in a breath and clutched his suitcase close to him, as though it were a child—or a flotation device. Or a boy he loved and didn’t want to lose…

The water spread out on the road under the overpass like a black mirror. It could have been a few inches deep or a few feet. From just a visual, there was no way to gauge how deep it was. No person with any sense would drive into it.

His Uber driver, a sallow-complexioned man in his forties wearing a black baseball cap, gave out a low whistle. “We’ll be okay,” he said cheerfully, with a confidence Rob simply didn’t have. “Just sit back and let me worry. We’ll be fine.”

Rob wished he had the nerve to speak up, to command, “No! Don’t! Just turn around.” After all, this driver was putting them both in danger. But he felt like protesting would make him seem insane or, at the very least, silly. So what’s worse, he wondered, seeming crazy or drowning? He cursed himself for the ridiculous lengths he went to so as to avoid confrontation.

A thunderclap as loud as an explosion sounded then, and Rob swore the black Lincoln Continental shuddered under its vibration. Lightning turned the dark, cloud-choked dawn skies bright white for an instant, as though day had peeked in, seen the weather, and then ducked back out.

“This baby can get through it,” the driver said, giving the car a little more gas.

Rob tightened his lips to a single line and furrowed his brows as his driver set off into the small lake stretching out before them. As the driver moved completely under the overpass, the drumming sound of the rain on the roof suddenly ceased, and the silence was like the intake of a breath.

“C’mon, c’mon,” the driver urged almost under his breath as he sallied farther into the water, giving the car more gas.

Even before the engine started to whine in protest, Rob knew they were in trouble by the way the water parted to admit the Lincoln. Waves sloshed by on either side.

Rob thought again he should speak up—like maybe to suggest that the driver could attempt to back up—but held his tongue. The guy was a professional, right? He knew what he was doing.

They’d be okay.

And the driver continued, deeper and deeper into the water standing so treacherously beneath the overpass.

The engine made a lowing sound, like a cow’s moo, as the flood rose up the sides of the vehicle.

Rob gasped as brackish, foul-smelling water covered his loafered feet, pouring in through the small spaces around the doors.

The driver eyed him in the rearview mirror. There was a defeat in his voice as he said, “You better open your door and get out while you can.”

Rob wondered, for only a moment, why he would want to. Then it struck him with the adrenaline-fueled clarity born of panic that if he didn’t open his door now, he might never get another chance. The rising water and its pressure would make it impossible to open the door.

If it wasn’t already too late…

Rob leaned over and pressed against the door. The engine stalled at that moment, and his driver reached for his own door handle up front.

For a brief moment that caused his heart to drum fast, Rob feared his door wouldn’t open. He slid over and leaned against it with his shoulder pressed against the black leather, grunting.

The door held and then suddenly gave way.

Granted access, water rushed into the vehicle. The icy current rose up, covering his ankles and his calves. It was almost over his knees when he managed to slide from the Lincoln.

Outside the car, he stood. The water rose up almost to his neck. He felt nothing, only a kind of numbness and wonder. His driver was already sloshing forward toward the pearly light at the other side of the overpass. He didn’t give Rob so much as a backward glance.

Rob started moving against the water, wondering what might be swimming in it.

Thunder grumbled and then cracked again. The lightning flared, brilliant white, once more. And the rain poured down even harder.

He looked back for a moment at the Lincoln Continental, thinking about his TUMI bag on the seat. There was no hope for that now!

He slogged through the water and progressed steadily forward, feeling like a refugee in some third-world country, bound for freedom. In his head he heard the swell of inspirational music.

After what seemed like an hour, but was really only about five minutes, Rob reached dry land at the end of the overpass, where the entrance ramp veered upward toward the highway. Cars whizzed by, sending up sprays of water, the motorists oblivious.

His driver eyed him but said nothing. He was out of breath.

Rob stood in the rain and remembered his iPhone in the front pocket of his khakis. He pulled it out, thinking to call for help. But when he pressed the Home button, the screen briefly illuminated and then blinked out, the picture of an ocean wave crashing toward the shore first skewing weirdly, then vanishing.

“Shit,” he whispered and then replaced the phone in his soaking-wet pants pocket.

He needn’t have worried about calling for help, however, because it seemed the universe had done it for him. On the other side of the overpass, a fire truck, lights on but no siren, pulled up to the water’s edge. Then two police cruisers. And finally, surprisingly, a news van with a satellite antenna on top brought up the rear.

The rest was kind of a blur. Through a bullhorn, one of the firemen advised them to come back toward them but to use the median instead of slogging through the flood. The concrete divider was only a few inches above the sloshing water.

Somehow, Rob and his driver managed a tightrope walk across the lake the underpass had become, balancing on the concrete divider.

When they reached the other side, one of the newscasters, a guy in a red rain slicker, stuck a microphone in his face and asked him to tell him what happened. Was he afraid? Stunned, Rob shook his head and moved toward the cop cars. Behind him, he could hear the driver talking to the reporter.

At the first police car, a uniformed officer got out from behind the steering wheel. She shut the door behind her and held a hand above the bill of her cap to further shield her from the rain. She was young, maybe midtwenties, with short black hair and a stout and sturdy build.

“You okay, sir?”

Rob nodded. “Yeah, I guess.” He smiled. “Didn’t expect a swim this early in the morning.”

The officer didn’t laugh. “Where were you headed? We might be able to take you, or at the very least, we can summon a taxi for you.”

And Rob opened his mouth to say, “To the airport” and then shut it again.

One thought stood out in his head. I could have drowned. He looked toward the Lincoln, which was filled now with water up to the middle of the windshield.

“Sir? You need us to get you somewhere?”

Rob debated, thinking of a young man, perhaps out in this same rain, getting almost as drenched as he was. He opened his mouth again to speak, unsure of how he could or should answer her question.

What he said now could very well determine the course of the rest of his life.

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NineStar Press | Amazon

Meet the Author

Real Men. True Love.

Rick R. Reed is an award-winning and bestselling author of more than fifty works of published fiction. He is a Lambda Literary Award finalist. Entertainment Weekly has described his work as “heartrending and sensitive.” Lambda Literary has called him: “A writer that doesn’t disappoint…” Find him at www.rickrreedreality.blogspot.com. Rick lives in Palm Springs, CA, with his husband, Bruce, and their fierce Chihuahua/Shiba Inu mix, Kodi.

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New Release Blitz: Shoot the Moon by Jacqueline Grey (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Shoot the Moon

Series: Suit of Harte’s, Book Two

Author: Jacqueline Grey

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 29, 2020

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 27700

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, BDSM, romance, contemporary, gay, sex industry, prostitution, D/s

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Synopsis

All Adam Kern was looking for when his best friend dragged him to the club Harte was some good dancing and a little flirting to distract him from his troubles. He never anticipated meeting the club owner, Jesse Harte, and having a whole new world of experiences opened up to him. On an impulse, Adam follows Jesse to the upper, kinkier floors of the club where an informative tour ends in a steamy scene that both men are looking forward to repeating. The attraction between the two is scorching and over the next few weeks their adventures into kinky sex are nothing short of daring.

Adam loves the thrill of sex with Jesse but soon a gnawing fear sows doubt into his mind about the possibility of a relationship with the other man. Though he loves every moment he spends with Jesse, he fears what these sexual explorations may mean for him. Jesse is successful, an entrepreneur, and a well-known Dominant in the BDSM community, but Adam cannot see himself as a submissive. What sort of future could they have if he is unable to give his lover what he needs?

Excerpt

Shoot the Moon
Jacqueline Grey © 2020
All Rights Reserved

“We’re going to Harte.”

Ash said this as if Adam would know what the hell he was talking about.

“Where?”

Ash waved the question away with a flick of his wrist and an expression that clearly said it didn’t matter. “You’ll know when we get there. Now, come on.” He linked their arms and half dragged Adam out the door.

On the taxi ride to wherever they were going, Adam tried to get more details, but all Ash would tell him was that Harte was a local nightclub.

“You didn’t let me get dressed.”

“Why do you think I lent you that shirt to begin with? You look fantastic. Trust me.”

The crowd outside the club wrapped around the side of the building and back again. Thankfully, it wasn’t too cold out, or they would have frozen solid before getting inside.

“Is this place always so crowded?” Adam asked as they took their place at the end of the line.

“Packed like sardines,” Ash confirmed. “Best place in the city for good drinks and dancing.”

A man in skintight leather pants and what Adam guessed was a harness walked by. “Varied crowd,” he said.

Ash spotted the man and did that wrist-flick thing again. “He’s headed around back for the upper floors.”

“The upper floors?”

“Yeah, the nightclub is only on the first floor. It’s got three dance floors, each with their own bar, and a backroom, which was most likely meant to be a bathroom but is usually otherwise occupied. Upstairs is the kinky stuff. From what I hear, Harte has the best dungeon in the city, and he’s known to be top-notch on safety. It’s pretty well-known despite being members only up there. The entrance to the second floor is in the back, though, because there’s a difference between exhibitionism and indecent exposure.”

