Release Blitz + Giveaway: Origami War by Toni J. Spencer

 

Title: Origami War

Author: Toni J. Spencer

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 07/19/2022

Heat Level: 1 - No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 65900

Genre: Sci Fi, LGBTQIA+, YA, lesbian, pansexual, alternate universe, dystopian, dark, coming-of-age, hurt/comfort, sleepwalking, angst, family drama, graphic violence, martial law

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Description

Haunted by her mother’s death, sixteen-year-old Penny sleepwalks by night. By day, she peddles bootleg vodka to rich kids looking for kicks on the wrong side of Brooklyn Bridge, a place reeling in total economic meltdown, strict curfew laws, and violent disarray.

Penny’s chance meeting with Quinn, a rabble-rouser dabbling in counterculture graffiti, sets in motion a deep love affair and the start of a seemingly impossible revolution. Inspired by a childhood memory, the two of them craft powerful messages hidden in the folds of hundreds of paper airplanes. They plan to launch them from the rooftops of derelict buildings even as the unforgiving militia hunts them from below.

Will hope take flight in a crumbling world, or will their efforts devastate them all?

Excerpt

Origami War
Toni J. Spencer © 2022
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
The streetlights that ran the length of Brooklyn Bridge had long since been defunct, and the nights had become so black even the city in the distance gave nothing away. A scattering of blocks in shadow, like a once-prized Lego set, accumulating dust atop the bookshelf. Occasionally, a spotlight broke from a cloud and ran the gauntlet of alleys and nooks before disappearing from whence it came.

Penny perched precariously on the edge of the bridge gazing across the bay, waiting for her mind to sway back into the present and catch her up on the events of the night. An inhale of breath, her own, sharp and cold, jump-started her brain. The brick in her hand, nuggety and rough, was tied in the middle with twine. Cheap and thin. She fingered it with shivering hands and followed its coil as it snaked around her leg and ended in a bow at the ankle.

The sleepwalking had been escalating in distance and danger over the last few weeks. Where she had once woken in the lobby of her apartment building, sleepy-eyed and drowsy, she now found herself miles from home with knives in hand and blood on her knees. Her present predicament, though, was a new and dark incarnation of her nightmares. To find herself harnessed to a ledge, with wobbly knees and the plight of a harrowing demise, chilled her to the bone. A blush of heat warmed her forehead, trickled down her cheeks, and spread like a fire in her belly. A tear rolled off the end of her nose, and regret overwhelmed her entire being.

She crouched, dropping the brick beside her. The knots, having been tied in a daze, were easy to untangle, and the pain in her fingers, riddled with cuts, was easy to ignore, given the circumstances.

Her breath broke the silence of the night and ushered in an orchestra of sounds that moments ago she had been unaware of. The waves lapped far below. A military chopper thundered in the distance. A footstep slapped the sidewalk. She sprang to her feet and scanned the walkway. Brick in hand. Weapon if necessary.

She heard the voice before she saw the person. Another footfall, a rush of breath.

“Hey,” said the shadow.

Penny jumped. Fear engaged.

The silhouette lifted its arms. “Don’t shoot; I’m harmless.”

Penny raised her brick as the shadow morphed into a human with a perfectly symmetrical face, framed by a mop of unruly hair. The girl was certainly not old enough to be a serial killer, possibly Penny’s age, maybe a year older. Seventeen, eighteen? Her face was kind, and the girl smiled in the darkness. Well, what passed for a smile in these times. How long had this girl been watching her; how much had she seen? Penny lowered her brick before spotting the shopping bag. Did the pretty girl have a severed head in there? She lifted the brick back up.

“You know it’s past curfew,” said the stranger. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“No kidding.” Penny stepped backward, toward Manhattan. Toward home.

“So, what’s with the brick?”

“Protection.” Penny thrust it in her direction, satisfied only when the girl flinched. Not a serial killer after all. She dropped the brick, all the way down.

“Can I have it?”

“No,” said Penny, stupidly possessive. “Get your own brick.”

“I’m not going to kill you with it. I promise.”

There was that smile again.

“What do you want it for?” asked Penny.

