Title: Daughter of the Sun

Series: Tales of Inthya, Book Two

Author: Effie Calvin

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: November 19, 2018

Heat Level: 1 - No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 71900

Genre: Fantasy, LGBT, fantasy, pansexual, gods, romance

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Synopsis

Orsina of Melidrie is a paladin of the Order of the Sun, sworn to drive out corruption and chaos wherever she finds it. She has been ordered to leave her home and travel around Vesolda in search of a great evil she is supposedly destined to destroy. But after two years of fighting monsters and demons and evil gods, she does not seem to be any closer to her goal—or ever returning home. Aelia is the Goddess of Caprice, the personification of poor decision-making. The Order of the Sun has classified her as a chaos goddess, meaning that her worship has been outlawed. During a run-in with Orsina, she is trapped in a mortal body, rendering her unable to leave Inthya. Aelia is found by Orsina again, but this time Orsina does not recognize her in her new body. So Aelia pretends to be a mortal woman who is fleeing an abusive family. Aelia plans to use Orsina as protection as she hunts down the magical relic that will free her from her mortal body. As Aelia and Orsina grow closer to one another, Aelia wrestles with her own desire to tell Orsina the truth about who she is, and her fear that Orsina will turn on her if she does. But the decision might not be hers after all, because their actions have not gone unnoticed by Aelia’s siblings.

Excerpt

Daughter of the Sun Effie Calvin © 2018 All Rights Reserved Even from a distance, Orsina of Melidrie could tell something was wrong. The little village of Soria appeared to be a typical Vesoldan farming community. A field of green barley stretched toward the south, almost ready for the springtime harvest, and the farmers raised their hands to Orsina in greeting as she rode past. Down in the olive groves, trees were beginning to put out tiny, cream-colored blossoms while Sorian youngsters rested beneath the branches and tended to flocks of fat sheep. But when Orsina inspected the fields more closely, she saw the crops were choked with weeds and beginning to rot. It was as though they had been neglected for weeks, despite the presence of the farmers. Orsina also didn’t fail to notice that all Soria’s sheep still wore their heavy winter coats, though all the surrounding communities had held their springtime shearing days nearly a month ago. Most passersby would probably not notice such small details, but Orsina had dealt with situations like this before. She knew the signs of a village in thrall. According to storytellers, the correct attire for a paladin was heavy plate armor, and a matching set for her horse. Orsina supposed none of those storytellers ever visited southern Vesolda, for even in early spring it was too hot to even contemplate wearing anything heavier than her chain mail and tabard. Still, when she rode into Soria, children dropped their toys in the dust and abandoned their games to follow her. She doubted any of them had seen a paladin before, and so she gave them warm smiles and tried her best not to look intimidating. She did not know how successful she was. A temple of Eyvindr, God of the Harvest and Third of the Ten, stood at the center of town. But as Orsina rode past, she noted that the windows were dark and the orange trees in the garden were beginning to wither. Despite her curiosity, she did not linger there. Orsina dismounted in front of the tavern and tied Star, the gray Vesoldan mare that had been her mount for the last four years. The children were upon her in a moment, asking thousands of questions simultaneously. Was she a paladin? Was she from the Order of the Sun? Had she ever spoken to Iolar? Or one of the other gods? Was she from Bergavenna? Had she ever killed a dragon? A demon? A chaos god? Orsina answered the questions as best she could, but she wasn’t even sure if the children heard her replies. Finally, a man stepped out onto the front steps of the tavern, drawn by the noise. “Here, leave the poor woman alone!” he yelled to the children. “Go on, back to your chores. Get!” The children backed away reluctantly, and Orsina gave the man a grateful smile. He smiled back, but she could see the tension in his shoulders and the fear in his eyes. He did not want her here. “Do you have a room?” asked Orsina. “I was hoping to stay the night.” “Just the one. It’s not much, though,” he glanced at her armor. “Count Doriano’s manor is only a day’s ride from here. If you hurry, you might be there before dark, and not have to sleep on a straw mattress—and don’t tell anyone I said so, but his wine is better, too.” “I have endured worse than straw mattresses,” said Orsina pleasantly, wondering if the man would outright refuse to serve her. But instead, he turned back and yelled into the tavern. “Benigo!” he called. “See to the Dame Paladin’s horse, and bring her bags upstairs.” A young child, probably the man’s son, rushed out to take Star’s lead. Orsina let him do his work and went inside. The tavern was nearly empty, save for a few old grandfathers sharing stories. When they saw her, their conversations ended abruptly. Orsina looked around, taking in the ancient wooden furniture and dust collecting in the corners. Open windows let in the midday sunlight, and a massive empty stone fireplace took up the entire north wall. “It is an honor, Dame Paladin,” said the tavern-keeper, speaking too loudly as he moved around the back of the bar and fumbled for a tankard. “What brings you to Soria?” The question was innocently posed, the sort of question anyone might ask a strange traveler. But it was well known that paladins from the Order of the Sun were forbidden to tell lies. The tavern-keeper wanted to know how much she suspected, how much she knew. The old men were all watching her as well, their filmy eyes locked on her. “I am in search of a prophecy,” said Orsina. “Two years ago, my Baron, Casmiro of Melidrie, received a vision from Iolar. I was informed that Iolar meant for me to leave Melidrie immediately and defeat a great evil. I obeyed, of course, and have been in search of it ever since.” The tavern-keeper looked uncomfortable. “And you believe that evil is here?” he asked uneasily, his eyes darting back to the old men. “I do not know,” admitted Orsina. “Unfortunately, the Baron’s vision was sparsely detailed. I have destroyed many evil creatures in Iolar’s name since I left home, but never have I received a vision telling me that my quest was complete. While I am proud of all that I have accomplished, I admit I will be glad when I am finished.” “But you believe there is evil here?” the tavern-keeper pressed. Though her vows forbade her to lie, even Iolar could understand the occasional need to be obtuse. “There is evil everywhere, sir,” she said. “But we are only vulnerable to it when we tell ourselves otherwise.”

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Meet the Author

Effie is definitely a human being with all her own skin, and not a robot. She writes science fiction and fantasy novels and lives with her cat in the greater Philadelphia area.

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Title: Checked Baggage

Author: Valentine Wheeler

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: November 12, 2018

Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 11200{Audiobook Length:39}

Genre: Contemporary, Thanksgiving, travel, airport, Lebanon, grief, holiday

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Synopsis

A Thanksgiving Romance When Faris has to take a trip back to his family’s home in Lebanon to handle his grandmother’s estate, he finds himself caught between the world he left and the world he’s built himself in the United States. After an exhausting stay with his boisterous extended family, all he wants is a quiet trip home and a chance to rest before Thanksgiving with his parents in Massachusetts. But the weather has different plans for him. Charlie’s father left when he was a toddler, and he’s never gotten a chance to connect with his paternal roots. A trip to the village his grandparents left in the 1930s gave him the facts but left him yearning for a connection he still didn’t feel. When both men are stuck in Beirut for the night unexpectedly, can they find the feeling they’re both missing and make it home in time for Thanksgiving?

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Meet the Author

Valentine is a latecomer to writing, though she’s always been a passionate reader. Through fanfiction she found her way to an incredible community of writers who’ve taught her to love making stories. When she isn’t writing, she’s making bad puns, yelling about television, or playing with her small child. Her life’s ambition is to eat the cuisine of every single country. Find Valentine on Twitter.

Title: A Touch of a Brogue

Author: Christine Danse

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: November 12, 2018

Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 28800

Genre: Contemporary, chef, restaurant owner, food critic, lies, second chances

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Synopsis

Eric Rossi isn’t a bad person. But he’s been talked into doing some pretty regrettable things by the man he thought he loved–like write a fake review of a pub he never stepped foot in for a food magazine that makes or breaks restaurants in Portland. He’s since dumped the boyfriend, but he can’t undo the review or the damage it’s done to the Irish Sisters and its passionate owner, Colm. When Colm paid to have his family pub shipped from Ireland to Oregon, he put his savings, his heritage, and his sanity on the line. Now he gets so few customers, he notices each one. Especially the sweet, shy man who is dragged into the pub by his pink-haired niece. He calls himself Mark, and he is a chef’s dream, a man who completely enjoys everything Colm cooks. What Colm doesn’t know is that the man he’s falling for is the critic who’s almost cost him everything. Eric didn’t mean to fall in love with the Irish Sisters or its blue-eyed, Irish-American owner. He definitely didn’t mean to lie about his identity. He’s already done enough damage, after all. Now he must make things right for the restaurant and disappear from Colm’s life before Colm learns the devastating truth, because the last thing Eric wants to do is destroy the chef’s heart, too.

