Blog Tour + Giveaway: Sigrid and Elyn by Edale Lane

 

Edale Lane has a new FF alt history mystery romance book out: Sigrid & Elyn.

Attracted by passion, repelled by war. Can two shieldmaidens navigate battlegrounds of the sword and the heart?

Pre-Viking Scandinavia. Sigrid the Valiant is legendary throughout the kingdoms of Norvegr, along with her twin brother, for their many heroic deeds, but her heart has not found a home. Now, racing on the heels of their father’s murder, a neighboring kingdom’s raids threaten to cause an all-out war.

Elyn is a young shieldmaiden with a score to settle, fighting her own insecurities along with enemies who threaten her homeland, but she remains unconvinced all is as it seems.

When the two clash on opposite sides of their shield walls, sparks fly from both their swords and passions. But when they talk, the two fierce women discover an antagonist’s plot has pitted their kingdoms against each other.

Will Sigrid and Elyn move past their suspicions and differences to forge a relationship and foil the villain’s scheme, or will the enemy’s assassins end their search for the truth?

Action, adventure, and intrigue ride together with romance in this enemies-to-lovers saga from the pre-Viking land of Norvegr. Award-winning, best-selling author Edale Lane brings history to life in this fast-paced sapphic novel. Grab your ax and rönd and join the quest by clicking to buy now!

Warnings: violence, rape (in a memory), slavery as part of society.

Get It at Amazon

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Giveaway

Edale is giving away a $25 Amazon gift card with this tour:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47260/?

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Excerpt

Elyn’s heart pounded in her chest as she weighed her options. Right here, right now, she could kill Jarl Sigrid the Valiant and gain great fame and renown. With no witnesses, she could concoct any story she liked about how the epic battle in the cave occurred… except without witnesses, people may say Sigrid died in the fall and all Elyn did was chop at her corpse making it appear she had been victorious. A further problem with that option was that the gods saw everything. To kill an unarmed, unconscious opponent was a dishonorable display of cowardice akin to murder.

What would Sigrid do? Elyn lifted her ax but hesitated. One so well respected would not slay an incapacitated foe, would she?

But what troubled Elyn the most was the true impetus behind her reluctance—she didn’t want to kill Sigrid. She wanted her to live. Lowering her weapon, she gazed at the fair legendary hero. Though caked in dust sticking to blood and sweat, her legs pinned under heavy jagged rocks, she was the most astounding human being Elyn had ever laid eyes on. Maybe it was not her beautiful face or toned body, but the songs and stories that hailed her victories over man and beast, that saluted her valor and generosity that most fueled Elyn’s imagination. Perhaps it was how Sigrid had saved her from a spear hurled on the battlefield when it had been against her own best interest. But maybe it was the strange energy that pulsed through Elyn’s sensations whenever they were near each other that compelled her to choose mercy. Then again, it could merely be her own sense of unworthiness.

I am nobody, she thought. I can’t kill a jarl, a female warrior jarl… a lovely, helpless woman of distinction. She needs my help.

Elyn shoved the ax back into her belt and lifted heavy stones off the fallen shieldmaiden, tossing them aside. As she worked, Sigrid awoke. Sky-blue eyes blinked and the trapped woman coughed away dust, soon becoming aware she was not alone.

With a startled expression, Sigrid grabbed her sword and swung it at Elyn, who had to jump to avoid its reach. “Do not think of crushing me with a slab of limestone!” she blasted with rage igniting in her glare. Sigrid’s voice was robust enough to overpower the burble of the waterfall. “I could carve you like a roasted pig even without the use of my legs.”

An admiring smile tugged at the corner of Elyn’s lips, and something sprang to life deep within her core. “I am certain that you could, Jarl Sigrid, but if you will notice, I am not attacking you, but digging you out of the rubble.”

“What happened?” Sigrid raised her left hand to the gash on her forehead.

“The ground gave way, and we fell into this pit chased by large rocks. I think a Jotnar is to blame,” Elyn replied in a placid tone that seemed to disarm Sigrid.

As her focus cleared, she aimed it on Elyn’s face. “I find myself at a disadvantage,” Sigrid admitted. “You know who I am, but I am not familiar with you. What is your name?”

Elyn heaved the last of the big rocks pinning Sigrid’s legs to the side and sat on it. “I am Elyn, a shieldmaiden of Firdafylke. I live in a village called Kaldrlogr. It would appear for the moment we are trapped in this crevice. Thus far, no one has appeared at the fissure above to lend aid, and I suspect the battle continues.”

Sigrid nodded. Elyn! So that is your name. Satisfaction nestled within Sigrid until she recalled why they were there. Feelings of languid infatuation evaporated, and vengeful wrath rushed in to seize their place. She pushed up on her sword, gathering her legs under her body, and struggled to her feet. She could tell her injuries were more than superficial, and she could not bear weight on her right leg, but she was determined. Mirroring her movement with caution, Elyn rose from her rock and shifted a hand to the ax on her belt.

Pinning the flame-haired shieldmaiden with a frigid glare, Sigrid snarled. “Why did your raiders attack our farms? It is fortunate you were not among their number as we left none alive.”

She cocked her sword arm for a swing, and in an instant, Elyn whipped out her ax to block the whirling blade. The motion of the stroke rendered Sigrid off balance, and she could have easily toppled over, but her opponent pushed against her steel with her weapon until she was upright and steady on her one good leg. Elyn’s action surprised Sigrid, though she was glad for it.

“We did no such thing!” her foe declared with heated conviction. She hoisted her ax, poised at the ready.

Sigrid realized she was in no condition to fight, so she had better rein in her temper. She glanced down at Elyn’s sturdy legs, shapely hips, rounded breasts, up to luscious full lips, and finally into stunning green eyes and held them.

“Several of my friends were killed,” Sigrid asserted, and she felt a quiver go through her body. “A dozen men under the banner of Firdafylke carrying shields with your colors,” she testified, motioning to Elyn’s rönd lying a few feet away, “attacked the outlying farms of my village, Gnóttdalr. They burned homes, slew livestock, murdered women and children, then tried to flee like cowardly rodents.”

Elyn’s brows knit together in concern. “When was this?”

“Less than two weeks ago,” Sigrid confirmed. With her shoulder stiff and in pain, she lowered her sword but kept a firm grip on its hilt. “Maybe a week and a day after the first time we fought.” Sigrid tried to calculate, but her head throbbed. Has it been three weeks I have spent dreaming of you?

“That is impossible!” Elyn’s declaration snapped Sigrid’s thoughts back into focus. “It wasn’t us. All of Jarl Njord’s warriors are accounted for at that time and none have gone missing,” the younger woman insisted.

Sigrid’s frown deepened. “I know about Jarl Njord and his intentions for the throne of Firdafylke. With King Tortryggr’s mind and strength failing, he supposes to increase his fame by defeating us, but it shan’t work.”

“What are you talking about?” Elyn fumed and tossed her empty hand into the air. “There is nothing wrong with King Tortryggr’s health, mental or otherwise. And while it is true Njord has ambitions, he is not a traitor. What about your King Grimolf? Greedy to the core! We know about his plans to take over our kingdom, how he has promised all you jarls will double your holdings.”

“Nothing but sheep dung!” Sigrid retorted. “That is the biggest load of shite I’ve ever heard.”

Elyn’s brows narrowed, and her scowl deepened. “What about the Svithjod raiders that attacked our farms? We had defenseless people killed by your warriors, too. Did they make sport of it? Was it a game to them?”

“We did no such thing!” Sigrid’s voice reverberated about the cavern, which only increased the throbbing in her head. “We supported you several years ago when Raumsdal assaulted your land. I personally led a team of wagons to reinforce your army with supplies, and my brother brought volunteers to join your defenses.”

“I know,” Elyn countered, “which is why we feel so betrayed that you have invaded now. Maybe the raiders did not come from your band, but they flew the raven flag and carried the yellow and black shields of Svithjod. Why do you lie?”

