Author Lucy Moon and Indigo Marketing promote LGBTQIA+ romance, Ace of Hearts from NineStar Press! Find out more about the new adult contemporary and enter in the NSP credit giveaway today!

Title:  Ace of Hearts

Author: Lucy Mason

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/04/2022

Heat Level: 1 - No Sex

Pairing: Male/Female

Length: 60200

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, Romance, contemporary, new adult, family-drama, asexual, college students, sports injury, fake marriage, slow burn, friends to lovers, abusive father, depression

Add to Goodreads

Description

Hesper Stalides and Felix Morlan have been best friends for as long as they can remember, bonding over their troubled home lives. When a horrible sports injury derails Felix’s promising career and results in the loss of his scholarship, Hesper offers a proposition: a year-long marriage of convenience so he can get free tuition at the college where she works. 

It isn’t supposed to be complicated…until they fall in love for real. When Hesper reveals that she’s asexual, Felix must reassess everything he thinks about love and ask himself what he’s willing to sacrifice for a future with Hesper—before the past she’s spent her life running from can take her away from him forever.

Excerpt

Ace of Hearts
Lucy Mason © 2022
All Rights Reserved

Hesper

It was not my Felix Morlan lying in the hospital bed, tangled in the sterile white sheets. He was the bravest, funniest, most cheerful man I knew, strong enough to make up for it when his friends were weak, and this wasn’t him. I brushed his dark hair away from his forehead, which was glistening with sweat, pain hazing over his eyes.

“Sorry I scared you, Hes.” His voice cracked, and I handed him a Styrofoam cup filled with cold water and ice chips.

“I’m just glad you’re…”

Okay? Of course he wasn’t okay. One of his teammates had shown me a replay of the hit that had hyperextended his knee and destroyed his ACL. It had been on mute, and Felix was wearing a helmet that obscured part of his face, but the contorted expression of agony was seared into my memory. He may or may not have blacked out from the pain; I wasn’t sure because I quit watching, unable to stomach it.

“Want me to call the nurse?” I asked tentatively.

He turned his head away, but not before I caught the shine of tears gathering in his eyes. His leg was wrapped heavily in dressings, but I’d seen it when he came out of surgery, exhausted but too frightened to sleep while I waited. The skin around his knee was swollen, an angry red color where staples held the surgical wounds closed. I’d sat by his bed, sketching on the small pad I kept in Calamity, my old Jeep, while he slept off the anesthesia. But he was awake now, and he twisted his calloused hands in the sheets.

“They’ll be keeping me for observation for a few days. Go home and get some rest.”

“Nope.”

“Some of the guys from the team will stop by and—”

“Nope,” I reiterated firmly, crossing my arms.

It was a policy we’d had with each other our whole lives, and it didn’t change even when we’d moved halfway across the country together for college: we had nobody else here, but we had each other. He’d watched my back, and I would watch his. Felix and I had been best friends since we were old enough to walk and talk. Now, his mom was in jail while his dad was busy raising his six younger siblings, and I had run away from Missouri to avoid getting an order of protection against my own father. We’d basically raised each other. I wasn’t running away at the first sign of trouble.

“Show me.” He held out one hand for my sketch pad and I clutched it to my chest. “Come on.”

Normally this was fine. I’d draw tables covered in leaves, teacups and books and pocket watches and chunks of amethyst and rusty old keys, the kind of things I found aesthetically soothing. But I’d been doing something different while he slept, trying to erase the memory of his pain in the video replay of his injury. I’d drawn the slightly blocky angle of his jaw, his mouth turned up in half a smile, a five-o’clock shadow dusting the sides of his face. I’d drawn him happy, my best copy of the way he looked in my favorite memory of him.

I contemplated crumpling the page before he could see it.

Instead, I flipped back to an earlier page where I’d been doing a study of the trees outside his hospital window, light filtering through them in an orange haze as the sun rose. I hadn’t been able to quite capture it with the small bag of pencils I had on hand, but it was enough that he got the idea.

“Remind me again why you aren’t going into this?” He sounded clearer than he had in several hours, his eyes focused on my sketch pad. It was an uncomfortable feeling, to see someone marvel at my work. Like being under a microscope.

“No steady paycheck,” I reminded him, counting the reasons I’d rehearsed to people a hundred thousand times off on my fingers. “Deadlines would push me to create when I didn’t feel like it. I would grow to hate it if I had to do it for a living. The pressure would be too intense.”

I didn’t list the other reason. Sometimes it took every ounce of energy I possessed just to get up in the morning. Sometimes I simply didn’t have enough inside me to both function and create. Art was my escape. If I turned it into another source of stress, where would I hide when the rest of the world got to be too much? What would I do to restore the balance?

“Those are all good reasons,” he agreed begrudgingly, and he reached back over to hand the pad back to me, twisting slightly to do so.

He didn’t say a word but the set of his mouth and eyebrows told me he’d moved wrong, in a way that would have left him screaming if he hadn’t been so heavily medicated. My chest hurt, my lungs burning because I just couldn’t get enough oxygen in, because I couldn’t breathe looking at the way my best friend suffered. This was the sort of thing you read about in the paper or heard about on the news. It happened to other people, sure. But it wasn’t supposed to happen to Felix.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Lucy lives in rural southern Illinois with a frankly ridiculous amount of yarn and books. During the day she works in adult education and by night she’s a writer and dabbler in yarncrafts. She knits, loves video games and podcasts, and cries over fictional characters regularly.

Website | Twitter

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Book Blast: The Refuge Bid (County Durham Quad #8) by Jude Tresswell

 

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: The Refuge Bid (County Durham Quad 8)

Author and Publisher: Jude Tresswell

Release Date: August 1, 2022

Genre:  Contemporary crime/mystery, gay male protagonists

Tropes: Cold case investigation, self-awareness journey

Themes: Asexual/sexual relationships, respect and working together

Heat Rating: 2 flames

Length: 64 000 words

The crime/mystery stands alone. 

The story does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

You’re tellin’ me that if this shiter buys St Stephen’s, there’s a chance we won’t have access to the graveyard! Over my dead body!

Blurb

The Refuge Bid is a gay mystery and relationships tale set in fictional Tunhead, northeast England.

 Is there a link between a woman who has been missing for ten years and the people bidding to buy and redevelop Tunhead’s decommissioned church and graveyard? Can the County Durham Quad and their special friend, Nick, find out and stop the sale—one grave is special—and can they raise the cash to counter the bids with an offer of their own? Success involves their drawing on Tunhead’s quarrying industry past and on employing their very different skills but, also, they must acknowledge what it is that they really want from their unusual liaison.

Trigger Warning: references to a teenager’s suicide and to conversion therapy.

Check out the other books in the County Durham Quad series:

Mike Angells is an openly gay CID inspector based in North East England. There are three men in his life: Raith Balan, Phil Roberts and Ross Whitburn. Mike is particularly close to Ross.

Goodreads  |  Amazon US  | Amazon UK 

Excerpt

Anxiety, but mounting relief. Those were his feelings as he stamped down the final clod of earth and smoothed the surface. Some stones and bricks would lie around but who would pay attention to a scattering of those in a place like this? You wouldn’t give them a second glance. So, he’d done it! Literally buried a problem and no one would be any the wiser.

And nobody was until, years later, a group of men from County Durham started digging up the past.