The girl lifted her bag and jiggled it. Metal on metal, the sound of a broken bell. “Got some evidence I need to dispose of.”

Penny raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing sinister. Take a look.” The girl tossed the bag at Penny who stepped out of the way so it crashed to the ground. “Nice catch.”

“Wow. A comedian.” Penny hoped the girl registered her sarcasm.

“See,” the girl said, pointing to the spray paint cans that littered the bridge walk. “Not a threat.”

Penny rolled a paint can beneath her shoe. Pink-colored paint. Nothing sinister. “So you’re a vandal, then?”

“Of sorts, although I prefer the term campaigner of freedom.”

“Ha, good luck with that.” Penny handed over the brick despite her obvious disapproval.

The girl crouched at Penny’s feet, shoving the cans back in the bag. She placed the brick on top, tied the package fast, and walked to the edge of the bridge. “So, you’re one of those ‘resistance is futile’ types, then?” she asked.

“I sure am,” Penny said, following her.

“Good luck with that.” The girl grinned as she dropped the bag into the gloom below. Penny shivered as it fell, heard the impact, felt its pain, and when she lifted her eyes, her close physical proximity to the girl surprised her. She should be more careful.

“So you’re just going to pollute the Hudson with empty paint cans?” said Penny.

“Not usually, but I went on quite the bender tonight. If I get busted with these things, it’s lights out for me.”

“That sounds a bit dramatic.”

The girl laughed and offered Penny the palm of her hand. “I’m Quinn.”

Penny hesitated. She was determined to impress upon this girl two things. One, that she had manners enough to not leave this stranger hanging, and two, despite those manners, she was a reluctant participant in this introduction and would protest by way of the limpest handshake known to mankind.

“I’m Penny,” she said, finally accepting Quinn’s handshake.

An unmistakable bolt of electricity shot through Penny’s fingers, and the world spun, just for moment.

“Penny like the coin?” said Quinn.

“Sure. I guess.”

Quinn shook Penny’s hand, apparently unaffected by both the dead-fish salutation and the obvious warmth that emanated from their joined fingers. “Well, Penny like the coin, it’s nice to meet you.”

“I guess,” Penny repeated. “Considering you’re not a serial killer, it’s nice to meet you too.”

Quinn laughed. An authentic, untainted-by-the-crap-of-the-world guffaw.

Something like peace settled inside Penny. A tingle. Was this happiness? It had been so long she couldn’t even remember how it felt.

“Shit.” Quinn shuffled backward, looking skyward. “You hear that?”

A rhythmic pulsing cut through the air, and Penny stiffened. A military chopper hovered somewhere beyond the fog. Stupid idiot. How had she been so careless? The peacemakers had no love for curfew breakers. If she and Quinn were caught, they’d be thrown into a displacement camp and processed for unruly behavior. Rumors of cruel and unusual punishments were rife in those places, the stuff of nightmares. The ripping off of fingernails, plucking out of eyes, scalping of heads. Yet the truth of it all was irrelevant. Gossip or not, Penny’s trick was simple enough—to not get caught and to never find out.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

o jump on the couch, eat wiToni J Spencer is an avid daydreamer and eternal optimist. When she’s not encouraging her two children tth their fingers, or understand the power of using swear words in context, she writes. Toni has several award-winning short stories under her belt, and once the procrastinating is done and dusted, plans to turn most of them into novels.

Despite calling New Zealand home, Toni considers herself a citizen of the world and dreams about the day when she can once again stuff her backpack full of short-shorts and furry jackets and head out in search of adventure and friends unmet.

Origami War is Toni’s first published novel and was mostly written in the witching hour during a serious bout of insomnia. She figures she’ll have plenty of time to sleep when she is dead.

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Review: The Bandalore (Pitch & Sickle #1) by D.K. Girl

1885 London, England
Silas Mercer died once. He’d rather not do it again.

On his return to the world of the living, Silas finds himself in the hands of the mysterious Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.
The Order has London society clamouring for their services, with tarot readings, seances and exorcisms among their arcane specialities.
Now they seem intent on making Silas their newest recruit.
But they want far more from him than cheap parlour tricks.
When the Order partners him with the scandalous rake, Tobias Astaroth, Silas's new life is turned on its head in more ways than one. Tobias is quick-tempered, dangerously charming, and far more than the man he seems.