She raised her ax in a defiant motion and Sigrid reacted instantaneously, slamming her sword to bear against it. “I do not lie!”

The two shieldmaidens pressed closely together, hot with anger and confusion. Sigrid was not expecting the arousal she experienced at the proximity to her enemy, but her desire could not be denied. It was baffling and unacceptable. Only a handle of wood and a blade of steel stood between them. Sigrid kept her balance on her one good leg, but if Elyn pulled away, she would surely fall. She felt the heat of her breath, inhaled her intoxicating scent, and her body ached for a woman she should not want. Is this a trick? Have I been bewitched? A part of her wished to examine Elyn’s every feature in intricate detail, while reason ordered her emotions to stand down.

Elyn slowly backed away, almost as if she was being careful to not cause Sigrid to fall. “No, you do not lie.” The words rang with sincere belief and Sigrid eased her muscles as she mirrored her foe to relax. They lowered their weapons at the same time. “But neither do I.”

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Author Bio

Edale Lane is an award-winning author (Rainbow Awards, Imaginarium Awards, Lesfic Bard Awards) who is realizing her dream of being a full-time writer. She is the alter-ego of author Melodie Romeo, (Tribute in Blood, Terror in Time, and others) who founded Past and Prologue Press. Both identities are qualified to write historical fiction by virtue of an MA in History and 24 years spent as a teacher, along with skill and dedication regarding research. A native of Vicksburg, MS, Edale (or Melodie) is also a musician who loves animals, gardening, and nature. After driving an 18-wheeler cross-country for eight years, she now lives with her partner in beautiful Chilliwack, B.C. Canada.

Author Website: https://pastandprologuepress.lpages.co/

Author Facebook (Personal): https://www.facebook.com/melodie.romeo/

Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/groups/887028485401701

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

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

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15264354.Edale_Lane

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

Author QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/edale-land/

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Edale-Lane/e/B07GRFPDRZ/

 

Release Blitz + Giveaway: Famine (The Four Horsemen Book #3) by Sienna Moreau

 

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Famine (The Four Horsemen Book #3) 

Author and Publisher: Sienna Moreau

Cover Artist: Reese Dante

Release Date: August 25, 2022

Genre: Dark M/M Paranormal Romance

Tropes: Second chance, forbidden love, lovers to enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort

Length:  80,000 – 90,000 words 

Heat Rating: 3 - 4 flames  

It is not a standalone story. It is the third book in the series and must be read in order. 

This book does not end on a cliffhanger. It is a HFN as there is an overarching plotline that will conclude in book 4. 

Goodreads

Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited

Universal Link  |  Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

A fallen angel with a broken heart. The third horseman who rejected him. A love that can destroy them both.

Blurb

Punished for choosing love over faith, the Archangel of Kindness emerged from a century of confinement enshrined in darkness, a shell of his former self. Rejected by the very Being for whom he sold his soul, the last threads of his sanity were stripped away. He is now Lucifer, the King of Hell.

Famine’s choices have only ever caused suffering for those he loves. He struggles with guilt, blaming himself for what Lucifer has become. He’s certain keeping his distance is the only way he can ensure Lucifer falls no further.

But together or apart, on the same side or not, it doesn’t matter. They are forever bound, forced to endure a never-ending loop of anguish. Betrayed and surrounded by new threats, they find themselves relying on each other while battling their own demons. But soon a choice must be made: allow their love to destroy them both or embrace it before the world ends.

Famine is the third book in the Four Horsemen series. This book is not a standalone and must be read in order.

Content Warnings: Religious themes, extreme violence, gore, and others.

Arachnophobia warning: There is also a dog-sized pet spider named Paul who just wants to be loved.

This is a paranormal, second chance, lovers-to-enemies-to-lovers, MM romance filled with snark and morally questionable characters. It ends with a HFN and a mild plot cliffhanger.

Excerpt

Famine moved closer to Lucifer as though being drawn into his orbit. Lucifer wondered if it was a conscious movement or if it was instinct. It was instinct for him. Every fiber of him always wanted to be closer to Famine. He hoped—even knowing how moronic it was to hope after every hand he’d been dealt—that Famine felt the same. Lucifer needed him to. Needed him to want Lucifer with the same raw need that Lucifer wanted him. It had to be mutual. This much longing and anguish and palpable loss was too much for him to shoulder alone.

He savored any chance just to be in Famine’s presence—had summoned the Horsemen for no other purpose than just to see him again. The carnage of it was delectable, of course, but it was a pleasant bonus, not the aim. The mere minutes Lucifer spent with Famine between years apart was agony, but every waking moment was spent only in anticipation of them. Being this close to Famine and not touching was the worst torture he had ever endured.

He couldn’t be alone in this. He couldn’t. 

“These are only the start of the creatures that God has under his command,” Famine continued. “If he’s choosing to let these loose, there’s no telling what’s next.”

“No,” Lucifer said. They all turned to look at him, and he gave them a secretive closed-mouth smile. He did enjoy being the center of attention. And making them wait.

He closed the remaining distance between himself and Famine, pressing the tips of his fingers against Famine’s cheek. Famine’s light-blue eyes darkened, and the sight of them heated Lucifer’s blood and made lust curl in the depths of his stomach. He had never touched another after Famine, even after all this time. And he was starved for the kind of touch that only Famine could gift him. That Famine had been keeping from him.

“Sometimes,” he murmured, for Famine’s ears only, “I want to peel the skin from your bones, make you hurt and bleed the way you make me.”

The heat in Famine’s eyes didn’t diminish from the words. If anything, they darkened further, the pulse in his throat visible and tempting Lucifer to bite down, to taste. 

“It is never my intention to make you hurt.”

“You think intent matters?” Lucifer gripped Famine’s upper arm and tugged him closer until their breath mingled. “When I lie broken and bruised and aching for you, do you think I care about intent?” They would continue to hurt each other for eternity regardless of intent.

“Get your fucking hands off him,” War snarled.

Lucifer didn’t move, his eyes flicking to where War was pointing his sword at them. As though Lucifer was afraid of him. Lucifer feared no one. No one but Famine, who had the power to destroy him. Who already had, too many times to count.

Famine lifted a hand to placate his brother. “It’s fine.”

Uriel rolled his eyes and turned from them, surveying the area. “Tell us what you meant, Lucifer, or be on your way to do whatever it is you do when you have no purpose.”

Lucifer stroked Famine’s cheek and then moved up to lightly grasp the curls of his brown hair. He urged Famine forward and Famine followed, bending to him and resting his forehead on Lucifer’s shoulder. Lucifer’s insides wobbled, pleasure and joy singing in his veins at the instant, easy acceptance of his touch.

Lucifer breathed in deeply, his nose pressed against Famine’s hair. It smelled like blueberries, freshly mowed grass, and a hint of lemon.

About the Author

Sienna Moreau is a dark MM romance author who likes to let the darker side of life come out to play. If you’re looking for morally grey characters, snark, mayhem and steamy situations then you’re in the right place.

Social Media Links

Facebook Page   |   Facebook  Group   |  Instagram 

Giveaway 

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Release Blitz + Giveaway: Oddbird by Ellie Goforth

 

Author Ellie Goforth and IndiGo Promotions share new release info for Oddbird! Read more about the contemporary romance and enter in the NineStar PRess credit giveaway!

Title: Oddbird

Author: Ellie Goforth

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 04/12/2022

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 64300

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, contemporary, romance, lesbian, British, Scandinavia, friends to lovers, action/adventure, coming out, family drama, death, grieving, pet companion, violence

Add to Goodreads

Description

Katerina’s small, safe life in London is upended on Christmas Eve when her beloved mum passes away. Two days later, she sees her boyfriend of five years kissing the local librarian. Kat goes to bed and pulls the covers over her head, convinced she will never recover from these losses.