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Christine lives with her writing partner in the wilds of urban Oregon, where they raise weeds, worms, and eyebrows.

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Title: A Deceptive Alliance

Author: Sydney Blackburn

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: November 12, 2018

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 37200

Genre: Fantasy, twins, slow burn, royalty, cross-dressing, road trip, arranged marriage

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Synopsis

Kel and his twin sister Isabel have traded places before—to escape lessons, to prank their royal cousins, and for Kel to flirt with handsome men at royal balls. But when Isabel runs away in tears shortly before her proxy wedding to Prince Darin of Pervayne, Kel takes her place, knowing he could cause serious problems between Pervayne and their home kingdom of Karleed if discovered. Isabel will show up—eventually—and take her rightful place and no one will ever know. The question is, will Isabel arrive before Kel falls hopelessly in love with the servant his sister’s husband has sent along? What if Kel isn’t the only one pretending to be someone else?

Excerpt

A Deceptive Alliance Sydney Blackburn © 2018 All Rights Reserved Chapter One Kel was as nervous as any bride as he prepared to take his sister’s wedding vows to Prince Darin of Pervayne. More specifically, the prince’s proxy, a duke to whom Kel had never been introduced. It wasn’t the first time he’d dressed as his twin, but never for occasions of state—her wedding, of all things!—and never before had the consequences of discovery been so great. Twins were considered an ill omen in the kingdom of Pervayne, so Kel had been sequestered upon the arrival of the foreigners in a tower that had fallen into disuse. Isabel, who had always known that, as the king’s niece, her marriage would be arranged, had seemed resigned to her fate right until a few hours ago. She’d stormed into Kel’s draughty chamber in tears and swore she would only marry for love. Kel had tried to reason with her, but that had resulted only in Isabel accusing him of betraying her before she left in as much of a flurry of silks as she’d arrived. When her maid, Molly, was unable to locate her mistress in order to dress her for her wedding, she’d sought out Kel. He and Isabel spent a great deal of time together, under normal circumstances, and it was reasonable to assume that, even if they weren’t in company, Kel would know where she was. But he hadn’t. He had donned a hooded capelet to search out Isabel’s usual haunts, without giving away his close relation to her, while Molly waited nervously in Isabel’s chambers. Unable to find Isabel anywhere, he’d returned to her chamber, certain she must be there, letting Molly array her for the ceremony. She wasn’t. By that point, finding someone in the family—his cousin, the crown prince, for example—would delay the proxy wedding. Kel and Isabel had been raised in the royal palace after being orphaned at the tender age of three. They knew almost as much about the king’s policies as his own children, their cousins. Kel understood this ceremony, proxy though it might be, was an important aspect of the treaty King Maurice of Karleed had negotiated with King William of Pervayne. Now Isabel was gone, the proxy wedding only an hour away, and Kel was in his sister’s undergarments with his sister’s lady’s maid. “You could simply tell the king your sister’s run off,” the maid, Molly, suggested as she combed out Kel’s hair. “I wish it was that simple. But it’s still a much-needed political alliance and informing the prince’s envoy that ‘oops, we’ve misplaced the bride’ may be taken poorly.” “She is twenty,” Molly said with the kind of reproof only many years of personal service could get away with. “Time she wed and got over her foolish—” Kel nodded in the mirror, jerking the brush stroke somewhat painfully. Already his hair, normally worn in a single plait down his back, hung in loose dark waves over his shoulders. It softened the planes of his freshly-shaven jaw and angular cheekbones. “I know of her lovesickness for the gardener’s first apprentice.” Molly tutted. “If the world did not hold a woman’s virtue higher than a man’s, she’d have got him out of her system by now.” Kel coughed out a surprised laugh at the lady’s frankness. “You think it’s merely a passion of the flesh?” “I’m a woman myself,” she remarked. “I know of these feelings. Many a young woman in the palace feels the same for you, I’ve no doubt.” Kel snorted. “Pardon my frankness, my lord, but while it is fairly common knowledge among the staff at Castlemere that your eye never falls on the fair sex, many a maid desires to be the one to ‘fix’ you. Granted, many others are relieved to know there’s a man of rank in the palace who’s safe to encounter in a dark stairwell.” “I hadn’t realized I was so transparent,” Kel said cautiously. “Oh it’s none of ours what the above stairs get up to,” Molly said cheerfully, adopting a broad, country accent. “I can see her fascination with the gardener’s first apprentice, though,” he said in a thoughtful, if hesitant tone, still studying his reflection. The chemise he wore had a scooped neckline and only the thinnest of straps to hold it up. The delicacy of the fabric served to emphasize the most unladylike shape of Kel’s arms and shoulders. Because his sister dodged needlework to join him in the yard learning swordplay, her arms were almost as muscled as his—the sleeves of her gown wouldn’t strain if they were of a close-fitting style. Molly chuckled. “Simply to look at, he’s a fine specimen, especially when he strips down in the heat, but my mistress believes she’s in love with him.” “Could she be? I’ve heard love is a fickle thing.” “It is. But for people like you and the mistress, love and marriage are completely different things, my lord. Marriage is—” “An alliance, a joining of houses,” Kel finished with her. “You really should not be taking her place.” She lifted the frothy concoction Isabel was to take her vows in. “Come stand up and let me help you into this. Then we’ll see where we need to accentuate with some well-placed padding.” “It’s a proxy wedding. If the groom needn’t be here, neither does Isabel,” he said, trying to hide his uncertainty of the truth of his words. “What do you know of padding? Do you dress other men in women’s clothing?” “Naive child,” she mock scolded, dropping the heavy skirt over his head and tugging it into place around his waist. She quickly tightened the skirt strings. “You think every woman is naturally endowed with breasts ample enough, hips broad enough to suit herself?” “I hadn’t ever thought about it, finding neither ample breasts nor broad hips desirable,” he said. His previous adventures in Isabel’s clothing had been wrought in secret, Isabel powdering his complexion paler and lacing him into one of her awkward bodices. The ivory skirt was full and of a rather stiff fabric that someone had spent a great deal of time sewing pale pink, ivory, and white fabric flowers to, making it seem almost fluffy. “I think you can do without hip padding,” Molly said, giving him a critical look. She helped him pull the bodice over his head, being careful of the hair she just dressed. She tugged the lacing at the back and then moved to the wardrobe to fetch two small bags. She handed them to him. “Put these in your bodice. It’s millet, which gives a natural enough shape, but it won’t pass a squeeze test. Not that anyone should be grabbing at your chest, anyway.” Kel didn’t admit he was familiar with them. Nor did he ask how it was Molly knew of them. He simply did as she instructed. Today would be the first time he’d have to fool people in broad daylight. Including his own relatives. Molly laced him up tight and fixed his hair before standing back to study him critically.

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Meet the Author

Sydney Blackburn is a binary star system. Always a voracious reader, she began to write when she couldn’t find the stories she wanted to read. She likes candlelit dinners and long walks on the beach… Oh wait, wrong profile. She’s a snarky introvert and admits to having a past full of casual sex and dubious hookups, which she uses for her stories. She likes word play and puns and science-y things. And green curry. Her dislikes include talking on the phone, people trying to talk to her before she’s had coffee, and filling out the “about me” fields in social media. Besides writing, she also designs book covers for poor people.

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Title: The Kinsey Scale

Series: Campus Connections Book 1

Author: CJane Elliott

Publisher: Dreamspinner Press

Release Date: 11/9/18

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 89 pages

Genre: Romance, New Adult, contemporary, friends to lovers, college

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Synopsis

Life is good for Eric Brown. He’s a senior theater major, an RA for a freshman dorm, and has a great circle of friends. Single since sophomore year, Eric isn’t looking for love. But then Will Butler—fellow senior, co-RA, and the cutest guy Eric’s ever seen—walks into his dorm. Will has a girlfriend he sees off campus—a minor disappointment that becomes a major problem when a housing shortage causes Will and Eric to become roommates, and Eric is forced to witness Will’s hotness day in and day out. For protection, Eric asks Jerry, his ex-boyfriend, to pretend they’re still together. Jerry warns him it’s a stupid idea, but he reluctantly agrees. Too bad it won’t save Eric from losing his heart. Will Butler has never believed in himself. His dysfunctional family saw to that. Although Will has loved music since childhood, he’s never seriously considered pursuing it, and the person he’s dating doesn’t encourage him. Then he and Eric Brown become roommates, and everything changes. Eric believes in Will and his talent. He’s also gorgeous and playful and fast becoming Will’s best friend. And that’s not good, because Will is hiding some big things, not only from Eric, but from himself.