“Huh.” Adam had never been to a kink club. Granted, they didn’t have plans to head upstairs, but this was the closest he’d ever been to one.

Eventually, they made it inside. With the beat of the music and the press of sweaty bodies grinding around him, it was easy for Adam to be distracted from thoughts of the upper floors. It wasn’t long before he’d lost Ash to the throng as well. His friend tended to sidle toward the nearest hot guy before passing him up for the next one on the dance floor. It gave him more exercise than the dancing itself. When he wanted a break, he’d pop up next to Adam as if finding someone in a crowd was the simplest thing to do.

Tonight, Ash’s method fit Adam’s mood. He scanned the floor for someone to dance with. It didn’t take him long to find what he was searching for.

The man was dancing alone and, apparently, without a care in the world. He seemed lost to the music, his body moving with enviable grace and confidence. He was lean with boyish good looks and the kind of face that would still look thirty when he was fifty-five. His light-brown hair was just long enough to be spiky, and though his clothes were casual, he dressed stylishly.

When the dancer turned his head, he caught Adam staring. A jolt ran through Adam, but he couldn’t look away. Even from a distance, the man’s pale eyes had him trapped, and Adam found himself moving through the crowd as if pulled by an invisible string. When he was close enough, he reached for a seductively swaying hip. The touch of a hand on the back of his neck encouraged him to move even closer.

They moved together for a while, sliding their bodies against each other but in no hurry to make it anything more than dancing. They simply let the pleasure of touch build on itself. The feel of his partner’s body against his was electric.

Adam was about to ask if they should find the “bathroom” when the man asked, “Care to go upstairs?”

Adam hesitated. “Isn’t it members only?” He figured that was a simple way to change the subject without having to turn the guy down.

“I can bring a guest if I want to.”

There went his easiest excuse. His reluctance must have shown on his face because the man asked, “Not your thing?”

“Not really,” Adam admitted.

“Ah” was the only reply, but Adam heard the disappointment in the word.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Truthfully, Adam had never given kink much thought. He’d heard about it, read a little online, but he’d never considered putting what he’d read into practice.

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NineStar Press | Amazon

Meet the Author

Jacqueline Grey currently lives on an island on the east coast of the United States. She spends her time outside her day job juggling her many interests which include reading, writing and drinking tea. She loves M/M romance, usually focusing on stories that include BDSM themes to one degree or another.

Jacqueline has always been driven by characters. She loves a good plot, but it’s the characters that pull her into a story. She loves romance and believes everyone has a right to be happy. She enjoys seeing her characters find that happiness for themselves.

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New Release Blitz: Torn by Rick R. Reed (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Torn

Author: Rick R. Reed

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 29, 2020

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 63300

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, roommates, friends to lovers, road trip, United Kingdom, flamboyant characters, hurt/comfort, humorous

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Synopsis

Ever been torn between two lovers? That’s Ricky Comparetto’s problem.

It’s 1995, and Ricky is making his very first trip across the pond with his best friend. Ricky, hungry for love and looking for it in all the wrong places, finds it in the beach city of Brighton. His new love has the curious name of Walt Whitman and is also an American, which only serves to make him sexier and more intriguing. By the time Walt and Ricky part, promises are made for a reunion in Boston.

But the course of true love never runs smoothly. In Chicago Ricky almost immediately falls in love again. Tom Green is a sexy blue-collar beast with the kindest heart Ricky has ever run across.

What’s he to do? With a visit to the East Coast on the horizon and a new love blossoming in Ricky’s home of Chicago, Ricky truly is torn.

Excerpt

Torn
Rick R. Reed © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

It was the cheapest flight we could find. Air India, round trip, O’Hare to Heathrow, around seven hundred bucks. We snatched up the fare because my best friend, Boutros BinBin, was homesick and wanted to show me his homeland, “the place that made me who I am.” If you know Boutros, you know this is a scary thought. And yet I still wanted to go.

We snatched up our tickets because we were both sick of Chicago, dreading the humid summer we knew was in store, and because I had done about every guy on the North Side.

Joke. Now Boutros, hush. And stop rolling your eyes!

We’d do London (and EuroPride). We’d do Brighton (Boutros called the seaside town the San Francisco of England because it was so gay—in a good way). We’d do Boutros’s ancient hometown, Bath. Honestly, one of us would do just about any attractive male within the age range of eighteen to, oh, sixty-five—but the latter part was always negotiable. In the dark, a hard dick is a hard dick.

Or maybe I’d find Mr. Right. “You’ll find a hundred Mr. Right Nows if I know you,” Boutros said. Boutros could always see through me like I was made from glass. It was this attribute that I both loved and hated about my best friend—and probably what drew us together when we’d met a couple of years before at a gay writers’ group called the Newtown Writers, in Chicago. I was drawn to his sense of humor, and he was appalled by the Daisy Dukes I wore to the first meeting.

Just a few short years later, we were both summarily thrown out of the writers’ group. Boutros said it was because we were the only two who’d been published, and I argued that it was because we appeared at a meeting at his house wearing nothing but a smile. Gay men! They’re always trying to get you naked, and then, when they succeed, they get offended!

We agreed to lick our wounds over coffee. Compounding the pain of being ousted from the writers’ group, I had recently ended a relationship. Boutros lent a sympathetic ear to my man troubles, which were then all about my indolent, smart, perpetually stoned, and job-challenged boyfriend, Henry, whose life revolved around marijuana—growing it and smoking it morning, noon, and night. I wondered what it was he needed to escape. When I asked Boutros, he told me, “Probably because he can’t stand waking up sober next to that face. And I can’t blame him.” Only Boutros could say such things to me, knowing I would somehow interpret them as demonstrations of love and caring. When we finally broke up after Henry had quit yet another job that was way beneath him, I cut ties.

And yet, I was devastated. Boutros led me through mourning the end of my first gay love with a firm hand, a lot of sarcasm, and a willingness to listen while I rambled on and on into the phone, wondering if I’d done the right thing. After all, Henry could be sweet, although he’d never admit it. On the day Henry moved out (while I was at work—a concept foreign to him), he left the CD player on and Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You” playing on infinite loop. Even though I knew Boutros was probably appalled by the sappiness of this gesture, he listened as I choked out words of devastation through sobs, and demonstrated admirable restraint when he could have cut me down to pathetic size with a couple of bon mots. Support like his, coming at a crucial time, often cements two people together.

It did us.

So when Boutros proposed we jet off across the pond together, I was beyond thrilled. Even though I knew I couldn’t afford it on my catalog copywriter salary, which barely paid my rent, going to Europe, especially England, had always been my dream. I’d grown up with a pen pal from the West Midlands and had developed a keen interest in the place from her long letters describing Cannock Chase and the little Staffordshire village in which she lived. Perhaps I could see her, too, while I was there. It would be our first meeting in person.

Boutros convinced me to clean out my bank account for the trip by saying that once we got there, we could stay with friends and family wherever we went. All we’d have to pay for was food (fish and chips!) and drinks (Guinness!). We’d get around via the tube, and for longer distances, we’d take advantage of England’s very user-friendly trains that went just about everywhere.

I desperately needed a break from my boring job and from nursing my broken heart (even if I was the one who technically broke it), so I was on board.

Well, actually, I was on board right that very moment, Boutros next to me. We were on a double-decker plane that was enormous, much bigger than anything I’d ever flown on—not that I’d flown much, just a handful of flights between Chicago and Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, which had the closest airport to my hometown of East Liverpool, Ohio.

The flight attendants, all women, wore saris. The plane was filled mostly with eastern Indians. Heathrow was a layover for them, not a destination, as this flight continued on to New Delhi.

“Ah, the sweet smell of curry is in the air,” Boutros whispered, leaning close to my ear.

“Hush.” I looked around, praying no one had heard him. I got his sense of humor—which involved saying a lot of things simply for their shock value—but I doubt that anyone else on the plane would.

I already felt as though I’d stepped into another world. I couldn’t wait to get to our destination and see what adventures were in store.

One of the flight attendants came around pushing a trolley. On it were small Styrofoam cups and full-size bottles of whiskey.

“Would you like?” The dark-haired woman smiled at Boutros and me, gesturing toward the bottles and cups.

Indian custom? I shrugged. What the hell? “Yes, please. One for me, and one for my friend here.” I leaned back a little so she could see Boutros in the middle seat. I doubted she could miss him, though, dressed as he was in palazzo pants with a yellow-and-purple paisley pattern, and a white muslin peasant shirt. His black hair stood up in a multitude of directions, and his mustache, waxed, stuck out so far, he could make the truthful claim that one could see the mustache from behind him. The goatee below the mustache was just beginning to gray. His earring and nose ring were connected by a dangling silver chain. He liked to say his face was “done up like a Christmas tree.”