To Kat’s great surprise, her mum has left her four letters to guide her through her grief and an air ticket to Swedish Lapland for a wild adventure. Before Kat knows it, she’s at the top of the world with a backpack and her headstrong French bulldog, Olive.

On the challenging, exhilarating eight-day trek, Kat learns she can come to terms with her mum’s death. She also encounters Anna, lanky and gorgeous, who invites her to Stockholm for a weekend of passion.

The three days they share awakens Kat to her truth. It leads the way to her desires, including a long ambition to open a small bookshop in her London neighborhood. But how can she do that and follow her heart with her new love? Will the dangers and complications that face both her and Anna force her hand?

Excerpt

Oddbird
Ellie Goforth © 2022
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

It rains all night in a steady drizzle, so by morning, the potholes on the high street are full to overflowing.

Kat pulls the hood of her raincoat over her head and hurries past the bus stop and the newsagent. In her mind, she runs through the list of instructions she left on the kitchen table for Kisi.

– She can’t handle anything but soggy Weetabix for breakfast.

– Give her a double laxative (on the counter near the toaster).

– Make her drink half a litre of water.

– Bring the anti-bac lotion with you and some Carr’s crackers.

– Also, her soft grey jersey.

Thanks, Kisi. You are the best friend ever.

Kat loves London in the rain, especially in autumn and especially in this exact spot—the postage-stamp park wedged between the greengrocer and chemist.

She and Ryan meet here for a quick coffee most mornings before he catches the bus to work.

This morning, she orders herself a double-shot latte from the café and one with extra foam for Ryan, just as he likes it. She waits on the bench.

The rain has brought the leaves of the chestnut tree down with it. They’ll be mush by mid-morning, but now the paving under the tree is a carpet of gold.

A leaf floats down and lands on the sleeve of her coat; it feels like a good omen.

“Morning there, Kat,” calls a voice from over the road. She turns.

Martin-the-butcher stands in the doorway of his shop. “Did you hear that Fiona’s giving up her lease on number twenty-seven?” he says.

“Why’s that?”

“Not a clue…but it might be a good spot for that bookshop of yours.”

She smiles. You’d expect blue eyes with skin as pale as Kat’s, but hers are light brown, like amber. Her hair, too, glows a warm honey-brown. It’s caught up today by a hair slide in the shape of a pink flamingo.

“Yeah, thanks. I might take a look.”

Kat has long dreamt of opening a small bookshop on the high street with its steady stream of passers-by. She pauses as she reaches number twenty-seven.

The striking shopfront with its enormous glass wall floods the inside with light. Kat imagines a cluster of reading chairs right by the window and maybe a small coffee counter amongst the shelves. It makes her heart beat a little faster.

But other things sound more loudly this morning—like where on earth is Ryan? She looks at her phone. No texts, no missed calls. She walks over the road to Martin.

“Can I leave this coffee for Ryan? I’ve got to get going, or I’ll be late for work.”

“Time for the bugger to get a new alarm clock, I reckon.”

“Maybe.”

“Second time this week he’s been a no-show.”

“Yeah.”

“Doesn’t deserve you.”

Kat smiles. Even half-hidden by her raincoat, Kat is sort of luminous, as if she has a light on inside, shining out. It’s always been that way though she is oblivious of her charms.

She waves at Martin and turns to go.

“Don’t dilly-dally, or someone will snap it up,” he calls after her.

“What’s that?”

“Number twenty-seven.”

“Oh, yeah, course.”

Kat walks away through the drizzle.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Ellie loves the natural world, and that’s why her books often include travel to wild places. She also loves her cocker spaniel, Emily. Ellie lives in London. She reads all the time and loves to go to her cabin in the mountains in Scotland as often as she can. Ellie cooks, with gusto, wherever she is.

Giveaway

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Review: Devil's Dance (Rebel Kings MC #1) by Garrett Leigh

Opposites attract. The outlaw biker and the accountant. Straightlaced vs straight to hell. Or heaven, depending on how you look at it.

And you can look at it any way you like, doesn’t mean it’s true. Either way, falling for snarky Alexei Ivanov is the lightbulb moment I’ve been waiting for my whole damn life. Or at least since my head got turned by someone else. A man I call brother, but he's so much more than that.

I’ve loved Saint Malone for years. My loyal wingman has owned my heart so long I figured it had died of yearning for him. But Saint is as fragile as he is deadly. I don’t know how to help him until Alexei brings me to life in ways I can’t describe.

He opens my eyes, and I see them both.

I love them both.

With the weight of the underworld bearing down on me, I just gotta stay alive long enough to tell them.

Devil’s Dance is the first in a hurt/comfort, dark romance, MMM duet from the world of the Rebel Kings MC. Expect: tattoos and leather, an enigmatic Russian hitman, and dark and dirty themes.

*Trigger warnings: childhood abuse, sex work, graphic violence, death.

Cam finds himself between two men - the man he’s pined after for years but can’t have, and the man who was supposed to be a one night stand but that he can’t stop thinking about. On top of it all, rivals are threatening his territory and his MC family.

It’s been a while since I read an MC book. It was interesting to see the politics and interpersonal dynamics play out. And of course, that extra rough and wild adds some fun to the mix.

Cam was easy to understand and to root for - he’s dedicated to his club, their dependents, and building legitimate above-board operations. The occasional throwdowns with rivals notwithstanding.

Alexei’s the mysterious dangerous type, so his story is only revealed gradually. But underneath that sharp exterior, he’s vulnerable and fiercely protective.

Both men are used to going it alone, that is until one night together changes everything. They’re smitten, and want more.

I really liked their dynamic - neither wanting or planning for it, but unable to stay away from each other. Alexei and Cam end up needing each other, and revealing parts of themselves that they’d kept buried.

Also the sex - hot, hot, hot. Grade A material.

The other man in this story is Saint - Cam’s long-time friend and his most trusted wingman in the MC. Cam and Saint have skirted around their longing for each other for years, neither ever making a move.

From the moment Alexei and Saint meet, they prioritize looking after Cam together. And along the way, they even find themselves drawn to each other.

The three men, and their bond, are tested when shit hits the fan and puts the MC in direct danger. The action livened up the pace of the story.

Where things hit a snag for me was how little relationship development there was. Alexei and Cam jump to love pretty quickly, while we get the bare minimum on Saint and Cam’s backstory.

I was definitely rooting for the three and happy to see them coming together, but the why and how just wasn’t fully there. Maybe that will come in the next book.

In any case, I’m hooked enough to read on! Recommended if you’re looking for a gritty MMM book with interesting characters and a fun action plot.

A copy was provided in exchange for an honest review.

Blog Tour + Giveaway: No Flag (After Everything #1) by Liz Borino

Author Liz Borino and IndiGo Marketing host today's tour stop for re-release, No Flag (After Everything #1)! Read more of the exclusive excerpt and enter in the $10 NineStar Press credit giveaway!

 

Title: No Flag

Series: After Everything, Book One

Author: Liz Borino

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 06/07/2021

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 67100

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, contemporary, family-drama, military, war, violence, terrorists, disabilities, amputee, bartender, Dom/sub relationship, domestic discipline, OCD

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Description

Captain Mike Kelley does not ignore his intuition, so when sexy bartender Will Hayes captures his heart, Mike embarks on a mission to win him over to a Domestic Discipline relationship. Will accepts with one caveat: Mike must promise not to renew his army contract.

Mike agrees, until the army invokes the stop-loss military policy to involuntarily extend his commission and send him back overseas, rendering him powerless and threatening everything he and Will have built. Will, left alone to cope with a new café, must rely on the support of old friends who may no longer be trustworthy.

A horrific terrorist attack on Mike’s outpost changes everything, leaving them both at a loss.

Mike awakens in a hospital with a devastating injury and no recollection of the attack. As the only survivor, his memory may be the key to national security. Mike struggles to cope with his injury and Will struggles with his new role in Mike’s life.

For Mike and Will, “No Flag” meant “come home alive.” Will has Mike back rather than a folded flag, but in the aftermath of war, can they rebuild the life they had before?

Exclusive Excerpt

No Flag
Liz Borino © 2021
All Rights Reserved

Wake Up
Germany, July 6, 2012
Beep, beep, beep. The sound of the machine was like an ice pick in Mike’s brain. Machine? Where was he? He tried to inhale, but choked on the smell of alcohol, plastic, and sterility in the air. Hospital. Shit. What the hell happened? Mike couldn’t remember…anything. Voices around him spoke a mixture of German and English. He pried his eyes open and focused on a woman in green scrubs.
“Good morning,” the woman said, sympathy in her eyes.
must look bad. And is it morning? “Um…” Mike lifted his hand to scratch his head, but it was so bogged down with wires, he did not get far. The other hand felt heavy, or maybe weightless. He couldn’t tell. What did they have him on? Whatever it was, was not enough.
“Do you know your name?”
“Michael Kelley.” The whole left side of his body burned and throbbed.
A man entered the room. “Captain Kelley, my name is Dr. Tate. How do you feel?” “Like the machine is drilling holes through my brain.” Mike tried again to move his head, but the neck brace kept it straight. He didn’t know if he was relieved or annoyed not to see the damage right away.
“I’m happy to see you awake and talking. Would you answer a few questions for me, so I can get a handle on your neurological function?” Mike was pretty sure he nodded because the doctor asked about his birthday, hometown, family, and a bunch of stupid questions about elephants floating on water and one pound being more than two. What the hell do elephants have to do with brain activity? Mike’s brain was fine, except knowing why he was here. “I’m going to check your surgery wounds, and we’ll arrange transport to the States. You’ll probably be at Walter Reed tomorrow night.”
“Surgery? Tomorrow?” Must be minor if I’m going home so soon. Then Will can kill me for getting hurt.
The doctor’s face changed to deep concern. “Do you know what happened?”
“No. The last thing I remember was a ringing phone and…an explosion behind me. Then nothing,” Mike recalled. “I’m okay, Dr. Tate. I have to be. You’re sending me home tomorrow.”
Dr. Tate sat on the chair next to Mike’s bed. “Captain Kelley—”
“Please, it’s Mike.”
“Mike, a group of insurgents broke through the security of the building where you were stationed. The explosion you heard could have been any one of the ten IEDs set off by the suicide bombers,” Dr. Tate started. “I’m sorry. You were awake when you came in. I thought you knew.”
No, no, that’s not right. If there were ten IEDs set off by suicide bombers, I would be underground. Not the doctor’s fault he was given bad information. All civilians are.
“Did everyone make it out?”
“Unfortunately, no. Twenty servicemen and women lost their lives.”
Mike lifted his eyes toward the ceiling to dry the physical proof of his emotions. “I’m all right?” He hated how selfish the question sounded, but he had to know.
“The left side of your torso is afflicted with first- and second-degree burns.” Dr. Tate paused and glanced up at the nurse, who—in what seemed like a choreographed move—put her hand on Mike’s shoulder. “The bomb also destroyed the building. A wall collapsed on your left arm, which had to be cut off to free you.”
“But you put it back on, right, Dr. Tate?” Mike scanned their faces, the kindness now looking more like pity. He had to be dreaming, or they were lying. Why couldn’t he move his head? Fuck it! He didn’t have to move his head. He’d move his damn arm! “I’m waving, doctor. It hurts, but I can do it. Why would you lie?” Mike gasped for breath.
The doctor stood, unfastened Mike’s neck brace, and encouraged him to turn his head. Though, suddenly, he didn’t want to. The hospital gown sleeve covered whatever remained of his left arm. “I’m sorry, Mike,” Dr. Tate said. “I could only even the bone and clean out lingering infected skin and muscle. Your arm was crushed.”
“All right, I’ll get a prosthetic when the swelling goes down. How long will that take?” Yeah, the rehab would suck, but Mike could deal. People managed much worse circumstances coming home from war.
Dr. Tate shook his head. “Because of where the wall fell, the army medic had to cut off the edge of your shoulder. By the time you arrived here, the infection had spread through the rest of the joint. A prosthetic is not possible without a joint.”
So… I’ll have to live the rest of my life with one arm? Can I ever hope to hold Will securely again? Oh, god, how will I fold my clothes properly? But instead of expressing the dread shooting through his heart and mind, Mike said, “Thank you for saving me.” He wanted nothing more than to be alone to process his future. Because if the doctor stayed much longer, he would see how distraught the prospect made Mike.
“Of course. Please know every one of us here is grateful for what you and all the troops do.” Dr. Tate unwrapped the stump that used to be Mike’s shoulder. “It will get better. There are support groups and many advances in medical technology that will improve your quality of life.”
My quality of life was fine before the stop-loss sent me overseas. He blinked the thoughts away. Mike had been given a chance that twenty of his friends had not. He would not let himself think about the broken promise to Will. I’ll come back and it’ll be like nothing changed. Now everything had changed.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Liz Borino has been telling stories of varying truthfulness since she was a child. As an adult, she keeps the fiction on the page. She writes stories of human connection and intimacy, in all their forms. Her books feature flawed men who often risk everything for their love. When Liz isn’t writing, she’s waking up early to edit, travel, and explore historic prisons and insane asylums—not (usually) all in one day. Liz lives in Philadelphia with her two cats.

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Release Blitz + Giveaway: Against a Rising Tide by Samantha Cayto

Against a Rising Tide release blitz is here! Join author Samantha Cayto and Pride Publishing as they share info on the new contemporary romance! Discover more and enter in the giveaway for a chance to win a $50 Amazon gift card and Samantha Cayto book!

Against a Rising Tide By Samantha Cayto

General Release Date: 29th June 2021

Word Count: 54,881
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 194

Genres:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
MEN IN UNIFORM

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Book Description

Love always finds a way.

Scott, a Navy SEAL, returns to his childhood beach house to deal with the emotional trauma of his latest mission. When a sniper killed his closest friend, Scott was left dealing with survivor’s guilt and the disturbing feeling that his friend meant more to him. He has always identified as strictly straight, attraction to men being something he has ruthlessly suppressed.

When he finds Kitt, a friend of his sister’s, hiding out from his abusive boyfriend, Scott is once again drawn to someone of his own gender. Although annoyed at the intrusion, Scott also instantly develops an interest in his unwanted houseguest. Keeping his distance is proving to be impossible and his growing desire for Kitt cannot be ignored.

Forced to leave home, Kitt entered into a relationship with a man who turned abusive. Having finally found the courage to escape, the last thing he wants or needs is another alpha male invading his space. But having nowhere else to go, he ends up staying with a man who disturbs him in more ways than one. As scary as the SEAL is, Scott is exactly the type of man Kitt dreams about.

The beach house is small, and the two men cannot avoid one another or the attraction between them. With each passing day, their bond grows stronger. Hesitation slowly gives way to passion. They need to trust their feelings and let go of the things that frighten them, to find safety and solace in each other.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence, attempted murder, stalking, PTSD and references to death in a war zone, abusive parents and relationship abuse.

Excerpt

By the time Scott reached the beach house, visions of falling face-down in his bed swam before his eyes. He really should have checked into one of the airport hotels for the night instead of renting a car and heading north. But the driving need for solitude had overridden his better judgment. Even arriving in Boston at o-dark-thirty hadn’t thinned the crowds of people enough to satisfy his jangled nerves. He needed quiet and the mental space that came from being utterly alone to get his head screwed back on right. Otherwise, his time in the SEAL Teams would come to an end. The mere thought of having to leave his Naval career was intolerable to him.

He took a moment as he exited his rental SUV to simply stand and stare out over the ocean. The sun was just rising above the rippling blue-green water, washing the horizon in tones of red and orange. Seagulls screeched in their staccato fashion, as if they were in a constant state of agitation. He welcomed the familiar sound of their mindless scolding. The crash of waves against the rocky shore told him the tide was coming in. He took in a deep breath of salty air tinged with a hint of clam flats and smiled. All the joy of his childhood filled the aching hole that had formed in the middle of his chest. Coming here had been the right call. This was where he needed to be.

His exhaustion momentarily abated, Scott grabbed his duffel bag from the back of the SUV and walked up the stone path to the front door. There was no need to lock his vehicle, not in the low-crime town of Sewall, Massachusetts. It was barely more than a spit of rocky land and had never developed the cachet of its neighbors like Rockport as a fashionable seaside town. It attracted no one other than the dedicated perennial vacationer and was the perfect place to hide away for a while without fear of disturbance. His sister wouldn’t haul her brood up from the suburbs of Boston until August. He could be sure of having the place all to himself…to be alone.

Safe.

No, where had that thought come from? He was a SEAL, for God’s sake. There was nowhere on Earth that he didn’t feel as if he could protect himself. And he understood better than most that death was always lurking around, regardless. One only had to be ready to face it. Defeat it. If necessary, accept it when options had truly run out, but only after fighting to the very last breath. He took in another deep lungful of brisk ocean air with that last thought, irritated at his dark, almost defeatist attitude.

I need sleep. That’s all.

Scott almost sprinted to the seafoam green door, fumbled with the keys to open it and stepped inside the cool, quiet house of his childhood…that was not empty.

He froze inside the doorway and stared at the vision that greeted him. His mind did all kinds of acrobatics as he tried to make sense of what he saw. With the open floorplan of the first floor, he had a clear view of a naked woman standing in the kitchen. She was reaching up to a shelf filled with bowls, her toned arm stretched high. A curtain of long, dark hair swung below her shoulder blades, catching his attention. He followed the movement past the tapered ends, down a slender back of creamy skin accentuated by some kind of colorful tramp-stamp.

The tattoo skimmed a high, tight ass that held his gaze like a magnet. His overtired brain popped and snapped with a sudden spark of need. As exhausted as he was, his body came alive, desire shooting through him to pool in his groin. Even as an involuntary grunt passed his lips, the more rational part of his mind took over. It was trying to put on the brakes because something was off. The woman’s hips were too straight, and her shoulders were a bit broad. As the pieces clicked into place, the beach house inhabitant whirled around with a sharp inhalation. Now, the cock and balls of the man came literally swinging into view.

Scott’s own cock was caught between hardening and deflating again. He could feel it waging a war inside his worn jeans for a few seconds before it gave up in a semi-hard state that he ignored. Nothing to see here, folks. It was the other man’s reaction that caught and held his focus. Across the large expanse, there was visible fear in the dark eyes staring back at him. And the guy did nothing to hide his genitals. Instead, one hand had flown to the base of his throat in a clear defensive gesture. He whipped the other up to hold against his left cheek. But the quickness of the move hadn’t stopped Scott from seeing a livid bruise that marred the pretty skin there.

“Who?” The young man blinked at him for a few seconds, breathing quickly, before he visibly relaxed. “Oh, you’re Karen’s brother, aren’t you?” Although he dropped the one hand from his throat, he didn’t let go of his cheek entirely. Instead, he carded his fingers through his hair, letting the strands hide that half of his face. “She said you were overseas.”

“I was.” Scott stepped fully into the house and shut the door behind him before setting his duffel on the floor. He was careful to keep his movements slow. He’d dealt with petrified villagers plenty of times and knew he had to prove that he wasn’t a danger to them. Build trust. While he was at a loss as to why exactly, he could sense this man needed the same kind of consideration.

“I just got back and have two weeks’ leave.” Not that it had been his idea.

“Take the time, Carpenter. There’s no shame in needing it after what you’ve been through.”

“Yes, sir.”

He’d known an order when he’d been given one, but he still felt some guilt about lying around on a beach while others were out there fighting on his behalf. He pushed those thoughts aside to deal with the more pressing matter. Before he could ask the who, what and why, the naked man was talking again.

“I guess Karen didn’t know that. She said I could stay here until she comes up with her kids.” He dropped his gaze, while still tugging at his hair in nervous fashion.

Scott approached the kitchen area, again keeping his movements slow and non-threatening. “I was going to call her later.” He stopped and hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “I’m sorry. You have me at a disadvantage. Do I know you?”

The young man flashed his gaze at him before skittering it away. Now that he was closer, Scott could see that his eyes weren’t entirely brown. There was a hint of green there as well. Hazel, he supposed, although he’d never given much thought to eye color before. He forced himself to focus on them, however, because the alternative was to stare farther south. There was a temptation to sneak peeks at parts of the man’s body. He’d always studiously avoided that urge before. He saw more naked men than he did women, that was for sure, and in a military environment where privacy was non-existent, one had to be respectful. Inside a quaint New England house, with the muted dawn shining through the window, making everything soft and almost romantic, the nudity was harder to ignore.

“I’m Kitt Tyler.”

Scott’s attention was tugged back to Kitt’s face—although really, to his lips. He couldn’t help noticing how plump and pink they were. ‘Generous’ was the word that came to mind, like those of old-time movie starlets—the type of mouth that combat men dreamed of kissing as they lay in their makeshift beds. It was what got them up again, fighting for their country. That observation startled him even more. What the hell is my problem? Exhaustion, that was all. What he needed was a solid eight horizontal hours uninterrupted, and that wasn’t going to happen until he wrapped up this unexpected meet-and-greet.

“You’re a friend of Karen’s?” Kind of a dumb question.

Kitt gnawed briefly at his lower lip, once again drawing Scott’s unwilling attention to that spot. “Yeah, I am, but also her hairdresser. I mean, that’s how we first met, and we’ve become friends, too. You know?”

No, Scott didn’t…at all. The last thing he and his sister ever talked about was hair styling, although she always looked great. He knew that she prided herself on being elegant and fashionable for her job as a publisher for some glossy, high-end magazine. She had him on her subscription list, which was sweet, except it all went straight into his trash. What did he care about trendy places to eat in Boston and the best store for thousand-thread-count sheets?

“Anyway,” the guy continued, still playing with his hair and darting his gaze around. “She has like a million pictures of you at home, so I recognized you straight off.”

Not exactly true. For a moment, when he’d turned and caught sight of Scott, Kitt had obviously been afraid. Of what? Scott wondered. Or rather…whom?

Scott ran a hand over his head. The need for sleep was overtaking his initial and visceral reaction to this unexpected guest. “I’m sure she’s bored you to tears with stories about me, too.” His sister was proud of his service, although he feared that she’d put him on a pedestal he didn’t deserve, certainly not after this last deployment.

A ghost of a smile graced Kitt’s lips. That was the moment when it hit Scott that this young man was utterly gorgeous—at a he-could-be-a-model level. Although, he was probably too short for that profession. He was about five-seven, just the right height to tuck into Scott’s shoulder. The new observations sent his brain into another unwanted spasm of discord.

“She has a bit, but I think it’s great how close you two are.” Releasing his hold on his hair, Kitt fluttered his hands and shifted his feet. “Anyway, I’ll pack up and get out of your way. It, um, might take a while for me to get a Lyft driver to come here this early, though. I hope that’s okay.”

“You don’t have a car?” Another stupid question. The driveway had been empty when he’d pulled up.

“No. Um, no.” Kitt stared at the floor again.

Scott could see the distress in the guy’s posture and read it in his expression. He knew when someone was afraid, nervous or angry, even when they tried to hide it from him. He could tell when they were lying about something. Kitt Tyler wasn’t merely a friend of his sister who needed a free summer vacation. There was more to it than that, and given the guy’s skittishness and that bruise on his cheek, Scott could make an educated guess what that more was.

For the moment, however, he was incapable of any further rational thought. He needed that eight hours, then he’d deal with the situation.

“Look,” he said, repressing a yawn. “I’ve been awake for over forty-eight hours straight. I’m going upstairs to get some sleep. No need for you to leave yet. We’ll talk later.”

Kitt’s relief was easy to see. Still, he said, “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Scott turned to retrieve his duffel bag from by the door.

“Oh, I should get dressed now so that I don’t disturb you.”

Too late on that score. “I can sleep through anything, but thanks.”

He made himself not watch as Kitt flitted up the stairs. He didn’t rush when he followed, either, so that he wouldn’t see any more of that undeniably tantalizing flesh. His plan worked. By the time he’d reached the second floor, his sister’s guest had disappeared into the far back room. The sounds of a drawer opening and closing drifted down the narrow hallway. Scott bit back a groan when he realized that Kitt had taken his usual room. That thought had barely formed before the guy popped back out, wearing crotch-hugging cut-off jeans and a tight white crop top. The clothing wasn’t much better than the nudity had been at hiding the guy’s fit physique. Oh, and bonus, now that Scott wasn’t studiously averting his gaze, he could see a belly button ring winking from the flat stomach.

“I took one of the kid’s rooms, if that’s okay?” Kitt looked impossibly young himself. What was the minimum age to be a hairdresser, eighteen? The guy must be straight out of school.

Scott didn’t bother to correct him. Visions of Kitt lying in Scott’s bed were already creeping into his brain. Instead, he waved the issue away and turned into what had been his parents’ old room. Karen and her husband used it now, but she obviously wasn’t coming up any time soon. He may as well bed down in it. He kicked the door shut with more force than he’d intended, but the lure of the big brass bed was irresistible. Stumbling toward it, he did as he’d dreamed of for hours—fell face-down onto the quilt his grandmother had made. He had just enough brainpower left to kick off his sneakers before giving in to the pull of sleep.

His last thought, however, was of the pretty boy at the end of the hall, silhouetted by the glint of the rising sun.

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About the Author

Samantha Cayto

Samantha Cayto is a Boston-area native who practices as a business lawyer by day while writing erotic romance at night—the steamier the better. She likes to push the envelope when it comes to writing about passion and is delighted other women agree that guy-on-guy sex is the hottest ever.

She lives a typical suburban life with her husband, three kids and four dogs. Her children don't understand why they can't read what she writes, but her husband is always willing to lend her a hand—and anything else—when she needs to choreograph a scene.

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Samantha Cayto's Against A Rising Tide Giveaway

SAMANTHA CAYTO IS GIVING AWAY A $50.00 AMAZON GIFT CARD TO ONE LUCKY WINNER. ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN AND GET A FREE SAMANTHA CAYTO ROMANCE BOOK! Notice: This competition ends on 13th July 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

Release Blitz: The Phisher King 4: Honeypot by Clancy Nacht & Thursday Euclid

Authors Clancy Nacht & Thursday Euclid, along with Gay Book Promotions, host today's release blitz for Honeypot (The Phisher King #4)! Read more about the latest romantic suspense!

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: The Phisher King 4: Honeypot

Author: Clancy Nacht & Thursday Euclid

Publisher: Eine Kleine Press

Cover Artist: Clancy Nacht

Release Date: June 22, 2021

Genres: Contemporary M/M Romantic Suspense/Thriller

Trope/s: Daddy/boy, mercs with hearts of gold. 

Themes: Hurt/comfort

Heat Rating:  4 flames

Length: 72 000 words/279 pages

It Is not a standalone story. 

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Buy Links

Amazon US  |   Amazon UK

Is Dark Sun an olive branch from Barnes to the men he betrayed, 

or is this the honeypot that will secure their demise?

Blurb

 It’s been a long road to recovery since FBI Agent Cal Riggs and his hacker boyfriend Hunter Walsh’s last showdown with the treacherous Justin Barnes. His betrayal during False Flag left Cal and Hunter scarred and shaken. As their friends Sam Dupre and Rob Crawford dealt with domestic terrorism in Olympia during Penetration Test, Hunter and Cal fought to regain a sense of normalcy that never materialized.

The Bureau under the Trump Administration takes a punitive attitude toward Cal’s passion of fighting white nationalism, and his employment there grows less tenable by the day. Meanwhile, Hunter deals with the uncertainty of Barnes’s continued freedom by taking extreme steps to enhance the security of the condo he shares with Cal. No part of their lives has escaped Barnes’s poisoned touch.

When a shady corporate lawyer shows up on the doorstep while Cal’s at work, Hunter takes the meeting and discovers Barnes’s plan B: In his absence, he wants to bequeath his mercenary company, Dark Sun, to his former FBI partner and lover, no other than Callum Riggs. But what is Cal going to do with Barnes’s mercs? Can he really leave the Bureau he’s been part of since graduation? Well, if Hunter has a say, that’s exactly what Cal will do.

But life in the private sector is dangerous, too. Enemies hide in plain sight in Dark Sun’s every office, and there’s no knowing who still supports Barnes and his deadly extremist agenda. Is the mercenary company an olive branch from Barnes to the men he betrayed, or is this the honeypot that will secure their demise?

CW: Violence, brief sexual violence (not between MCs; no rape), white nationalist terrorism

Excerpt 

 “Feet. Off. The. Furniture,” Cal gritted out, something sparking behind his dark eyes.

“What, you’re the boss for one day and you think you can just start ordering people around?” Hunter pouted and squirmed down, pushing his feet farther onto the table.

“I’ve been the boss of you a lot longer than that.” Cal’s flat delivery and the challenge in his expression lit a fire in Hunter. It was honestly surprising they hadn’t just fucked over his seriously uncomfortable desk right in front of everyone this afternoon.

Before Hunter could act, Cal dropped Bruiser on him and then leaned down and physically knocked Hunter’s feet off the coffee table.

Hunter caught Bruiser, but quickly released him onto the couch so he wouldn’t get stuck in the middle of everything. The force with which Cal pushed Hunter’s feet turned him sideways, and he barely caught himself so he didn’t topple to the floor.

“You gonna work out some aggression on Mike Hunt?”

“You and your frakking pranks.” Cal grabbed Hunter around the waist and shoved him back on the luxurious sofa, pushing him into a corner and pinning him there with a hand on his shoulder and another on his inner thigh.

That sculpted face and its fading scars loomed inches from Hunter’s nose as Cal stared him down. “You do this crap on purpose, I’m convinced. Mike frakking Hunt. It’s like you’re begging for it. Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to be professional today?”

“I was trying to be good. I didn’t even drop anything so you could see how my ass looks when I bend over to pick it up. Didn’t matter, though. I saw you checking me out. Wonder what Rory thinks you’re hiring me for.”

Hunter had removed his jacket when he’d gotten home, leaving him in a snug black t-shirt and the stretchy jeans. “You gonna give me a full-time job, Daddy?”

“If you play your cards right, you little brat.” 

About the Authors 

Together, Texans and platonic life partners Thursday Euclid and Clancy Nacht write queer novels that span genres, with intense romances and a seamless shared narrative voice.

They published their first co-written novel, the m/m rock star romance Black Gold, in 2010, and now have over a decade of award-winning collaborations under their exquisite belts. Recent titles include the twisted romance His Fake Prison Daddy and the Phisher King series, in which an uptight federal agent and a bratty hacker go from enemies to lovers while solving a hate crime.

Though Elder Millennial trans man Thursday and Gen X gender outlaw Clancy live three hours apart, they are inseparable. Their friendship is a perfect example of the Grumpy/Sunshine trope, which makes Thursday very happy. Clancy thinks it’s all right.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website  |   Twitter  |   Twitter  |   Instagram  

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

Blog Tour: Secret Simon (Haven Hart) by Davidson King

The Secret Simon tour visits BMBR today! See what author Davidson King and Vibrant Promotions shared about the new romantic suspense!

Secret Simon

A Haven Hart Novel

Davidson King

M/M Romance

Release Date: 05.24.21

Blurb

Simon

Being the nephew of one of the most infamous mob bosses in the world isn’t easy. Our family has enemies everywhere, and no one is safe without protection. Here I am at college with a fresh start, a new last name, and secrets hidden from those around me—life is going according to plan. Then one day on campus, I see him…and I want him to strip me bare…in more ways than one.

Rush

Abernathy is more than just the university I attend. It’s my destiny, my namesake. Singing and entertaining are who I am, but my father wants me to major in something more appropriate for the name I carry. I’ve resigned myself to being who my father wants, doing what he wants. Then Simon comes into my life…and turns everything upside down. Now I have a reason to fight for what I want. 

Who knew our love story would lead to secrets revealed, murderous plots, and finding our forever buried under so many lies? Hopefully we’ll live long enough to see it.

*Trigger: Violence and mention of suicide

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/4jAOgl

Excerpt 

Figuring out how to begin my story was the hardest part, but I knew when it was over, there was a good chance Rush would walk out that door and never return. I supposed it didn’t matter how I started—the end would be the same, most likely. 

“I’m about to tell you a lot of shit, Rush. You’re not going to like most of it, and I understand you may never want to see me again afterward.” He was about to interrupt, but I held up a finger. “Don’t make a promise you don’t know if you can keep by saying ‘nothing I tell you will change how you feel,’ because that’s bullshit. What I will ask is only one thing. Let me tell the story to the end before you walk out of here.” 

“You’re so sure I’ll leave?” 

I nodded. “Yeah.” 

Rush tightly fisted his hands together on his lap, readying himself, no doubt. “Okay, tell me.”

Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.

She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.

If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she'd tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you're afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.

Linktree: https://linktr.ee/davidsonkingauthor

Release Blitz + Giveaway: Holding onto Light by Lucien Grey

Author Lucien Grey and Pride Publishing host today's release blitz for Holding onto Light! Discover more about the fantasy novel and enter in the giveaway for a chance to win a fabulous gift package and get a FREE romance book!

Holding onto Light by Lucien Grey

General Release Date: 13th April 2021

Word Count: 51,608
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 197

Genres:

FANTASY
GAY
GLBTQI
ROMANCE

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Book Description

Two strangers running from their dark pasts find redemption in each other.

Harry, a former army doctor, lives in isolation after the devastating war between Rasacara and the Empire came to a bloody and violent conclusion. His lonely life is disrupted by a young, beautiful man surrounded by secrets and suspicion, who would likely destroy Harry if he knew who he was.

Kit, former member of the witch army’s Blue Crows, now on the run from his former master, must keep his identity a secret as his enemy is closing in and Harry, the gruff, mysterious woodsman, is all that stands between him and the man who wants him dead.

Forced together by Kit’s injuries, the two lonely men find comfort in each other, both scarred by the darkness of their pasts, but when Kit’s enemy catches up with him, they are forced to fight, revealing to each other the evils both of them have committed, and testing the strength of their new, fledgling love.

Reader advisory: This book contains reference to child abuse, graphic violence and injury, death, torture, PTSD and slavery. There are mentions of suicidal thought and homophobia.

Excerpt

Sunlight injected the indigo sky with golden threads earlier each day. Spring was drawing near, its sweet scent suspended in the cold air, even as crisp frost from the persistent winter lingered, crystalizing the blades of grass into fields of sparkling emeralds.

Harry surveyed his small patch of land, watching the sun peek over the serene, silent meadows beyond the encroaching forest. It shot streaking bursts of pinks and yellows, shrinking the night sky into a mild blue, pushing back clouds as it rose, a glorious, near-blinding orange orb. Birds in nearby trees were already welcoming the dawn with their delicate song. He would never tire of waking to this peaceful serenity.

Six years. How many sunrises was that?

Shivering out the tense muscles up and down his back, Harry went to work. The cold was not a friend to the scarred muscles of his left arm, which made their complaints known as he picked up his saw. Setting his jaw, he bit the saw’s teeth into the strong flesh of an oak he’d cut down and stripped yesterday.

He cut the trunk down to decent workable lengths. They would do well to replace the rotten floorboards near the fireplace, soaked with moisture from the cellar after it had flooded during the fall. It had taken weeks to dry out and create a soakaway around the house. He shouldered and lugged the timber over to the mounted flat rock he used as a dining table or a makeshift bed when the weather grew warm enough to eat and sleep outside, but right now it was his work bench. It took him most of the morning to saw the wood down to size and most of the afternoon to sand it smooth. The oak was a gorgeous color, clean and creamy for such a strong, unbending timber. It was hard-going work with only one fully serviceable arm, and it took him the rest of the day to make the new floorboards. His muscles soon began to ache, forcing him to take a frustrating number of breaks.

He’d long stripped off his coat, gloves and frayed woolen shirt, but the afternoon was already chasing away the daylight, prickling gooseflesh over his arms and chest. He sucked in his breath and shivered, basking in the cool air before pulling his abandoned shirt over his head and collecting the naked timber. A frosty night was settling in again and he didn’t want the boards exposed to the elements.

He gave a lingering glance at the dying sun disappearing behind the trees, twinkling as branches swayed against their sisters.

But that wasn’t all.

Something else was casting shadows in the forest, a moving silhouette that didn’t belong. Harry squinted, the waning light speckling through the fluttering leaves stinging his straining eyes.

Retreating inside the cabin, Harry gingerly propped the timber against his fireside with his good arm before sprinting upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. Skidding to the floor, he pulled his rifle from under the bed. When he got back into the yard the light had dimmed to a low glimmer. Harry brought his rifle up and aimed his sights on the treeline, ignoring the tightness in his left arm and shoulder, heartbeat drumming in his temples.

All was quiet and still.

Then it wasn’t.

A man emerged from a tight crop of trees and bushes, tripping over the log pile and stumbling gracelessly to the muddy ground at Harry’s feet. Startled, Harry quickly recovered, gritting his teeth to steady his weak arm, his rifle trained on the man’s downturned head. The man moaned and choked, picking himself up out of the mud, brushing himself down unsuccessfully, ignorant of Harry and his loaded rifle.

Harry cleared his throat. The man’s head snapped up. Feral eyes glared at the barrel, then Harry. Harry’s breath caught. Dying evening light reflected in the eerily familiar cobalt blue of the man’s eyes.

Louis.

The stranger blinked, his lips curling into a poised smile. The illusion broke and Harry glared down at him.

“Tell me, my good man, is that your house?”

He was well-spoken, if a little effete, with a slight lilt disguising an accent. His hair, soaked from sweat and plastered to his scalp, grew past his shoulders, the color of dull gold. His wan complexion did nothing to hide the beauty of his high cheekbones and full, pale lips.

Harry grunted, remembering himself. “What business is it of yours?”

The stranger offered an uneven smile, flashing dimples in his cheeks. “Forgive me. Allow me to introduce myself—”

“I don’t need your name, or any other. What is your business here?”

“I…I am merely seeking shelter, just for tonight. My carriage wheel buckled and the horses ran free of it, leaving me stranded on the road.”

“The village is eleven miles south. Follow the river until you reach Paix.”

The stranger gave a humorless chuckle, his smile collapsing under Harry’s unwavering grimace. “It is close to nightfall. I don’t wish to impose, but I’m rather desperate.”

Everything about this man screamed suspicious. His clothes, though finely made, were well-worn and covered in forest debris. Mud plastered his knees and palms. Bruising blossomed under a  bleeding cut on his prominent cheekbone.

Harry continued to eye him. He didn’t want trouble. Yet here it was, scared and attractive and watching Harry with those painfully stunning eyes. But there was more. The way he held himself stiffly, drawing sharp breaths though he tried to hide it. He was in pain.

Harry set his jaw. He lowered the rifle. “One night.”

The dimples were back, the relieved exhale quickly smothered. “Thank you so much.”

“I want you gone at dawn.”

“Dawn?”

“Problem?”

“No, no, dawn it is.” He gestured to the house a little insistently. “Shall we?”

Already calculating over a dozen reasons not to let this man inside his home, Harry shouldered his rifle and led the way.

“Well, this is certainly…rustic,” the stranger said once inside.

“You’re free to try your luck in the forest.”

He said under his breath, “I think I already am.” He turned back to Harry, catching his scowl. “It’s wonderful. Thank you, mister…” He offered his hand. It was trembling. “Surely we can be civil?” he said when Harry continued to stare in silence.

“No ‘mister’. I’m Harry.”

“Harry, it’s a genuine pleasure.” He gripped Harry’s right hand. His shaking subsided a little. His palms were surprisingly rough where Harry had expected soft.

“I’m Kit.”

“Kit.”

“Just Kit, like you’re just Harry.”

Nodding, Harry released his hand.

“Don’t suppose there is any food going spare?”

“Not spare, but we can share what there is.”

“Wonderful.”

Harry set about lighting a fire and swung the remains of yesterday’s stew over the flames, the blackened pot squeaking loudly with age.

Stepping out of the cold and into the brewing heat inside the small room had brought a blush to Kit’s ashen cheeks. His hands trembled at his sides. “May I?” He gestured to a chair by the fire.

Harry eyed his mud-sodden clothes. “We should get you out of your wet things.”

“No.” Harry flinched at Kit’s vehemence. “They’ll be fine. The fire will dry them soon enough.” He stared into the flames, rubbing his dirtied hands together.

Harry nearly let the subject drop, but couldn’t. “I don’t know what you’re running from, but having you die from cold in my home will bring more trouble than I need. Also, I don’t want muck all over my furniture.”

Kit arched his brow then glanced guiltily at the wet trail he had brought in behind him. “Of course, I apologize.”

“I’ll get you a blanket and something for you to wear.”

“You…you’re very kind.”

Did Kit think him so uncivilized? Harry supposed he couldn’t blame Kit after having a rifle shoved in his face. He didn’t know what Kit had suffered. He didn’t want to know. It wasn’t his business.

With shaking fingers, Kit gingerly plucked open the buttons of his sodden coat, fine beneath the brown sludge and forest debris. He turned to Harry. Harry blinked away, heat rising under his skin.

“Would you mind giving a chap some privacy?”

Harry scowled. “Excuse me, your lordship, would you like me to wait outside?”

“No. Sorry. I just—”

Harry shook his head. “I’ll go get that blanket.” Begrudgingly, he left the warmth and the stranger and trotted upstairs. He tore the one decent blanket from his bed, unwilling, ridiculous as it was, to show the gentleman his moth-eaten linen stash. His clothes would be too big on Kit’s lithe form, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, especially beggars who arrived with nothing but the clothes on their back and suspicion circling them like flies around shit.

Harry shook his head. He’d been on his own too long to easily allow a strange gentleman into his house, into his haven.

A stranger he had left alone while his back was turned.

Swearing, he made his way quietly back downstairs, as though to catch the man in some criminal act.

Instead he caught sight of pale, naked flesh. Harry stopped in his tracks, half hidden by the stair bannister. Blood bloomed under his skin and his breath caught. It was alien for something so rare and beautiful to grace these humble, shabby walls. Kit’s fair skin was marked with numerous scars consistent with sword wounds, silvery lines atop a white canvas, some thicker than others. His chest and stomach were tightly muscled, his hips tapered, swaying a little as he moved out of his trousers and bent to drape them in front of the fire. His legs were sprinkled with a light covering of hair, matching the drying locks curling into loose golden ringlets around his face.

Wetting his lips, Harry knew he should look away. Kit wanted privacy. But he couldn’t bring himself to blink and risk missing a second of it. Kit’s naked ass was nothing short of glorious, small and pert, muscles clenching as he shivered, gooseflesh erupting all over. Old, long-buried sensations stirred, aching inside him. Harry imagined the pebbled texture under his fingers, his tongue, bathing it with warmth until it smoothed. His lame hand clenched at his side.

Kit gingerly lifted his shirt, hissing as he peeled the fabric from his side, and Harry’s unwelcome arousal withered.

Tight scar tissue stretched the skin on Kit’s side just above his hipbone, a white brand in the shape of a ‘W’. Witch. An equally cruel brand, fresh and raw, outlined with inflamed flesh beside the healed scar, branded him with a distorted ‘T’ for tethered, a binding brand cutting off his connection to magic.

Fuck.

Kit pulled the tatty knitted throw off the chair and wrapped it tight around his body. It was too small, full of holes and dropped stitches, but it covered the brands. He clutched it to his body, rubbing his hands up and down his bare legs, wincing with every movement.

Harry breathed out a deep sigh then cleared his throat. Kit whipped around before offering a small, grateful smile. He stared in surprise when instead of offering the blanket Harry draped it around his shoulders, hoping to catch a glimpse of the wounds. Their eyes met. Heat flared and traveled from Harry’s face to his chest.

Don’t get involved.

He shuffled around Kit to the now boiling stew, dropping the bundle of clothes in front of the fire to warm them through. He took it off the fire and moved to a safe distance, searching through the only cupboard not holding books or tools and digging out his two least-chipped bowls. He chastised himself, but couldn’t stop the urge to show this man he wasn’t an unsophisticated lout. He ladled them each a hearty bowlful.

Kit muttered his thanks and hugged the bowl close before abandoning his careful manners and clamping his mouth on the lip of the bowl, gulping it down in great guttural swallows. The stew overflowed and trickled down his chin. He paused for breath only to lick the bowl clean and wipe his mouth, sucking broth from his fingers.

His eyes flicked to Harry’s wide-eyed disbelief, his face growing red. “Forgive my enthusiasm. I have not eaten in days.”

Harry had guessed as much. His cooking wasn’t the worst, but it never warranted such gusto.

“More?” Harry offered.

“Thank you.” This time Kit sipped slowly, giving a satisfying smile, dimples back in place.

They sat in silence as they ate. Kit broke it first. “I am terribly sorry to put you through this trouble.”

Harry grunted. “As long as it’s the only trouble you bring me.”

Kit smiled weakly and lost eye contact, suddenly interested in his bowl. “I’ll do my best on that score.”

Harry finished his food, ruminating, fighting the urge to ask more. Bored curiosity, he told himself. He didn’t need another man’s problems. But his mind once more wandered back to the brands on Kit’s skin, worrying about the fresh wound. He opened his mouth then quickly shut it.

Kit finished his bowl and a third before finally lounging back in his seat, sighing contently. “That was wonderful. Thank you.” His smile was tired, his eyes blinking slowly.

“There’s a bed upstairs.”

Kit tensed. Feral eyes glinted in the firelight.

“I’ll stay down here,” Harry clarified calmly, as though he hadn’t noticed Kit’s discomfort.

Kit attempted a smile, but it looked uncomfortable on his ashen face. “That’s not necessary. You don’t need to give up your bed for me.”

Harry gestured to his rifle. “I’ll keep watch tonight.”

Kit opened his mouth to argue, but Harry was not stupid and offered a skeptical brow. Someone was after this man and Harry would not be caught unawares. Kit nodded. “Thank you,” he said again, his voice small. He blinked tiredly.

Harry offered Kit the clothes as he stood. Kit took them with a tight smile.

Well, better make myself comfortable, Harry thought as he watched the strange man disappear up the creaking stairs in a wobbly daze. Hooking his good arm through the back of his chair, he maneuvered it to the window. He pulled the other chair over to rest his feet on. Not the comfiest bed in the world, but he’d endured worse. He sat and watched the dark treeline, wondering what the hell he was doing allowing this man into his home.

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About the Author

Born and bred in the Midlands, Lucien spends most of his time inside his small bedroom/library/office reading and writing gay fiction, sacrificing his wardrobe space for his bookcases. Stumbling upon Yaoi in his teens, Lucien’s passion for gay romance/erotica began, starting his once small, now consuming book collection. Not too long after, he started writing his own fiction and never looked back, even writing a lesbian themed short story in his GSCE English exam. While a fan of most subgenres, he enjoys writing historical, fantasy and BDSM stories.

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