Title: The Sun Still Rises

Author: Laura Bailo

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: November 11, 2019

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 32000

Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, Spain, bull running, writer, foreign traditions, anxiety attacks, grieving, long distance

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Synopsis

Whenever his father asked Erik to accompany him to Pamplona for the San Fermín festival, he said no. Now his father is gone, and in a spur of the moment decision, Erik finds himself in another country to run with the bulls in his memory. Erik hasn’t booked a hotel, and he’s completely unprepared for a city bustling with people. No accommodations to be had, he’s resigned to sleeping in a park. Until help comes from an unlikely place. David works in the tourism office, and Erik is surprised but grateful when he offers him his spare room, despite being a complete stranger. Faced with the choice of sleeping on the ground or the friendly offer of an extra bed, the decision is an easy one. The two of them get to know each other as David shows Erik what’s to love about Pamplona. For the first time in a long while, Erik feels something for another person, but that doesn’t change the fact that this is only temporary and he needs to go back home, does it?

Excerpt

The Sun Still Rises Laura Bailo © 2019 All Rights Reserved Prologue “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Erik had lost count of how many times his dad had asked. “Dad, I’m sure. You go and enjoy yourself.” “You could enjoy it, too, if you just forgot about everything else for a while.” He had always been worried about him. Erik was pretty sure his dad thought he didn’t know how to have fun. Not having a lot of friends didn’t mean he didn’t get to enjoy himself. His idea of fun was simply different from his father’s. “Come on, Dad, you know I would only drag you down. I don’t like crowded places, and you can’t even walk in Pamplona during the festival.” “How could you know that?” His father sounded surprised Erik actually knew something about his destination. “You’ve been going there every year for the last—what? Twenty years? And you think I’ve never watched the running of the bulls, trying to see you? I’m not that heartless, Dad.” “I didn’t say you were. You’ve never seemed interested in any of it, so I didn’t imagine you’d have done that. But I’m glad to know you love your old man enough to care and watch just in case he gets trampled by a bull.” That would have offended Erik had his dad not been smiling while he said it. “Yes, yes, I do love you, which is why I want you to go alone and have fun without me tagging along. You deserve that.” And he was serious, as this was the only time of year his dad let himself forget the problems that troubled him at work during the rest of it. “Thank you, son. There’s no convincing you, I guess. I’m going to go pack. Remember you promised to drive me to the airport.” Erik couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Yes, like I do every year. Don’t worry; I’ll be ready. You know I will.” “I know, I know.” And with two pats to Erik’s shoulder, his dad left to pack his white and red clothes. Erik decided he should head to bed. The flight left at a ridiculously early hour, which meant he should go to sleep early if he wanted to be awake enough to drive. After his dad left, he’d have a week all to himself, and he was planning on taking advantage of it, writing nonstop. Not what his dad would consider fun, but putting words on paper was what made Erik happy, and he had a deadline coming up for his next book.

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Meet the Author

Laura Bailo is an asexual Spanish author of queer romance. She’s an anxiety-ridden writer who, when not writing or reading, loves exploring the narrow streets of Pamplona and thinking about all the stories she wants to write in the future. She has a penchant for writing sweet stories with a Spanish flavor, be it fantasy or contemporary, and she’s still dreaming about writing her first historical.

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The Wolf and the Sparrow by Isabelle Adler

Cover created by Natasha Snow

RELEASE DATE: November 25, 2019

Available to Pre-Order at NineStar Press on November 22nd

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Derek never wished to inherit his title as a result of a bloody battle. With the old count dead and the truce dependent on his marriage to the rival duke’s son, Derek has no choice but to agree to the victor’s terms in order to bring peace to his homeland. When he learns of the sinister rumors surrounding his intended groom, Derek begins to have doubts—but there can be no turning back from saying I do. After the death of his wife, Callan of Mulberny never expected to be forced into another political marriage—especially not to someone like the new Count of Camria. Seemingly soft and meek, it’s only fitting that Derek’s family crest is a flighty sparrow, worthy of nothing but contempt. Another war with the seafaring people of the Outer Isles looms on the horizon, and the reluctant newlyweds must team together to protect those caught in the circle of violence. Derek and Callan slowly learn to let go of their prejudices, but as they find themselves enmeshed in intrigue fueled by dark secrets and revenge, their tentative bond is all that keeps their world—and their lives—from plunging into chaos.

Title: Irises in the Snow

Author: Isabelle Adler

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: November 4, 2019

Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 25300

Genre: Contemporary, Anxiety, artist, childhood friends, Christmas, contemporary, family drama, holiday, second chances, small town

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Synopsis

It’s Christmas, and Justin’s life is fraying at the edges. The family business he took over instead of going to art school is bleeding money, and his boyfriend of seven months cheated on him. Under these circumstances, family gatherings can be rough, but Justin believes he has everything under control. That is, until Elliot, his former best friend (and the first guy to ever break his heart) unexpectedly shows up at the holiday dinner party. With both of them still nursing the wounds of the past, it might take a real Christmas miracle for Justin and Elliot to learn to appreciate the art of second chances.