Excerpt

“So how’s it going with Hottie the Roommate?” Jerry asked. He lounged in the armchair at the coffee shop and took a languid sip of his latte. “Fine.” Eric made a face. “We stay out of each other’s way. It sucks, but nothing we can do about it now.” “I’m surprised you haven’t taken advantage of the situation.” Jerry arched his eyebrow. “He’s straight. He has a girlfriend who doesn’t go here. I guess he sees her on the weekends. I don’t know. We don’t talk about that.” “Don’t talk? Oh honey, that doesn’t sound like you at all. What’s up with that?” “I don’t know. Shut up.” “Touchy, touchy. God. You’re not usually this grumpy. Maybe you should look at changing this RA thing, because it sounds like it’s causing you stress.” Eric shifted in his chair and sipped his latte. Jerry knew him too well. He was grumpy lately, but it wasn’t the RA thing. He enjoyed being an RA and counseling the kids. He and Will functioned well as an RA team, seeming to know instinctively when one of them would do better than the other in handling a situation, and then debriefing about it later. They talked about stuff really easily, and laughed a lot, having discovered they shared the same kind of crazy humor. And Will composed his own songs, which Eric thought was totally cool. He loved lying on his bed listening to Will play his guitar and sing. “Yeah, it’s not that bad. We get along great, actually.” And it wasn’t true that they never talked about Will’s girlfriend. Her name was Jessie, and Will sometimes mentioned her in passing, but Eric never pressed for details. In fact he had a strange reluctance to regale Will with his own sexual escapades, the way he always had in the past with friends or roommates. It was a weird thing, almost like a force field or something. They both shut up whenever the conversation veered too close to sex or relationships. And then having to look at Will every day, with his bedhead when he woke up and his naked chest when he came out of the bathroom in his sleep pants, or when his face was animated and he threw back his head and laughed at something Eric said and…. God. No wonder he was grumpy. “Let’s go out tonight. You need to dance and get laid.” Jerry’s voice brought him back. “Okay.” It was Friday, so Will would be out of the room, thank God. Maybe Eric would even get lucky and bring someone back with him tonight… or go to their place, given the shitty dorm beds. He yawned, all of a sudden weary. “Oh yes.” Jerry peered at him critically. “We’ve got to get you back to your perky self, my dear. I’m getting you another latte, for starters.”

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Meet the Author

After years of hearing characters chatting away in her head, CJane Elliott finally decided to put them on paper and hasn’t looked back since. A psychotherapist by training, CJane enjoys writing sexy, passionate stories that also explore the human psyche. CJane has traveled all over North America for work and her characters are travelers, too, traveling down into their own depths to find what they need to get to the happy ending. CJane is an ardent supporter of LGBTQ equality and is particularly fond of coming-out stories. In her spare time, CJane can be found dancing, listening to music, or watching old movies. Her family supports her writing habit by staying out of the way when they see her hunched over, staring intensely at her laptop. CJane is the author of the award-winning Serpentine Series, New Adult contemporary novels set at the University of Virginia. Serpentine Walls was a 2014 Rainbow Awards finalist, Aidan’s Journey was a 2015 EPIC Awards finalist, and Sex, Love, and Videogames won first place in the New Adult category in the 2016 Swirl Awards and first place in Contemporary Fiction in the 2017 EPIC eBook Awards.

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Title: A Fated Bond

Author: T. L. West

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: November 5, 2018

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Female

Length: 39800

Genre: Paranormal, Paranormal, werewolves, shapeshifters, Vampires, Witches, Demons, Magic

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Synopsis

Joseph Roth, a young member of the Rockfort Paranormal Department which is in charge of keeping vampires, shifters, fairies, and all kind of supernatural creatures in check, finds himself facing more than he bargained for when he is assigned to investigate a mysterious murder. Not only is Joseph stuck between his department and a prestigious vampire family, he’s unaware of the target on his back. With the department keeping secrets from him, Joseph decides to uncover the truth on his own, unaware that dark forces are on the rise. Will Joseph be able to find the truth in time or is his search allowing the enemy to come close enough for a kill?

Excerpt

A Fated Bond T.L. West © 2018 All Rights Reserved Chapter One Joseph sighed as he drove his car through the streets of Rockfort. It was nearing midnight and the twenty-five-year-old would’ve been sleeping in his apartment if it hadn’t been for the message he received two hours ago. It wasn’t a long message, just a single line of text telling him about the address he was supposed to be at soon. He knew from experience to arrive some hours after he had received such messages because it allowed the local police to disperse from the scene. Not doing so would’ve been a rookie mistake. Joseph took in his surroundings. He cruised past buildings on either side of him. The streets were dark and he didn’t see anyone roaming around except for a homeless person or two trying to find a place to sleep for the night. Joseph parked the car outside the alleyway he was supposed to go into. He looked around one more time. No one in sight, he thought. It was time to get to work. He made sure his gun was in the holster he was wearing under his coat before getting out of the car. Waiting a moment, he concentrated on the sounds around him. He knew he was only human, but it didn’t hurt to be safe and take a second to register one’s surroundings, right? In his line of business, you could never be sure about what was lurking in the darkness ahead. I guess I’ll have to get on with it, he thought, after making sure no one was watching him. Taking a deep breath, Joseph walked toward the dark alley that had crime scene tape at the entrance. He turned on a small flashlight after taking it out from his coat’s pocket. The beam of light illuminated the alleyway. He noticed some overturned trashcans at a distance. Walking under the crime tape, Joseph took careful steps as he went farther in. As if being watched, his cell phone buzzed the moment he got close to the overturned trashcans. “Right on time.” He smiled and took out his cell phone. He began reading the e-mail he just received from the department he worked for. The e-mail told him that a murder occurring in the alleyway had been reported about six hours ago. The identity of the man was still unknown and the local police were looking into the matter. If they were close to finding out who committed the murder, I wouldn’t be here now would I? Joseph rolled his eyes as he continued reading the e-mail. The Rockfort local police was an impressive task force, but some cases fell out of their domain of expertise. The current situation in the alleyway needed a different approach, one that Joseph was trained in taking due to working for the Rockfort Paranormal Department or R.P.D. Joseph opened the images accompanying the e-mail. The man who was murdered seemed to be in his thirties. The e-mail told Joseph that the cause of death was believed to be excessive blood loss, but the medical examiner hadn’t been able to find any wound or cut responsible. It was as if the man had just dropped dead. One of the residents, living two stories up in the building to Joseph’s right, had alerted the authorities about a man lying on the ground when she looked out her window into the alleyway, calling her cat to come back home. Joseph put his cell phone back into his pocket after reading the e-mail. Looking at the spot in front of him, the young detective tried to find something important. There were no blood stains on the ground, just plastic markers placed by the police where the victim’s body had lain. Joseph wished he could’ve looked at the body in person, but that wasn’t his job. His job was to investigate crime scenes after the police were done and alert his department in-person if he found something of paranormal interest. There must be something here, he thought. The department wouldn’t have sent me here if there was nothing for me to find. The cause of death was listed as excessive blood loss, but as far as he knew there could be a number of things out there that could kill a human that way. Aren’t all such things registered and observed? Joseph asked himself, brushing his black hair away from his eyes. The thought of creatures who could kill in such a way made his heart race. He was scared? Who wouldn’t be scared if an unregistered being had killed a human? But he was letting his imagination get the better of him. Shaking his head, Joseph tried to focus on his case. Taking out a small glass bottle from his shirt pocket, he flipped open the cap and sprinkled the bottle’s white powder onto the ground. “Oh no!” Joseph’s eyes opened wide. The ground in front of him shone with a dim green glow. He knew about that glow. He knew something dangerous had entered Rockfort. Quickly pocketing the small bottle, he took out his cell phone to directly call his department. He wasn’t supposed to make direct calls, not with his current rank, but it was an emergency. “Hello! Sally?” he asked as soon as his call was answered. “Yes, Mr. Roth,” she said in a bored voice. “What is it? I don’t think you’re authorized to be using this number.” “Forget about authorization,” Joseph answered quickly. He didn’t take his gaze away from the faint green glow. It was starting to fade away. “Warn the department! We have a vampire case on our hands!”