***

The Beck on the Wear Arts Centre, known for ease and for effect as BOTWAC, and the brainchild of Ross Whitburn-Howe. Ross lay in bed and mentally ticked off items linked to BOTWAC’s Easter re-opening. People could visit all year round if they wished to, but the Centre’s location at the end of the lane that wound steeply up to Tunhead in the Durham hills was an icy deterrent during winter. Come spring, though, Tunhead shook off winter’s cold discomforts and looked and sounded full of life—even where it harboured death, for Tunhead had a church with a graveyard.

It might be asked why a tiny village that had never been home to more than a hundred people at any one time should boast a church, let alone a graveyard. The church was a gift from the family who, two centuries past, had owned the limestone quarry that led to Tunhead’s existence. The workers should have Sundays off, provided they prayed and listened to sermons instead, and as the nearest church was a ten mile walk from the row of terraced houses, it seemed sensible to offer an alternative on-site as it were. So, called St Stephen’s after the patron saint of stone masons, the church was used by the quarrymen, their families, the tenant farmers and farmhands who worked the fields adjoining the lane and by the old landowners themselves. St Steve’s was still consecrated although, now, disused. That didn’t mean that the graveyard had become a dismal ruin. Like the rest of the village, it looked neat and tidy, spring flower-full and ready to welcome visitors.

“Yes!” thought Ross. “Everything sorted. Publicity placed with the tourist board, leaflets ready for distribution, programme of events arranged, social media angles covered, and bookings already coming in for the workshops and for August’s week-long pottery festival.”

The man who lay beside him stirred, opened and rubbed two sleepy eyes and said, “Mornin’, Gorgeous.”

“Morning, Mike.” Ross smiled and returned the squeeze that followed the greeting. He snuggled down to enjoy a few more minutes’ warmth in bed. A hair dryer whirred into action from the bedroom across the landing.

“That Raith doin’ his hair? Better get a move on before he’s down and nickin’ me breakfast sausages.” Mike got up, pulled on a pair of boxers and went downstairs.

The ‘Raith’ was Raith Rodrigo Roberts-Balaño—known as Raith Balan: sculptor of erotic art and wearer of exotic clothing. The ‘Roberts’ section of his name was the surname of his husband, Phil, who in comparison with Raith was extremely conventional, and a surgeon. Phil was breakfasting on yoghurt, fruit and wholemeal bread when Mike entered the sunny kitchen.

 “Mornin’ Phil.” A kiss on the cheek and a hug around the shoulders. Returned with a grin and a “Morning.”

And so, Ross, Mike, Raith and Phil looked forward to March with the optimism produced by mutual affection and the promise of spring.

About the Author 

Jude Tresswell lives in south-east England but was born and raised in the north, and that’s where her heart is. She is ace, and has been married to the same man for many years. She feels that she understands compromise. She supports Liverpool FC, listens to a lot of blues music and loves to write dialogue.

Author Links 

Blog/Website  |   YouTube 

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

Blog Tour + Giveaway: She's the One Who Can't Keep Quiet (The War Stories of the Seven Troublesome Sisters #5) by S.R. Cronin

Welcome author S.R. Cronin and Other worlds Ink to the blog as they visit on the She's the One Who Can't Keep Quiet (The War Stories of the Seven Troublesome Sisters #5) blog tour! Read more about the fantasy and enter in the giveaway for a chance to win a $20 Amazon gift card and a gift copy of book one in the series! Good luck! 

S. R. Cronin has a new queer fantasy out (lesbian, poly, demi/bi, ace), The War Stories of the Seven Troublesome Susters book 5: She's the One Who Can't Keep Quiet. And there's a Giveaway!

Do you know what your problem is?

Celestine, the fifth of seven sisters, is tired of hearing about hers. Father thinks she’s frivolous because she likes pretty clothes and caters to the crowds in the taverns who adore her music. Mother thinks that because she’s the most social daughter in the family, she can’t keep quiet about anything.

They’re both wrong. Celestine has hidden a secret for most of her life.

As the family beauty and a talented musician with a lyrical voice, she is Mother’s best hope for a son-in-law prince. When a liaison with a prince never happens, everyone assumes Celestine is too picky. But even in somewhat tolerant Ilari, a daughter hates to disappoint her family. How can she tell them she’s in love with a princess instead?

Lucky for Celestine, all six sisters have become obsessed with an invading army headed to their realm. Celestine would rather ignore the threat, and enjoy the freedom their lack of attention gives her. But, her voice can unlock a power that may help save Ilari. And the woman she loves wants to fight these invaders. And her family, for all their talents, seems clueless about how to motivate the masses.

Celestine knows she can inspire the citizens of Ilari to do what needs to be done. Is it time to put her inhibitions aside and use her voice to save those she cares about?

Warnings: There is lightly handled consenual sex bewteen two women (no details) and some violence in the final battle scene (nothing graphic). no other triggers

About the Series:

Can seven women stop the most powerful army the world has seen?

It’s the 1200’s in Ilari, a small mythical realm somewhere between Europe and Asia. Peace and prosperity have reigned for generations. That doesn’t mean every citizen is happy, however.

In the outer nichna of Vinx lives the seven troublesome daughters of an intellectual farmer and his ambitious wife. Ilari has no idea how lucky it is to have this family of misfits, for the Mongols are making their way further westward every winter and this prosperous realm is a tiny plum ripe for picking. Desperate, the seven sisters will devise a way to save their realm. Can their preposterous ideas possibly work?

The War Stories of the Seven Troublesome Sisters consists of seven short companion novels. Each tells the personal story and perspective of one of seven radically different sisters in the 1200s as they prepare for an invasion of their realm. While these historical fantasy/alternate history books can be enjoyed as stand-alone novels, together they tell the full story of how Ilari survived.

Which sister do you think saved the realm? That will depend on whose story you are reading.

How did they manage it? Each sister offers surprise information on why this didn’t go the way anyone planned.

Get It On Amazon | Smashwords

---

Giveaway

S. R. is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card and a gift copy of book one in the series:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47221/?

---

Excerpt

I knew music went down better when the audience was on your side. If they didn’t start that way, a good singer had to get them there.

“Hey!” I yelled after a few numbers. The last one had a been a popular jig, yet hardly a finger or toe had tapped while we performed. Most unusual.

“I’ve never seen soldiers so quiet. Did you all party so much last night that you’re still worn out?”

I got a few laughs, but not as many as I expected.

“Come on. Somebody tell us poor troubadours what’s going on. Is one of your commanding officers coming in to check on you?” I looked to my left, then to my right, then gave the crowd an exaggerated look of alarm. “Is he here now?”

Even fewer laughs. Maybe I’d lost my touch.

One young man spoke up. “You seem like a nice lady, so I’ll tell you. Stop trying to cheer us. We got horrible news today and nothing’s going to make us feel better.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Did someone tell you we’d run out of ale in our realm? No more until Kolada?”

I got more chuckles this time.

“No, Miss. The commander of the Mozdols told us that our lands are in the path of a huge marauding horde of thieves. They’ve been burning and pillaging their way towards us for years and now travelers say we ought to expect them this year or next. We’re to begin training tomorrow for this onslaught.”

For several heartbeats, I stood speechless. I’d never done that on a stage before. But how does one respond to such news? I thought it couldn’t be so dire or so certain. Yet, I sensed arguing with the soldier would hardly win over my audience. What would?

“Then, sir, you should know that the musicians of the realm are at your service.”

I stood tall, as if I were a soldier myself, awaiting a command. This earned me a few derisive laughs.