Excerpt

Irises in the Snow Isabelle Adler © 2019 All Rights Reserved The Rowel family home greeted Justin with familiar smells of cinnamon cake and fresh pine. In his mind, these scents had always been associated with the holiday season and long evenings spent around the dinner table or playing Scrabble in front of the fire. They were enough to ease some of the ache in Justin’s chest, softening his mood a tiny fraction. “Justin!” His father clapped him on the shoulder and pulled him into a hug, which Justin carefully returned. “I’m glad you could finally make it.” Despite the long remission, his father still appeared frail—or so it seemed to Justin, who, like most children, had grown up with the illusion his father was invincible until the universe proved him wrong. “Of course,” Justin said. “You know me; I can’t say no to mom’s cooking.” His father raised his eyebrow skeptically, undoubtedly recalling the string of last-minute cancellations and half-hearted excuses for not coming over in the last few weeks. A familiar wave of guilt washed over Justin. With everything that had been going on, he knew he’d be hard-pressed to withstand his parents’ well-meaning inquiries into his personal life and into the state of the family business, which had become Justin’s sole responsibility. He couldn’t bring himself to tell them just how badly both those things were going. He cranked up his smile to a new level of dissimulation, but thankfully, his mother emerged from the kitchen before his dad could challenge his statement. His mother wiped her hands on her apron and reached up to plant kisses on Justin’s cheeks. “Everybody is already here,” she told Justin as she led him by the arm into the living room as if he’d forgotten the way. “I love it when the house is full.” Her tone was a touch wistful as she gave his arm a gentle squeeze before returning to the kitchen. Justin supposed having them all together was a rare occurrence these days. He lived in a one-room apartment above their hardware store, and his sister Trish had recently moved in with her fiancé. Nowadays, only the holidays presented an opportunity for Kelly Rowel to gather all of her loved ones, and, despite having to close the shop early on Monday to attend the day-before-Christmas-Eve family gathering, Justin was glad he could do something to make his mom happy. But as soon as he entered the brightly lit living room, he came to a screeching halt. A fire already crackled merrily behind the grate. Huge red and white socks adorned with hand-embroidered names hung off the mantelpiece, decorated with a fake holly arrangement making its yearly appearance in the Rowel household. The TV showed a romantic comedy set in the Swiss Alps, as far as Justin could tell at a cursory glance. His sister Trish, her fiancé Dave, and Aunt Marnie sat glued to the movie while Uncle Tony fiddled with his iPhone. None of them, however, had the dubious honor of grabbing Justin’s attention. That belonged to the young man wearing trendy gold-rimmed glasses and the blandest Christmas sweater in existence, sitting ramrod-straight in Dad’s old armchair and seemingly engrossed in Anne Hathaway’s foreign love affair. No way. What was he doing here? Justin didn’t know how long he stood in the doorway, transfixed, until his father, coming up behind him, gave him a slight nudge. “Look who I have here!” he announced, and everybody, including the young man and Uncle Tony, raised their heads and turned his way. “Hey, Justin!” Trish got up to meet him and give him a vigorous hug. They sure were an affectionate lot, he thought absently as he hugged her back. Once, all that warmth was what kept him going. Now, it seemed almost…superfluous. “Hi, Trish,” Justin said when she let up, and nodded to the rest. “Aunt Marnie, Uncle Tony, Dave. Elliot.” “Oh, right.” Trish finally seemed to recall there was someone else present. “Mom invited Elliot to spend the holiday with us. You remember Elliot?” Justin nodded curtly, unable to tear his eyes away from their guest. He definitely remembered Elliot Turner. The man in question stood up, vacating his seat for Justin’s dad, and extended his hand in greeting. “It’s nice to see you again,” he said. Elliot’s voice was deeper, more mature than the last time Justin had spoken to him. Somehow, he seemed taller too. His gray eyes behind the shiny glasses regarded him seriously. “Sure,” Justin said politely, shaking his hand. “It’s been a while.” “Five years,” Elliot said. “I was sorry to hear about your parents,” Justin said. An awkward silence, accentuated by the chatter from the TV, settled around the living room at the mention of the tragedy. Trish and Aunt Marnie exchanged a nervous look. Really, did they expect Justin to just ignore what had happened? When he’d heard of the terrible car accident last year, he tried calling Elliot in Los Angeles, but Elliot never picked up the phone or responded to Justin’s email in which he offered his condolences. That, above anything else, made it perfectly clear Justin was no longer welcome in his life. So what was he doing back, standing in Justin’s parents’ living room? “Thank you,” Elliot said gravely. Suddenly, Justin was aware he was still holding Elliot’s hand and let it go, taking an involuntary step back. He wasn’t prepared for all the half-repressed memories dragged to the surface by Elliot’s touch—and he certainly wasn’t prepared to deal with them in front of his notoriously meddlesome, if well-meaning, extended family. Elliot stepped away as well, dropping his eyes. The sudden loss of contact felt like…well, a loss. “Is Mark coming?” Trish asked, peering behind Justin’s shoulder as if expecting to find his boyfriend loitering in the corridor. “No,” he said curtly. “Oh, that’s too bad. Maybe he’ll join us tomorrow, then?” “I don’t think so. How are your studies going?” he asked Trish, desperately trying to divert her focus elsewhere. “I’m doing great. Passed all my midterms.” “With flying colors,” Dave said. He rose from his seat to shake Justin’s hand as Elliot stepped aside to make room for him and plopped back down, taking over half the couch in a casual sprawl. Dave was a big guy, tall and built like a quarterback. Trish was taller than Justin by an inch, and nearly as broad in the shoulders, but Dave made her seem petite in comparison. “That’s terrific,” Justin said, his voice warming. His plan of going to art school had gone up in flames and then slowly fizzled over the years as other considerations took precedence over the illusions of youth, but at least it hadn’t all been for nothing. With her athletics scholarship, Trish had been accepted to UIndy, and as long as she got to achieve that dream, he was happy to do anything he could to support her. “I can’t believe you got even paler, though,” Trish said, casting a critical eye over him. “And thinner. Are you auditioning for the role of the Ghost of Christmas Past?” “You’re the one to talk, Trish,” Aunt Marnie observed primly. “That’s the trouble with young people today. You can’t be bothered to take care of yourselves. Eating sandwiches in front of the TV instead of sitting down for a proper meal, chugging all those soft drinks, always on your phones instead of having a nice long conversation over the dinner table.” She glanced disapprovingly at Uncle Tony as she said it. Justin couldn’t tell whether her dissatisfaction stemmed from his being effectively absent from the proceedings, or that his preoccupation with his own mobile device undermined her point of it being the affliction of solely the younger generation. Justin rolled his eyes and caught a glimpse of Elliot doing the same. He pretended not to notice. “Oh, shush, Marnie.” Justin’s dad, John, tsked in annoyance at his sister-in-law as he settled comfortably in his shabby armchair. “Leave the girl alone. The last thing she needs is your dieting advice.” “Just so you know, I eat healthier than all of you,” Trish said, sitting back down on the sofa beside her fiancé. Thankfully, she wasn’t ruffled by her aunt’s comment. Unlike Justin, she had always boasted a sunny disposition and staunchly refused to let bullies of any variety upset her. “And I drink nothing but fresh juice and water. Carbonated for special occasions.” Dave snickered and petted her arm lovingly. “Yes. Well. You must be tired, dear,” Aunt Marnie said, changing the subject and addressing Justin. “Why don’t you sit, put your feet up for a bit? Now, are you sure your young man isn’t coming? I had such a nice chat with him when you brought him over for Thanksgiving. Did you know—” “I’m sure,” Justin interrupted her. Elliot’s gaze was like a laser beam trained on him, but he refused to meet it head on. “Actually, I think I’ll go see if Mom needs any help in the kitchen.” Justin beat a hasty retreat before they could all start bickering again—and before he had to explain his current heartache in front of the man who was the first to ever break it.

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Meet the Author

A voracious reader from the age of five, Isabelle Adler has always dreamed of one day putting her own stories into writing. She loves traveling, art, and science, and finds inspiration in all of these. Her favorite genres include sci-fi, fantasy, and historical adventure. She also firmly believes in the unlimited powers of imagination and caffeine.