Sometimes I wondered if people even saw me when I stood next to him.

“One?” Boutros scoffed. “Amateur. Could we have two?”

She nodded, smiling, and poured us each two shots of whiskey. She handed them over, and we both quickly downed the first and then handed the cups back to her. Boutros belched and said, “Check back on us, would you?”

The flight attendant’s smile didn’t waver. Serenely, she moved on to the next row to ply the whole plane, I presumed, with strong spirits.

Boutros reached for his leather backpack, which he’d stored under the seat in front of him. “Surprise! I’ve got a little something here that will help shorten the flight, if you know what I mean.” He grinned mischievously as he groped around in the bag’s outer compartment. He brought out a prescription bottle and shook it. A couple of pills rattled.

“Morphine, sweetie, from when I had that cyst out in hospital. Remember? I punched that nun when they started cutting before the anesthetic set in.” He leaned close, rubbing up against my shoulder. “I saved these two just for you and me, darling.”

“You’re too good to me. They say time is the most thoughtful gift, but I beg to differ. I say it’s drugs.” I returned the shoulder nudge, then held out my hand like a beggar.

We popped the morphine, washing it down with our second shot of whiskey. The unvoiced plan, of course, was that we would sleep on the overnight transatlantic flight, arriving in London the next morning refreshed and ready to begin our sightseeing after dropping our stuff off at Boutros’s friend Trevor’s place in Westminster.

Maybe I was too excited to sleep, but even after a third shot of whiskey and morphine, I was still wide-awake for the full eight-hour flight. And perhaps my excitement was contagious, because Boutros couldn’t catch a wink either. We watched our flight’s progress on a screen on the back of the seats in front of us. I thought, Hurry, hurry.

If anything, the drugs and alcohol had the curious effect of making us even more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed than either of us usually were. After trying fitfully—and desperately—to sleep, fluffing the thin and starchy pillows our flight attendant had given us, we passed the night talking about what we’d see and do, following the vivid colors and subtitles of the inflight movie, Raja, which was, from what I could gather from the subtitles, a romance about a young man reuniting with the woman he was supposed to marry years earlier. We ate the meals the airline offered—chicken tikka masala and basmati rice for me and saag paneer and rice for him. Even though it was Indian food, which Boutros and I both adored, it was airline food…and thus barely edible. Fortunately, they brought out the complimentary whiskey cart again near the end of the flight.

And, at around 10:00 a.m. London time, we touched down on the runway at Heathrow International Airport.

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Meet the Author

Real Men. True Love.

Rick R. Reed is an award-winning and bestselling author of more than fifty works of published fiction. He is a Lambda Literary Award finalist. Entertainment Weekly has described his work as “heartrending and sensitive.” Lambda Literary has called him: “A writer that doesn’t disappoint…” Find him at www.rickrreedreality.blogspot.com. Rick lives in Palm Springs, CA, with his husband, Bruce, and their fierce Chihuahua/Shiba Inu mix, Kodi.

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New Release Blitz: Power Inversion by Sara Codair (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Power Inversion

Series: The Evanstar Chronicles, Book Two

Author: Sara Codair

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 22, 2020

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: M/NB

Length: 84500

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, Dark, Demons, Angels, Fae/fey/fairies/faeries, Psychic ability Mental illness, #ownvoices, Established couple

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Synopsis

Do you have to be a monster to fight one?

Erin Evanstar is a demon hunter, a protector of humanity from nightmarish predators that feed on people’s fears and flesh. They are settling into their dual life of being a teen and hunting demons.

When a tentacled horror abducts Erin’s partner, José, Erin and their family go on the hunt to get him back. But Erin gets an ultimatum: help the Fallen Angels bring on the apocalypse or watch José die. Erin will do anything to save José, but fighting monsters comes with a grim price–becoming one themselves.

Excerpt

Power Inversion
Sara Codair © 2020
All Rights Reserved

“Prophecies are fickle and convoluted. People tried telling me that for centuries, but I still sought out the most renowned seers, Elven and Human alike. It wasn’t until I miscarried the twins and started having visions on my own did I realize how unreliable an art prophecy is.

Thankfully, the visions faded after I delivered Liam and Lucy because they caused me more stress than anything else.

I could tell Liam this a thousand times, but if he is anything like me, he won’t realize it until he experiences it. Let him follow his dreams until he discovers they are hardly probabilities, let alone definite futures. In the meantime, don’t worry over much of what he tells you. Seeing himself die the same way more than once makes it less likely to happen.”

—A letter from Niben to Seamus Evanstar, confined to the archives shortly after Liam died.

White graduation caps fell from the sky like flakes of vaporized Demon. High school was a beast, and I’d vanquished it like every monster I’d fought, with one exception—myself.

This moment deserved savoring.

Breathing deliberately, I slowed my perception of time until the caps seemed as if they were falling through cold honey on their way to the ground.

The late-spring sun beat down on me, but a breeze kept the temperature bearable. Some tassels lilted southeast—away from the towering clouds bruising the northwest sky. The weather wasn’t going to hold much longer, but I was okay with that. Thunderstorms awoke something wild in me—a pulse-racing, dance-around-like-no-one-can-see-you kind of wild—a rush of adrenaline almost as good as what I’d get from battling a Troll or sparring with Mel.

With my sense of time slowed down, the distant thunder sounded like a lion purring. The clouds glowed purple as lightning forked through them like an X-ray, temporarily revealing a mass of tentacles undulating in the clouds.

Mel, did you see that? I thought as loudly as I could, hoping my telepathic cousin would hear me.

I’d seen a lot of different Demons in the three months I’d been hunting them, but based on the stories and the Lexicon, the massive tentacled ones only materialized in oceans, and they certainly could not fly. Yet, every time lightning flashed, there they were, waving as if violent updrafts were a gentle breeze.

My heart sped up. My hands closed into fists. Mel didn’t reply.

I shut my eyes, opening my mind so I could feel all the energy around me. Most humans were blobs of buzzing heat, but Mel, a hybrid of human, Angel, and Elf, had a hotter, more intense aura with a spritz of simultaneously depressed and optimistically peppy texture. I found her near my Elven grandmother, who felt like a condensed thunderstorm.

Mel? Niben? Can you hear me? Did you see that?

Of course, there was a good chance they were both shielding. What telepath would have their mind open to other people’s thoughts when there were so many other people around?

One who hasn’t been able to properly shield in months. Mel’s melodic yet squeaky voice was a welcome presence in my mind. Shut down the hyper drive. You’re giving me a headache.

I exhaled over the course of ten seconds, willing my sense of time back to normal.

A garbled din of stretched-out voices morphed to something more akin to a clattering avalanche of pots and pans. A shoulder jostled mine. The corner of a graduation cap crashed into my head.

Erin? What had you wanted to tell me?

There were tentacles in the clouds, I thought at Mel, turning in the general direction I sensed her in.

I crashed into José, who, of course, stood right next to me.

“You okay?” he asked. Tears glistened in his midnight eyes and trickled down his sun-kissed cheeks. One snagged on the crooked tip of his nose. He clutched two graduation caps, his and mine, so tight that the scars on his knuckles were visibly stretched.

“Yeah. Are you?” I wondered if I should tell him what I’d seen. He’d been hunting Demons longer than me, but he also thrived on keeping school and the supernatural as two separate entities. And what if they hadn’t been tentacles? What if the storm had just appeared that way with the lightning in slow motion? I didn’t want to ruin his day if there wasn’t an actual threat.

“I’ll miss everyone.” He stuffed the caps under his arms and hugged me. While I wanted to celebrate because I’d made it out alive, he mourned the loss of a place that had been a haven to him for four years.

I leaned my head on his shoulder, listening to his heartbeat, trying to let his steady warmth calm the worry growing in my mind. José’s body was a rock in the sense that it was hard and athletic, but also because it anchored me when I felt as if my mind was running away.

Have you ever watched a storm with time slowed that much? asked Mel.

I shook my head before I remembered there were dozens of people between her and me. No. Do storm clouds in slow motion look like tentacles?

José kissed my hair and whispered, “Are you talking to Mel?”

I nodded.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s having trouble shielding. We should go meet up with her and the others anyway.” I stepped away from him and walked uphill.

Students, who wore white graduation robes, and their parents, who were dressed mostly in summer dresses, slacks, and collared shirts, were clumped all over Saint Patrick’s sprawling lawn.

José draped his arm over my shoulder as I wove around groups of people. The pressure was calming, lulling panic monsters back to sleep with its warm weight. I glanced up at the clouds. They were closer and darker. The wind sped up, stealing programs from a dozen people’s hands. The clouds lit up with lightning, but I didn’t see any tentacles.

Mel’s voice popped back into my head. I don’t sense anything in the clouds, and neither does Niben. I guess she’s been restraining the storm for half the ceremony. Perhaps you were seeing her power mingled with it?