“No offense meant, but musicians can’t do much in a war.”

“What? Of course we can.” I knew where I was going now. “We can inspire you as you assemble to fight.” I began to tap a slow beat against my leg with my hand. Zamarran figured it out. He added his own strong drumbeat and then I thanked the Goddess I hadn’t misjudged Mirva. Her flute began to sound out a war march to match and I added my voice, choosing random phrases about honor and patriotism and weaving in bits of melodies from well-known songs about the beauty of Ilari. It was a mess, but it conveyed the general idea.

“And as you fight, if some do fall, as some may, we will be there to mourn with you,” I said as the other two moved into the saddest of melodies. I knew enough to only do this for a few breaths. No soldier wanted to dwell on the need for funeral music.

“And, when you’re victorious, and you will be victorious, we’ll be there with you, with a rousing song to celebrate your bravery and our freedom.” At that all three of us found an appropriate joyful noise to make and the room broke into applause. We bowed, we collected some tips, and we got ourselves the Heli off the stage and out of there before anyone had time to think too much about my logic.

As we walked back to campus, Zamarran looked at me in wonder.

“That was one of the best varmin improvisations I have ever seen, and I’ve seen some good ones.”

I shrugged. I’d been doing this sort of thing since I was in basic school. Not with soldiers, of course, but with classmates, teachers, and the parents of my friends, who’d all found themselves standing up and applauding for me and one of my causes over the years.

Zamarran stopped walking and he looked directly at me. Hard.

“This isn’t easy for me to say, but it’s better said now. This will be your trio, not ours.”

“No, we both agreed ….”

“It doesn’t matter what we agreed. You’ve become our voice, and the whole realm will consider it yours no matter what we decide.” He smiled. “I might as well learn to live with it.”

---

Author Bio

Sherrie Cronin writes stories about people achieving the astonishing by developing abilities they barely knew they had. She’s made a lot of stops along the way to telling these tells -- living in seven cities, visiting forty-six countries, and working as a waitress, technical writer, and geophysicist. She’s lost too many beloved cats to mention, but has acquired a husband and three children who are all doing fine, despite how odd she is.

Today she lives in the mountains of Western North Carolina where she writes, answers a hot-line, and occasionally checks her phone for a message from Captain Picard. She still hopes to get the chance to pursue her remaining dream in life and become Chief Science Officer on the Starship Enterprise.

Book Series Blog: https://troublesome7sisters.xyz/

Author Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/46Ascending

Author Twitter: https://twitter.com/cinnabar01

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/s.r.cronin/

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5805814.Sherrie_Cronin

Author Liminal Fiction: https://www.limfic.com/mbm-book-author/s-r-cronin/

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Sherrie-Cronin/e/B007FRMO9Q

Release Blast + Giveaway: Cherish (The Valespian Pact #4) by Lexi Ander

 Author Lexi Ander and Other Worlds Ink share new release, Cherish (The Valespian Pact #4)! Learn more about the latest in the space opera series and enter in the $20 Amazon gift card giveaway!

Lexi Ander has a new LGBTQ+ space opera out, The Valespian Pact book 4 (Ace, Demi, Bi, Poly): Cherish. And there's a great giveaway!

Saving a life can change the course of history.

Destin is torn away from his chicks and his bonded when the Terrens invade Aries 7. Experimented on in Terren labs, and made to work their mines, the GyrFalconi struggle to survive. Destin becomes their caretaker, endeavoring to save as many as possible, despite the emotional toll. Amidst the battle for survival, the universe shines on him and he bonds with not one but four people who give him a reason to keep fighting. When Valespia sends its Legions to the GyrFalconi’s aid, Destin and his bonded are eventually freed, only to face new cruelties from their own people.

Freedom comes with its own trials, though, as a divide forms in GyrFalconi society between the winged and the wingless. Destin and his bonded are given a chance at true happiness and they keep what they claim, no matter what.

Warnings: violence, captivity, experimentation/not shown, physical trauma, death of unnamed character/not shown, talk of suicide, suicide not on page, death of chicks when eggs go cold.

Amazon | Tolino | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | QueeRomance Ink | Liminal Fiction | Smashwords

---

Giveaway

Lexi is giving away three $20 Amazon gift cards with this tour:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47219/?

---

Excerpt

Dashing tears from his eyes, he finished packing a small but heavy satchel. Alaina and Paxx waited for him in the receiving room holding large, overstuffed bags. At least they were not flying any great distance. The door was open to the balcony and the sight beyond confirmed their reality like nothing else could. Transports large and small zipped between the tall spires of this residential quarter of Skylight. The buildings were hundreds of floors tall with every roost boasting a balcony or three for landing. Usually, municipal transports flew above the spires, but these originated from the base of the buildings where the personal transports were stored.

The aircraft were not the only traffic. GyrFalconi flew everywhere, either singly or in small flocks, and there was a lot of swerving and near collisions, the people too panicked to pay attention. A lead weight formed in Destin’s stomach and a sense of urgency whispered that they needed to hurry. At least his parents’ rookery was only a couple spires over.

“Stay close to me,” he warned. The fledglings’ eyes were round with dawning fear as they observed the chaos. Paxx and Alaina nodded vigorously.

Clutching the pack to his chest, Destin sprinted and leaped off the balcony, his wings spread as he tested the air for a wind to glide on while he waited for his fledglings to catch up. They carried more, so they dropped quicker and had to flap hard to reach him, their burdens clutched to their chests. Destin spiraled down to the building’s lower floors, hoping that the air there would be less travelled, and he was right. As long as they stayed above the storage levels, they would not cross many individual flyers.

A few minutes later, they reached his parents’ building. Destin searched for his mahen’s storage garage where she and his dahen would be waiting. All the bay doors were open and the interiors empty. He did not need to read the labels, since his mahen, Akela de la Zudora, stood in the opening to her bay watching for them. Her golden-brown feathers were streaked with a darker brown that made her look severe when her feathers were clapped tight to her crown. Her brown-ringed black eyes held a wealth of worry as well as a touch of fear, which abated when her gaze landed on them.

Destin circled around behind his fledglings and made them land first. Both immediately went to Akela when their feet touched the floor. She wrapped them in a calming embrace as she clicked her nose-plate to theirs. His dahen, Imrie, rushed from the transport when Destin set down. Imrie’s long, sweeping gray-tipped pink feathers were ruffled in the strong breeze that pushed into the bay. The pink contrasted beautifully with his ebony skin. Of all the Aries collectives, Destin thought his dahen’s feather coloring the prettiest. His own were red feathers dusted with the broody black of Aries 1. When he was much younger, he’d wished he had the pretty pinks of Aries 4 like his da. Destin had outgrown such vanities and he was content with his coloring, though he still thought the red and black was somber.

Imrie grabbed his face and clicked his hard yellow nose-plate against Destin’s. “Where is Dena?” he asked softly enough that the chicks did not hear.

Destin refused to answer, not wanting to bring to the fledglings’ attention that he and their mahen were at odds. Imrie’s blue eyes narrowed with comprehension, and Destin did not envy the dressing down that his dahen would give Dena when he saw her next.

His parents’ personal transport was a modest five-person pipit. Glancing inside, food stores were crammed into every available space, leaving just enough room in the back for Destin’s fledglings. They would be holding their overstuffed burdens in their laps since there was no other room to store the bags.