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Meet the Author

T.L. West is an author of paranormal romance, mystery and fantasy. He enjoys writing characters that grow during the story and feel relatable to readers. His stories are a mix of romance, action, and danger. He’s been writing since high school. He has a degree is Human Genetics. Along with writing stories he also loves staying healthy, drawing, reading and taking the time out to relax. He likes maintaining his privacy. You can find T.L. on Twitter

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Title: The Werewolf on Lowre Few Lane

Author: Bryce Bentley-Tales

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: October 29, 2018

Heat Level: 1 - No Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 49000

Genre: Young Adult Paranormal, young adult, werewolves, Ireland, urban legend

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Synopsis

Thirteen-year-old Colton and his best friend Jade spend their free time investigating a local urban legend concerning an old abandoned house in their hometown in Ireland. The run-down building is said to be haunted and some of the things they’ve seen seem to confirm it. Colton has a crush on foreign-exchange student, Dylan, who is visiting his aunt from America. But Dylan isn’t your average American kid, and soon Colton and his friends are embroiled in more than urban legend and must find a way to save everything they know and love.

Excerpt

The Werewolf on Lowre Few Lane Bryce Bentley-Tales © 2018 All Rights Reserved Chapter One I rotated the zoom dial on my binoculars. The three-story stone house loomed large in my view. Jade whispered behind me, “Colton, what’d you see?” “Shhh.” I surveyed the gloomy home from side to side. The house sat on the crest of a small hill and far from the cobbled street where I crouched. Spidery cracks filled a couple of the second-story windows. The paint had faded and peeled, and the rooftop sections were missing shingles. It had to be one of the oldest residences in Arklow. “Colton,” Jade said, tapping my shoulder. “Jade, you’re breaking me concentration.” Huddled near the stone column at the end of the winding driveway, I inched around the base a bit farther to get a better look. A light, cool breeze blew, swaying the sea of tall weeds in the house’s lawn and filling my nose with the scent of dogs. Deep, guttural barks erupted behind me. Startled, I whirled before realizing that the noise was just Jade’s ringtone. I glared while she squatted close to the curb, frantically patting the outside of her lightweight jacket in search of her phone. “Are you a complete tool? Turn the blimey thing off.” Jade glanced up, her eyes wide. “Can’t find it.” Then she straightened, grinned at me, and said, “Found it.” She removed the phone from a side pocket, and the barking grew in volume. Brushing her lengthy brown hair from her face, she stared at the caller ID. “Oh…it’s me mum.” “Shut it off! All of Ireland will know we’re here!” She didn’t move but held the smartphone in both palms. The phone quit ringing finally, and she sighed. “I should go. It’s probably suppertime.” “You can’t. This was your idea.” A loud clanging echoed across the yard, and we both cowered behind the stone fence post. Adjacent to the old post, a crumbling stone wall shielded us from anyone standing by the house. When I poked my head around the ledge, nothing but the motionless tall weeds could be seen in the yard and the same gloomy look the house had had before. It was dead quiet. Jade put her hands on my shoulders, her mouth next to my ear. “S-see, I told you. You believe me now? It’s haunted.” I tried to speak, but my mouth was dry. I brought my binoculars up, gripping them hard with both hands. “Probably just varmint inside,” I said. “Aye. And maybe you and your butterfingers could be captain of the rugby team.” “Har-har. You think the Kennedy twins really disappeared inside?” “I told you. I saw them at the house when I was with Erin two nights ago. They said they were going inside.” “Maybe they’re hanging out at the local pub downtown?” “Colton, no one has seen those fellas since that night. They went inside and never came out, sure of it.” I swiveled the binoculars around, peering at the large, arched front doorway, which had a wolf face doorknocker. Jade whispered close to my ear, “You see anything?” “Shhh, I can’t focus with your tongue in my ear.” “My tongue isn’t in your ear,” Jade said, her voice irritated. After a few seconds, she pushed on my shoulder. “By the way, you find out the new foreign-exchange fella’s story? You didn’t take your eyes off him in class. I missed a lot while I was away.” She giggled. “You fancy him, don’t you?” I cringed, lowered the binoculars, and spoke in a hushed voice over my shoulder. “Don’t say that out loud.” “And who’s going to blimey hear us? Just us and the ghouls at 44 Lowre Few Lane.” “Dylan. That’s his name. We’ve spoken barely a couple of words since he started. I took him to Headmaster Collin’s office on his first day and managed to say hello. And for your knowledge, he is right bloody in front of the board. I can’t help but look in his direction.” “Mm-hmm,” Jade said. I started to bring my binoculars back up when Jade said, “Well, I like his accent. Oh, I think he noticed you after school today. Did you see that? Maybe he likes boys too. You never know.” She swatted my back. “Are you blushing?” I shook my head. My face was hot, though. I had seen Dylan outside talking to a couple of boys on the rugby team. Our eyes had met, but I’d been quick to look away. I shifted my weight on my knees. Jade now leaned against my back, and it was getting hard to bear her weight. “Oh, Colton, you are so darling sometimes. I missed you while I was gone the last two weeks.” “It’s been bloody miserable,” I said. “I’ve eaten lunch a couple times with Thomas until he was sent to detention. Tried to eat with Erin, but she just smiles at me.” “Well,” Jade said, “I’m back now. So we’ll eat lunch together. Where’s Dylan from again?” I opened my mouth to say he was from America but never got a chance. A barking ringtone erupted again. I jumped a foot in the air and whipped my head toward Jade. She brought out her phone and stared at it. I put my hands on my hips and snarled, “Oh for bloody sake, Jade. You can’t be serious. Put it on vibrate.” Jade held her finger up, stepped to the curb, and answered her phone. “Mum?” I sighed, leaning my back against the stone column. “No,” Jade said. “I’m fine. Just out of breath. I’m with Colton.” Jade stared at me, the end of her mouth curled down. “Oh, Mum. You’ve too met him. You had him over for dinner five times this summer. He’s the Asian?” Jade rolled her eyes. “Mum, that’s who I just said. Colton. It is too what I said. And it’s not impolite. He is half-Asian. Remember, you thought it right peculiar his mother was from Singapore and the father Irish, asking me how they ever met.” She looked at me before turning away and lowering her voice. “Uh, no, Mum. He can’t hear me.” She walked away from me, but her voice still carried. “No, Mum, we haven’t seen any packs of dogs. No.” She turned back, giving me an inquisitive look. I shook my head. Over the last week, I had heard from a couple of friends there had been sightings of a pack of dogs, but that was just rumor. “Colton hasn’t seen any either.” I looked at the horizon and down the cobbled road. The few homes in this part of Arklow stood far off the roadway and scattered about, giving off a sense of remoteness. With the sun turning reddish and less than an hour from setting, that isolation magnified the creepy vibe from the small wood surrounding the manor we’d come to investigate. We needed to go. I whirled my finger in the air for Jade to hurry it up. She stood in the middle of the road, held up a hand to me, and offered a nervous smile. She told her mother, “We stayed after school and helped Ms. Griffin with decorations in the auditorium. Yes, for Hollow’s Eve. It’s tomorrow, remember?” Jade fussed with her hair while she talked. “Oh, Mum, good grief, you met her too. She’s me sixth-grade history teacher. Sings in the town choir?” Rubbing the back of my neck, I sighed and took a quick gander back at the house from my vantage point. I raised the binoculars and peered at the porch. A couple of rickety boards stuck up. Close to the bottom steps, on either side, gray wolf statues sat back on their hindquarters. They stared straight ahead in my direction. A shadow crossed over one of the statues. I moved the binoculars a hair to the right. A black-haired wolf crouched at the statue’s base, its amber eyes pointed in my direction. I stepped back and tripped over my feet, landing on a cushion of waist-high grass. Jade knelt down to my side. “Colton, what is it?” She no longer had the phone to her ear. I pointed to the house. “W-w-wolf.” Jade’s eyes widened. “Wolf?” She stared toward the house, shaking her head. “I don’t see anything. You mean the statues?” I got up to my feet and tugged on her hand. “L-let’s go.” “Okay, good,” Jade said. “I told Mum we’re going home.” As I glanced over my shoulder, the black wolf was gone, but I remained fixated on the statues. I took in a sharp breath. The statues were no longer staring straight ahead, but instead, the snout of one of the wolf statues was up in the air as if howling. The second one’s head was turned toward me. I sprinted with everything I had.