Maybe. Some tension unraveled from my chest. I’d heard stories about my grandmother, Niben, controlling storms, but I’d never seen her do it. In fact, I’d never witnessed her do any magic unless she was modeling something she wanted me to try. She’d come on a few hunts, but she’d just watched with her unblinking feline eyes and later quizzed me on what I did right and wrong. For all I knew, her fabled storm magic could resemble tentacles.

Her magic manifests as roots or vines. Don’t let her hear you compare it to tentacles.

Mel’s bell-like laugh tickled my ears. I followed the sound around a large family and found Mel giggling under my favorite oak tree wearing a white-and-blue-floral maxi dress that covered her feet and touched the ground.

Once upon a time, looking directly at my cousin with my Sight open, my ability to see around illusions would’ve left me seeing spots, but today, only a dull thin haze of white light surrounded her. Rippled pink scars covered half her face, and her hair, once down to her waist, was just starting to regrow.

“You made it. Congrats.” Mel pushed herself off the tree and hugged me, followed by Grandpa and Niben, who had been standing to the left of her.

“Where’d everyone else go?” I asked. Mike, my aunty Lucy (Mel’s mom), and my aunt Rita (my mother’s sister) had been here earlier.

“They decided to go in before the storm got too close,” said Mel. Mentally, she added, Mom and Niben kept debating how long it was safe to hold the storm off for.

Is there anything those two don’t argue about? I thought back to Mel.

I’m happy my mother and grandmother are talking at all. For years after your dad died, they didn’t. Mel winked at me and shrugged.

“Congratulations.” Grandpa hugged me. He was as dressed up as he ever got with khaki slacks and a short-sleeved blue button-up shirt. His ocean-colored eyes squinted, and his lips twisted into something halfway between a smile and a scowl: his “why can’t you people talk out loud so I can hear you” face.

Niben, who wore the same dress as Mel only with reddish-orange flowers, glowered at the thunderclouds. Her pointy ears, which appeared as normal ears to humans who couldn’t see around her glamour, twitched. The gusts pulled strands of red hair out of the two buns she’d braided it into. The strands flailed around like tentacles writhing in the wind.

Maybe I had just seen cords of her power in the clouds. Sometimes, when I saw magical things for the first time, I saw them how my brain could most easily process the latest shift to its reality. The tentacles could’ve been ropes of magic tethering the updrafts and downdrafts.

“That storm is moving in with a vengeance now. Shall we hurry up and take pictures before we are all drenched?” Niben turned her back on the thunderheads and pulled a bulky DSLR out of her bag. She loved photography. Apparently, it wasn’t a thing in Faerie, so when she was on Earth, she had to get her picture-taking fix.

“Are you still controlling the storm?” I asked as I stood next to José, watching it over Niben’s shoulder.

She adjusted the focus on her camera. “No. The longer I hold it off, the worse it will be when it hits, and I’ve already restrained that one far longer than I should have.”

The shutter clicked.

“Stand a little closer together, and, José, stop slouching.” She took a few more pictures and asked Mel to go stand where José had been.

I counted as I exhaled, gradually slowing my perception of time, staring at the cloud behind Niben.

Mel smiled at the camera. It’s only a storm.

I slowed my perception more, so when lightning flashed, the cloud remained lit up for a whole seven seconds. There was slow movement in it like drenched, dirty cotton balls shifting in a bag as someone dumped water in it.

Lightning forked again.

Something slithered near the bottom of the cloud and vanished.

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NineStar Press | Amazon

Meet the Author

Sara Codair lives in a world of words, writing fiction in every free moment, teaching writing at a community college and binge-reading fantasy novels. When not lost in words, Sara can often be found hiking, swimming, or gardening. Find Sara’s words in Alternative Truths, Helios Quarterly, and Secrets of the Goat People, at https://saracodair.com/

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New Release Blitz: Dragon Deception by Mell Eight (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Dragon Deception

Series: Supernatural Consultant, Book Two

Author: Mell Eight

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 22, 2020

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 31900

Genre: Paranormal, NineStar Press, LGBTQIA+, YA, dragon shifter, mage, mates, men with children, magical detective agency, shifter rescue, magic-users

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Synopsis

A life full of children and mysteries to solve doesn’t leave much time for relaxation or each other, something Lumie wants to help fix for Dane and Mercury by way of arranging a picnic. But good intentions and life rarely cooperate, and Dane knows it’s only a matter of time before all hell breaks loose.

Hell turns out to be someone using Quicksilver’s name to destroy buildings, but there’s no way to tell whether the enemy is an impostor or a trap. Hopefully it won’t mean missing the picnic.

Excerpt

Dragon Deception
Mell Eight © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
“A picnic?” Dane repeated, looking down at Lumie and Alloy’s eager faces with skepticism and disbelief. These were Mercury’s outlandish kits. Why couldn’t they have waited to ask Mercury when he got home? Daisy, once his part-time housekeeper and more recently his and Mercury’s full-time nanny, was at a parent-teacher conference for her own kids, so she wasn’t a possible savior for at least five more minutes. Dane couldn’t stall that long, and Mercury hadn’t yet gotten home from work. It looked like Dane would have to save himself. “Why a picnic?”

“You and Daddy work too much,” Lumie explained solemnly as Alloy nodded in agreement. “You go, relax, and the answer will come to you.”

“Like magic!” Alloy chirped eagerly.

Lumie and Alloy were in a neck-and-neck race for which kit was Mercury’s strangest. Alloy should win for his looks alone. Unlike most dragons, he had hatched with two powers: fire and water. All other elemental dragons could only use one element, but Alloy was different—and that difference was reflected on the outside too. In human form, he had one red eye and one blue. His hair and his scales when he was in dragon form were an even mixture of the two colors. That the red and blue hadn’t mixed into purple was odd, but Alloy actually enjoyed having two colors.

Alloy was the result of a cruel experiment done by humans looking to harness dragon magic for their own selfish use. One day Dane was going to crush those humans, as soon as he could find them, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t love the results. They had made Alloy into something different, something special—but even he wasn’t as special as Lumie.

Lumie was also the result of experimentation. He looked normal for a fire elemental dragon. His hair in human form was flame red, as were his eyes. His scales in dragon form were a universal red as well. Whatever had been done to him wasn’t reflected on the outside, but rather with his magic. Lumie had fire magic like all dragons of his kind, but he was also impervious to the magic of others. He could walk through wards that would stop Dane without feeling a twinge and sneak around Dane’s house without Dane knowing he was there. Sometimes Dane wondered if Lumie was prescient as well, but since he didn’t walk around prophesying all the time, Dane couldn’t say for certain.

Both boys were five years old, although since Alloy liked to cuddle and play while Lumie had grown to be more aloof, it often felt like there were multiple years between them. They were just two of Mercury’s seven kits, all adopted. Unlike the kits, who were all elemental dragons, Mercury was a bronze precious dragon. His kits were all young dragons he’d rescued from secret government labs. It was unusual for dragons to mix between elements, never mind between elemental and precious, but they somehow made it work. All of the kits—even Lumie and Alloy—were beyond the age most adults would allow them to share territory, but Mercury wasn’t most adults. He, and now Dane, were committed to raising them to full adulthood. Which meant occasionally entertaining the whims of five-year-olds.

Dane could tell that Alloy and Lumie were both eager to help, given that they continued to stare expectantly at him, and he found himself unable to say no.

“Tomorrow,” Dane said, caving into their wide puppy-dog eyes. “Mercury and I will have a picnic lunch. Will that be okay?”

They cheered and smiled. “I have to tell Copper!” Alloy exclaimed, spinning on one heel and dashing out of Dane’s office door. Dane could hear him yelling Copper’s name all the way down the hall.

“I’ll make sure you have all the right picnic foods ready,” Lumie said before he followed Alloy at a much more sedate pace. Dane hid his grimace until he was certain Lumie was gone. Lumie and edible foods weren’t exactly synonymous. He liked food with cinnamon in it, the more the better, and he couldn’t quite grasp the fact that other people would throw up and die if they ate as much as he did.

Also, what were the chances that Lumie actually knew what foods belonged in a picnic? Pretty low, dammit. Maybe Dane could order a pizza and sneak it to the picnic spot without Lumie noticing. That way Mercury and Dane would be able to eat something and Lumie would still be happy.

It would take some finagling to get a pizza past Lumie, since he noticed everything, but Dane wasn’t the son of a god for nothing. He would find a way or, knowing Lumie, die trying. Mercury would need to be warned, too, Dane reminded himself. Still, that was a problem for tomorrow. Dane had a lead on his current case that he wasn’t about to let grow cold.

Two weeks ago, a mother dragon and her three very young kits had been attacked. She managed to get safely away with all three kits, but her mate was badly injured. He sent word to Dane, since Dane had made it widely known over the past five years that he was very interested in helping any dragon in need. The enemy had left the father dragon for dead, uninterested in a full-grown dragon when they had three kits to snatch. Dane needed to find the kits and their mother before the enemy did and get them to safety with the still-healing mate.