“I think we can make room for you,” Mahen said, coming up behind him. But they could not and still eat. There were questions about whether the sky-cities receiving refugees would have enough foodstuff to feed everyone. Destin would not have his family going hungry when there was a seat for him on another transport.

“Dena made arrangements for me,” he replied. Akela pursed her lips, sweeping her gaze over him and the fledglings as if to say, ‘yes, my son, I can see the accommodations your bonded has made.’ He forged on. “Speaking of, they are waiting on me. I am already several minutes late.”

His chicks made frantic noises. They were all talk about building a nest of their own, but here they were, not wanting to be separated from him. It warmed Destin’s heart more than it should have. Perhaps Dena was correct, and he was holding onto the fledglings too tightly. He wrapped each chick in his arms, reminded of how much larger they were when he tilted his head up so they could click their nose-plates against his.

“Do what you are told and help your granden and granhen with what they need. They will rendezvous with your bondeds’ families. Together, they will all work to keep you safe.” Destin waited for them to nod before he stepped away.

“When will you and Dena be joining us?” Mahen asked, pushing the fledglings toward the transport.

“The de la Bao flock are meeting up with some of their extended family. I will make my way to you once we stop,” he replied, hoping that the fledglings did not notice he said nothing about their mahen. The fact was that he did not know what her plans were, especially after their argument.

Imrie pulled out his data pad and demanded Destin give him the location where he would end up.

“I will come and get you myself once we have settled Alaina and Paxx,” Akela stated, her expression telling him not to argue with her. Destin nodded, saying hurried farewells to his parents before sprinting to the open bay door and leaping into flight.

He was not exaggerating when he said he was late. He owed the neighbors many apologies when he arrived. They were kind, patient people but the stress of fleeing to safety could make anyone terse, especially when waiting on someone who delayed their safe departure.

The weight of his bag seemed heavier than before, which Destin was sure it was just in his mind. There were more individual fliers clogging the airways. With great care, he dodged a couple of near collisions before reaching the correct building. The bay door was open, and Destin pulled up from his dive to land on the edge… of an empty storage slot. He double checked the name and number to make sure he had arrived at the correct place. This was where he was supposed to meet up with the neighbors.

Destin stared at the bare floor, his mind stalled for a few precious seconds as he tried to comprehend what it meant. Again, he double checked the ID to make sure he was at the right location, and he was, but they were gone. They had left. He was only a few minutes late, but the bay was not even warm from the aircraft’s engine, so they had been gone much longer than he was late.

Had Dena cancelled his seat, thinking he would be travelling with her? He could not imagine the neighbors leaving without him. They were close friends of Destin’s and if they were leaving, they would have contacted him, and there were no waiting messages on the data pad. If Dena told them he did not need the seat, then why did she not say something to him? Did she forget since they had fought? Was—

Destin shook his head, trying to clear his mind. This was not the time to allow emotional turmoil to take over. He would broach the questions with her later, after he reached safety. He considered flying back to his parents’ bay, but they were probably gone already, and he could not waste the time. He would have to fly.

---

Author Bio

A two-time Rainbow Award recipient, Lexi has always been an avid reader and started reading (secretly) her mother's romances (the ones she was told not to touch) at a young age. She was the only teenager she knew of who would be grounded from reading. Later, with a pencil and a notebook, she wrote her own stories and shared them with friends because she loved to see their reactions. A Texas transplant, Lexi now kicks her boots up in North Carolina with her Yankee husband and her 80-pound puppy named after a vacuum cleaner.

Author Website: http://www.lexiander.com

Author Facebook (Personal): http://www.facebook.com/lexi.ander.9

Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/Lexi-Ander-1808012509319412/

Author Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/LexiAnder1

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/lexi.ander.9/

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6521302.Lexi_Ander

Author Liminal Fiction (LimFic.com): https://www.limfic.com/mbm-book-author/lexi-ander/

Author QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/lexi-ander/

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Lexi-Ander/e/B009PT22GM/

Release Blitz + Giveaway: The Gemini Strand by L.J. Hasbrouck

 

Author L.J. Hasbrouck and IndiGo Marketing share The Gemini Strand release blitz! Read more about sci-fi tale and enter in the NineStar Press credit giveaway!

 

Title: The Gemini Strand

Author: L.J. Hasbrouck

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 12/28/2021

Heat Level: 1 - No Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 91600

Genre: Science Fiction, sci fi, family-drama, futuristic, dystopia, gay, ace, professional assassin, cloning, Mars

Add to Goodreads

Description

Life on Mars is no fairy tale for Morgan, a scrappy adventurer who plunders Earth’s carcass in search of loot—and evidence of an elusive scientist. She hopes he can cure her father’s dementia, but instead he kidnaps her father and flees into the deceptive dreamlands of Mars. During her frantic search to locate them, Morgan begins experiencing strange hallucinations that make her think she’s losing her mind.

Meanwhile, Nil, a tormented killer struggling to repress his humanity, thinks his hallucinations are a flaw in his system. Soon his pesky emotions roar back to life, throwing a dagger into the whole “cold-blooded assassin” thing. While he pursues his next mark, a witty hacker trying to save Nil’s other victims, he battles with his disorienting visions and burgeoning emotions.

What he doesn’t realize is that he’s falling in love for the first time—and the hacker he’s falling for is also the scientist who kidnapped Morgan’s father.

Drawn together by their common target, Morgan and Nil harness their mysterious visions to find each other amidst holographic recreations of Oz, Wonderland, Neverland, Atlantis, and Camelot. Before she loses her father forever, Morgan must work with a killer and kidnapper to discover the sinister truth behind her father’s illness and her bond with Nil. And Nil is forced to decide between protecting the man he loves and helping the girl he’s inexplicably linked to.

Because they share more than disorienting hallucinations—and what they share will change everything they thought they knew about themselves.

Excerpt

The Gemini Strand
L.J. Hasbrouck © 2021
All Rights Reserved

NIL

I don’t know why I kill. I’m ordered to, true, and it’s all I’ve been trained to do. I’m good at it.

But that doesn’t mean I like it.

Lately, I’ve been losing my touch. Each time I suffer an emotional episode, my handler remedies it by sending me in for reconditioning. The guilt goes away, my efficiency improves, and the nightmares stop.

But the guilt always returns. And so do the nightmares.

Up to the point I awoke at the Guild’s headquarters, all I remembered was a dim, murky muddle of nonexistence. My eyes opened to a roomful of shadows. Vague shapes hovered over me, surrounding me in a nebulous circle. My vision remained hazy, my awareness cloudy—I mistook what would be my first memory for a chilling dream.

“Good morning, my son,” a cold but cajoling voice said. Lilith. My handler. “Your slate has been wiped clean. Let’s see if you do better this time.”

I was floating. But when I moved my arms, I displaced something thicker than air: water. My bare, pale limbs drifted in the translucent pool. Reflecting on it now, it was my birth. And the darkness delivered me.

Which makes Lilith the closest thing I have to a mother.

Tonight, she’s ordered me to slip into the Emerald City, Oz’s entertainment subdistrict. The buildings are green and glittery, disorienting like the rest of Mars’s vast and vacuous districts. Citizens stumble along a yellow brick road nestled between fields of red and pink poppies. A tiny dog frolics through the field alongside his mistress, an adolescent girl in a gingham dress and silver slippers. She darts in front of me, but I walk right through her. The image shimmers, light particles interrupted by my mass, until she reassembles and skips off without a sound.