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Title: He Dreams Magic

Author: Emme C. Taylor

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: October 28, 2019

Heat Level: 1 - No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 88100

Genre: Fantasy, LGBT, fantasy, alternate universe, literature, horror, captivity, magic, magic users, action/adventure, monsters, slow burn

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Synopsis

Ren has always wanted to leave, to escape his quiet village life. He wakes up from gold-tinged dreams with his heart pounding and a yearning for something he can’t name, can’t hold. He longs to experience something magical just once in his life. Nico’s monsters don’t lurk under the bed. They walk in daylight. They haunt him every day of his life. He’s possibly the strongest magician of his time, yet he’s trapped. All he wants is an out. At a magical carnival in the middle of a forest, Ren and Nico collide. They’ve been on this collision course their entire lives, always hurtling toward each other. For both men, escape is now. They have no choice but to flee together. Monsters and betrayal hunt them across strange lands. They find themselves on a journey to save each other—and possibly the world. All they have is one another, Nico’s magic, and a lifetime of half-remembered dreams. But finding each other, finally having someone to rely on, might be the strongest magic of all.

Excerpt

He Dreams Magic Emme C. Taylor © 2019 All Rights Reserved Ren The lake was on fire. Ren dipped his oars into the water and swept himself closer to the blaze, each stroke an exultation. He’d been waiting months for this, counting down the hot summer weeks to autumn and rain and flames. He was ready to throw himself into the burn. The fire came on time, as it did every year. The first rainstorm of autumn brought them down from the sky. Or so the story was told. Ren couldn’t quite bring himself to believe they rode through the skies on storm clouds and dropped to the ground between thunderclaps, stealing their impossible power from the lightning. Then again, they were magicians. Anything was possible. Ren’s village, Klein, lay huddled in the dark at his back. On the opposite shore, half the forest flickered red. The low clouds caught and held the glowing light from below. The spectacle could be seen from every village in the surrounding valley, a beacon: come, step into the heat, play with us, burn with us. For the first time in his life, he was going to see it up close. From the quiet safety of Klein, the spectacle always gave the impression of a town set aflame. So near to it, it wasn’t like that at all. More like the whole world had ignited. His fingers around the wood paddles twitched with anticipation. This was it. Finally. Finally. By the time Ren reached the middle of the lake, half of it alight, a bright crimson flared across the surface and leaped like waves in wind. Reflections set the rest of the lake ablaze so that it seemed to Ren he was sitting in the very middle of the conflagration. So far, he had avoided the areas of the lake that had caught flame. Magic. God, yes. He could practically taste it in the air, and he wanted more of it. He’d dreamed of magic for years, a gold thread of it always in his mind’s eye. Since childhood, magic remained a ball of yearning lodged in his chest. Ren had to see it for himself. Touch it. Experience it. He wanted to drink it, have it sear his throat. For years, he’d heard whispers of this from people in nearby villages, those who had gotten close to it over the years. Those who’d walked through it—and come out on the other side. Ren paused in the middle of the lake to take it all in. He would be seeing fire in his dreams that night. His turn had come to walk into this wild world. He dug his oars into the lake, his reflection rippling away from the boat with each stroke. Ren pushed himself closer to the ruby burn, a moth drawn to the dangerous lure of light.

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Meet the Author

Emme C. Taylor can be found wandering stormy beaches with a pen and notebook in hand, waiting for inspiration or lightning to strike. She believes the atmospheric environment helps her to write the grittiest parts of her stories. Crochet and dark chocolate ease her mind when her characters aren’t cooperating. Emme will happily talk about almost anything to avoid having to talk about herself. How about this weather, huh?

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Title: Human Enough

Author: E.S. Yu

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: October 7, 2019

Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 52400

Genre: Paranormal, LGBT, romance, paranormal, Ace, Pansexual, Autism, Crime, Alt Universe, law enforcement, vampires, friends to lovers, interracial

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Synopsis

When Noah Lau joined the Vampire Hunters Association, seeking justice for his parents’ deaths, he didn’t anticipate ending up imprisoned in the house of the vampire he was supposed to kill—and he definitely didn’t anticipate falling for that vampire’s lover. Six months later, Noah’s life has gotten significantly more complicated. On top of being autistic in a world that doesn’t try to understand him, he still hunts vampires for a living…while dating a vampire himself. Awkward. When one of Jordan’s vampire friends goes missing and Noah’s new boss at the VHA becomes suspicious about some of his recent cases, what starts off as a routine paperwork check soon leads Noah to a sinister conspiracy. As he investigates, he and Jordan get sucked into a deadly web of intrigue that will test the limits of their relationship.