Dane’s newest lead was from a werewolf who’d stopped by Dane’s office to tell Dane about the strange bag lady he’d run into two nights previously. It had been the full moon, so some of what he had seen was a little shaky in his memory, but he clearly recalled a harried-looking woman wearing what looked like two dresses and three coats pushing a shopping cart through the woods where he and his pack were hunting. He remembered three children in the cart, he told Dane, but none of them had smelled like prey, so he and the pack had moved on.

Either that was the mother dragon ineffectively trying to hide by wearing human clothing, following customs that she didn’t quite understand—she was a wild dragon from the forest, not one taken in as a kit by humans like Mercury had been—or Dane had a lamia hunting in his territory. A lamia would need to be destroyed at once before she started eating children, so it was imperative Dane locate whoever the werewolf had seen.

Dane pushed his chair away from his desk and stood. He couldn’t do anything more from home, and his kits were in Daisy’s care. The answer was somewhere in that forest. Dane had already done one grid search of the area, but this time he would widen his search. It was impossible to keep three young dragons corralled for long. Dane knew that from experience; Lumie and Alloy hadn’t been easy to deal with when they were only a few months out of the egg, not that they were any easier five years later. The missing kits would have caused a mess somewhere that their mother couldn’t hide. Dane just had to find it, especially before the enemy did. Dane heard Daisy talking in the kitchen, so he knew the kits were being supervised and he could leave to continue his search.

Magic came to his call easily, and as Dane walked forward, he let it pull him away. The first step was on the hard floor of his home office, but a second later his feet crunched on leaves as he walked into the forest. The trees above were showing off their autumn colors of red, orange, and yellow, while the leaves on the ground were turning an ugly shade of brown. They hid the paw prints from the werewolf pack that Dane remembered from his last time here a day ago, but autumn was really starting to progress now and many of the tracks he had followed before were obscured. Dane hoped fervently there would be new tracks now.

He directed his magic to send feelers out around him, allowing him to sense more than his eyes could see alone. The magic delved up into the trees and down hills. Dane used it to dig underneath large piles of leaves so he wouldn’t have to search them by hand. He wasn’t searching for dragons like Lumie, who had been experimented on and therefore had the ability to hide from magic at will. These were ordinary, wild elemental dragons. When Dane got near them, he would know. He would also know if he found a lamia: their magic was even more distinct than a dragon’s and always felt slightly warped to Dane. Any creature that did something as vile as eat children pinged wrongly on his magical radar.

The sun was setting earlier and earlier as winter approached. Soon it was difficult to see the difference between a pile of leaves and other debris and what was simply a shadow thrown by the trees. It was even more difficult thanks to the irregular shapes of the trees overhead. Some of them still had all of their leaves while others were nearly bare. The worst were the trees that had only lost half their leaves; they threw both bulky and barren shadows, their strangeness catching Dane’s eye.

He spent two hours walking a large grid, back and forth through the forest, while his magic swept an even larger grid around him. There was plenty of evidence of the werewolf pack. Fallen leaves hid the visible evidence of footprints and claw marks, but Dane could sense lingering pack magic around the trees. Anyone with a hint of magic would be able to sense that the woods were owned and know to stay away. Which would tell a dragon with territorial urges to pass through quickly and quietly, of course.

Dane froze in place and called himself eighty different kinds of stupid. How had he missed something so obvious? He shouldn’t be trusted with helping an old lady get her cat out of a tree, let alone saving dragons from an unknown enemy. Hell, Dane shouldn’t even be allowed to leave the house if he kept making stupid mistakes.

Two days of exhausting work wasted, all because Dane hadn’t bothered to think.

Elemental dragons, like the mother and kits he was searching for, would immediately know they had encroached on someone else’s territory. When Dane’s werewolf contact had seen her on the last full moon, she was probably trying to get out of the werewolves’ hunting ground as fast as possible. And Dane, in his idiocy, had confined his search to the hunting ground. Dane would have been amazingly, impossibly lucky to find the tracks of a shopping cart underneath all the leaves, but he had kept up with his wild goose chase for far too long. The dragons were an additional two days ahead of him, and Dane doubted the enemy had made the same stupid mistake he had.

Dane needed a map and he needed to begin figuring out where he should have been searching. He strode forward and let his magic pull him away again. Dane reappeared at home in his office and hurried over to his desk where his laptop sat waiting for him.

He almost sat on Lumie before Dane noticed he was sleeping in Dane’s desk chair. Lumie was upside down, his messy red hair flopping toward the ground while his feet were hooked over one of the armrests. His thumb was firmly planted in his mouth. Lumie had grown a lot in the five years Dane had known him, but Dane knew the one thing about Lumie that would never change was how strange he was. He was odd even for a dragon, but that honestly only made him more loveable. It also made him one of the more annoying kits living under Dane’s roof, but it was an annoyance Dane was happy to live with.

Instead of waking him, Dane took his laptop and left his office. All the wards that kept everyone else out were still up and running. Dane double-checked them as he softly closed the door behind him and stepped into the hall. An ominous crash sounded from downstairs before Dane could move more than a few feet down the hall toward the bedroom he shared with Mercury. He rushed into the bedroom and dropped his laptop onto the sitting table by the fireplace in the corner, then turned around and quickly retraced his steps until he reached the stairs.

No one was screaming and Dane didn’t smell smoke, but that didn’t always mean much in his household. Dane reached the kitchen and Daisy wordlessly pointed to the set of double doors that led to the dining room. He followed her directions and pushed through the doors. The centerpiece of the room was a massive sixteen-seater oak table. It had been flipped over, and the sixteen chairs had been scattered around the room. Dane sent his magic toward the table and lifted it in one swift motion, hoping he didn’t find a squashed kit underneath. When Dane didn’t see blood, he rotated the table and put it back where it belonged. He sent his magic after the chairs too. As Dane flipped the last chair into place, he found Alloy clinging to the cushion.

The room had looked like a giant gust of wind had blown through it, which meant Zinc, the lone air dragon living under Dane’s roof, was the culprit. Alloy would have to serve as Dane’s witness.

“Alloy, what happened?” Dane asked, kneeling on the floor next to him. “Are you okay?”

Alloy popped his blue eye open, saw who was talking to him, and opened his red eye too. “Are Zinc and Copper done yelling at each other?” he asked.

“For the moment,” Dane replied with an inward sigh. Their flirting had been cute when they were eight years old. Now that they were thirteen and hormones were making them even stupider about it… Dane didn’t understand how Mercury could laugh over the sheer amount of destruction they caused. Dane was really glad Copper hadn’t been the one to lose this round. Instead of flipping the table, he would have set it on fire.

Since Dane couldn’t hear anything else getting smashed around the house, he felt it was safe to assume that Copper and Zinc had concluded this particular fight. Or they had taken it outside and were busy destroying his lawn. That was also possible.

Alloy sighed in relief and climbed off the chair. “Okay. It’s time for dinner anyway.” He grinned and wandered off in the direction of the kitchen. Dane followed. There was research to do, but leaving Daisy alone with all the kits when he didn’t have to was cruel. She usually left right after cooking dinner so she could spend the evening with her own family, but was staying later tonight because she had started work today after her kids’ parent-teacher conferences.

Daisy had set plates along the kitchen island where Dane had bought high stools for the kits to sit on. Lumie, ’Ron, and Chrome were already seated and waiting eagerly for dinner to be served. Alloy climbed onto his stool next to Lumie. Copper’s stool was still empty, but he would be joining them soon, as would Zinc and Nickel.

’Ron and Chrome were both earth elemental dragons. They were nine years old and they shared the same brown hair and eyes, but the similarities ended there. ’Ron had embraced being a girl from the very first moment Daisy had introduced her to dresses, and now ’Ron was looking forward to puberty so she could start filling out. Chrome had decided to embrace being a boy instead. He wore ratty shirts and played every sport he could, and ’Ron avoided him like the plague, something Mercury insisted meant that he and ’Ron were eventually going to have a lot of kits of their own together. Mercury said that a lot, though, and Dane wasn’t entirely certain he believed him. Then again, dragons were a bit odd when it came to finding their mates. If Mercury thought that ’Ron and Chrome would realize they had that connection after puberty, Dane knew Mercury would encourage them to be happy together. It wouldn’t matter to them or to Mercury that they were being raised as siblings. They weren’t related by blood, and the mating bond trumped adoptive family ties.

Nickel was the most serious of Mercury’s kits. He was a water dragon with blue hair and eyes, and he had made it his mission to personally rescue the dragons. Nickel was Dane’s assistant at Dane’s consulting firm, and he worked there every day instead of staying behind to play with Copper and Zinc, who were both his age.