None of it is real. It’s a projection, both literally and metaphorically, an idealized vision of our world according to the minds who invented it. A fantasy brought to life. All I’d have to do to destroy it is smash the lenses installed on the construction’s framework, strip the taciturn gray structures of all their glimmering emerald, and reveal the ordinary bricks beneath the yellow. Dorothy and Toto would disappear. The poppy fields would vanish, expose barren cayenne clay and ashen rock.

At least shadows are real. Honest. I slink into them, darting between hologram-cloaked buildings and grappling to the rooftops. Ads promising the improbable—the cure for any ailment, all at the low cost of submitting yourself to the Pantheon’s experiments—glint and glitch at the skyline’s zenith. I set up a zipline to the adjacent roof and grapple from rooftop to rooftop, leaving as many lines as I can in my wake. Haste isn’t necessary when entering the target zone, but a speedy exit is crucial.

As I traverse the rooftops, I scan for thermal signatures beneath and behind me. No one’s noticed me. Good. Though I pass several Bouncers patrolling below me on the street, they’re all underneath the Guild’s thumb and therefore instructed to ignore us. Even if a civilian sees me, they’d never see my face again—or see it at all. I use a different shroud on every job, but I sometimes leave them turned off in lieu of the full black bodysuit, which means I resemble some subverted superhero creeping and swinging through the night, mask and all. Not the most outlandish sight on Mars, believe it or not.

I send Isabeau off to survey the area around the soaring spires of the Emerald Castle, my target’s last known location. The synthetic falcon launches from my shoulder, wings shimmering as she slices through light beams shining in the air. I close an eye and perceive what she sees, one camera transmitting an image to another. This eye isn’t mine; it’s a replacement implanted with a chip. I don’t recall how I lost mine, but Lilith says it had something to do with the traumatic incident that sabotaged my memories.

I’m not sure I believe her, but I can’t question the woman who controls my life—unless I want to risk losing it.

Isabeau perches on a ledge outside the building. She monitors the area through a faux stained-glass window, her viewpoint displaying in my cybernetically enhanced eye. Inside the Emerald Castle, writhing clubgoers surround my mark.

I activate my shroud and shimmy down the side of the building with my grappling hook. The regulator installed in my chest controls the speed my heart beats at, keeping my pulse and temperature low at all times. Makes it tougher for thermal imaging and pulse readers to pick up on my signal. There shouldn’t be many people around with tech that can outdo mine, but a few paranoid denizens carry them as a precaution.

Not everyone trusts the Pantheon. With good reason.

I glance into a compact mirror to ensure my shroud works, then stow my gear and waltz into the street, blending with the crowd. The music inside the club vibrates beneath my feet as I approach the front doors, so I prepare my ears for the decibel assault. I nod at the Bouncer, make eye contact, press my palm into the scanner. It approves my print and accepts my false identity with a beep.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Knowledge-seeking animal-lover, supporter of diversity, and OG Floridian. Lifelong gamer who grew up drawing Disney characters, whales, and dinosaurs. Proud INTJ (which I share with the likes of Hannibal Lecter, Batman, and Ellen Ripley).

Twitter | Tumblr

Giveaway

One lucky winner will receive a $50.00 NineStar Press Gift Code! 

 a Rafflecopter giveaway 

 

Blog Tour: A Right To Know (County Durham Quad #7) by Jude Tresswell

Author Jude Tresswell and IndiGo Marketing host A Right to Know blog tour! The author visits today and shares a guest blog on their blog and polyamory...read more to find out!

Title: A Right To Know

Series: County Durham Quad 7

Author: Jude Tresswell

Publisher: KDP

Release Date: 31st July 2021

Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male Menage

Length: 57300

Genre: Mystery, asexual/sexual relationship, family drama/biological father, polyamorous relationship

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

“A son! A child! How? Why? Fuck! Phil! You can’t have! And does this sperm-child want to see you?”

Abandonment, trust, suspicion and compromise—integral parts of a mystery that involves industrial espionage, sperm donation and coming to terms with oneself and the truth.

Sperm donors know that now, under UK law, offspring who reach eighteen have the right to learn a donor’s identity and last known address, but Phil Roberts donated before the law was changed. He is shocked and dismayed to learn that he has a son called Lewis who intends to visit. Phil’s husband, Raith, is furious—and very scared.

What does Lewis Lennon really want? The man he has always called ‘dad’ is dead. Was his death suicide or was he murdered? Lewis wants Phil to find out. So, Phil, Raith, Mike and Ross, the County Durham Quad, plus their special friend, Nick, are embroiled in another investigation, but, as always, their relationships come under scrutiny too.

Excerpt

Phil sat at the big kitchen table. His beard, neatly trimmed as always, failed to hide the lack of colour in his face. He looked shocked. He was holding a letter.

“You alright, Phil?” Mike was puzzled and concerned. “Bad news?”

“Not ‘bad’ exactly. Unexpected. Very.” He sighed. “I’ve an eighteen-year-old son. Sperm donation.”

Raith, Phil’s husband, dropped the glass of juice he was drinking. It rolled off the table and smashed as it hit the floor.

“A son! A child! How? Why? Fuck! Phil! You can’t have! And does this sperm-child want to see you?” Raith snatched the letter from Phil’s hands. “I can’t read this fucking stuff; it’s in joined-up. Why didn’t he type it?”

“He probably felt that this was more personal,” Mike suggested, retrieving the letter from the floor where Raith had slung it in disgust and shaking it free of orange juice.

“It’s fucking personal alright. You always said they couldn’t identify you, Phil. What the fuck’s gone wrong?”

“It looks as though we might find out,” said Ross, the fourth member of the quad. He was reading the letter over Mike’s shoulder. “He intends to visit. I think we need to talk.”

***

Mike, Ross, Raith and Phil, four men who shared a home in Tunhead, a tiny hamlet in the Durham hills. Tunhead derived its name from Tun Beck, a little stream that flowed into the larger River Wear. Tun Beck lent its name to BOTWAC too—the Beck on the Wear Arts Centre. Ross managed BOTWAC, Raith provided paintings and ceramics and Mike carried out the maintenance. Phil was the only one whose work was separate. He was a surgeon at Warbridge Hospital, an hour’s drive away and, in a sense, his medical background was the cause of the morning’s shock announcement. The four of them talked about the news that evening.

“You knew I’d donated sperm, Raith.” Phil had always made it clear that when he was a medical student, like many others on his course, he had donated both for research and for procreation.

“I know that, but you’d always done it anonymously. You said so, and you never did it after they changed the law.”

Raith was referring to a change that occurred in 2005 regarding data held at UK fertility clinics. At licenced clinics, that is. Prior to the change, offspring conceived by sperm or egg donation could learn some information about their donor when they reached sixteen, but what was released was very general. If donors wished to remain anonymous, they could do so. From 2005, though, anonymity was lifted. Sixteen was still the age of release of the ‘non-identifiable information’, but at eighteen, offspring conceived by donation had the right to be told their donor’s name and date of birth and, also, their donor’s last known address.

“I didn’t donate after two thousand and five. I think I’d know if I did.”

“Sperm can be frozen though, can’t it, Phil? Perhaps it was used after the change was implemented.”