For Silas, surviving what the Order has planned for him will be a challenge.
But finding a way to survive Tobias Astaroth could prove impossible.

This is my first official gaslamp fantasy - a trope that’s typically set in Victorian or Edwardian times and where the existence of the supernatural is known. I liken it as a fancy term for magical historical alternate universe. Regardless, if this sounds enticing to you, I doubt this story will disappoint.

This starts out with Silas, newly awakened from the dead with no memories of his past life. All he knows is that he’s technically been given a second chance by the Order of the Dawn, a mysterious group that supposedly fights supernatural evil. Silas has officially been promoted to a member of this exclusive “club”, but no one is telling him anything, and he’s pretty much thrown into the deep end to see if he sinks or swims when it comes to manifesting any abilities.

Well… it looks like the guy can see, interact, and put to rest spirits, and Silas is quickly put onto the Order’s roster of appointments to investigate and handle potential nefarious situations.

There’s just one snag. Silas finds himself unceremoniously paired with Tobias Asteroff, blatant unapologetic hedonist who has a very mysterious past, along with unclear reasons why he’s saddled with the Order and why he must do as they bid. It’s an incongruent and unharmonious pairing, but neither has a choice in the matter.

What I will say about this book is that it has an intriguing start. The Order and its objective remain to be seen. There’s religious undertones that have been given new meaning, and this promises plenty of magic and supernatural beings that all have yet to be fully revealed. I will also say that this develops at quite the slow pace with only a few scenes of intense action with a good dose of horror at the end. Silas truly is a fumbling insecure gentle giant which might endear most but also aggravate others, and I often found him lacking in ”oomph” where Tobias is all bad boy brimstone with an undeniably charming facade and a mean streak of carelessness to go with it. Such a contrast between two people forced to work together is admittedly, interesting enough to see how this develops into love. Be forewarned, there’s not a hint of romance in this first installment yet - only snippets of lusty thoughts.

Overall, well written with character flaws that subtracted some points from me personally. However again, if you like supernatural historical MM, then I do think this garners checking out. Hope you enjoy!

Blog Tour + Giveaway: Beware Mohawks Bearing Gifts (Cove Chronicles #1) by S.A. Collins

Author S.A. Collins and Other Worlds visit Beware Mohawks Bearing Gifts (Cove Chronicles #1) blog tour! Learn more about the first in the queer alt-earth science fiction series; enter in the $20 Amazon gift card giveaway too!

SA Collins has a new queer alt-earth sci fi book out, book one in the Cove Chronicles: "Beware Mohawks Bearing Gifts."

It’s 1847, New York. William Matthias Hallett is a fashionable dandy of the Manhattan social set. His life is laid out before him: a world of soirees, riches and luxury. Yet all he wants to do is find an adventure so deliciously wicked that it would satiate his soul for an eternity.

So, disguised in a lower-class manner, into the notorious Five Points he goes, seeking that spark of adventure. That is until it greets him in the form of his old schoolmates from Dartmouth College – a pair of Mohawk warriors who will up-end his world and all he knew it to be forever.

Series Blurb:

Set in an alternative Earth that deviates from our own known timeline, William Matthias Hallett, a Mohawk/British New York socialite and dandy, who wants very little to do with his upper-crust Manhattan set, sets out to the notorious Five Points, seeking an adventure so decidedly wicked to satiate him for a lifetime. He gets far more than he bargains for when he crosses paths with two Mohawk warriors from their days at Dartmouth college.

Thrust into an unseen war that the Mohawks and the rest of the Haudenosuanee Confederacy has been fighting for over 600 years, William must come to terms with his maternal heritage that is pressing ever forward as their newly created sovereign nation rapidly expands, isolating the burgeoning United States along the eastern seaboard and now reaching a boiling point with the new Americans.

Central to this sci-fi adventure is the creation story of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy where myth becomes reality in ways that William can scarcely imagine.


NineStar Press | Amazon eBook | Amazon Paperback | Barnes & Noble | Smashwords | Goodreads

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Giveaway

SA Collins is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour. For a chance to win, enter via Rafflecopter:

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Excerpt

He leaned against the doorway with a slight smile upon his face and placed the message from my sister onto the desk nearest the door.

“So, are you planning to sleep upon the floor, or will you nest down in the kitchen?”

“Just be glad the bed I have in your room is large enough for us both. You will just have a bed mate until we can rectify the situation downstairs.”

“I could always sleep on your sofa in the receiving room, Will.”

“Certainly not. If I am anything, I am a superb host. I will not have you attempting to recline on a sofa that isbarely sufficient to sit upon, let alone gain some much-needed rest.”

“Fancy little Indian, are you not?” He indicated the quality of my nightshirt and dressing robe.

“I walk in two worlds now; allow me my fashionable proclivities,” I replied as I began to change out of my clothing and into the nightshirt. For a few moments he stood there shaking his head and smirking at my nightly routine, though I did detect a blush moving across his face as I got down to my undergarments. As I pulled my shirt over my head, I noted he had slipped into the spare bedroom.

I carried the nightshirt and robe over to the spare room to join him as he began to slip off his leggings and mocs. After he shucked his shirt, I paused to appreciate the simple utility of the Haudenosaunee male wardrobe. Moments later, Joss changed from the comfort of his daily outfit into a simple loincloth suitable for sleeping, and here I struggled with overgarments, shirts, pants, undergarments, and various pieces that served only as ornamentation. I began to question for the first time the intelligence of my way of dress.

::But you wear your clothing so well. I do not judge your choice of them. This is simply what I know and have grown comfortable using. Why are you curious as to our way of dress?::

::Well, I suppose I should gain a better understanding of our people’s ways. I feel I know so little about my Mohawk life. I assume I can lean on you for that. Unless you find me a lost cause.::

::Will, have no doubt. You are Mohawk; your lineage is clear. You just have not had much in the way of guidance in our way of life. You can always turn to me for that.::

“Thank you. I cannot tell you how much that means to me. Since I came into this whole new world of the Guardians and Flintlings, I have felt little more than a leaf upon the raging river, with little hope of purchase with which to grant me some sense of security. You have provided the security I desperately need.”

“Wait here…” He gated out of the room, though to where, simply wearing his loincloth for protection against the elements, was beyond me. I did not have to wait long as he returned within a few moments with a beaded side bag in his hand. He threw it upon the bed and began to rummage through it. He extracted a beaded belt and a tightly rolled piece of blood-red cloth.

“Get out of that precious royal swaddling you have encased yourself in,” he chided me as he unrolled the cloth, revealing it to be about the length of the loincloth he was wearing. I realized he had retrieved his spare clothing, though from where I was uncertain.

Reading my musings, he replied, “I have spare clothing set aside in various places. I can retrieve them whenneeds arise. These shall be yours now.” He indicated the bag on the bed as much as the belt and loincloth he held.

“Oh, Joss…” I gasped, filled with awe at his offering, knowing that to refuse would deeply mar our new relationship. Not something I was willing to risk, given our being inextricably bound to each other.

Forgetting my near nakedness, I knelt upon the bed, running gentle fingers over them, and watched as he completed the folding around the back of the belt. A small smile broke over his face, bringing his eyes to light.Clearly, he was most happy in his offering. I only wished I had something to offer in exchange. As if hearing mythoughts, he had a reply. “Just your wearing it will be more than enough,” he murmured as he

handed me the garment. “Come, let us have you try it on.” “I am afraid you will have to help me out a bit.”

Shortly thereafter, I found myself wearing my first Mohawk loincloth. My slightly burnished alabaster skin, witha dusting of freckles along my muscular shoulders that mellow as they wend their way over my bare torso, standing in stark contrast to the rich colored fabric of the loincloth.

He placed two gentle hands on my shoulders as we regarded my reflection in the mirror. I felt him course along our link with such gratitude and care that I was undone by his gesture.

Joss beamed, watching me take root in my heritage, pleased he could do this for me. After sheathing myself in some of the finest material and clothing the world could offer, I was amazed at how much comfort, both in movement and luxury, this simple natural garment afforded me.

He pulled out the leggings, a pair of mocs, and a shirt. After another few moments, I was fully clothed in my maternal heritage clothing. A sense of pride seemed to swell within me that I had not anticipated. I nearly wept from thesensation. I know Joss did not miss my eyes misting up from the transformation at his hands.

“Joss, I never knew just how comfortable these really are.”

“You wear them well; as if you were born to them,” he added with a bright grin, no doubt pleased with himself.

I paused, turning this way and that, before bringing Joss into a tight embrace, so thankful for his offering. He moved his head from my shoulder to place my forehead against his, his hands on either side of my face, gently holding me there.

::Like this, Ohnehta’kowa. When it matters most, this is how we share that moment.::

I nodded, thankful for his teaching and his generosity. I knew, being so linked with him, our intimacy would be something I needed to embrace and let flow. It was a part of who we are. If I were truly honest, I longed for it to go on into the night; spending this singular touching moment with him and to share it thusly shattered what I knew about myself and the world around me. Joss sensed this and gradually broke contact between us. I felt bewildered and in aslight stupor for the loss of him. I needed to regroup.

“Yes, well, now to bed, eh?”

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Author Bio

SA “Baz” Collins hails from the San Francisco Bay Area where he lives with his husband and Zorro, a character of a cat. A classically trained singer/actor (under a different name), Baz knows a good yarn when he sees it.

Based on years of his work as an actor, Baz specializes in character study pieces. It is more important for him that the reader comes away with a greater understanding of the characters and the reasons they make the decisions they do, rather than the situations they are in. It is this deep dive into their manners, their experiences and how they process the world around them that make up the body of Mr. Collins’ work.

You can find his works at sacollins.com, violetquillredux.com and as a co-host of the wrotepodcast.com series.

Author Website: www.sacollins.com

Author Facebook (Author Page): www.facebook.com/sacollinsauthor

Author Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/sacollinsauthor

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/sacollins.author/

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/11881481.S_A_Collins

Author QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/sa-collins/

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/SA-Collins/e/B00RQ93PXC

Release Blitz + Giveaway: He Dreams Magic by Emme C. Taylor

Celebrate the release of fantasy, He Dreams Magic with author Emme C. Taylor and IndiGo Marketing! Discover more and enter in the $10 NineStar Press credit giveaway!

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.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Kobo

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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Blog Tour + Giveaway: Dead Man Stalking (Blood and Bone #1) by T.A. Moore

Author T.A. Moore visits today on the Dead Man Stalking (Blood and Bone #1) blog tour! Learn more about the latest from the author, read her prequel short story and enter in the $10 Dreamspinner Press credit giveaway!

Title: Dead Man Stalking

Publisher: Dreamspinner Press

Release: 10 September

Cover Artist: Kanaxa

Amazon - http://amzn.to/2ZkYwmw

Dreamspinner Link: http://bit.ly/2ZceYua

Blurb:

Agent Luke Bennett proved that humans could rise just as high in the ranks as their vampire colleagues—until a kidnapper held him captive for a year and turned him without his consent.

Now he’s Took: a reluctant monster afraid to bite anyone, broke, and about to be discharged from his elite BITERs unit.

When an old colleague suggests he consult on a BITERs case, Took has little to lose. The case is open and shut… but nothing is ever that easy. As he digs deeper, he discovers a lot more than one cold case is at stake, and if he wants to solve this one, he’ll need the help of the BITERs team. Even if that brings his old commander, Madoc, back into his life.

Tour:

First of all, thank you so much for having me! I’m thrilled to be here with my new urban fantasy Dead Man Stalking. This is the first book in the Blood and Bone series and I am thrilled to put it out there into the world. I was meant to be writing an entirely different book, but then Took and Madoc took up residence in my head and I had to give in and let them have their say.

I had a blast creating this world and these characters, and I hope you enjoy them too. I’ve included a chapter of a prequel short story that you can follow through the blog tour.

Chapter Three

Luke splashed water over his face and rubbed cold, wet hands around the back of his neck. There was hot and then there was South Carolina hot. He’d gotten used to California’s dry heat, that parched the moisture out of your mouth, not the oppressive sticky warmth that soaked his clothes with sweat the minute he put them on.

Six months.

He should be used to it by now.

Water dripped down Luke’s face and into the sink. He looked up at his reflection and dragged his hand down his face. Short, gilt stubble prickled against his fingers.

At this point, he thought sourly, he should probably be used to a lot of things. He’d known when he accepted the promotion to the BITERs that he’d be the only human in the teams. It just hadn’t occurred to him how odd it would be to work with monsters to catch monsters.

Lie to the rest of the world, his Dad’s old advice popped into his head, but don’t lie to yourself. That’s what will get you killed.

Bennet exhaled and glared at his reflection. If there was one thing you should take his Dad’s advice on, it was survival and lies. They were his wheelhouse.

Fine. It hadn’t occurred to him that only part of his discomfort with working with monsters would be the monster part. That he could just ignore. No one said you had to like your colleagues, just work with them. It was the tug of unexpected--unwanted--lust he felt around SES Madoc that left him wrong-footed.

It was the last thing he’d expected. He knew what they were, under the Anakim and the nice clothes and the close-lipped smiles. They were fangs and blood, dead babies handed over by blood-drunk mothers, and hunger. Luke had made the reputation thatgot him this job off the back of monsters who’d left towns in mourning, so how the hell could he want to fuck one?

But he did.

The admission didn’t make him feel any better. Luke gave his reflection an exasperated look and headed back into the bedroom. A fresh shirt and tie lay on the bed, crisp, starched and ready to be sweated limp. Luke picked it up and shrugged it on. Before he could button it there was a sharp double rap on the door.

Housekeeping his clean towels. Finally. Luke raked his wet hair back from his face, wet curls behind his ears, and padded over to answer the door. He pulled the door open mid-knock, except instead of the housekeeper with fresh laundry it was Madoc with cups of coffee in his hands.

There was a pause as Madoc raised a dark brow and glanced down to take in the width of Luke’s half-bared chest. He proffered the coffee in his right hand.

“I always forget how much Californians like their sunshine,” he said. “Do people even sunbathe this side of the country?”

“Some do,” Luke said as he took the cup. It was hot enough to scorch his fingers through the cardboard. His tan didn’t really take a lot of upkeep, a few hours a month in the surf to top it up to golden. “It’s not really a group activity. Something come up? I thought we were going to meet at the police station?”

Madoc took a drink of coffee. He didn’t spit it out, so Luke was reassured that his wasn’t the adulterated cup.

“We were.” Madoc checked his wrist for the time. “We will, in half an hour. But you don’t house a dog and bark yourself.”

Luke narrowed his eyes and sipped his coffee. It was excellent. Of course. He doubted that Madoc would have truck with anything less than that unless it was to make a point. “Flattering.”

“This is your chance, Agent Bennett,” Madoc said. “Convince me.”

There was an edge of challenge to his voice that didn’t feel completely professional. Luke took another drink of coffee, his mouth dry, and stepped back. He waved his hand at the room--bed, office chair, and luggage--in unspoken invitation.

Vampires seduced.

Luke didn’t bother to edit the word in his head. The bluntness of it helped. It gave him distance.

It was what they did, with blood and beauty that made people open the door and bare their necks. Madoc might dress it up behind a better mask than the glutted-like-ticks rogues that Luke tracked to trap houses and lairs, but it was the same lure. He was meant to notice it, but he didn’t have to bite.

Maybe admitting the hint of lust he had for his boss had been a good idea after all.

Madoc looked amused at Luke’s omission to offer official permission to entry. He didn’t need it to step inside, despite the old pre-Drakul myths, a threshold was just lintels and courtesy. An invitation did mean something though. An invitation gave Anakim...influence...over what resided in the four walls. A spiritual keyhole to slip through at night.

Opinions varied on whether that worked with mid-price hotel rooms. Luke didn’t care to risk it. They were here for a few days, at least, and if he had any nightly emissions he’d rather blame his subconscious than have to worry about visitations.

------------------------

Tomorrow’s installment on Joyfully Jay! All the blog tour posts will also be linked here: http://tamoorewrites.com/deadmanstalking/

Author Bio:

TA Moore -

TA Moore is a Northern Irish writer of romantic suspense, urban fantasy, and contemporary romance novels. A childhood in a rural, seaside town fostered in her a suspicious nature, a love of mystery, and a streak of black humour a mile wide. As her grandmother always said, ‘she’d laugh at a bad thing that one’, mind you, that was the pot calling the kettle black. TA Moore studied History, Irish mythology, English at University, mostly because she has always loved a good story. She has worked as a journalist, a finance manager, and in the arts sectors before she finally gave in to a lifelong desire to write.

Coffee, Doc Marten boots, and good friends are the essential things in life. Spiders, mayo, and heels are to be avoided.

Website: www.tamoorewrites.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TAMoorewrites/

Twitter: @tamoorewrites

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Release Blitz + Giveaway: They Are the Tide (The Psionics #3) by Tash McAdam

Celebrate the release of They Are the Tide (The Psionics #3) with author Tash McAdam and IndiGo Marketing! Learn more about the latest in the science fiction series and enter in the $10 NineStar Press credit giveaway!

Title: They Are the Tide

Series: The Psionics, Book Three

Author: Tash McAdam

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: June 17, 2019

Heat Level: 1 - No Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 80100

Genre: Science Fiction, LGBT, cliffhanger, espionage, spies, military, futuristic, alt universe

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Synopsis

After escaping from two very different prisons, Toby and Epsilon 17 finally have a chance to live for themselves. Helping to build a new city in the wake of the destruction of the Institute should be all they’re worrying about, but Epsilon 17 has a horrific secret that’s getting harder and harder to hide. Cassandra isn’t dead, she’s locked up in the deepest, darkest corner of E17’s mind. Pushing E17 to the brink of madness, Cassandra is determined to take over E17 entirely and destroy the rebellion.



Can Epsilon 17 overcome their hidden enemy and learn to trust the people around them? Unwilling to wait for Cassandra to force their hand, Epsilon 17 decides to take control: to go to a city where the Institute still holds sway, and try to destroy them once and for all. Toby, forbidden from joining the mission, has to find his own path forward. Their connection is as strong as ever, but the distance between them keeps growing.

Excerpt

They Are the Tide
Tash McAdam © 2019
All Rights Reserved

E17

Sometimes I think all I have ever done is hide.

I hid in the Institute, shielding my memories, my soul from those who wanted to take it from me. Now I hide here, from those who want to help me. They want to help me, but they’re also afraid of me. I had a reputation before I was “saved.” Their thoughts call me “the Hunter.” Even though they try to cover them, I catch their fear and distrust echoing in the air all around me, and in the slant-eyed gazes they throw at me. They don’t know I can still hear them. I’ve always been stronger than people predict. I understand why they feel this way, but it burns me still. So, I avoid them as best I can.

I’m sitting alone in the lush garden that circles the new ARC headquarters. It’s beautiful here, a swathe of luscious green studded with vivid color, trees and flowers in carefully designed paths that lead around a low-slung, glittering white building. The whole area is sheltered with cunningly joined transparent sheets that filter out the worst of the dangerous sun. If you squint, you can see the shape of them, hexagon upon hexagon, tessellated together. Last week they were tinted dark for the brutal summer months, now they’re clear and nigh-on invisible. This used to be the Governor’s house, but he fled during the fall of the Institute and took a lot of the military police with him, leaving the city reeling. ARC stepped in, stepped up, tried to retain normalcy, but the shiny surface of city life has worn thin. The power vacuum caused by the disappearance of most of the higher-ups is exacerbated by the growing discontent of the township peoples. Without the Institute dampening them down, hunting for the worst of the malcontents, the slums are rumbling, and the people of the city are frightened and confused.

Several of the factories that produce luxury items for the Citizens have gone on strike, the poor workers no longer numbed to the imbalances in their lives. ARC has worked in secrecy for so long they don’t know how to take charge like this. There’s no direction, and that is frightening. Shivering, I turn my thoughts away from such darkness, and I look up into the bright-blue sky.

I can’t get enough of being outside. Simply sitting in the air is still incredible to me. Several nights I’ve been woken by Toby or Darcy shaking me gently, urging me to go inside to escape the heavy chill of the night. I don’t have nightmares when I’m outdoors. I seem to have developed a sort of claustrophobia that makes me edgy and jumpy when in a closed environment. Strange, when I lived below ground for years, to think that now I’m free, the walls press on me.

It’s been two months since I tried to kill Cassandra. Looked her in the eye and stopped her heart inside her chest but failed to end her. My thought-blind brother carried me out of the wreckage of the Institute, not knowing what he couldn’t see. That she didn’t die, not really. I bear her with me, a nebulous tumor nestling in the secret place that was once my salvation. The bunker I built to save my memories from the Tank, from the wipes that would remove my personality and feelings. She hides in there; I know it. For two months I’ve fought her for possession of my mind, control of my body. The fear is with me, always, but it lessens when I’m outside. I like to sit under the apple trees most of all. The fresh, sharp smell permeates the air, and I fill my lungs until it feels like they must burst from the strain. The filtered sunlight bathes me, trickles honey warm down my spine and soothes my troubles until I can almost forget them.

But no one here wants to forget what I’ve done. The few people who I don’t feel the need to hide from are Toby’s personal group of close friends. They accept me as he did, unquestioningly. Their shields are strong enough that I don’t get inundated with their private thoughts against my wishes, and their open faces tell me they trust me not to pry. That trust is an incredible thing. It feels tangible. I treasure it, as though I can cup it in my palms and feel a tiny heartbeat. The smallest act could snuff it out. I keep the tightest lock on my powers possible. Awareness of that trust helps me control myself and win the fight that always tears at the back of my mind.

Darcy is my favorite. There’s something about her that soothes me. She’s so calm and accepting. In a strange way I feel mothered by her. She always checks in on me, makes sure I’m managing but never makes me feel like I’m not enough, not trying hard enough or being normal enough. She doesn’t mind that I’m quiet. Sometimes she’ll come to sit with me and draw while I think. I love watching her draw, watching a thick black line roll over a blank screen and seeing pictures come alive.

I’ve tried to draw. I’m able to produce accurate technical sketches, one of the many skills the Institute has written through the core of me—regardless of any innate ability—but I don’t know how to take what I see of beauty and translate it into an image. My drawings are dead. And really, it’s the stillness of Darcy’s consciousness when she draws that I envy. I want to find the thing that stills me, settles my heaving insides. There must be something. My brother doesn’t rage inside as I do. Which is a blessing, I suppose. If he did, with his power, everyone would feel it. We’d probably die from it.

Toby is… Toby is Toby. His naiveté often dazzles me. His shields are firm for the most part, having pinned them down, knowing how dangerous it is to be open, but he still projects this aura of hope, of trust. He believes that people are good, and pure, and they all deserve to be safe and happy. He’s been so untouched by loss, disregarding the past year of his life, that he’s still untarnished by the harshness of existence. As well, being unable to read protects him from the more bitter realities of what lies below the surface. It’s a beautiful thing, and I know I’ll do anything to protect that in him. Not a day goes by when I don’t regret my choice. Not Cassandra’s death itself; the woman was, and is, a poison. Now one that seeps inside me, which I believe is better for the world. I regret the innocence I took from my brother, and the price I pay is for that.

My penance is clear; carry Cassandra inside me and never, ever set her free from the prison she is trapped in. Never allow her to take hold of me, or find a way out. I’m her jailer as she once was mine. It seems like a fair trade.

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Meet the Author

Tash is a 30 year old teacher candidate at UBC in Canada, although they were born and raised in the hilly sheepland of Wales (and have lived in South Korea and Chile before settling down in Vancouver). Tash identifies as trans and queer and uses the neutral pronoun ‘they’. They’re also an English teacher and fully equipped to defend that grammar! They have a degree in computer science so their nerd chat makes sense, and a couple of black belts in karate which are very helpful when it comes to writing fight scenes.

Their novel writing endeavours began at the age of eight, and included passing floppy discs back and forth with a friend at swimming lessons. Since then, Tash has spent time falling in streams, out of trees, learning to juggle, dreaming about zombies, dancing, painting, learning and then teaching Karate, running away with the circus, and of course, writing.

They write fast-paced, plot-centric action adventure with diverse casts. They write the books that they wanted to read as a queer kid and young adult (and still do!)

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