Excerpt

Human Enough E.S. Yu © 2019 All Rights Reserved Chapter One As a vampire hunter, Noah was used to his plans going south in the worst possible ways. This op, however, was currently vying for one of the worst—by annoying him out of his goddamned mind. On paper, it had sounded simple: a vampire had been responsible for some blood-drained corpses, probably a newly turned one based on how messy the crime scenes were, and Noah’s squad had been assigned to take care of the problem. They were in the unusual situation of being down one member while waiting for their new squad leader to arrive, but the op should’ve been easily doable for a three-person team. According to their intel, the vampire always left his suburban house after sunset to feed. Except Noah was still sitting in a backyard tree five hours after sunset, watching the vampire’s immobile heat signature through the second-floor window. His fingers were going numb in the cold autumn night, the colors from his infrared binoculars had practically been seared into his retinas, and he swore he was going to become part of the tree if he sat there for much longer. He finally got Casey O’Donnell to cover for him—which Casey only agreed to after making some snide comments—while he texted Jordan. Sorry, can’t make it to the movie tonight. Hunt taking longer than expected. And, after debating with himself as to whether a smiley face was too much, he finally added, L. Jordan texted back quickly: No worries. Be safe!! It was the third time he had to cancel plans with Jordan in two weeks, and it was making him cranky. “Who were you texting?” Casey asked, again, from his perch on the opposite side of the tree. “Someone,” said Noah for the third time. Casey was eyeing him in a way that made Noah uncomfortable. “That’s the third time you’ve texted during a stakeout.” Jesus, he’s keeping track? Noah put his phone away. “What, like you’ve never played Candy Crush on your phone during a stakeout?” Casey raised an eyebrow. “I thought not breaking rules was your thing. Along with not being able to lie and stuff.” And there it is. Noah suppressed the urge to snort. Casey was half right…but he was also half wrong, as usual. While Noah generally preferred not to stir up trouble, he was perfectly capable of breaking rules and lying through his teeth if he thought it was for the “greater good,” however he defined that. Which, in this case, meant passing on status updates so Jordan wouldn’t be up all night worrying. Noah raised the infrared binoculars to his eyes, turning the night back into neon colors, and scanned the second-floor bedroom again. Still no movement. He turned his comm back on. “Guys, the vamp might as well be asleep. We should move.” “No can do, Lau,” said Ava Lopez through the comm. She was currently keeping watch at the front of the house. “He might use the human as a hostage if he smells us.” That was the problem, the reason why they’d been stuck out there for hours, waiting for the vampire to leave. Through his infrared binoculars, Noah could clearly see the human’s heat signature in the same room as the vampire’s dimmer one. There were any number of reasons why a human might be living with a vampire, but standard hunter protocol was to assume that a vampire valued human lives less than their own. But what if that might not be true? an annoying voice asked in the back of Noah’s mind. His jaw tightened. He couldn’t say that for sure, and human safety always had to come first, he reminded himself. Besides, the vampire had already crossed the line by killing people. “Well, intel has clearly been faulty so far, so how much longer are we going to wait out here?” he groused. He hated faulty intel. At best, it scrambled their carefully created plans and forced them to improvise; at worst, it cost lives. Also, right now it was ruining the romantic movie night he’d planned. There was silence at the other end as Ava thought. At least, Noah hoped she was thinking of a plan and not a rebuttal as to why they should sit and wait for another five hours. “Okay,” she finally said. “I’m thinking doorbell strategy. Anyone have any objections?” “No, ma’am,” Casey drawled. The doorbell strategy was slightly risky for a three-person team. If they flushed the vampire out, they’d usually need someone to cover every side of the house. Noah couldn’t think of any other feasible, safe alternative, though. “All right,” Ava said. “Move out.” Noah continued watching the window through the infrared binoculars. After a few minutes, the human heat signature left his view. “The human’s answering the door,” Noah said over the comm. “Copy that,” said Casey. His boots scraped against bark as he climbed down from the tree. “What’s the status on the vamp?” “He hasn’t moved,” Noah observed. The muted sounds of Ava’s conversation with the house’s human inhabitant sounded over the comm. Then, Ava said, “I’m going inside to flush him out. Be prepared.” Noah put his binoculars away and clambered down from the tree. “I’m at the south window,” he said. Although the bedroom was on the second floor, vampires could survive jumping to the ground from that height with no problem. “Got the west window covered,” Casey added. Noah readied his rifle. One minute passed. Then, another. Ava shouted at the vampire, her voice carrying through the comm a split second before gunshots followed. Ava swore. “Missed him!” Noah heard the sound of a window shattering—at the unguarded front of the house. “He’s escaping through the front!” he yelled. He ditched his rifle and drew his handgun from its holster as he bolted around the side of the house, toward the sound of breaking glass. He raised his gun and shot as the vampire fell, but the vampire hit the ground, rolled to his feet, and immediately grabbed the human woman who’d been standing in the front yard, yanking her against him. She hadn’t moved away from the house the way Ava had instructed her to. Noah’s heart sank. Oh, crap. This was not the “easy, quick hunt and then go home” he’d been hoping for. Casey came around the other side of the house behind the vampire. “Don’t shoot,” Noah said into the comm. “There’s a hostage in front of him.” “Make one move, and the human goes!” the vampire shouted, keeping the woman in front of him as he turned to face Noah. The woman’s eyes were wide with fear. Noah hesitated, his finger perched on the trigger. His marksmanship was solid, but he still didn’t want to risk shooting the woman. Ava was still in the house, judging by the way the vampire glanced through the open doorway, but her options were also limited. “You don’t have to do this,” Noah said, and then nearly cringed when he realized he was reciting a line from basically every action movie ever. The vampire bared his fangs next to the woman’s neck. “I wouldn’t have to if you hunters just left me alone!” Noah’s grip tightened on his gun. “You know what the punishment is for killing humans. You brought this on yourself.” The vampire’s eyes narrowed. “You’d never under—” He suddenly cried out, crumpling to his knees. The woman scrambled away from him, and Noah took the shot, nailing him in the chest. He crept closer, making sure to shoot the vampire in the heart several more times. The vampire didn’t move after that. “Death confirmed,” Noah said into the comm. He glanced through the doorway into the house, to where Ava had knelt in the front hall to shoot the vampire in the knees. “Thanks.” Ava nodded at him as she got up. “No problem.” Casey came over to join them and whistled. “Shooting out his kneecaps? Impressive.” “Thanks, O’Donnell,” said Ava. “And nice job for finishing him off and keeping him distracted, Lau,” said Casey. “But you know there’s no point in reasoning with vampires, right?” Noah didn’t reply to that except to shrug. He went to grab the body bag from their van. He and Casey stuffed the corpse into the bag—while Casey moaned and groaned about being on cleanup duty, as always—while Ava made sure the woman was okay. She reported back to them that the woman was in shock, so after Noah and Casey lugged the bag and the rest of their gear back to the van, they dropped the woman off at a hospital. Noah hoped she would be okay. “Whew,” said Ava, once they’d dumped off the body for disposal and driven back to headquarters. “I don’t know about you guys, but I could really use a drink. Anyone else up for a bar crawl?” “Can’t,” Noah said immediately. “Sorry. It’s pretty late, and I have to get back home. Maybe next time, though,” he added, to be polite. “What’s the matter, Lau?” Ava teased. “Got a hot date?” Before Noah could answer, Casey beat him to the punch. “It’s his mysterious girlfriend he won’t let anyone meet. What’s her name again?” “Jordan. And for the last time, she’s shy and private and faints at the mention of blood,” said Noah, the practiced lies rolling smoothly off his tongue. “Can’t anyone keep their work life and private life separate anymore?” “Aw, c’mon!” Casey nudged him. “Can’t you at least show us a picture?” Noah rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t want to give you any ideas, O’Donnell.” He said goodbye to his squad mates before they could ask him any more questions and drove back to his apartment. Damn, it was late. Wearily, he trudged up to his unit, unlocked his door, and slipped inside. He made his way into the bathroom, stripped his clothes off, and stepped into the shower, sighing as the warm water hit his tired muscles. He closed his eyes, trying to let his mind drift away from work. A few minutes later, the shower curtain slid aside with a rustle and cool arms circled his waist. “Long day at the office?” a soft, low voice murmured against his ear. Noah smiled and leaned back. “Very long. Glad to be home at last.” “Me too.” Noah turned around to look at the hazel-eyed man with golden-brown hair and pale skin—a touch too pale—behind him. “Hey, Jordan,” he said, before leaning forward and kissing his boyfriend under the shower spray. Noah always felt somewhat bad for lying about his “girlfriend” to his coworkers. It wasn’t that he was afraid of people knowing he was dating a guy; he just didn’t want anyone getting too interested in his dating life and finding out he was dating a vampire.

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Meet the Author

E.S. Yu is a writer of speculative fiction and a geek who lives for video games, superhero comics, and all things sci-fi/fantasy. E.S. is a recovering law school graduate who lives off green tea and dreams of writing full-time; for now, she follows wherever her muse takes her to places sometimes dark, sometimes quirky, but always hopeful.