“Only for another year or so, Ross, and under the old anonymity rules. There was a transitional period but, after that, sperm could only be used in exceptional circumstances. To create a sibling, for example. I remember being contacted about it. I had the option of… going public, if you like, but I chose not to do so. I didn’t want…I didn’t want a child, well, not one that I’d feel some responsibility for. I suppose, if I’m honest, I did want to pass on my genes, have that sense of immortality—I knew it was unlikely that I’d ever father a child with a woman. I just wanted to… be helpful, I suppose. I gave a brief self-description at the time, but the details would apply to thousands of people: eyes, hair, height, weight, ethnicity. Even if you narrowed the count with ‘student medic’ and my year of birth, you’d still be talking hundreds. I was careful not to leave traces.”

“How thoughtful of you!”

“That’s not helpful, Raith.”

Ross chastised gently but, tonight, too harshly for Raith.

“Helpful! It’s not help Phil needs—it’s a fucking vasectomy, but he’s eighteen years too late. I’m going up.”

No hugs, no kisses—the little goodnight habits that told the men that they were loved and cared for and cared about. Just “I’m going up” and heavy footsteps on the stairs.

Author Visit

My Polyallsorts blog

I love receiving requests to guest blog: thank you for offering the chance to do this one. I have my own blog, of course, and I’ve been posting pages regularly for a few years now. I don’t have a strict schedule. Polyallsorts, the blog title, reflects the fact that I’ll write about whatever takes my fancy—as long as it’s connected with aspects of the books. Hence the subtitle: offshoots of tales about four polyamorous men. Here are five of the posts. I hope they give a flavour of what’s on offer.



The Infinity Heart Symbol and Polyamory

https://polyallsorts.wordpress.com/2018/05/24/infinity-heart-symbol-and-polyamory/

The most popular post. It’s three years old, but it still gets views. The symbol seems to fascinate people. (It does me!) My Quad have it tattooed on their arm or neck. To them, it represents honesty, openness, love and passion.



LGBT+, Victorian Values: What’s Changed?

https://polyallsorts.wordpress.com/2019/06/18/lgbtvictorian-valueswhats-changed/

I’ve a short story, Scar Ghyll Levels, set in Victorian England. I was stunned to discover that, in some ways, Victorian times were less phobic than late twentieth century ones. Hence the post. It’s fairly political. I still seethe when I think of some of the things that occurred when Mrs Thatcher was PM.



RSE Teaching and LGBTQ phobia

https://polyallsorts.wordpress.com/2020/08/21/rse-teaching-and-lgbtq-phobia/

And this one’s somewhat political too. A change in the curriculum for teaching religion, sex and health education in England resulted in homophobic protests at some school gates. It’s what inspired me to write Book 5, A Share in a Secret. (If ‘inspired’ is the word; it was disheartening not uplifting.)



Ace and/or Aego

https://polyallsorts.wordpress.com/2021/05/11/ace-and-or-aego/

One in which I explore aspects of my own orientation. Talking with myself. I think of myself as asexual and aegosexual but not necessarily at the same time. (My spell check has queried ‘aegosexual’. Will it allow ‘anegosexual’ instead? No.)



Aegosexuality and M/M fiction: strange bedfellows

https://polyallsorts.wordpress.com/2018/05/30/aegosexuality-and-m-m-fiction-strange-bedfellows/

Is it strange to be asexual but write about polyamorous men? Don’t know, but, again, I was working out my own thoughts via writing them down.


I always respond to comments on the posts and, if you feel that there’s an ‘offshoot’ that would make a good topic, please do let me know. Thank you

Jude

Purchase at Amazon

Discover the entire series!

Tales that track the exploits of Mike, Ross, Raith and Phil, four men who live and love in County Durham, North-East England. Together with, from Book 3 onward, their friend, Nick Seabrooke, the Quad solve crimes, are accused of crimes and, occasionally, commit crimes. Their actions jeopardise their relationships. Sometimes, the biggest threat they face is staying together. Each tale comes with its own plot, and background is included to aid new readers. Feel free to jump in anywhere.

Available from Amazon

 

Meet the Author

I'm a long-married, asexual, cis-gender female who lives in southeast England. I'm from northern England though, and the north is the setting of all my stories. You can see the setting on my Youtube channel. This isn't a #ownvoice tale, though there's certainly some ace-rep in it. Part of the motivation was my dismay at receiving, unasked for, the results of an ancestry test earlier this year. A different situation from Phil in the story, but I felt for him! A TW: parental suicide. Again, it's something I have experience of. I hope I have dealt with it sensitively.

Website | Goodreads

   

Guest Review: Far Patrol by Alex Powell

Will war tear their family and their country apart? 

Ignius Lockden and their companion Kathely are ready for adventure. Joining Far Patrol was only going to be the beginning—they were right, but in all the wrong ways. Suddenly, there’s a war on the horizon and the two of them are stuck in the middle. Ignius wants to do what’s right, but it isn’t easy to tell what actions will lead to the correct ending. How is one young dragon supposed to change the course of history?

Reviewer: Free Dreamer

When I read the blurb of "Far Patrol", I got really excited. A non-binary, asexual dragon fantasy adventure? That's bound to be awesome! Sadly, the book couldn't live up to my high hopes.

First of all: This is not an adventure at all and Far Patrol doesn't play a very important role. The actual story is about a society in upheaval, possibly facing civil war, and the experience of two young, privileged people. Still sounds interesting and different, but again, the execution just didn't really work. Somehow, it all just really dragged. I didn't feel any connection to any of the characters, nor did I ever feel excited about what was going on. The many, many names didn't help things either. At times, I was really confused who was a dragon and who a human and what their relationship with Ignius was.

Dragons are a non-binary species and in theory it totally made sense. Why should a lizard-like Fantasy animal adhere to the way most mammals reproduce? But once more, the execution was lacking. It all felt forced. Why name your non-binary dragons Jack and Mary and call them mother and father? On that note, I would have liked to learn more about how the dragons reproduce. They hatch from eggs, but that's it. There's even a completely fade-to-black sex scene that told us exactly nothing.

I didn't like the extremely negative way that Ignius' asexuality was portrayed. They have very negative feelings about their lack of sexual and romantic interest and the supporting characters aren't exactly helping either. I just wished for someone to actually tell them it's okay to not want sex. Instead, there's this constant negativity and nobody ever just accepts that Ignius isn't interested in sex and romantic relationships. It's fine if your MC isn't feeling great about their sexual orientation, but at least give me one supportive person. And that courtship thing was just a complete disaster. I hated the way Ignius handled the whole thing.

The humans felt rather decorative and didn't really get their own personality. I didn't really feel the close bond between Ignius and Kathely either. Ignius was just constantly in their own head and didn't seem to care that much about anybody else.

Long story short: Great idea, but very disappointing execution. No adventure and excitement to be found anywhere. A real shame.

I received a free copy of the book in exchange for an honest review.

Blog Tour + Giveaway: Windfall (Legends of Vioria #1) by Shawna Barnett

Author Shawna Barnett and Other Worlds Ink host today's blog tour stop for pirate QUILTBAG fantasy, Windfall (Legends of Vioria #1)! Read more about the new series and enter in the $20 Barnes & Noble gift card giveaway!

Shawna Barnett has a new LGBTQ+ pirate fantasy book out (ff bi/ace): Windfall. And there's a giveaway!

Captain Liana Foley knows a thing or two about fights. She fights the King’s Navy. She fights to balance power in oppressive Vioria. She fights for respect as a female, bisexual, pirate captain. But she’s losing her biggest fight: to escape her secret past as a lost Princess.