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Meet the Author

Bryce was raised by his mother and father in the countryside near Wichita, Kansas and learned to become an avid reader from his mother and maternal grandfather who carries the last name of Bentley. Stephen King novels still stack his two shelves in his old bedroom at home. After graduating from his high school with a class size of 69, he completed college where he had never came out gay, then took a winding journey over his entire 20s. This took him to Indiana, then to the San Francisco Bay Area where he still did not come out but obtained a master’s degree. He traveled to Bangkok, Thailand during his late 20s to teach English for a year and he met his first boyfriend. Five years later, he completed his doctorate degree in psychology, which was inspired by a youth and young adulthood of feeling internally bewildered. Bryce started dabbling in writing in 2011 or in his mid-thirties. He self-published several works under his name over the last few years, but it was in 2016 he felt like he was finally getting the hang of this writing thing. The Werewolf on Lowre Few Lane is his first work under his pen name of Bryce Bentley-Tales. His next YA novel with a working title of Orion: The PreRobo Era Boy, is a work he is finishing up currently. Bryce currently lives in Dallas, Texas.

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Title: All the Dogs are Dancing

Author: J.M. Goguen

Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: October 15, 2018

Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 85600

Genre: Paranormal, Romance, paranormal, gay, dystopian future, shifters, vampires, wolves, pack dynamic, AI

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Synopsis

Burner’s world revolved around three things: protecting the wolf pack of Maine, keeping an eye on his best friend Aaron, and helping prepare enough summer food to take on the long road to Quebec for the winter months. But in the ruins of an old shopping mall on a hot summer night, his world crashes. Now Burner has to face monsters he thought were just stories told to scare pups, and he must traverse a world he’s only seen in old magazines. Meanwhile, his best friend Aaron is dealing with monsters of his own and Burner will do whatever it takes to keep them both safe, even if it means finally admitting how he really feels.

Excerpt

All the Dogs are Dancing J.M. Goguen © 2018 All Rights Reserved Chapter One East Coast of Maine, Summer, twenty years after the Darkness Crickets chirped in the background of the campfire’s light. The aroma of hot, dry grass, charred fish, and wild dill filled the air. Five boys ranging in ages from four to eight sat huddled together, watching intently as scarred fingers expertly checked the skewered fish. It was a simple lesson; an easy cooking strategy when out in the wild. Eating raw fish could result in sickness, or worse, death. Teaching the boys early on how to cook would save them trouble later should they get separated or wander off. It was one of the first things Fern taught me, and he was teaching the boys of the pack. Without burning his fingers, Fern squeezed the sides of the fish, and the boys shifted, glancing at each other. They were hungry, their stomachs grumbling loud enough that even I could hear them from my spot several feet away, but Fern needed them to focus before they ate, as sleep would come too easily with a full belly, and they needed to learn the dangers in the world. “Do you know who the Deadwalkers are?” Fern’s voice rumbled up from deep in his chest. With his scarred face, straggly white hair, opalescent yellow eyes, and broken-fanged grin, Fern looked frightening, at least to the young pups. They just hadn’t seen him fight yet. “They aren’t real,” Riley said. His gaze was fixed on the fish, and without looking, he shoved another boy who had crept closer to the fire away. Riley was a young pup, new to our pack this summer, and the first time away from his mother too. A smile spread across Fern’s face, the sight of his fangs causing the boys to inch away. “Oh, but they are. You see, they live in the old cities, in buildings taller than the water tower in the Old Town, and they devour everything in their path…” “Mom always told me they weren’t real,” Aaron whispered to me. Aaron and I were several feet away from the boys to the side of the campfire. Close enough to see clearly, but far enough that the boys ignored us. We weren’t as nearly as interesting as Fern or the food, but we were to set an example to the boys on how to behave. At least, that’s what Fern had told me when I made the fire while Aaron cleared the area for us to sit. I glanced at Aaron. He was curled in on himself, his knees drawn close to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around his legs. His black hair was peppered with white streaks as the result of a sickness he’d had before he turned Wolf. “Mom told me they were stories to scare the new pups, to keep them from wandering off at night,” he murmured. “You didn’t wander.” My fishing net was on my lap. I was trying to fix the large hole a lobster had made that morning with some cord I’d found in one of the nearby huts. It seemed like something was always breaking and needing repairing. Thankfully the moon was almost full, and the additional light helped me to see what I was doing. “Burner, you always wandered,” Aaron said, and for the first time in two months since his mother passed, he chuckled. “Fern always had to go hunt you down, and then Den Mother would be pissed off at him for losing you.” I tried not to smile because it was true. I’d wander off to the Old Town and when Fern would catch up to me, we would walk around the buildings and houses. He would tell me stories from his childhood, about the old world. I always thought it sounded like a horrible, boring, dead world. “Fern told me once that most of his scars came from Den Mother,” I joked. I twisted the cord and net together with practiced ease, tying them in a knot. Aaron laughed, really laughed, the sound carrying into the sky and echoing amongst the silent trees. I was glad to see a part of my friend was still alive inside. It made me smile too. “Do you two think Deadwalkers are a joke?” Fern demanded. The young pups were watching us, their trance on the fish, and Fern, broken. Aaron and I shared a look. “No, Alpha, they are as real as you and me,” I said. There was no laughter in my voice. No humor, just the firm, unquestioning tone Fern expected me to have when we spoke of pack matters. Satisfied, Fern nodded. He picked up one of the skewers, examining the fish closely. The pups returned their attention to Fern, or rather, how he was testing the fish. He started speaking again, and Aaron waited a few moments before he leaned closer to me, his breath tickling my ear. “Do you think they are real?” “I don’t know. I’ve never seen one, not even in the Old Town.” I ducked my head, pretending to pick at the net. Aaron stared at the fire, falling into silence. I peeked sideways at him when he suddenly sniffed, hot tears spilling down his cheeks. “I miss Mom,” he choked and buried his face in his crossed arms. I looked hopelessly at Fern. When he saw Aaron, he motioned for us to go. Net in hand, I stood up and squeezed Aaron’s shoulder. “C’mon, I’ll walk you home,” I soothed. “I don’t want to go home.” Aaron stood. His right hand was cupping his eyes, his lips downturned. Wordlessly, I let go of his shoulder and took him by the hand. Together, we left the campfire and slipped into the dark of the night.

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Meet the Author

J.M. Goguen is a pen name for a Canadian author. A graduate of Simon Fraser University, The Writer’s Studio, and a current MFA creative writing student, she is known to spend more time world building than writing. Growing up with a love of paranormal, horror, romance, and speculative fiction, she will happily chat about topics ranging from interstellar ark ships, werewolves, the zombie apocalypse, and the dangers of lightsabers and space lasers. Her previous work has appeared in Micro Madness and Emerge 16, and she does manuscript consultations. She lives on the Sunshine Coast of British Columbia, Canada. In her free time, she plays video games, takes too many photos of her cats, and watches the local wildlife.

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Title: Red Between the Lines

Author: Parker Foye

Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: October 8, 2018

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 28200

Genre: Science Fiction, AI, androids, sci-fi, futuristic, action

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Synopsis

Wynfield, a washed-up former Corpsman with optical bioware and a healthy chip on his shoulder, is reluctantly drawn into a conspiracy to take down Nutrindustry, the company responsible for both his “upgrade” from human and the city’s food shortage. Playing clinic doctor for the day, Yeven doesn’t expect the mouthy former pilot and their begrudging attraction—nor the fresh twist of shame for his part in Nutrindustry’s past. He needs Wynfield, though, and for more than his smart mouth. Feelings would just get in the way. In a world where the line between man and metal is thin, there’s more happening behind the scenes than even Wynfield’s enhanced optics are able to see.