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Title: T.A.D

Author: M.D. Neu

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: September 23, 2019

Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 53100

Genre: Paranormal, LGBT, bisexual, angels, fantasy, Fate, 9/11, tear-jerker, friendship, love, drag queens

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Synopsis

Tad bounces around in time and watches mankind grow and change. He loves humanity and helping when he can. However, his job isn’t conducive to helping people—he’s an Angel of Death. Doug is a fun-loving drama queen. He’s an amazing drag queen and hairstylist with big dreams, but despite his witty exterior, he has a dark history and is prone to self-destruction. When Tad pushes the boundaries of his duties too far, his wings are stripped away from him, and he is sent to New York City to live as a human. Lost and alone he ends up meeting Doug, and they start a friendship that shapes them both and may last a lifetime. But nothing is simple when you’re dealing with a former Angel of Death and a Drag Queen. Could these two cause the fabric of our world to collapse or will they manage to keep the future as it should?

Excerpt

TAD M.D. Neu © 2019 All Rights Reserved Doug glanced up at the big void where the buildings once stood. How could anyone do that? All those people, and for what? Thank God, no one I know was there. Thank goodness, Garret’s train was running late. Even from across the river, seeing the buildings fall, one minute there, the next not, awful. Not knowing if Garret was alive or dead. The not knowing was awful, and it seemed to last forever. Then getting his call when the phones were back up. It was a relief. Still, the not knowing? Horrible. How do survivors do it? Doug shuddered. He had to look away before he started to cry again. That day. The world wasn’t the same. How could it be? Would it ever be the same again? He swiped at his eyes, keeping the tears he was trying to hold back from dropping. He caught his reflection in one of the storefront windows and fussed with his spiky blond hair. One year. The months right after the attack had been hell for everyone. People from all over the world sent support and offered help. But New York was moving on, as it should. They already had seven different architects offering new designs to fill the empty skyline. Mayor Giuliani was doing everything he could for the city, and there was even talk of him running for president. Doug checked his flip phone and picked up his pace. He was running late. He shouldn’t have spent the night at Tim’s, but leaving such a sexy guy was no easy task. Not to mention they might have partied too much. I doubt that is even possible. You can never party too much. There was a large group of mourners, and he had to step to the side to let them pass. He took a deep cleansing breath, pushing all thoughts from his mind, and started walking again. He rushed past the families and friends heading to Ground Zero. Now he had to hustle to make it to work. He’d gotten lucky no one he was familiar with was killed. Still, every time he thought about the attack and looked up at the twin lights filling the night sky, he wanted to cry. Monsters. Why President Bush didn’t blow up the whole of the Middle East after the attack, Doug would never understand. Instead, the president sent troops to Afghanistan, searching for Osama bin Laden and taking out Al-Qaeda. Just as long as they find and kill the monsters who did this to us. Doug couldn’t help but stop again and glance up to where the twin towers once stood. He quickly wiped at his eyes. “I need to get out of here.” He moved over to the brick façade and leaned against the wall as more people passed him, heading to the memorial ceremony. “So much suffering and for what?” Doug mumbled. He started walking again, taking a deep breath and trying to avoid the crowds. A woman in a dark jacket passed him and bumped his shoulder, causing him to step closer to an alley. She didn’t bother saying anything; however, Doug thought she said something about his size. He caught his reflection again. He hated how everything made him feel so fat. Nothing he wore looked right on him. Even the baggy pants still made him look fat and messy. He would need to start at the gym if he wanted to continue dating Tim and keep up with his partying. He frowned. At least I have good hair. He played with the spikes of his hair. “It’s my fault,” a gruff voice whispered from behind him. Doug startled and turned around, but no one was there. He glanced over to the dumpster. Sitting there, a raggedy black man, with kinky hair in desperate need of a cut and wash, stared at him. The man had the most beautiful green eyes Doug had ever seen. The rich tones of his skin really made his eyes pop, quite possibly the unkempt man’s best feature. The man was in shambles, and tears streamed down his dirty cheeks. The anniversary affects everyone. “I did this,” the man groaned through his sobs. “And now I’m being punished.” Doug wasn’t sure what to do or say. Should he walk away and get to the salon? Leave what appeared to be the crazy homeless guy alone? Could he do that now that they made eye contact? Could he do that today of all days? The man needed help. The man needed a shower and clean clothes. Perhaps, if he talked to him, that would be enough…well, the talk and ten bucks. That’s what Shannon would do. Talk to him and give him money. Shannon was such a kind soul, and I need to be more like him, more like he was. To honor him. Just like my drag name. Maybe Miss Enshannon needs to be more. I need to be more. Doug’s heart ached at the memories of Shannon and how wonderful he was. When he picked his drag name there was no doubt on what it would be, but to honor someone you loved had to be more than using their name. “It’s not your fault.” He knelt close to the man, still keeping his distance just in case. “It was the work of terrorists. They killed all those people, not you.” “I should have stopped them. I should have done more,” the dirty man moaned. “Oh, baby, no one could have done more,” Doug offered. Some people thought the government knew about the attack beforehand and the president allowed it to happen. Doug didn’t buy it. Why anyone listened to these people was beyond him, but they did. He just wished they would shut up and crawl back under the rocks they came from. They weren’t helping anyone, and in the long run, their remarks and comments only hurt people more. “Now, I’m being punished. They sent me here and took my wings,” the man whispered. Was this guy a pilot? Oh, that would be awful. I bet he was supposed to fly one of the planes, and he couldn’t take it. Survivor’s guilt. “No one is punishing you. Look, it’s a tough day for everyone. We all feel like we should have done more.” Images of the planes flying into the towers and then seeing and feeling them collapse; even at the Paul Mitchell campus on Staten Island, they were affected. I really need to call Garret. Doug pulled out his flip phone and checked the time. “I’ve got to get to work.” He stopped and peeked at the crowd of people passing by and then faced the guy. A bright smile filled his face. I know what I’ve got to do. A makeover. Help this guy out. “You want to come with me? We’ll get you a shower and give you a cut. My girl Minx knows all about your hair type. It’ll be fun.” What the hell am I doing? I must still be drunk from last night. Or affected by what Tim and I took. This guy might kill me. No. He’s sad, and on a day like today, someone needs to be nice to him. Plus, I’m a big enough guy I can take him… Doug extended his hand. I hope. “You want to help me?” The man glanced around at his filthy surroundings. Doug nodded. “Sure. Why not?” “Most people ignore me. Some people give me money, but they rush by.” The man’s voice was filled with surprise. He stood and Doug took in this guy’s build. Strong shoulders, even if hidden by a disheveled brown shirt and coat. Doug got a whiff of the funk that enveloped the man. It was a mix of… Doug didn’t want to think what, and he pulled back. Definitely a shower and some new clothes. These are getting burned. “Well, not today.” Doug dusted off his pants. “I work at a salon near Washington Square. You know it?” His face got warm. “Anyway, we can walk there and get you all cleaned up. My boss won’t mind.” Or at least I hope not. Nah, the bitch owes me for helping him with his makeup the other night at the club. What a show that was. I killed it. “Thank you.” The man beamed a bright pearly smile, in contrast to the dirt on his face and clothes. His teeth and mouth were probably the cleanest part of him. What’s more, there was no foul odor coming from his mouth. Good oral hygiene. I’m not even sure that is possible, given the state of him, but thank the lord. “What’s your name?” Doug asked as they weaved through the crowd, people giving them a wide birth. “I’m Doug.” “I don’t have a name.” Doug froze. “What?” “I don’t have a name.” The man met Doug’s gaze with his big eyes and innocent face. “They used to call me…” His gaze dropped to the sidewalk. “What?” Doug stood watching him. A tall man with a goatee hit his shoulder as he passed. “What did they used to call you? Can’t be any worse than what they’ve called me.” The dirty man faced Doug. “They used to call me the Angel of Death before they took my wings.” Doug let out a nervous laugh as he glanced around. There was a break in the stream of people. Great, this guy is crazy, and I’m stuck with him. Good job, dumb ass. Doug shook his head, studying the sky. This is all Shannon’s fault. I should have kept walking. Everyone tells me not to make eye contact with the homeless. Why didn’t I listen? Doug cleared his throat. “Well, we can’t call you that. How about Angel?” The man shook his head. “Well, I’m not gonna call you Death, no matter how cool it sounds,” Doug teased as they walked again and got to the intersection. They crossed the street, ignoring the odd looks they were getting. He was used to odd looks. He had been getting them his whole life. People needed to suck it. “Oh, I know. How about Tad?” “Tad?” Doug smiled. “Short for ‘the Angel of Death.’ Well, that would be Taod, but that sounds dumb.” The man shrugged. “Tad it is.” Doug’s mouth grew into a smile and warmth rushed through his body that wasn’t there this morning. It was nice. Doing something good for someone on a day like today felt like a good call. Even the stench coming off the man seemed to lessen. Maybe the man didn’t smell bad after all. Or maybe I’m getting used to it. Gross. As long as he doesn’t go all batshit crazy, he could deal with the smell, which would be fixed soon enough. He hoped. They picked up their pace and walked in silence. Doug wasn’t fully sure why he was doing this. Was it because today was such a hard day? Was it his small way of acknowledging that we all need help sometimes? Was it because the world was a massive shit hole and he wanted to make it a little better? Was he doing it for Shannon? Shannon had been so kind and sweet, never having it easy. At least Doug passed for straight, when he wanted to, which wasn’t often these days. And forget it when he was onstage with his big blonde wig, big red lips, and big old fake titties. Hell, this might even be fate for all he knew. Fuck it, who cares? I’m fierce, and Tad’s gonna be fierce. Doug pulled open the door to the salon. “Hey, girls, I have a project,” he announced in his loudest, most over-the-top voice possible. “This is Tad, and we’re gonna make him fabulous.” He snapped his fingers and everyone in the shop froze and stared at them.

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Meet the Author

M.D. Neu is a LGBTQA Fiction Writer with a love for writing and travel. Living in the heart of Silicon Valley (San Jose, California) and growing up around technology, he’s always been fascinated with what could be. Specifically drawn to Science Fiction and Paranormal television and novels, M.D. Neu was inspired by the great Gene Roddenberry, George Lucas, Stephen King, Alfred Hitchcock and Kim Stanley Robinson. An odd combination, but one that has influenced his writing. Growing up in an accepting family as a gay man, he always wondered why there were never stories reflecting who he was. Constantly surrounded by characters that only reflected heterosexual society, M.D. Neu decided he wanted to change that. So, he took to writing, wanting to tell good stories that reflected our diverse world. When M.D. Neu isn’t writing, he works for a non-profit and travels with his biggest supporter and his harshest critic, Eric, his husband of eighteen plus years.

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Title: No Good Men

Series: The Caro Mysteries, Book One

Author: Thea McAlistair

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: September 16, 2019

Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 65100

Genre: Historical, LGBT, 1930s, Age gap, Historical, Gay, Dark, Mystery, Anxiety

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Synopsis

In 1934, almost everyone struggles to pay the rent, and Alex Dawson is no exception. To support his writing habit, he moonlights with his mentor Donnie as a bodyguard for the mayor. It’s dull work, until the night a handsome, golden-eyed stranger catches his eye–and both his boss and his mentor are killed when his back is turned. Jobless and emotionally adrift, Alex vows to find the murderer before the corrupt police can pin the blame on him. But he soon discovers he’s in over his head. The golden-eyed stranger turns out to be a mob boss’s cousin, and a suspicious stack of money in Donnie’s dresser leads Alex to discover that his mentor and the mayor were involved in something more crooked than fundraising dinners and campaign speeches. As the death count rises amid corruption, mob politics, and anarchist plots, Alex realizes that the murders aren’t political or even business. This is the work of a spree killer, and Alex and his new boyfriend are the only ones who can stop them.

Excerpt

No Good Men Thea McAlistair © 2019 All Rights Reserved Mob money could buy a lot, but apparently it couldn’t buy taste. Every single architectural detail of the Ostia struck me as garish: from the chandeliers dripping crystals to the thick wooden accent panels to the gold-painted cherubs carved into the tops of the columns. But my opinion didn’t matter; I was just hired muscle. The club had opened the previous December—about two seconds after booze turned legal again—and attracted all sorts of upper-class clientele, including my boss, Mayor Roy Carlisle. They called him the White Knight of Westwick, and he ran on the rather ironic platform of driving various ne’er-do-wells out of the city. But again, not my business. My job was to hover just behind him in case something terrible happened. Nothing ever happened though, no crazed attackers or falling pianos. The worst crisis I’d run into in the ten or so months I’d been working for him was a freak rainstorm at a garden party, and I had to hold my jacket over his wife Emma’s head to protect her hair. Still, it was a dollar a night to stand around, and that was more than other people were getting. The Depression had wiped everyone out, including me. If I hadn’t taken up bodyguarding, I would’ve been thrown out of my room in the boardinghouse faster than I could say eviction. Writing pulp stories wasn’t a lucrative day job, and even less so at the beginning of a career. Which was why, despite my thoughts on the decor, I was pleased to be at the Ostia. Everyone said they had the best acts in town, and I couldn’t disagree. That night they opened with a pretty, button-nosed redhead. She was French, or at least she had a good enough grip of the language to sing in it. I didn’t know what she was singing about, but it sounded sultry enough as she made eyes at our table. Carlisle lapped it up, ignorant or indifferent to Emma turning bright pink beside him. She didn’t say anything though. Maybe she’d taken a lesson from other political wives and learned to swallow her pride or risk becoming divorced and destitute. Not that she didn’t deserve to be proud. She was still pretty at thirty-five—ten years Carlisle’s junior—blonde and delicate with huge blue eyes. She must have gotten her looks from her mother, because her father had the smashed face of a bulldog and towered over even my own six feet. Seated to his daughter’s left that night, Marc Logan also stewed in silence, his hand alternately crumpling the napkins and patting Emma reassuringly on the knee. His own blue eyes, the haunting color of old ice, bored a hole into the side of Carlisle’s head. Their dinner guest for the evening, Mrs. Green, likewise noticed his glare and apparently decided the best course of action was distraction. “Emma dear, did you see what Miss Kepler was wearing the other night at the Peterson soiree?” she tittered as she coiled the chain for her hanging glasses around a finger. “Hmm?” Emma turned her head just enough to keep her husband in her peripheral vision. “I’m sorry; what were you saying about the Kepler girl?” “Her dress!” exclaimed Mrs. Green. “It was scandalous! So low-cut. Anyone would have thought she was selling herself. Her father should never have let her out of the house like that. Don’t you agree, Mr. Logan?” Logan blinked slowly, no doubt trying to come to terms with the dullness of a conversation centered on someone else’s clothing. “While I have to agree that she was… improperly dressed for the occasion, it is quite difficult for a man to say no to his daughter once she’s gotten her mind wrapped around something.” He glanced at Emma, who smiled weakly. Mrs. Green continued along the thread of scandalous attire, but I let my attention slip back to Carlisle. Oblivious to the rest of his table, he continued to stare at the French singer. While such behavior wasn’t unusual for him, that night it was so obvious that even I was becoming uncomfortable. I glanced at my watch and suppressed a groan. It was only half-past ten. Donnie wouldn’t be around for another hour and a half. “Are you feeling all right, Mr. Dawson?” My attention snapped to Emma. “Yes, ma’am,” I answered, hoping she hadn’t noticed my boredom. Her mouth quirked like she was in on some joke I didn’t know the punchline to, but she said nothing else. Instead she turned to her father, placed a hand on his shoulder, and whispered something in his ear. He grunted in response. Carlisle didn’t notice the exchange, or maybe didn’t care. Mrs. Green kept nattering away. The song stopped, and the French girl took a bow. We all clapped, Carlisle too enthusiastically, and Emma barely at all. The girl swept off the stage to a table off the wing for a break, and she was replaced by a dark-haired woman with too much makeup. The new woman sang with a rough alto voice, occasionally throwing appraising looks at Carlisle, though he didn’t return them. Once the French girl left, his attention had returned to the food. The rest of the table did the same. With my charges occupied, I took the chance to look over the room again. Nothing out of the ordinary. Diners, waiters, a glossy bar at the back. The maître-de waving through a man who had just entered… I realized I knew the man weaving his way between tables. Donnie was terribly noticeable with a thick, out-of-fashion beard and pocket-watch chain draped across his waistcoat. I looked at my own watch again. It was only eleven.

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Meet the Author

Thea McAlistair is the pseudonym of an otherwise terribly boring office worker from New Jersey. She studied archaeology, anthropology, history, architecture, and public policy, but none of those panned out, so she decided to go back to an early love – writing. She can often be found muttering to herself about her latest draft at completely inappropriate times.

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Title: A Noble Cause

Series: Legacy, Book Two

Author: Mickie B. Ashling

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: August 26, 2019

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 64500

Genre: Fantasy, NineStar Press, LGBT, fantasy, mpreg, magic, royalty, gay, age-gap, men with children, intersex, demons, wedding, kilts

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Synopsis

Having achieved his heart’s desire at a high price, Prince Colin of Sendorra and his fiancé, Nobel Prize winner Alain de Gris, find themselves at the epicenter of a twisted plot. Colin’s cousin, Drake Bradford, and his grandmother Maura, the high priestess of the Bradford Coven, have conspired for years to bring down the royal family. Resembling his cousin in features and coloring, Drake, the soulless rat, has been using their similarities—and black magic—to his advantage. Princess Charlotte, Colin’s ex-girlfriend, is unwittingly drawn into the feud, blissfully unaware she’s been sleeping with an impostor. In this anticipated sequel to A Tangled Legacy, Colin and Alain, along with their fearless group of witches, ghosts, and familiars, embark on a convoluted journey to save the people they love and ensure the royal succession.

Excerpt

A Noble Cause Mickie B. Ashling © 2019 All Rights Reserved Prologue Charlie’s head lolled back against the leather seat of the BMW as Drake Bradford, still in his disguise as Prince Colin of Sendorra, navigated the crowded streets of Biarritz before merging onto the toll road heading toward Paris. He’d cast a sleeping spell on his “fiancé” to avoid the interrogation he was sure would follow once she realized they were on their way out of town. He needed privacy to confer with Granny Maura to formulate a new plan while the royals were busy drawing up countermeasures to deal with him. Drake grew impatient as Granny’s phone rang and rang. Like many seniors, she didn’t have her mobile at her fingertips, defeating the whole purpose of instant availability. Finally, after the seventh ring, she picked up. “It’s about bloody time.” “I couldn’t find my phone,” she replied apologetically. “We’ve already talked about this on several occasions,” Drake scolded. “Put it on your kitchen counter so you know where to look.” “What’s the problem?” she asked dismissively. “I’ve managed to kill off the dowager and Colin in one fell swoop.” “You what!” “They should have stayed out of my business,” Drake defended. “Tell me exactly what happened,” Maura ordered tersely. “Plans started to unravel the minute Colin showed up unexpectedly. He wasn’t due home for another couple of days, and Charlie and I would have announced our engagement by then. There was nothing he could have done to stop us from marrying, but then it all went to shit.” “Where are you?” “Driving to Paris.” “Is Charlie with you?” “Of course she is,” Drake snapped. “She’s mine and I have every intention of marrying her. Plus, she’s carrying my child.” “Don’t come to Paris,” Maura advised. “It’s the first place they’ll look.” “What do you suggest?” “Let me find you an apartment in Prague.” “Why there?” “It’s a good place to hide in plain sight.” “Get back to me with details once you’ve made the arrangements.” “It might take a few hours.” He grunted. “Doesn’t matter, Granny. This is going to be one long-ass drive.” “All right.” Drake gunned the engine and put the car on cruise control the minute he was on the toll road. He was still seething at having been foiled—by an incompetent witch, no less—and wasn’t the least bit sorry he’d destroyed a dynasty. The only downside to this turn of events was figuring out how to deal with Charlie and her parents. He’d have to use her pregnancy and his powers of persuasion to convince her he was a far better choice than Colin could ever be. Granted, he didn’t have a kingdom to lay at her feet, but he and Charlie had great chemistry, and the girl melted into a pliant fool the minute he laid hands on her. He’d keep her so sexed up she wouldn’t dream of rejecting him. His phone rang an hour later, and he was stunned by Maura’s news. “Colin isn’t dead.” Drake slammed on the brakes, and the car fishtailed to a stop on the shoulder, narrowly avoiding a six-car pileup. “Impossible!” he thundered. “I stopped his heart.” “Isabelle Simon and her son managed to bring him back to life,” she deadpanned. “The coven has already received a lengthy email demanding retribution.” “Or what?” “We’ll have a war on our hands, Drake. I’m not sure I can get the other members to stand by our side when your actions were completely unjustified.” “Fuck the coven,” Drake snarled. “I don’t want their help. And need I remind you this was your plan all along? What about the dowager?” “She’s dead.” “So, you got what you wanted,” Drake pointed out malevolently. He sucked in air through his clenched teeth and gripped the steering wheel. “Now it’s my turn, and you’d better back me up.” “I’ll see you in Prague.”

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Meet the Author

Mickie B. Ashling is the pseudonym of a multifaceted woman who is a product of her upbringing in multiple cultures, having lived in Japan, the Philippines, Spain, and the Middle East. Fluent in three languages, she’s a citizen of the world and an interesting mixture of East and West. A little bit of this and a lot of that have brought a unique touch to her literary voice she could never learn from textbooks. By the time Mickie discovered her talent for writing, real life got in the way, and the business of raising four sons took priority. With the advent of e-publishing—and the inevitable emptying nest—dreams of becoming a published writer were resurrected and fulfilled in April 2009. Mickie discovered gay romance in 2002 and continues to draw inspiration from the LGBTQA community and their ongoing struggle to find equality and happiness in this oftentimes skewed and intolerant world. Her award-winning novels have been called “gut-wrenching, daring, and thought provoking.” She admits to being an angst queen and making her characters work damn hard for their happy endings.

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Title: Coffee

Series: A Cup of John, Book Two

Author: Matthew J. Metzger

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: August 19. 2019

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 69100

Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, contemporary, British, trans, gay, queer, age gap, established couple, size difference, blue collar, disability, ableism, death and grieving, family issues, dirty talk, wedding, ownvoices

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Synopsis

When Chris’s stepfather passes away and leaves Chris a house and a wedding ring, it seems like the perfect opportunity to take the next step in his relationship with John. So, they’re both in for a nasty shock when Chris’s mother is vehemently opposed to the idea. Despite three years of history to prove otherwise, she insists that John is only a temporary feature in Chris’s life, and a man like him can’t be expected to stay with someone like Chris in the long run. Can Chris persuade her that she’s wrong in time for the wedding—or will there be an empty space in the photographs?

Excerpt

Coffee Matthew J. Metzger © 2019 All Rights Reserved Rather appropriately for the occasion, it had been raining all day. Chris took in a deep lungful of smoke and exhaled it smoothly into the chilly afternoon. The memorial garden was blissful after the hustle and bustle of the funeral. The air was open and soothingly cool, not like the stuffy heat of the chapel. He could breathe again. He could gather the shards of grief around himself and try to put them back together, without having to think about his mother’s sobbing at his side, or the favourite song that had been played for Jack’s last journey, a song now stained with sadness. The gentle patter of raindrops on the umbrella calmed him, and the far-off chirping of some irate bird provided a gentle counterpoint. Life slowed. From farther off, the chattering of friends and relations had finally died away, and Chris stubbed out the remains of the cigarette as he heard the crunch of gravel. He’d never been here before, but the footsteps coming down the path were as familiar as his own. Thunderously heavy, an immense weight crushing each step into the ground even as the pace was slow and steady. That slight stress on one step, followed by lightness on the other. That dodgy knee from the rugby accident last year had left its mark in the form of a subtle limp and a tiny scar like a fish hook that made its owner go all shivery when Chris kissed it. Even the speed with which each step followed the other was familiar, like the tower of a body might collapse if the feet were spread too far apart. The hands that clasped Chris’s shoulders were as big as spades, and only one person in his life was tall enough to kiss the crown of his head without the use of a box to stand on. Chris leaned back into the wall of a man who had arrived and lifted the umbrella to let him into the shelter. “Your mum’s gone home with Lauren.” The relief was bittersweet. Mum and Lauren had always gotten along, despite one being Dad’s ex-wife and one being Dad’s girlfriend. Lauren would look after her—even if it was Chris’s job. Even if he was supposed to. “You did great.” Chris swallowed thickly. “I think it’s just sunk in.” It hadn’t been real. It had taken so long that it had never quite felt real until this moment. Jack had died a long, slow, terrible death. Weeks in the hospice. Chris would never forget the gargling way his stepfather had breathed near the end, or the clammy coolness of his skin. The way Mum had cried, soft little sniffles at the corner of the bed on that final day. The gaps between the gurgles, until finally there had been nothing but the eeriest silence. The shaking in his fingertips was over. Everything was over. The smell of cigar smoke on the tenth of March, the one day of the year Jack lit up. The shuffle of his slippers. The whirr of that deathtrap of a stairlift. The croaking way he’d chuckled, a noise that in a bigger man would have been a belly laugh. The little huff he let out when Mum was in one of her moods, followed up hastily with “Yes, dear, of course…” And Chris had never seen it, but he’d known Jack had flashed him little smirks across the table at such moments, conspiratorial understandings between the two men who were most subject to her fussing and flapping, the two men who loved her most. Gone. “Jack’s gone.” “I know.” The words were soft but firm. The hands on his shoulders rubbed down to his elbows and then back up in a long, smooth stroke. “But so is the pain and the suffering. He’s not hurting anymore. And if he was right, then he gets to see his daughter again now.” Chris coughed a shaky laugh. It bubbled out of his ribs like water overflowing. “No such thing as heaven.” “You never know.” Chris sighed and leaned his head back. He closed his eyes and hummed as a kiss was pressed into his temple. “I should go and see Mum,” he said. But his chest ached. His ribs felt like they were going to cave in, and a red-hot pain followed the scar, as if he’d been wrapped in metal wire, melting against his skin. He hurt. “I want to go home.” The hands pulled. He was turned by the shoulders and drawn into a rain-damp embrace. The arms around his back made the pain worse, but Chris clung and burrowed into the embrace anyway. The kiss on the top of his head slotted two of the jagged edges together and sealed them shut again. The grief ebbed a fraction. “Come on, then. Let’s go home.”

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Meet the Author

Matthew J. Metzger is an ace, trans author posing as a functional human being in the wilds of Yorkshire, England. Although mainly a writer of contemporary, working-class romance, he also strays into fantasy when the mood strikes. Whatever the genre, the focus is inevitably on queer characters and their relationships, be they familial, platonic, sexual, or romantic. When not crunching numbers at his day job, or writing books by night, Matthew can be found tweeting from the gym, being used as a pillow by his cat, or trying to keep his website in some semblance of order.

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