With a mysterious letter and a stranger threatening to expose her, Liana is blackmailed into attending a royal ball and protecting her counterpart, sheltered Princess Rhian. The pretenses are suspicious enough, but Liana takes the risk in hopes to finally unveil the magic plot that killed her parents and forced her into hiding.

When Liana encounters Rhian’s own lightning-wielding powers, the ball erupts in violence. The sheltered princess falls into the care of Liana—and her band of pirates. On the run, the only safe haven for the Windfall crew to hide is the most-dangerous place of all: under the thumb of Liana’s narcissistic, abusive brother-in-law.

In order to protect her crew, her family, and naïve Rhian, Liana must demand sacrifices from herself and the people she loves. Her choices will make powerful enemies; good thing Liana Foley knows a thing or two about fighting those.

Publisher - Paperback | Publisher - Hardcover | Amazon | Goodreads

---

Giveaway

Shawna is giving away a $20 Barnes & Noble gift card with this tour:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47194/?

---

Excerpt

Chapter 1

To Go on the Account

6th of Lengnath, 1715

The Capital of Caerwyn

A shadow crept around a stone archway, unseen by a passing pair of guards on patrol. The woman who cast it pulled down her hood and peered about. Her thick, unkempt black hair fell over her shoulders. A long cloak covered her curves, but she had flung it back to rest a hand on her hip, revealing a sword in its sheath. Her fingers, ruddy and coarse with use, pinched her bottom lip. She strained her ears to hear over the soft slaps of water in the harbor, the creaking of the ships’ hulls as they swayed, and the occasional caw of laughter from the nearby row of pubs.

Just as she began to wring her hands under the cloak, another duo approached. They weren’t dressed in soldiers’ uniforms, but sailors’ garb. She took a step forward and allowed her silhouette to be revealed. “There you are. What took you so long?”

“I’m sorry, Captain,” her quartermaster, Ameen Almasi, said, stopping at her side and turning on his heel to face his companion. “Our young friend was... distracted.”

The youth in question tucked his chin and smiled guiltily at his captain.

“Damn it, Squiddy,” she scolded. “Learn to keep up.”

Her expression softened to amusement as he scowled. His real name was Sava, but she’d settled on calling him “Squiddy.” Not much would be able to change her mind.

Ameen chuckled, deep and quiet. Sava looked much like a young Ameen—slight, lanky, and youthfully energetic. Ameen towered over him. He held his posture, straight and sure, lean with muscle gained by nautical labor. The boy still had some way to go before he would be able to carry himself so confidently. Tonight, he would have a chance to prove himself. She beckoned them to follow her.

The Capital of Caerwyn rose before them in layers, on a crest overlooking the sea. The docks formed its base, spanning out south, east, and west like the fingers of an outstretched hand. The rest of the city stacked upon the palm; rows upon rows of buildings, each one smaller than the width of the one below it. The Royal Palace stood at the zenith of this view, like a crooked mountain range, sporting banners of blue and silver. The ocean-side of the palace stretched out like the hand's thumb, wide and thick.

“Liana,” Ameen breathed her name rather than her title. His voice plucked her from the high towers of the palace and steadily anchored her back to the alley behind the harbormaster’s office.

She looked about the alley to make sure they hadn’t been noticed creeping about. “This is it?” Sava’s voice cracked.

“Yes. Do you remember what you have to do?”

He nodded. Even in the dark, she could see him shake. Placing a firm hold on his arm, she looked into his face. His eyebrow twitched.

Liana breathed in deeply, nodding to invite him to mimic her. “You can do this.”

“I’m ready,” he said as he twisted a lockpick between his fingers.

The building had suffered some damage since the last storm season and was under renovation, therefore it had an outer shell of scaffolding that looked sturdy enough to climb. Ameen knelt to give Sava a lift, and he was off, scaling the walls as easily as strolling the streets. They watched as he reached the third story, settled himself on a beam, and picked open the window. He scrambled through it and disappeared.

Liana saw Ameen lift his hand to his chest, where a Circle of the Divine hung on a chain under his linen shirt.

“He’ll be alright,” she assured him.

His eyes grazed over her face, then downward. “You weren’t supposed to bring that.”

She followed his line of sight to the cutlass at her side. “It’s for protection, if we’re caught.”

“If we are caught, we agreed you would distract them while Sava and I get away. Soldiers won't harm an unarmed Caerwyn woman.” He looked straight back at her expectantly with an extended hand, wagging his fingers. After a meaningful silence, she begrudgingly loosened her belt. He was right, after all. It was the reason she was wearing her Mass dress.

“Insubordination is what I call that, Almasi,” she spat. Her tone could cut as deeply as the blade she handed over. But Ameen knew her well enough not to be offended. He grinned, obviously pleased with himself. His amber eyes lit up as he caught her looking for a moment too long. Liana began to pace, her shoulder purposefully knocking against his side as a final jab. She didn’t need to look back to know he was still smiling.

The lighthearted energy between them evaporated as they heard a whistling call in the distance—a warning. Sava’s head emerged from the window. Liana waved for him to come down. In return, he made an exaggerated shrugging gesture and went back in.

“That stupid little—” She rushed to the base of the scaffold and gathered her skirts. “Lift me up, I’m going to get him.”

“You’re in a dress.”

“And whose brilliant idea was that?!”

Deep voices and the light of a lantern cut through the darkness. Despite the cool breeze, she began to sweat. She could hear the patrolmen at the front of the building now. They must have taken a shorter route than usual.

An object landed at Liana's feet with a flutter and thud. She snatched up the book and flipped it open. The ledger was unreadable in the pale moonlight, but she knew it was exactly what they had come for. “Blimey, Squiddy! You’ve done it.”

"Who’s back there?" came a gruff voice from the front, cutting their victory short. The sound of the ledger's landing had alerted the patrol.

Liana whirled around and shoved the ledger into Ameen's hands. She unfastened her cloak and threw that at him as well. "Wait for him but go as quickly as you can."

He tucked it under his arm with her sword. "Be careful, Captain."

As she lifted her skirts and sprinted off, Sava was already halfway to the ground.

But, by the Divine, this dress!

She hadn’t gone to Mass in years and had outgrown the gown. Ameen had insisted on this particular one—the rest she owned were plain, albeit comfortable. She’d been a fool to think she could have climbed after Sava. Between the binding bodice around her torso and carrying the weight of the layers of the skirt, she was out of breath within seconds. Still, it made her distress all the more convincing as she collided into the chest of the soldier before her.

The man grunted in surprise and took a step back to steady himself. She clung to his dark blue long-skirted coat. His jaw unhinged.

“It's a woman!” his friend declared.

“Thank the Divine you're here!” she gasped out. “Th-these men had me cornered and robbed me!”

She gave a doe-eyed shrug, feigning helplessness. The soldier settled his hands on her shoulders. It made her feel uncomfortably small. The other one, a fair young man, threw himself in the direction she had come.

“It's alright, ye’re safe now,” the soldier who stayed with her said, beginning to stroke her upper back. He had a slight Northern accent, and his features were darker than the other soldier. She arched away.

The fair soldier returned at a slower pace this time. “Whoever attacked you, miss, they've gone now. Likely pirates who've come to port for the season.”

“Thank you.” She spoke as demurely as her pride would allow. “I’ll be on my way, now.”

“Shall we escort you home—?”

“No!” She realized too late she had interrupted him. “No... Thank you.”