Excerpt

Red Between the Lines Parker Foye © 2018 All Rights Reserved The doctor was running late. To distract from the nervous shake of his leg and the sidelong looks from a woman with more metal than meat, Wynfield read about Nutrindustry’s latest attempt to address food shortages in the outer settlements. Two lies in, he lost patience and tossed the flyer aside. Propaganda wasn’t good for his blood pressure. He chewed his nails, itching for a cigarette—for something to do with his hands. Desperate, he started drumming his fingers on his legs. The woman turned her glare up a notch and Wynfield stopped. He clenched his jaw. For all he wanted to quit the clinic and the woman’s stares, he needed to play nice. His eye had been glitching for weeks, and he’d never fly until it was fixed. He’d resorted to reading the flyer again. Eventually a beep sounded from the drone at the desk, and the automated bolt unlatched from the consulting room door a beat later. Wynfield waited for someone to exit, but no one did. The drone beeped again, sounding as irritated as a fully artificial being could. The impatient woman cleared her throat. “Are you going in or—?” “Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Don’t short circuit.” Wynfield rose to his feet, pausing when the change in altitude messed with his vision. When his eye didn’t recalibrate, he swore and covered it with his hand, navigating to the consulting room with his other hand outstretched so he didn’t fall on his ass. What a joke. If he tried to enlist now he’d be laughed out of the recruitment office; even with the bullshit about mods being superior to fleshware, and laws to prevent discrimination against people careless enough to lose their original parts, the Corps didn’t want cyborgs flying their ships. They’d been clear about that when Wynfield woke from his coma six months ago. Now the life he’d managed to scrape together was threatened by hiccups in mods gained through flying the Corps’ tin buckets. The universe had a shitty sense of humor. Letting the consulting room door slam shut, Wynfield headed for the worn seat at Dr. Razafindratsima’s desk. He glanced up to greet her as he did and stopped with one hand on the back of the chair, the other still over his eye. “You’re not the doc.” Wynfield looked the guy behind the desk up and down, pausing at the top of his messy hair. “Not unless she’s grown ten inches.” Dr. Razafindratsima was a squat woman with soft features and hard eyes, like she’d seen some shit. The lanky streak in her place had the same hard eyes but little of Dr. Razafindratsima’s softness, like he hadn’t come through the other side quite yet. It’d have to be close enough, since Wynfield’s insurance only got him service at one clinic, and he stood in it. The guy smiled wide, but strangely uncertain, like he hadn’t a lot of practice. He gestured to the open seat. “Please, sit. I’m Yeven, and I’ll be covering for your regular doctor for the next month.” Yeven consulted his tablet, still smiling like Wynfield wouldn’t see through the glare if he cranked up the wattage. “You’re here about your upgrades?” “Upgrades.” The guy had the right language at least, all sanctimonious hand-holding. Wynfield snorted and sat. He stretched out his legs to cross at the ankles and, reasonably sure the ground wouldn’t move on him, lowered his hand from his eye. His hair fell over his face in a tangle, and he shoved it behind his ear. “You’re definitely a doctor, right?” “Technically, I’m a bioworks interface engineer. And you’re Mr.—Mr. Wynfield?” Yeven’s smile dimmed, before turning conspiratorial. “You’re the interface, by the way.” “I know.” Wynfield tilted his face so the doc could better see the mess he had to work with. “And this interface is fucked. Scans ain’t working, and my head feels like it’s on fire half the time. Can you fix this, or should I come back?” He didn’t have time to come back. He needed fixing. Hell, Wynfield had needed his eye fixed for weeks, but it was only with his cash from Rawling’s retrieval job that he could cover the difference. But talk about your dirty money… Whatever. It spent the same. And it would get Wynfield into the sky. “Let me have a look.” Yeven put down his tablet and leaned in with a small flashlight to inspect Wynfield’s eye. His breath was minty, and his hands warm when he cupped Wynfield’s face. Wynfield was self-conscious about his scars most days, with lines crawling out of his eye socket like a hand clawing from a grave, but Yeven simply hummed as he pressed at Wynfield’s brow and cheek in firm motions. And there was another difference between this guy and the doc; Wynfield’s dick had never chubbed up when Dr. Razafindratsima took his vitals. He didn’t shift in his seat, because he was a grown-ass man and could control himself, but it was a relief all the same when Yeven returned to his side of the desk and picked up his tablet. The smile was gone. Wynfield kind of missed it. “What’s the prognosis, doc?” Yeven didn’t look away from the tablet. “Swelling around the socket is impinging the setting. Caused, I suspect, by someone punching you in that pretty face.” Comedian. Wynfield grunted. A woman with a devil of a roundhouse kick had left her boot print on his face when they clashed on Rawling’s retrieval job. Wasn’t outside the realm of possibility Yeven knew about identifying injuries, “interface engineer” or otherwise. His sense of aesthetics was shot, though. Pretty face, my ass. Yeven huffed out a breath and glanced at Wynfield. “I can’t do anything about the scanning function without a full work-up, and I’d need to schedule a session—” “Shit.” Yeven continued like Wynfield hadn’t interrupted. “In the meantime, I can give you something to reduce the swelling, but you should return for an appointment to examine the damage. Too long without a proper tune-up and you risk vertigo becoming a major problem, in addition to the loss of functionality.” He’d had a tune-up a month ago, as part of his phased rehab arrangement with the Corps. Wynfield bit back his first reply since it wasn’t Yeven’s fault Wynfield was defective. He made himself nod. “I’ll take the fix and call back for the scans. How much?” It always came down to how much. Yeven looked at Wynfield in surprise, as if the question hadn’t occurred to him. Must be nice being some fancy fucking doctor. “It’s covered by your Corps insurance.” Yeven scribbled something with the stylus before replacing the tablet on his desk. “You can confirm the prescription and your next appointment at the front desk.” Wynfield could smell shady shit when it fermented under his nose. His insurance barely covered minimum tweaks when everything ticked by as usual; no way would it cover extraneous damage. Dr. Razafindratsima was always real nice about it, but she ran a tight ship and Yeven was going to put her in the red. Something was messed up. Keeping his expression neutral, Wynfield got to his feet and shook Yeven’s hand. Yeven’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. Wynfield tried not to think about those long nights in his ship toward the end, when he’d been avoiding his own reflection; he’d felt, then, how Yeven looked. He just thanked the man and got the hell out of the room. On the way out Wynfield showed his ID to the drone at the front desk, confirming his prescription. He didn’t bother making a follow-up appointment. He didn’t trust anyone apart from Dr. Razafindratsima when it came to his eye. Wynfield stepped outside and glanced at the sky. Habit. He couldn’t see the winking lights of the satellite settlements during the day but knew they were there. Sudden pain spiked at his temple, making him flinch, but his hands were steady when he looked down to light his cigarette. Those years steadying the wheel against gravity had to count for something. Else what was the point? Wynfield blew out a spiral of smoke. Ain’t that the goddamn question.

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Meet the Author

Parker Foye writes speculative-flavored romance under the QUILTBAG umbrella and believes in happily ever after, although sometimes their characters make achieving this difficult. An education in Classics has nurtured a love of literature, swords, monsters, and beautiful people doing stupid things while wearing only scraps of leather. You’ll find those things in various guises in Parker’s stories, along with kissing (very important) and explosions (very messy). And more shifters than you can shake a stick at. Originally from the UK and currently based in Canada, Parker travels on a regular basis via planes, trains, an ever-growing library.

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Title: Calling the Ball

Author: CL Mustafic

Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: September 24, 2018

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 74600

Genre: Contemporary, football, soccer, businessmen, athlete, in the closet, coming out

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Synopsis

A vacation to the sunny, seaside, resort city of Durres, Albania puts some space between Henrick Kohler and his closeted ex, Klaus, giving him time to get his life back together. While there a chance run-in with superstar footballer, Valentino ‘Tino’ Alessi, sends Henrick running in the other direction. With no intention of being either another notch in someone’s bedpost or their secret lover, he offers friendship but nothing more. He doesn’t want to risk his heart with what he sees as just another Klaus, but with the added ability to ruin his life on a much more spectacular level. Tino can’t catch a break, even doing a nice thing for a fan lands him in hot water. When he’s suspended until his latest mess is straightened out, Tino does the only thing he can think of—he goes holiday home hunting in his favorite resort town. Tino falls hard and fast for the blond Austrian who wants nothing to do with him romantically, but he accepts the offer of friendship when his efforts to woo Henrick get him nowhere. Friendship is what they agree to, but both men realize there’s just something there neither of them can deny. What will it take for them to overcome everything and realize there’s no time like the present to grab on to what they want?

Excerpt

Calling the Ball CL Mustafic © 2018 All Rights Reserved Chapter One Strong hands gripped Henrick’s slim hips and lifted him, effectively breaking the connection between him and the man beneath. Henrick slumped forward to land on the broad chest of his current lover, Klaus, who easily rolled them to the side before completely disengaging and getting out of bed. Henrick sighed and rolled onto his stomach. “Going to shower.” The way Klaus said it made clear there wasn’t an invitation for Henrick to join him hidden in the words—not that he’d expected Klaus to ask him to share the shower, but a change in routine wouldn’t hurt. Henrick grunted in acknowledgment and folded his arms under his head as the shower started in the adjoining room. He was beginning to drift off just a little by the time Klaus emerged from the bathroom, vigorously rubbing his short brown hair with a towel. Klaus threw the used linen onto the bedroom floor before bending to retrieve his boxers. Henrick watched as the muscular man pulled them up over long, well-toned legs, but then to Henrick’s surprise, Klaus sat on the bed, stretched out, and leaned against the headboard near Henrick’s feet. He reached for the remote and turned on the television. “Are you going to shower?” he asked, as he settled on a sports channel. “Mmmm, probably, but don’t want to move yet.” Henrick almost purred when Klaus started stroking his thigh absentmindedly as he watched the sports news. “Wore you out, did I?” Klaus couldn’t hide the hint of pride in his voice. Henrick snorted but nodded—never hurt to stroke a man’s ego a little. “Rest a bit then.” Henrick was once again half-asleep when Klaus’s softly muttered “What’s the jackass done this time?” startled him awake. “Who?” Henrick knew Klaus was passionate about his football and followed several of the players on his favorite teams. “Alessi. That ass is in trouble again.” Henrick studied his bed partner’s profile as the sports news anchor’s voice announced in the tone – of what Henrick thought was barely disguised glee—they reserved for bad news. “Valentino Alessi, the bad boy of the Bundesliga, is at it again. This morning, headlines across Europe were accompanied by pictures of the league’s number-one striker entering a hotel room in Rome with two girls who, upon further investigation, turned out to be underaged. Articles in both the Sun Times of London and the Morning Press of Rome detailed the entire event from when Alessi met the girls in the hotel restaurant until he exited their hotel room over two hours later. The girls’ names haven’t been released, since they are minors, but so far the children’s parents have not responded to repeated requests from the media as to their awareness of the incident. Roman police chief, Antonio Scalari, said in a statement to press that the situation is being looked into, and if it is deemed necessary, the appropriate charges will be filed. This isn’t the first time Alessi’s come under fire for his indiscretions in the bedroom. It’s only been a year and a half since Paulo Gianotti stepped…” “I hope that bastard gets what’s coming to him,” Klaus growled, drowning out the news anchor. “I’m sure they need to wait until all the facts are in before they can hang the man.” Henrick pushed himself up and got out of bed. He was no fan of Valentino Alessi, but he wasn’t ready to pronounce guilt on the say-so of the media. “I’m going to shower now.” Klaus waved him away and turned his attention back to the TV after only one quick glance at Henrick’s ass. After showering, Henrick was prepared to dress and leave since that was how his hookups with Klaus usually went, but he was surprised to find Klaus still lying on the bed in his underwear when he’d finished in the bathroom. Henrick stepped up to the side of the bed next to Klaus and looked down at him. “Aren’t we leaving?” Klaus put a finger inside the towel cinched around Henrick’s waist and pulled him closer. “I thought maybe we could order some dinner from room service. We need to talk.” One hand wandered across Henrick’s hip and then back to squeeze one of his ass cheeks. Henrick didn’t like the sound of that. Neither the getting a meal together after sex nor the “we need to talk” was anything Henrick wanted to hear out of Klaus’s mouth. They never spent any time out of the bed together after sex unless it was on the rare business trip they took together where they ended up sharing a room. The last time they’d needed to talk, Klaus told Henrick he was dating Lydia in accounting. So needing to talk never meant anything good. The two things combined caused a deep sense of foreboding to creep into Henrick’s body. “You don’t have to buy me dinner to tell me it’s over.” Henrick tried not to sound upset at the prospect. Klaus released Henrick’s ass and grabbed his hand instead as he tried to turn away. “Who said it was over?” “Did you rent the room for the whole night?” Henrick asked as his breath quickened. Klaus frowned. “I did because I thought it being Friday and all that we could make a night of it.” He made it sound as if it was something they did all the time. Henrick shook his head. “No, the last time we spent an entire night together was when you convinced me that you dating Lydia was just for your public image so it wasn’t really cheating when we were together.” The sour taste in his mouth proved just how dirty it still made him feel to be fucking a man who was in a relationship—fake or not. If Henrick had been in Lydia’s place, he wouldn’t see it as any less than cheating on Klaus’s part. Releasing Henrick’s hand, Klaus turned to sit on the side of the bed. “It’s not cheating. I’m not in love with her, and you know that. But I can’t get anywhere with the company if I’m not on track socially. Do you think I want to be stuck in this position forever? If I want to move up, I need to do something that will make it easier for me to do so.” Henrick turned away from Klaus because he knew what they needed to talk about now, and he didn’t want Klaus to see the tears he knew would come after Klaus said the words. “Okay, so tell me what it is exactly you need to do to get that promotion you want so badly.” Klaus cleared his throat, a nervous habit that meant bad news was on its way. It was one Henrick knew all too well. “I’ve asked Lydia to marry me.” Henrick deflated, and his shoulders sagged under the weight of rejection. It was what he’d expected but had hoped wouldn’t happen. “So that’s it then. This was supposed to be some kind of last hurrah before you went off to find wedded bliss in the arms of a woman you claim to have no feelings for.” He couldn’t pretend that he didn’t care because he did—a lot. Suddenly Klaus was behind him. Henrick tried to step away, but he was no match for the powerful arms holding him against a sturdy body almost twice his size. “Henrick, there’s no need to be so dramatic. Nothing has to change between us. I still want you, and I can always get away to meet up with you.” As if that was the answer to all the problems Henrick had with him marrying Lydia. Henrick realized Klaus just didn’t get it. He struggled, but Klaus wouldn’t let him go free. “Klaus, let me go. If you marry Lydia, this is the last time you’ll be with me. I won’t fuck a married man. You know I had issues even when you were just dating her, but once you take vows I can’t in good conscience help you cheat on her.” Klaus finally released him with a little shove that made him stumble before he caught his balance. “You can’t blackmail me into not marrying her. If it’s you or her, then I’ll choose her,” Klaus spat bitterly. “I’m not trying to blackmail you. I knew this thing we had was just sex. You were never in it for anything other than getting off as often and as quickly as possible. You made that abundantly clear, but I’m still not going to be your something on the side when you’re a married man.” Each word that came out of his mouth stabbed him a little deeper because he’d hoped one day Klaus would change his mind and actually want a real relationship. “You’re being unreasonable, Henrick. What difference do a few words and a couple of rings make?” Klaus rubbed at his stubbled jaw in obvious frustration. Turning to look Klaus in the eyes, Henrick wanted to make sure his words were heard clearly and understood fully. “They make a world of difference to me.” They meant his dream of one day being the one Klaus chose to have a life with was over. He’d have to stop kidding himself about there being anything behind those occasional soft looks Klaus gave him. He needed to move on because now that Klaus had actually said he’d choose Lydia when push came to shove, he knew he would never come in first in Klaus’s life, and surely he deserved to be number one in someone’s life. “You’re making this all about you. What about what I need? Do you ever think about how difficult this is for me?” Klaus sounded like a petulant child. The anger rose hard and fast in Henrick’s chest. “Are you kidding me? All I ever do is think about what you want. You wanted to keep this on the down low, so I haven’t told a single soul about who I’m always sneaking out to see. For over two years now, I’ve kept your secret. You wanted to keep this thing between us just physical, no emotions, just meaningless sex, and I went along with that too. But you’ve crossed the line now by asking me to do something against my morals, so what—so that you can have the best of both worlds?” Henrick wanted to throw the question back in Klaus’s face and ask, What about me? What about what he wanted? But he didn’t because he knew Klaus didn’t care about anyone except himself. He’d kept his voice low to avoid sounding shrill and hysterical, but he could feel himself balancing on the edge of a cliff. Bending to pick up his discarded clothes, he knew he needed to get out of the room before he said something that would reveal his feelings to Klaus. It didn’t matter how hard he’d tried to keep his emotions out of the bedroom, somewhere along the way he’d fallen in love with the big clueless oaf. If Henrick were being honest, Klaus’s obliviousness to his feelings hurt more than his finally choosing Lydia. Klaus grabbed ahold of Henrick’s shirt as he tried to pull it over his head, making him scowl at the other man, but Klaus didn’t let go as he started talking. “Just stay for a bit. We can talk this through, and you’ll see that I’m not asking you to do anything more than what you have been doing. I like you, Henrick. I enjoy the time we’ve spent together. I realize I should have given you more to keep you happy with our arrangement. I’ve been selfish. I see that now, and I’m prepared to give you more of what you need. We can spend more time together, not just fucking; maybe we can catch a movie or a game, sort of like a date.” Klaus’s voice had taken on a wheedling quality, which Henrick hated because he almost always gave in to it. Not this time, he told himself, as he ripped his shirt out of Klaus’s grasp. He wanted to scream that it was too little too late in Klaus’s face, but he held back. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. What if someone starts questioning you hanging out with the gay guy from the office? What will your wife think of that?” Henrick sneered instead as he pulled the shirt on. After jamming his legs into his jeans, he buttoned them with trembling hands as he waited for Klaus to say something more. “Maybe you should just think about my offer and get back to me.” Klaus crossed his beefy arms over his chest and leaned against the wall as if it was no big deal that he was breaking Henrick’s heart. “Oh, I’ll think about it all right.” Henrick’s anger boiled over into rage, and he needed to get out of there, away from Klaus to somewhere he could let his emotions out. “I’ll think about it while I’m out cruising for a new cock.” He stuffed his socks into his jeans pockets and his bare feet into his shoes before turning on his heel and opening the door. “You’ll regret leaving like this, Henrick. I know you have feelings for me—” Stepping into the hallway, Henrick slammed the door on whatever else Klaus had been about to say. He was done hiding in the closet with someone who didn’t even love him enough to make it worth the hassle of keeping it a secret. After exiting the hotel, he flagged down a taxi, gave his address to the driver, and sat back in the seat to avoid conversation with the cabbie so he could think. He needed to fix his life. He had plenty of friends and friends-with-benefits all over Europe, but that wasn’t enough anymore. Henrick wanted someone who would put him first for once—someone who loved him more than everything else in their life. Was that asking too much, just to be the most important thing to one person? Henrick didn’t think it was and made a vow right there in the back of that cab. Henrick Kohler wasn’t going to settle for second best any longer.

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Meet the Author

CL Mustafic is a born and bred American mid-westerner who mysteriously ended up living in one of those countries nobody can ever find on the map of Europe. Left with too much time on her hands—let’s be honest here: it was the lack of television channels in her native language–and too many voices in her head trying to fill the silence, she decided to give her life-long dream of writing a novel a shot. So now, between shuttling kids back and forth from various activities and risking her life on the insanely narrow, busy streets of her new hometown, she loses herself in her own made-up world where love always wins.

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Title: Priest and Pariahs

Series: Centauri Survivors Second Chance Chronicles, Book Three

Author: J. Alan Veerkamp

Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: September 24, 2018

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 76500

Genre: Science Fiction, sci-fi, romance, space, gay, family drama

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Synopsis

Costa McQuillen has escaped from Earth, where being para-human—a Pariah—with tech empathic abilities is illegal, and marks him for extermination. Arrogant and standoffish, Costa is unable to trust anyone but is willing to risk everyone’s safety in his desperate effort to reach the planet Omoikane. His best solution, gaining passage on board the Santa Claus. Arbor Kittering is the crew’s newest coding tech. Having spent a short time in prison for data hacking and falsifying government files, the Santa Claus is his last chance at a new start—if he can decipher the strange malfunctions plaguing the ship. Eugene “Priest” Jones, the Santa Claus’s Head Pilot, is a bit of a scoundrel. Perpetually single, Priest is attracted to Costa and Arbor. In truth, he’d like to have both, but it’s clear even his grifting and gambling skills can’t make that happen. Now as they all travel together, it appears Priest needs to make a choice before it’s too late as each of their lives intertwine with potentially dangerous and deadly consequences.

Excerpt

Priest & Pariahs J. Alan Veerkamp © 2018 All Rights Reserved The darkness reminded him somehow of being an unborn child—as if one could remember such a thing—floating weightless, enveloped by warmth. What would anyone give to fall back into such a simple existence, removed of all need beyond instinctual thought? What a fortunate nine months it would be. A wonderful life, sleeping and cared for inside the womb, never requiring a voice. All before anyone could teach a soul to love or hate, or something or someone was unwanted. Is that what was happening here? Had he somehow regressed back before his own infancy? The pangs of jealousy he was experiencing told him no. Sadly, no. He felt like he’d been slumbering for such a long time, and very, very gradually he started to wake. Threads of logical coherence tickled his thoughts in the dark. It was not a welcome sensation, and he fought to avoid it. Why couldn’t he go back into the lovely silence? Envy for the ignorance of the unborn rolled through him. How unfair it was to have the innocence of being sequestered and never hearing the taunts of children or comprehending the cries of the intolerant taken away from him. If only he had never heard slurs of hatred or understood what defined a second-class citizen. What was that sound? Could it be a faint heartbeat in the distant void? It sounded brash and unnatural, refusing to lull him back to sleep like the soothing cadence of a mother’s pulse. Like a child, he wanted nothing more than to stay safe and warm, but like in every instance, someone always forced a person into the painful light and cold of reality. The darkness parted above him with a soft mechanical hiss. The warmth bled away, making him want to cry. Daring to open his foggy eyes, he squinted in the artificial light. A woman in a white coat hovered over him. “Welcome back to the real world. Can you tell me your name?” His voice was dry and raspy, and he had to concentrate to answer her correctly. “Costa…Costa McQuillen.” “Good. Your stats are looking healthy.” A warm smile graced the young woman as she read over the flat scanner in her hand. Focusing was becoming easier. He found himself undressed, lying back in comfort, some kind of foam bedding molded around him. It held him effortlessly, but its touch was delicate, tricking his senses into thinking he was floating. Several small pieces of equipment were attached to his body, taunting him with their hidden binary code. She touched one piece of technology and looked back to the miniature screen she carried. “Are you a doctor?” Costa asked. “Yes, I am.” A small frisson of panic lanced him. He wasn’t about to lie back and allow her to poke and prod him. The doctor placed a hand on Costa’s shoulder as he started to rise, holding him in place with little effort. “Hold on. Don’t sit up right away. You’ll be a little disoriented for a bit. That’s normal for a five-year hypersleep.” Costa groaned, trying to sort himself as the doctor’s caring tone diffused his anxiety. “Where am I?” “You’re on board the Mayflower Ark.” “The Mayflower Ark?” The doctor nodded. “Yes. You booked passage from Earth to Alpha Centauri Prime.” “I did?” “Yes. Just like everyone else on board.” “I’m sorry. I’m a little confused.” The doctor’s smile was sweet with understanding. “It’s all right. I have this conversation with most of the passengers. We’ll be arriving on Alpha Centauri Prime within twenty-four hours. We’re in the process of waking all of the Earth immigrants.” Costa looked around and found himself inside an enormous medical bay filled with mechanical wombs, just like the one in which he lay. Men and women in lab coats drifted from capsule to capsule, setting free the dazed people inside. Some were more awake than others, with men, women, and children milling about the vast room as they dressed. The more he saw, the more the cloud over his thoughts lifted. “This is odd.” The doctor squinted at her handheld display. “What?” “There are a few anomalies in your bio-scan.” “That’s ridiculous. Your tech must be faulty.” Costa granted the device in her hand a vicious stare. “Look again.” The doctor’s forehead creased as she blinked in confusion. “Oh. Wait. It’s normal now. Must have been an error.” “Yes, it must have been. May I get dressed now?” With a simple touch, the doctor removed each of the devices attached to Costa’s arms and legs. “You seem coherent enough to move around safely. The muscle stimulators kept your body from atrophying during the long sleep, but you may still be a little weak. Be careful until you get settled. If you find yourself feeling lightheaded, I want you to sit down immediately.” “Thank you, Doctor.” She might have been genuine and helpful, but she couldn’t go away fast enough for his tastes. Once she left, Costa took on the slow task of sitting upright and retrieved his clothing from the bin alongside the bed. After he was dressed and found his footing, Costa wandered over to the observation decks located next to the hypersleep room. He couldn’t bear to keep looking at the rows of chambers. Even with all the living people inside, each capsule reminded him too much of a coffin, and with so many clustered together, the errant idea morphed itself into some kind of perverse morgue. He couldn’t bear to spend time entertaining the image. It sparked far too many horrific memories. The view into space through the three-story-tall view ports lining the wall pushed back the recollections. Alpha Centauri Prime grew larger as they approached, looking similar to his homeworld with its land masses and blue waters, even if the continents didn’t match. He had to look more than once to convince himself the world before him was not actually Earth. Costa had no intention of ever setting foot on that planet again.

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Meet the Author

While spending years more focused on visual arts, J. Alan Veerkamp never let go of his innate passion for storytelling, wanting to write and draw comic books when he grew up. Once he discovered M/M fiction, a whole new world opened filled with possibilities. Why couldn’t you have fantastic and dynamic sexy tales with an M/M cast? He started reading the online tales of authors like, Night Tempest, Rob Colton, and Alicia Nordwell, which only fueled his need to create. Eventually he found GayAuthors.org, and with a little coercive nudge, started sharing his tales with an unexpected level of positive response. The experience and support gave him the courage to cross his fingers and aim for the world of M/M publishing. Born and raised in Michigan, J. Alan continues to type away, wishing it was practical to use an noisy, old fashioned keyboard that clacks with each strike, if just to annoy his loving partner and spoiled miniature dachshund.

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