Daisy clicked her tongue unhappily at the empty seats, but she started serving food to the kits that were present. Her green skin was bright and vibrant, which meant the parent-teacher conference had gone well. Her own kids were a handful, too, which only meant that she was experienced enough to handle Dane’s. He had doubled her salary when he invited Mercury and the kits to live with him permanently, and she had obligingly doubled her work hours.

“Lumie, are ya done in the kitchen tonight?” Daisy asked once everyone present had been served, Dane included. Dane usually waited for Mercury to get home to eat on the few nights he had to work past dinnertime, but it was nice to eat with the kits on occasion too.

Lumie nodded. “I made everything for the picnic,” he insisted. “I’ll put it in the basket tomorrow.” Lumie had done the cooking? Dane suppressed a wince and a groan. He was five years old, for Pete’s sake. What the hell was he doing cooking a picnic for Mercury and Dane? And how horrible would it taste? Ordering a pizza to eat instead of Lumie’s picnic was sounding like a better idea every minute.

Nickel strolled into the kitchen just moments after the food was served. He was reading from a packet of papers, either schoolwork or, more likely, casework from Dane’s firm as he took his stool. Daisy frowned pointedly at him, and Nickel tucked the papers away and let ’Ron draw him into conversation. Copper and Zinc slunk in moments later. They wouldn’t look at each other, and their stools were on opposite sides of the kitchen island. Copper immediately started grilling Alloy about his day. Copper was essentially the one raising Alloy, not Mercury or Dane, and he took being Alloy’s big brother very seriously. Zinc pulled her long white hair away from her face and joined ’Ron and Nickel’s conversation.

Daisy had been trying to teach the kits table manners, but even though they all managed to use a fork and knife to eat, they stuffed their faces quickly and dashed off.

“Bath time!” Daisy yelled after Lumie and Chrome, who both ran out of the kitchen pretending they hadn’t heard her. Daisy sighed, but collected dishes from the counter. “I’ll catch up with the scamps,” she insisted when Dane stood and began helping gather the dirty plates. “I’m sure ya still have work to do.”

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” Dane told her seriously. With both Mercury and Dane working, there was no way they could have raised all the kits without Daisy’s help. “How were your parent-teacher conferences?”

Daisy sighed. “Good. My brats are passing middle school, although Jeremy wants to take up football.” Dane winced, thinking about her rambunctious kids running around learning to tackle people. It would only be worse if Chrome were the one who wanted to play. Dane made a promise to himself to never let Chrome even try. Although Dane couldn’t get any of his kits into school at all.

Nickel had heard just how long the school day was, asked Dane how he was supposed to get any work done when he was stuck in a horrible classroom all day, then informed Dane that he wouldn’t be attending. Luckily Dane had gotten a compromise out of Nickel that he would study for three hours every day with a tutor Dane had hired for him and spend at least one hour every night on homework. Once the other kits had learned that Nickel wouldn’t be attending school, they had also refused, but thanks to Nickel’s compromise, they spent the better part of the day in a classroom. When Mercury, the tutor, or Dane could catch them first, of course. Dane was going to make certain that they would all get their GEDs at the very least.

“Yeah, it’s a mess,” Daisy finished, echoing Dane’s own thoughts closely, “but I’ll figure it out. Now, ya git. We’ve both got stuff that needs doing.” She was smiling as she made shooing motions, so Dane allowed himself to be pushed from the kitchen.

He walked up the stairs and turned toward his bedroom where he had left his laptop. Dane could hear splashing from one of the bathrooms down the other wing of the house, so at least someone was obeying Daisy. Probably ’Ron or Zinc. Nickel would finish his work first while Copper would avoid the water for as long as Daisy let him. Daisy would have to catch Lumie and force him into the water, and Alloy’s bath depended on whether he was embracing his fire or water half that day.

Dane left them to it and headed into his bedroom. His computer was where he had left it, so he settled into one of the armchairs, popped it open, and called up a map of the Great Appalachian Valley. It stretched from Alabama all the way up into Newfoundland. Dane’s territory was a small part of that. He controlled from north of the Mason-Dixon line—although his territory did stretch down the Chesapeake Bay into Maryland in a few places, so that wasn’t exactly an accurate description—and ended at the Canadian border. Dane watched over the Northeast primarily, the boundary of which depended on which map he looked at. Some said the Northeast began in Virginia and followed the coast to Maine; others said it began in Pennsylvania; and yet more insisted it was everything east of New York, which was essentially New England. Regardless, in Dane’s opinion, north of the portions of Maryland that he controlled was all his.

The werewolf’s pack territory was in the Lehigh Valley in Pennsylvania. The mother dragon wouldn’t have traveled south or west, as an extremely territorial Minotaur had set up his maze in the mountains there. She couldn’t have gone east because she would have run into human civilization, the very creature she was running from. Which only left north. Given the amount of time she had been on the run and the distance Dane calculated she could have traveled with three kits in tow, she must be in the Hudson or the Mohawk Valley in New York. It was a large geographic area, but aside from the lone cat shifters setting up small territories throughout, there wasn’t anything to keep her from feeling safe. Therefore, this was the most logical area for Dane to resume searching. He would start walking a grid in the Hudson Valley, keeping away from the suburbs of New York City, and head toward Albany. She and her kits had to be somewhere in between the two big cities.

First thing tomorrow, Dane would start walking through the valleys.

“Almost done?” Mercury asked, leaning over Dane’s shoulder to look at what he was researching. Mercury’s long bronze hair brushed Dane’s arm as he settled his chin on Dane’s shoulder. Dane loved the way Mercury looked with his full lips, small and pert nose, and his thick lashes over his bronze-colored eyes. Mercury’s hair was also a beautiful bronze color that echoed the large scales that covered most of his body.

“Yeah,” Dane sighed. He had his starting point, so he didn’t need to keep looking at maps. Going out searching in the dark in those mountainous woods was dangerous. Dane had to at least wait for first light.

“Good,” Mercury breathed. He tilted his head and took the point of Dane’s ear in his teeth. “Because Daisy has Lumie in the tub right now. She’s running the water faster than he can evaporate it, but they’ll still be a while.”

Which meant that they didn’t have to worry about Lumie walking through the wards and locked bedroom door and seeing something he shouldn’t. Dane grinned and shut his laptop, then turned his head to take Mercury’s mouth in a proper kiss. Sometimes it was awkward finding time to be together, but Daisy had informed Dane that he was only living the hell of any parent. In a way, it made the time they did find together more special.

Dane loved Mercury, and it was nice to know Mercury loved Dane too, even after five years together.

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Meet the Author

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

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New Release Blitz: The Riddles of Mulberry Island by Huston Piner (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Riddles of Mulberry Island

Author: Huston Piner

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 15, 2020

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 72500

Genre: Contemporary YA, LGBTQIA+, historical/early 50s, young-YA, first love, coming-of-age, kids in danger, kidnapping, domestic child abuse, family issues, action-adventure

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Synopsis

While out fishing one bright summer day, fifteen-year-old Tommy Oakley is startled to spy what appears to be a giant fish surfacing in the inlet near Mulberry Island. Confused and a little fearful, he returns to Bayside, the tiny village where he lives, and recruits Wendy to help him solve the mystery.

A few nights later, Tommy goes camping with his best friend John, and they’re alarmed to see ghostly lights floating above the water and movement inside the island’s abandoned mansion.

Everyone in Bayside knows the island is uninhibited, but they also think it’s haunted, so Tommy and John are more than ready to stay away. But the strong-willed Wendy convinces the reluctant boys to investigate the source of the lights, thereby setting in motion a harrowing adventure that has them dodging bullets and running for their lives, all the while struggling to sort out their conflicted feelings for one another.

One thing is certain—if they survive the summer at all, things will never be the same between them again.

Excerpt

The Riddles of Mulberry Island
Huston Piner © 2020
All Rights Reserved

The Great Bird and the Big Fish

Summer 1952

Tommy Oakley dashed through the woods, stumbling over roots and ducking low-hanging branches. He knew they might get in trouble snooping around Mulberry Island, but he hadn’t bargained on this. Now all he could do was hope he was going in the right direction and that John and Wendy would be ready to sail as soon as he got there.

He swerved around thorny bushes and jumped over spiny brambles, gulping air, desperate to get away from his pursuer. It wasn’t easy. For every branch he ducked or squeezed past, two or more scratched him and tore at his sweat-drenched clothes. And all the while, his pursuer’s cursing and stumbling grew louder behind him. Somehow, the man was getting closer.

He’s still gaining on me? Doesn’t he ever get tired?

A glimpse of marsh confirmed Tommy was going in the right direction and would soon get to the safety of the boat. The thorny bushes were giving way to more open ground, and he was finding it easier to run in a straight line. But that also meant the man chasing him would find it easier too.

Up ahead, he spotted the area where they had hidden the dinghy. Just a little more and he’d get away. Panting, he tried to find the strength for a final burst of speed.

Bang!

The shot seemed to echo all around him.

Tommy gasped and froze in his tracks, listening, as fear of capture gave way to a more deadly alarm.

From somewhere came the loud click of a rifle being cocked.

As if fired from a gun himself, Tommy took off running in a complete panic.

The second bang was so loud it was deafening.

Then the whole world fell silent.

Tommy fell to the ground.

A branch gashed into his forehead, and he collapsed onto a bed of fallen leaves.

Blood oozed from his wounds.

He saw a fading image of the great bird.

And then darkness took him.

*

One month earlier

Tommy was sitting in his boat on a beautiful sunny afternoon, the handle of his pole loosely resting in his hand, his mind wandering. It was the first time his father had ever allowed him to go out fishing by himself.

As various thoughts crept across his mind, he happened to glance up, and there it was, soaring on the edge of the heavens.

The great bird stretched its wings and floated in wide swirling spirals. As Tommy watched it, a light breeze floated over him. The briny air filled his lungs, and he sighed, pushing sandy brown locks out of his eyes.

It had been a perfect day.

Well, almost perfect. He’d wanted it to be special, one to remember—and normally, he would have invited his friends John Webster and Wendy Harris to come along. The trouble was, lately, John and Wendy always seemed to be getting on each other’s nerves. And if Tommy only invited one of them, it would hurt the other one’s feelings. So, he’d snuck out by himself and spent the whole day fishing and thinking while the hours drifted by like the water all around him.

He glanced at his watch. It was four thirty.

“Keep an eye on the time,” his father had said.

“You be sure to get home early for supper,” his mother had added.

They always treated him like a child.

He looked up again at the great bird.

Probably on the prowl for a rat or fish or something.

He imagined having wings and sailing through the air. He’d soar and dive across the sky like he did underwater when he was swimming. He’d float up high like the great bird. He’d be free.

He smiled at the thought. Then, as he lowered his gaze, something caught his eye. It emerged in the inlet between Mulberry Island and the peninsula.

Tommy blinked and leaned forward, squinting into the distance. It looked like some kind of fish, but it was huge—it had to be for him to see it from all the way out in the middle of the bay.

For a moment, it sat there, and then, in the same unexpected way it had surfaced, the giant fish made a slow descent, vanishing below the surface.

Wow. That was incredible! But what was it—a whale? It would be very odd if it was. They never came this far inside the sound. And this fish had a large dorsal fin that looked more like some kind of weird top hat than a fin. He’d never heard of a whale that looked like that.

It was so strange, and all the more so because of where it was. But then again, everything strange seemed to be connected to Mulberry Island somehow.

“They’ll never believe it.” They never do anyway.

Tommy’s parents never took him seriously. His teacher said he had a “vivid imagination.” But as far as his family—and most of the people in Bayside, the tiny village where they lived—were concerned, he was either absentminded or just plain dumb.

It’s not fair. Mom and Pop treat me like a child.

It was like this boat. It had been a thirteenth birthday present, but he’d never even been allowed to use it on his own before today.

“Come on, Pop,” he’d pleaded over a year ago. “It’s embarrassing. I’m almost fourteen. It’s been nearly a year since you gave me the thing. I mean, why even call it mine?” Here he was begging for permission to do something his friends had been allowed to do for at least a year, if not longer.

“What a joke,” he had muttered under his breath.

“Yeah, Pop,” his brother Jacob had said. “Give the kid a break. He’ll be okay.”

Tommy would have been grateful for the moral support, but then Jacob had tousled his hair and added, “Won’t you, little guy?”

It was something Tommy positively despised. At twenty years old, Jacob wasn’t a bad guy, and he often sided with Tommy. But he had the uncanny knack of treating him like a silly but lovable little puppy, which irritated him to no end.

But it didn’t matter anyway. In the Oakley house, a “no” was a “no.” His fourteenth birthday came and went, the school year started, and winter passed into spring. Finally, it was the beginning of his last summer before high school and tenth grade. He had just turned fifteen.

They were all listening to the radio, and the news had just finished with a report about President Eisenhower’s remarks on the war in Korea. Tommy took the opportunity to ask his father one more time, only to be told no yet again, and he had despaired of ever being treated like anything more than a child.

Then, last night, his father had surprised him and said if he wanted, he could go out in his boat without adult supervision in the morning. At first, Tommy had thought he was joking, but his father assured him he was serious.

Of course, there had been a few “ifs” to go along with this bestowal of generosity: He could go if the weather was promising, if he made sure to return before suppertime, and if his mother didn’t need him for chores. That last “if” was almost a deal breaker. Tommy’s mother was famous for making up excuses to keep him under her wing—something the other boys at school often teased him about.

But somehow, he’d managed to get away. And despite not having John and Wendy with him, it had been the best day of his life.

And then he’d seen that big fish.

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Meet the Author

Huston Piner always wanted to be a writer but realized from an early age that learning to read would have to take precedence. A voracious reader, he loves nothing more than a well-told story, a glass of red, and music playing in the background. His writings focus on ordinary gay teenagers and young adults struggling with their orientation in the face of cultural prejudice and the evolving influence of LGBTQA+ rights on society. He and his partner live in a house ruled by three domineering cats in the mid-Atlantic region.

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New Release Blitz: The Harbinger by Mary Eicher (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Harbinger

Series: Artemis, Book One

Author: Mary Eicher

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 15, 2020

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 99100

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, Contemporary, paranormal, family-drama, lit, lesbian, plague, bells, prophecy of death, fake religious cult, Hawaii, astronomy, mother/daughter relationship, Greek mythology, pandemic

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Synopsis

In a picturesque California town, the deafening sound of bells brings dozens of people to their knees. Three days later a horrific accident claims their lives. Among the dead is the twin brother of Artemis Andronikos, a beautiful attorney, who abandons the ill-fated vacation and returns home to grieve.

Her mourning is interrupted by Lucy Breem a reporter who suspects a connection between the strange bell sound and subsequent deaths. Disturbed by the possibility that the phenomenon had presaged her brother’s death, Artemis agrees to join forces with Lucy to investigate the mysterious premonitions. Utilizing her considerable physical and deductive talents, Artemis battles nefarious forces and seeks information from friends in high places. Their research takes them to various global venues. But the solution to the mystery proves illusive and the couple discovers that neither science nor religion can provide an explanation for what has become known as the Harbinger.

Excerpt

The Harbinger
Mary Eicher © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Artemis wiped her mouth with the back of a dirty hand. Rivulets of sweat slithered down her back, and heat from hours of exertion roiled off her. The dog-eared map indicated they had four more miles of steep terrain before they would reach the checkpoint. Glancing at a sun already low in the western sky, she folded the paper and shoved the map back into her pack. It would be a struggle to reach Lake Isabella before dark. A momentary breeze rippled her shirt, and she brushed dark, damp bangs from her forehead, savoring the momentary relief. Then, summoning fresh determination, she started up a brush-choked hill.

“Come on, Cab,” Artemis called back to the struggling man behind her. “We’ll get there faster if you get the lead out.”

Ichabod leaned on his walking stick and watched his sister’s long legs settling into an easy stride.

“Shut up, Temmie,” he shot back, annoyed by her effortless advance. “Trekking the Pacific Crest Trail was your idea, not mine. I need a steak, medium rare, and alcohol. You promised me beer, remember?”

Artemis turned and aimed pale-blue eyes at her twin brother. She tossed her long black ponytail and gave him a patronizing smile.

“Come on, Cab. Let’s just get there,” she encouraged him softly. “I need a bath.”

“Yes, you do!” he muttered, stumbling over a patch of loose rocks. She was doing it again, making him feel second best; a feeling that irritated him more than the roughness of the trail. He disliked having to push himself to keep up with her. He slapped at a bug that landed on his neck and stopped to catch his breath. He hated hiking. He hated everything his sister loved about it. He wondered how it was possible for twins to be so utterly different from each other. And why was she always, always better at everything?

An instant later, his head felt as if it was exploding in a cacophony of clanging bells.

“Ah, Jesus H. Christ!” He dropped the walking stick and sank to a knee, pressing hard against his ears with both hands. The discomfort of the trek disappeared as the painful ringing in his head blotted out any other sensation.

Artemis turned to see Ichabod writhing in the dirt. Her heart pounding, she raced back down the trail to see what had happened.

“What the hell, Cab?” she cried as she reached him, panicked at the thought he might be seriously hurt.

Ichabod cautiously released his grip on his head and slumped to a sit. Pale and confused, he leaned against the base of a tree and dug at his ears. Artemis knelt down and hugged him to her chest to check his head for any kind of injury.

“Did you hear that?” he asked, glancing up at her, crystal-blue eyes wide with concern. “What was it?”

“I didn’t hear a thing, except you cursing.” She sat down beside him and tousled his shaggy black curls. “I can’t find anything wrong. Are you having a stroke or something?”

“No, I don’t think so. There was just this really loud noise in my head. Bells. Really, really loud bells. It hurt like hell.” He gave her a slight smile. “It’s over now. I can’t believe you didn’t hear anything. You’re the one who usually hears things. Not me.”

She helped him to his feet and made sure he was steady enough to heft his pack. He pushed her arm away and stiffened his back in a display of competence beyond what he actually felt.

“I’m okay. Come on. Let’s get to Lake Isabella so I can have a beer. You promised me, remember?”

The lake came into view as they crested a final hill. It sparkled in the slanted sunlight, and just seeing it gave the pair a sense of relief. The view before them was mystical. Streaks of pink and yellow from the setting sun reflected off the dark-blue water framed by an endless horizon of verdant hills. They gaped at each other and shared triumphant smiles. Ichabod put his arm around his sister’s waist.

“Okay. Sometimes it’s worth all the trouble,” he admitted. “Now, let’s go get that beer.” He hugged her and added, “You’re buying.”

All that remained was a downhill slope that melted away and they trudged the final half mile along dusty roads until they found the check-in station. An older man in a well-worn MAGA hat welcomed them, had them sign the register, and directed them to a nearby hotel.

Ichabod slung his pack to the floor as soon as he stepped into the room. He stretched stiff muscles and then sank into one of the two narrow beds. Artemis set her pack on the room’s solitary chair and did a leisurely tour of their Spartan quarters. Seeing an enormous bathtub in the otherwise cramped bathroom, she issued a little cry of delight.

“Go ahead, sis,” Ichabod told her, settling on the cot-like bed. “You can bathe first. I’m headed for a bar.” He rolled on his side and hugged a pillow. “In a few minutes.”

Artemis turned on the faucet and ran her fingers through the water, waiting for the stream to reach the proper temperature. She selected jeans and a reasonably clean tank top from her pack, stripped off the clothes she’d worn for three days, and stepped into the tub. Letting the warm water sooth her athletic body, she settled back to reflect on the trip so far.

She lathered a washcloth and drew it along her arms. The image of Cab writhing in pain flashed in her mind, and she drew in a heavy breath. Her brother was young and strong physically. He had recovered within minutes. Whatever had happened, Cab didn’t show any residual effect. She sank lower in the tub until the warm water was just below her chin. She would keep an eye on him, but she willed herself not to give in to needless worry.

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Meet the Author

I live in Southern California with my two daughters. I have degrees in English and Psychology from the University of California and twenty plus years of writing experience from technical manuals to short stories. As an executive with a major computer firm, I managed customer documentation and field training and have traveled extensively. I have a passion for history, alternative theories about life’s mysteries life and dolphins. You can find Mary on Facebook.

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New Release Blitz: Bigger Love by Rick R. Reed (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Bigger Love

Author: Rick R. Reed

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 15, 2020

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 60100

Genre: Contemporary YA, LGBTQIA+, high school, gender-bending, school play, performance arts, romance, young love

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Synopsis

Truman Reid is Summitville High’s most out-and-proud senior. He can’t wait to take his fierce, uncompromising self away from his small Ohio River hometown, where he’s suffered more than his share of bullying. He’s looking forward to bright lights and a big city. Maybe he’ll be the first ever genderfluid star to win an Academy Award. But all that changes on the first day of school when he locks eyes with the most gorgeous hunk he’s ever seen.

Mike Stewart, big, dark-haired, and with the most amazing blue eyes, is new to town. He’s quiet, manly, and has the sexy air of a lost soul. It’s almost love at first sight for Truman. He thinks that love could deepen when Mike becomes part of the stage crew for Harvey, the senior class play Truman’s directing. But is Mike even gay? And how will it work when Truman’s mother is falling for Mike’s dad?

Plus Truman, never the norm, makes a daring and controversial choice for the production that has the whole town up in arms.

See how it all plays out on a stage of love, laughter, tears, and sticking up for one’s essential self…

Excerpt

Bigger Love
Rick R. Reed © 2020
All Rights Reserved

“There’s a man in your room. I can smell him.”

Truman Reid confronted his mom, Patsy, in the kitchen. Early morning sun streamed in brightly through the kitchen window over the sink, making Truman long for the relative freedom of summer that was about to be put to rest that very day.

Patsy glowered at him from the stove where she was scrambling eggs. She didn’t often get up to make him breakfast, but Truman had figured—at least at first—that she was doing so because this was Truman’s first day back at school. He’d be a senior at Summitville High. First days of school had always been a source of high anxiety for Truman, who’d been bullied and teased mercilessly throughout almost the entire four years. But now Truman wondered if Patsy had risen early to fix bacon and eggs because she was hiding a man in her room. You know, to distract him. This wasn’t a usual experience for his mom, Truman was sure, and he wondered if he’d embarrassed her. But he couldn’t help but wonder how a man in her room might affect his exclusive hold on her. Would he still get her undivided attention, you know, if this was a “thing”?

Of course, Patsy, lovely, diminutive, with curly black hair and wide eyes, had every right to have a man in her room. Even if that man smelled of cigarettes and motor oil. But she didn’t have the right, Truman opined, to keep secrets from him. A mother should never keep secrets from her boy, right? Wasn’t that one of those unwritten laws?

“That may be. Or may not be,” Patsy said, giving the eggs one final push-around with a spatula before dumping them on a plate. She sighed and eyed him. “I have a right to my privacy. You don’t need to be privy to every detail of my life. I show you that respect and expect the same in return.”

She’s reading my mind. Again. “Oh, I didn’t mean to pry, Mama. I just wanted to say it’s okay if you did have a man sleep over. It’s not like I would mind. It’s not like we’re not both adults around here. We have separate bedrooms and separate lives.” Truman almost choked on the words.

Patsy set the plate of steaming eggs before him. Truman saw, to his delight, that the four pieces of bacon Patsy had fried up before the eggs were all for him.

Patsy smiled, but there was something just a tad bit evil in it. “Thank you, sweetie. I’m so glad to have your go-ahead if I want to whore around.” She chuckled and returned to the counter where she’d left her mug of coffee. She leaned against the counter, mug in hand, and took a sip. Patsy was all of thirty-four years old but looked at least ten years younger in the dappled morning light, and Truman felt a rush of love for her. The bond they had was kind of a you-and-me-against-the-world one. Truman felt he could say just about anything to Patsy, and he knew she felt the same; witness the “whore” comment. What kind of mother said that to her son?

Truman wasn’t sure, but he was glad he had one who did.

Besides, between raising him, which could be, um, challenging at times, and working at the Elite Diner in Summitville’s tiny downtown, she had little time for romance. Given that Truman’s father was still a mystery to him—and to Patsy—he assumed that, once upon a time, she did have her whoring-around days, but he’d seen little evidence of them.

Until this morning.

“So who is he? Can I go take a peek? Is he hot?” Truman laughed.

Patsy answered the three questions in short order: “None of your business. No, you can’t. Yes. Very.” She took another sip of coffee and tightened the sash of her white chenille bathrobe. Truman noticed she was wearing a little makeup this morning—mascara, some blush, a hint of lip gloss. She hadn’t overdone it. Truman would say she looked “dewy” if she asked. “You need to eat up and get in the shower, young man. The bus will be here—” She turned to look at the wall clock on the soffit above the sink. “—in twenty minutes. I know you need your primping time.”

Truman dropped his fork to the table. “Seriously? Only twenty? Good Lord.” He wrapped his bacon up in a paper towel and headed for the single bathroom. Patsy blocked his way. “Since when do we leave our plates on the table? What? You think I’m your servant?”

“Mom!” Truman whined. “You know I need time to get ready. Please, please, please take care of it for me. I’ll love you forever!”

“Okay. This once. And sweetie, I’d thought loving me forever went without saying. But you cook and clean up tonight.”

“Deal.”

Truman rushed to the bathroom, wondering if Patsy would use the time to sneak her man out of the house. Too bad the only window looked out on the backyard. It was frosted glass anyway.

He hoped his mom had found someone to love.

He hoped his mom hadn’t found someone to love.

It had been just the two of them for so long, Truman didn’t know if he could cope with someone else vying for Patsy’s affections. He felt a little sense of violation at the thought.

In the bathroom, Truman laid out on the counter all the stuff a boy would need to make a suitable senior-year debut: eyeliner, clear mascara, blush, and the lip gloss that added no extra color to his lips but made them shine.

He stepped into the shower after brushing, flossing, and exfoliating his face.

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Meet the Author

Real Men. True Love.

Rick R. Reed is an award-winning and bestselling author of more than fifty works of published fiction. He is a Lambda Literary Award finalist. Entertainment Weekly has described his work as “heartrending and sensitive.” Lambda Literary has called him: “A writer that doesn’t disappoint…” Find him at www.rickrreedreality.blogspot.com. Rick lives in Palm Springs, CA, with his husband, Bruce, and their fierce Chihuahua/Shiba Inu mix, Kodi.

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