---

Author Bio

Shawna Barnett is a mother, life-long advocate and author of swashbuckling tales. After receiving a BA in Politics from UC Santa Cruz, Shawna worked in victim advocacy and behavioral health. Born in San Diego, California, her experiences have taken her all over the United States. After settling in Tennessee with her daughter, Shawna seeks to speak out through writing and contribute to a world where everyone is safe and respectfully represented.

Author Website: https://www.shawnabarnett.com/

Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/sbarnettauthor

Author Twitter: https://twitter.com/SBarnettAuthor

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/sbarnettauthor/

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20653893.Shawna_Barnett

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Shawna-Barnett/e/B09235XR1H

Release Blitz + Giveaway: Power Play (Sophie Fournier #4) by K.R. Collins

Author K.R. Collins and IndiGo Marketing return to promote new NineStar Press release, Power Play (Sophie Fournier #4)! Read more about the hockey tale and enter in the $10 NSP credit giveaway!

Title: Power Play

Series: Sophie Fournier, Book Five

Author: K.R. Collins

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 07/05/2021

Heat Level: 1 - No Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 81300

Genre: Contemporary Sports, LGBTQIA+, contemporary, sports, ice hockey, international tournament, injury, demisexual, questioning, bisexual, asexual

Add to Goodreads

Description

After two seasons without winning another Maple Cup, the pressure is on for Sophie Fournier to win the NAHL’s biggest prize. It’s her sixth season in the North American Hockey League, and she knows what she needs to do, and how to do it.

Only, she isn’t the only one feeling the pressure to win. Coach Butler’s job is in jeopardy if he can’t repeat the success from Sophie’s third season. As his vision for the team drifts away from Concord’s identity, Sophie is left with a difficult choice.

Does she unite the team behind Coach Butler’s vision and risk losing her team’s identity? Or, does she unite the Condors against their coach and risk her captaincy and her future with the team?

Excerpt

Power Play
K.R. Collins © 2021
All Rights Reserved

And that’s how it’s fucking done.

Lexie’s text is accompanied by a link to an article: Indianapolis’s Young Stars Sign Matching Contracts 10×10. Lexie dragged Chad Kensington into her contract negotiations and demanded they be paid equally.

Sophie texts back.

Good for you.

She means it. Sophie was the first woman to re-sign, and her team undervalued her. The contract Lexie signed is what Sophie deserved. Her term and salary are much lower. She was told to be grateful she was re-signed at all.

This will mean a resurgence in questions about her contract. With so few women in the League, reporters jump at every opportunity to compare them. And, knowing Lexie, she’ll jump at the opportunity to measure herself against Sophie. At least it’ll be a break from talking about another disappointing season.

Sophie made history in 2014 by winning the Maple Cup. It was Concord’s first Cup in franchise history, and she did it alongside Elsa Nyberg. They were the first two women drafted to the North American Hockey League and the first two to win the League’s most coveted prize.

The following year saw a second-round exit. Last year they made it to the Conference Finals, but they lost in five games. This year will be their year again. They locked up Teddy and Kevlar last summer, and Elsa’s negotiating her contract now. They have a strong core. They’ll win another Cup.

She isn’t sure how much longer she’ll last if she doesn’t.

Growing up, her dream was always to play in the NAHL. She fell in love with hockey the first time her brother took her on the outdoor pond with him. The NAHL became her ambition as she watched the Montreal Mammoths lift the Cup, year after year, in their historic Cup run. Her mémé spoke of the players in reverent, hushed tones. She bought Sophie her first jersey and took her to her first professional game. She saw the way the whole city loved their team and told herself one day it would be her lifting the Cup. And she has.

But once isn’t enough. She has a Maple Cup ring, proof of the achievement. She has NAHL records and scoring titles and a sandwich named after her at the arena, but she also has two disappointing seasons, and people are looking for someone to blame. Sophie, as the captain, is an easy target. So is the coach.

She and Coach Butler haven’t always been on the same page over the years. He’s a demanding man who knows how to wring the best out of his players. He’s blunt and brash and, in his opinion, is always right. He’s a contrast to Sophie who grew up learning to moderate herself. On the ice, she can be dynamic but off it she’s composed and calm to the point of being boring. The difference in personality has put her and her coach at odds in the past, but this season they have the same goal: win the Cup and silence the doubters.

Sophie’s phone buzzes with another text from Lexie.

You should come train with me. You might learn something.

There isn’t enough room for anyone else next to your ego.

Lexie sends her a couple of laughing emojis.

Next summer. I’ll even let you crash my Cup party.

Sophie rolls her eyes.

*

Lexie isn’t content heckling Sophie via text. She does a bunch of interviews after she signs her contract, and she pokes at Sophie in every single one.

“Sophie Fournier is the only other woman to sign a contract extension, and yours is much better than hers,” Carol Rogers from After the Whistle says. “You haven’t had nearly the same success she has. How did you convince the front office to give you this deal?”

“Everyone knows Concord lowballed Sophie, and she let them. It meant I wasn’t going to use her as a comparable. Indy drafted Kenny and I together and put us on the same line. We negotiated together. We’re equals.”

“You two have certainly become synonymous with Renegades hockey. Do you worry with your contracts Indy won’t have the room to sign Steele next year? Is this the beginning of the end of the red, white, and blue line?”

“There’s room for the players we need.”

Sophie watches and reads everything Lexie does and uses it to compose her counternarrative.

“Your contract is back in the news,” Ed Rickers says over the phone. Sophie can hear the smile in his words. “Do you regret signing it?”

“No, I’m proud to be a Concord Condor. Being the first woman drafted into the NAHL means I’ve navigated many other firsts. I’m glad Lexie was able to sign a good contract.”

“And yours?” Rickers prompts.

“It was a good contract for me.” I’m being paid to do what I love. Is there anything better? “And it was a good contract for the team. We had the space to extend Teddy and Kevlar last summer, and Elsa’s signing her extension this summer. I want to be a Condor for life, and I want to keep this core together.”

“Are you suggesting Engelking’s contract will hurt her team?”

“I was talking about my contract, not Lexie’s. I know I make an easy target, but I did think before I signed. Was the money or term as high as Dmitri Ivanov’s or Lexie’s or Kensington’s? No. But money wasn’t my only consideration. Concord has become my home. I want to make my career here.”

Rickers reads between the lines of her answers, adds a journalistic flair, and publishes an article propping up Sophie’s team-friendly deal and predicting how long until Lexie and Kensington’s contracts sink the Renegades.

It doesn’t take long for Lexie to call her. “So, I’m a selfish, money-grubbing bitch?”

“And I’m a spineless, desperate one.”

“I really pissed you off, didn’t I?” Lexie sounds happy because she’s a hyper competitive freak. “That or you don’t want to admit how shitty your contract is.”

“We’ve been over this. It was the best they offered. I would’ve signed for twelve years if they asked. But there’s a difference between what I feel and what I say. It’s called having a filter.”

“It’s called being a liar. Did you tell Nyberg she should accept the first shitty offer to keep the front office happy?”

“After your signing, I’d say she’s looking at twelve years, twelve million since she has a Cup and an Alain Benoit to her name.”

“Are you going to bring any of this fight into the season?”

Lexie hangs up before Sophie can answer.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

K.R. Collins went to college in Pennsylvania where she learned to write and fell in love with hockey. When she isn’t working or writing, she watches hockey games and claims it’s for research. Find K.R. on Twitter.

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway