Release Blitz + Giveaway: Our Shellfish Desires (Sucker For Love Mystery #6) by K.L. Hiers


 

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Sucker For Love Mystery #6: Our Shellfish Desires

Author: K.L. Hiers

Publisher: Dreamspinner Press

Cover Artist: Tiferet Design

Release Date: July 19, 2022

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Tropes: MMM, First Time, First Time Threeway, First Time Throuple, Grumpy One Loves the Sunshine Ones

Themes: Learning to trust, Healing from trauma, Overcoming addiction 

Heat Rating: 5 flames     

Length: 65 000 words    

It is a standalone story, BUT the author would highly recommend reading the rest of the series.

The book does not end on a cliffhanger.

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Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK 

You don’t need a body to have a heart.

Blurb 

People talk about the marriage of true minds, but Alexander doesn’t think this is what they meant.

After a cruel experiment binds him to the soul of Rota, an old god, Alexander has one mission: find Rota’s body. Having a godly boyfriend is great, but it would be better to have one that he could actually touch. Unfortunately, even Alexander’s ability to command Rota’s divine power hasn’t helped.

A rare book of poetry may finally provide the answer. The expertise they need translating it brings them to Oleander Logue, a young man with plenty of problems that seem at odds with his cheerful nature. Ollie is happy to help, but he’s in trouble with a gangster who demands that Alexander and Rota solve a series of murders first.

Desperate, Alexander and Rota accept the case… but it’s not that simple. The gangster’s threats to Ollie’s safety disturb them both, but is that because they’re both growing more attracted to Ollie… or because he’s a potential host for Rota? If they can’t solve these murders, they may never find out.

Excerpt 

“Thank you!” Ollie gushed. “That was so cool! You totally just kicked Nathaniel’s ass!”

Alexander swallowed a squeak and forgot how to work all of his muscles. Ollie was so warm, and he smelled like alcohol, cigarettes, and patchouli oil with a hint of vanilla.

“Seriously, that was amazing!” Ollie turned Alexander so he could beam down at him, still hugging him close. “I mean, okay, it’s kinda your fault he got in here, but thank you.” He smiled wider. “Whoa. Your eyeballs are turning all pink.”

Alexander was torn between pushing Ollie away and melting into his arms. The simple affection was making his knees weak, having for so long only experienced physical touch that was designed to hurt. His brain refused to cooperate, and all he could do was stutter, “Y-yeah, they do that.”

Who was that man, Ollie? Rota asked.

Alexander slipped away from Ollie, mourning the loss of contact the second he did. He scrambled to get another cigarette. “Yeah, and what was he? I’ve never seen magic like that before.”

“His name is Nathaniel Ware.” Ollie fidgeted and dipped back into the kitchen, still talking. “He is so not fuckin’ human. He’s, like, a troll dude with tusks and a long tail.”

An Absola? Rota sounded intrigued. Here on Aeon?

The gods had created many monstrous creatures before mortals, including a troll-like race of beings called the Absola. They, along with the other so-called everlasting people, were said to have gone with the gods into the dreaming, and neither Alexander nor Rota had heard of any living in this world for thousands of years.

“Yeah, but not, like, all the way?” Ollie mused. “He’s like a diet Absola.”

“But the Absola don’t control time or space,” Alexander pointed out. “The Faedra do.”

“Whatever! Look, he’s a freaky monster guy, and he works for Sullivan Stoker. Do you know who that is?”

“No.” Alexander grabbed the book to put back in his pocket and followed Ollie. Unsurprisingly, the kitchen was as much of a disaster as the rest of the apartment.

Ollie was pouring red wine into two glasses as he explained, “He’s a crime boss. Like, this big drug lord. And okay, so I may have had a tiny drug problem before. When I first got the eyeballs of Yeris, I had trouble dealing with it.” He thrust a glass at Alexander.

“No thanks.”

Ollie poured it into his glass and sipped off the excess. “I made okay money translating, but it wasn’t enough to keep up with my habit, so I started taking product on credit. Like, so much. And I kinda owe him a lot of money, and he’s very unhappy with me. I’ve been trying to make payments, and he’s been chill ’cause my uncle is a cop, but—”

“He’s tired of waiting and he’s sending goons after you?” Alexander finished.

“Yeah. Damn. You should be a detective.”

“How about this?” Alexander crossed his arms. “I’ll keep the criminal scum from hounding you in exchange for you translating the book?”

“I, I guess that could work.” Ollie frowned. “Will you…. Will you stay here? I need some time to figure out how to deal with Stoker, and, and I’ll find a way to make the translating work, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll put new wards up, and if anyone is stupid enough to come back, I’ll—”

“Where are you gonna sleep?”

“What?”

Ollie scratched his head. “My bed is kinda small, but I guess we could share—”

“Your couch is fine.” Alexander blushed miserably. He could not handle the mere thought of being anywhere near a bed with Ollie right now. He had to be going insane. That’s all it was. “Once it’s cleaned up, of course.”

You should take better care of your home, Ollie. It’s quite a mess.

“I know.” Ollie sighed. “It’s so damn bad. I just never have the energy, and I’ve been really depressed. Like, forever depressed. I died a little, my ex is getting married… it’s been a whole thing.”

Alexander had the inexplicable desire to reach out for Ollie. It was obvious he was upset, and Alexander wanted to feel his arms around him again. He stayed where he was, taking a step back for good measure, as if the distance would quell the urge.

So, you’re single?

“Rota!” Alexander barked, angrily chanting inside his head, Shut up, shut up, shut up!

“Yeah. Duh.” Ollie snorted and slurped more of his wine. He swayed and leaned against the counter, eyeing where Rota was hovering behind Alexander. He grinned. “Okay, wait. Are you hitting on me?”

I believe we are, yes. We’re not very good at it, but we’re making an effort.

“No, we’re not!” Alexander gritted his teeth. “Hey! You look good and drunk. Book. Now.”

Say please.

“Please,” Alexander hissed.

“Okay, okay, sure thing.” Ollie was still grinning. “You know, if you were hitting on me, I would have to tell you—”

A portal opened up and a hand slid through, snatching Ollie so fast that he dropped his wine. The glass hit the ground, shattering as the portal closed.

Just like that, Ollie was gone.

About the Author 

K.L. “Kat” Hiers is an embalmer, restorative artist, and queer writer. Licensed in both funeral directing and funeral service, they worked in the death industry for nearly a decade. Their first love was always telling stories, and they have been writing for over twenty years, penning their very first book at just eight years old. Publishers generally do not accept manuscripts in Hello Kitty notebooks, however, but they never gave up.

Following the success of their first novel, Cold Hard Cash, they now enjoy writing professionally, focusing on spinning tales of sultry passion, exotic worlds, and emotional journeys. They love attending horror movie conventions and indulging in cosplay of their favorite characters. They live in Zebulon, NC, with their husband and their children, some of whom have paws and a few that only pretend to because they think it’s cute.

Author Links

Blog/Website  |   Facebook  |  Instagram  

Twitter  |  Newsletter Sign-up  |  Patreon 

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Release Blitz + Giveaway: Much Ado About Lady MacBeth by Rebecca Cohen

 



Cover Design: Garrett Leigh - Black Jazz Design

Jacob Milner might have the face of an angel and the legs of a sinner, but his poisonous tongue would taint even the prettiest visage.

A Shakespearean era enemies to lovers MM Romance

David Bell has risen from the London slums to be one of the up-and-coming stars of the King’s Men, the company of players at the Globe theatre. On the cusp of being too old for female roles, he yearns to play one more part before he leaves the skirts behind: Lady Macbeth. But he is not alone in that desire, and his nemesis, Jacob Milner, a soft-bellied popinjay who has never known day’s work in his life, is also vying for the part. 

Sparks have flown between them before, but the fiery barbs and risqué name calling are hiding a different passion. But even if they do manage to put their animosity behind them, Jacob has another problem, his father is trying to marry him off to the daughter of Baron Runcorn.

REBECCA COHEN spends her days dreaming of a living in a Tudor manor house, or a Georgian mansion. Alas, the closest she comes to this is through her characters in her historical romance novels. She also dreams of intergalactic adventures and fantasy realms, but because she’s not yet got her space or dimensional travel plans finalised, she lives happily in leafy Hertfordshire, England, with her husband and young son. She can often be found with a pen in one hand and sloe gin with lemon tonic in the other.

With contemporaries, historicals, sci fi and fantasy in her back catalogue, there should be something for every taste in Rebecca's work.



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


 

Title: Origami War

Author: Toni J. Spencer

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 07/19/2022

Heat Level: 1 - No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 65900

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

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Description

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

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

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

Excerpt

Origami War
Toni J. Spencer © 2022
All Rights Reserved

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” said the shadow.

Penny jumped. Fear engaged.

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

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

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

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

“So, what’s with the brick?”

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

“Can I have it?”

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

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

There was that smile again.

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

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

Penny raised an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That sounds a bit dramatic.”

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

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

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

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

“Penny like the coin?” said Quinn.

“Sure. I guess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

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

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

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

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Release Blitz + Giveaway: Cock and Bull by Megan Slayer


 

Title: Cock & Bull

Author: Megan Slayer

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: July 16, 2022

Heat Level: 5 - Erotica

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 16 pages

Genre: Erotica, Gay, BDSM, Kindle Unlimited, Multiple Partners

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Synopsis

Warning: This is a Razor's Edge Monster Erotica Story. Expect limited plot and character development, and lots of paranormal heat. If you're looking for a lengthy plot driven erotic romance, this is not it!

After two years as an exotic male dancer-slash-fetish entertainer, Flynn’s ready for his last night at the Randy Stallion Men’s Club to be over, but someone’s got a special surprise in store for him. More than one someone.

Can Flynn handle the heat, or will it burn him alive? Anything is possible in the club.

Excerpt

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Megan Slayer

"You've got a customer."

Flynn stopped short, bumping into another dancer. "Customer?" He shifted his hips. The plug in his ass moved as well and rubbed against his prostate. Fuck. Wearing the damned toy all day just about killed him, but he'd do whatever the Master wanted.

Avery fisted his hands on his svelte hips. He cocked his head and set his jaw. "It's Saturday night, Bull Durham. Really. Don't tell me that toy up your ass made you forget, or are you thinking about what's gonna happen later on tonight?"

"I didn't think you could see it." Flynn's cheeks burned. He'd worn a G-string to disguise the toy lodged in his butt.

"It's hard not to see that huge red stone shining in your ass. Deryck's a lucky man. And yes, I check out your ass. It's a nice ass to look at. Sue me."

Gritting his teeth, Flynn pushed past Avery and marched to the hallway lined with private rooms. Yes, Avery was his friend and knew a lot about him, but double fuck. He'd rather be at home with Deryck than at the club. And anyway, what kind of stage name was Bull Durham? It was a movie, not a name for a stripper at a fetish club. Served him right for wearing the damn baseball cap when he applied for the job of exotic male dancer-slash-fetish entertainer. And what did he have to show for his exotic job? Some days, it felt like nothing at all.

The money was usually worth it, but not today. Deryck had said he had a surprise. Said Flynn needed to wear the plug all day. And who was Flynn to back down from one of Deryck's commands?

Flynn shivered. Deryck was the love of his life. As soon as he could quit the Randy Stallion Men's Club, Flynn would be outta there.

"Flynn?" Avery stopped beside him and waved his hand in front of Flynn's face. "You in there?"

Flynn nodded. He should've asked which room he needed to go to, but for the past two years he'd worked at the Stallion, he'd only ever used the last playroom -- Room 6 -- and only with select clients who didn't want something extra. Flynn growled. Since he'd hooked up with Deryck, he didn't play the field. He wasn't in the mood to dance for some drunk or a gaggle of women wanting to grope him. He wanted a particular set of hands on his body, ones with the power to bring him to his knees and make him come harder than ever before.

But Deryck was at home, probably up to his eyeballs in legal documents. The man worked way too hard for his money. One day they'd have a house, and Flynn would be home to do all the domestic things he loved while Deryck practiced law. Flynn shivered and bit back a groan.

Just thinking of Deryck in his tailored suit made Flynn rock-hard.

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Meet the Author

Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and white hot themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been nominated at the LRC for Best Author, Best Contemporary, Best Ménage, Best BDSM and Best Anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on various e-tailer sites.

When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library.

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Review: Pack of Lies (Monster Hunt#1) by Charlie Adhara

Werewolf meets human. Werewolf snubs human. Werewolf loves human?

Julien Doran arrived in sleepy Maudit Falls, North Carolina, with a heart full of hurt and a head full of questions. The key to his brother's mysterious last days might be found in this tiny town, and now Julien's amateur investigation is starting to unearth things the locals would rather keep buried.

Perhaps most especially the strange, magnetic manager of a deserted retreat that's nearly as odd as its staff.

Eli Smith is a lot of things: thief, werewolf, glamour-puss, liar. And now the manager of a haven for rebel pack runaways. He’s spent years cultivating a persona to disguise his origins, but for the first time ever he’s been entrusted with a real responsibility—and he plans to take that seriously.

Even if the handsome tourist who claims to be in town for some R & R is clearly on a hunt for all things paranormal. And hasn't taken his brooding gaze off Eli since he's arrived.

When an old skeleton and a fresh corpse turn a grief errand into a murder investigation, the unlikely Eli is the only person Julien can turn to. Trust is hard to come by in a town known for its monsters, but so is time…



A satisfying spinoff to the Big Bad Wolf series, but by no means is this recommended to read as a standalone only because one would be missing out on a rich paranormal romantic suspense with a top notch couple who set the stage for this new saga.

Here, Eli, a werewolf with secret shifting abilities even among his own kind, has been granted a huge responsibility by Cooper and Oliver from the aforementioned series. He’s been made manager of a mountainous resort designated as a safe place for rebel wolves who are trying to make a new start. Eli personally has a lot to prove, and it seems that many different parties do not want him to succeed.

Then there’s Julian. His dead brother left him a cryptic message leading him to the very area where Eli resides. Julian simply wants to soothe his guilt and find some answers, but strange things are afoot and he discovers that he has no choice but to ally himself with the charmingly enigmatic and alluring Eli. Make no bones about it, Eli is a self proclaimed island, and though he finds Julian intriguing, he deflects like nobody’s business, but that’s because of reasons. So many reasons.

Be reassured that Adhara doesn’t shy away from what drives these two men - the traumas of their pasts (especially) Eli), their hesitance to trust and/or believe that they actually matter, and the drive for validation. The author also always succeeds at delivering a complex mystery with plenty of suspects, compelling characterizations and motivations, and a slow burn that shows off impeccable signature wit and banter.

Action, suspense, and emotional vulnerability run rampant, and thus, this was a definitive win. Adhara has quickly made herself a top favorite author of mine, and though Eli and Julian are no Cooper and Oliver, reassuringly they don’t fall very far from the mark. Thankfully, the conclusion sets up a new mystery that hints at being long in the running, and I’ll be sure to return to find more answers and to see this new duo get their happy ending with each other as well!



Release Blitz + Giveaway: Double Exposure (Pōneke Shadows #1) by Anne Barwell


 

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title:  Double Exposure

Author: Anne Barwell

Publisher:  LaceDragon Publishing 

Cover Artist: T.L. Bland

Release Date: July 11, 2022

Genre: Paranormal, Mystery, Detective, MM Romance

Tropes: Found family, fated mates, romantic suspense

Themes: Family, acceptance

Heat Rating:  4 flames 

Length: 73 000 words/179 pages

Although it’s part of a shared world, it can be read and enjoyed alone. 

It’s the first in a spin-off series of The Sleepless City and does not end on a cliffhanger.

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Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited

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Blurb

Pōneke Shadows Book 1

Vampires and werewolves live long lives. The Sleepless City saga might have ended but the story continues…

Someone is hunting supernaturals. 

Vampire Simon Hawthorne and his human partner Ben Leyton’s plans for a peaceful holiday with family are hijacked by the New Zealand Supernatural Council.  

Tensions are on the rise in Wellington. Supernatural councillors are disappearing. Werewolves are suspicious of anyone human or vampire. If they don’t work together, their enemy has already won. 

And no one with a connection to the supernatural world is safe. 

Excerpt 

Rupert looked mildly affronted. “I am not in hiding. The council were trying to get me involved, and I make a point of not getting mixed up in their politics, whatever the cost, considering that cost is usually too high for anyone but them.”

“You’re hiding from the council?” Ben asked. “I can understand that. They hijacked Simon’s delivery at Auckland airport, then blackmailed him into helping them.”

“If this is supposed to surprise me, you’re a few centuries late with that titbit of information,” Rupert said. “I have yet to meet a council I enjoyed doing business with. Though there was that group of werewolves in rural Japan a couple of hundred years ago that—”

“Why are you here?” Simon cut Rupert off before he could start on one of his stories. Although neither he nor Marion would admit it, they shared a predilection for embellishing stories about their pasts.

Rupert fished a large envelope from his pocket and handed it to Simon. “This is the information I have, but it’s not a lot. They cover their tracks well, apart from that massacre in Brisbane nearly ten years ago. There is someone in Wellington who provides a safe haven to anyone in our community who asks for it. Nothing much happens in the area that Elard doesn’t know about. You should talk to him.”

“You’re not going to help?” Ben asked

“Heavens, no.” Rupert raised an eyebrow. “At least Simon knows better than to ask that.”

“Rupert’s better at staying in the shadows and orchestrating things from afar. If we need help, I’m sure he’ll be there...” Simon glanced at Rupert. “… but only on his own terms. I’d ask him to join our team, but it would be a waste of time.”

“Totally a waste of time.” Rupert grinned and nodded towards both of them in turn. “Now, I must be off. I’ll be in touch. Watch yourselves, gentlemen. I don’t enjoy funerals.” He blurred towards the door. It opened, then closed behind him, and then he was gone.

“He’s kind of how I remember him, but not,” Ben said slowly.

“The not, would be because you didn’t know what he was then. He’s not hiding it now, though he’s never completely upfront about anything.” Simon emptied the envelope, took a pile of neatly typewritten sheets to read, and gave the rest to Ben to look through. “Rupert’s always had his own agenda. It’s how he’s managed to survive so long.”

“Uh-huh.” Ben shook the papers he held. “There’s something loose in here.” A small card fell to the floor. He picked it up and his eyes widened. “It’s a business card, so guessing it’s Elard’s.”

“And?” Simon asked, knowing there must be an ‘and’.

“He’s a Catholic priest.” Ben read the words on the card out loud. “Fr Elard Reith, St Ansgar’s Parish, Newtown. We help those who ask.” He groaned. “Oh great, I was hoping to avoid Uncle Martin while I was here.”

“Uncle Martin?” Simon asked. Ben had mentioned him once or twice, but he’d got the impression Ben’s father’s brother wasn’t that close to the rest of the family.

“Yeah. He lives across the road from St Ansgar’s and always acts like he knows stuff the rest of us don’t.”

“Perhaps he does.” Simon got up to pour some more tea.

“I hope not.” Ben didn’t look happy. “It’s starting to feel like however hard we try to keep my family out of all this, fate is making damn sure they keep barging in.”

About the Author 

Anne Barwell lives in Wellington, New Zealand. She shares her home with a cat with “tortitude” who is convinced that the house is run to suit her; this is an ongoing “discussion,” and to date it appears as though Kaylee may be winning. Anne works in a library, is an avid reader and watcher of a wide range of genres, and is constantly on the look-out for more hours in her day. She likes to write in series and even so called one shots seem to breed more plot bunnies. Her writing is like her reading - across a range of genres, although her favourites are paranormal, fantasy, SF, and historical. Music often plays a part in her stories and/or her characters are musicians.

She also hosts and reviews for other authors, and writes monthly blog posts for Love Bytes.  She is the co-founder of the New Zealand Rainbow Romance writers, and a member of RWNZ.   Her books have received honourable mentions five times, reached the finals four times—one of which was for best gay book—and been a runner up in the Rainbow Awards.  

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Facebook group  | The Sleepless City Website  |  The Sleepless City FB Group 

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Release Blitz + Giveaway: Grayality by Carey PW


 

Grayality by Carey PW

Word Count:  78,383
Book Length:SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 308

Genres:

BISEXUAL
COMEDY AND HUMOUR
CONTEMPORARY
GAY
GLBTQI
ROMANCE
TRANSGENDER

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Book Description

Love knows no gender.

Pate Boone, a twenty-six-year-old transgender man, embarks on a new adventure when his childhood best friend, and yes, ex-lover, Oakley Ogden, convinces him to escape their hometown in hopes for something new.

They land in Cloverleaf, a tiny rural town in Montana, so that Oakley can care for his granny who is battling breast cancer. She pressures the two young men to enroll in a nearby college. Pate immediately becomes enthralled with Maybelle, a young, vivacious freshman to whom he fears revealing his transgender identity. Still, he finds it impossible to resist Maybelle, even after he meets her ex, Bullet, a large, violent man determined to keep Pate away from “his girl.”

But there are others who accept Pate immediately, like Stormy. An outdoorsy, rugged freshman, Stormy warns Pate away from Maybelle and Bullet, but Pate’s too infatuated to heed these warnings.

Oakley tries to support his friend’s new love but finds himself entangled in his own emotional calamity when he unintentionally falls for Jody, a gay and ostentatiously confident drag queen. This new relationship awakens deep internal conflicts in Oakley as he struggles to accept his bisexuality, lashing out at Pate and causing friction between him and Jody.

Oakley must decide if he can overcome his insecurities so he doesn’t lose the love of his life. And Pate must discover if the love between him and Maybelle is strong enough for her to accept him as a transgender man, or if she will break his heart.

Reader advisory: This book contains references to homophobia, transphobia, physical assault and a past suicide attempt. There is use of marijuana and smoking, as well as mentions of gender dysphoria and past sexual assault.

Excerpt

How did I get here?

The question engulfed me as my eyes cringed and my guts tensed up as Oakley and I flew down the highway going seventy-five miles per hour. All I saw were miles of flat earth, lazy summer cows and the occasional rolling hill extending off into some unknown horizon. It looked distant and hopeless.

I was twenty-six years old and going nowhere. The only thing that I’d ever known for certain was that I wanted to be a man. I spent most of my high school days and early twenties working endless shifts at whatever hourly wage job would have me. I also worked small tutoring jobs, helping high school drop-outs study for their GEDs, or helping kids in the neighborhood get through high school trigonometry. Luckily, I got a steady gig as a bartender in East Atlanta that offered full-time benefits and insurance, something I had thought was an elusive dream. It took years of sacrifice and slaving away to scrape together enough funds to pay for my hormones and, eventually, my top surgery. Of course, kids typically stay on their parents’ insurance until their mid-twenties (thanks Obama!), but I was not welcome at home anymore and didn’t want to bug my parents for their insurance card. So I had to do it on my own.

I performed well in high school and later in college, maintaining a four-point-oh average and getting enough scholarships to help me fund my bachelor’s degree in English education. However, when I realized that I was transgender, college just wasn’t a priority anymore. I dropped out after two years to work full-time and earn more money for treatment.

Now, my current transitioning journey had been halted. I’d been taking hormones for more than two years and had top surgery ten months ago. I had no more funds to pursue the full transition, the coveted bottom surgery. I was now more visibly a man, but I was a man with no job, no more money and no support, except for Oakley.

Oakley and I met in the first grade. He was the typical “rebel” southerner who wore death metal shirts and played lead guitar in a death metal band. Oakley was my first everything. First friend, first real boyfriend (good ol’ ninth grade) and first sexual experience.

Oakley had a slow start into adulthood. He came close to marrying a girl he met after high school. Her family owned a dry-cleaning business, and they let Oakley manage one of their stores. A few years later, the girl got pregnant, and it seemed that Oakley’s future was set. For someone so rebellious, here he was getting married, having babies, buying a home and working in the family business. What a sell-out, I thought. A few months before the wedding, the girl told him that she had been seeing the drummer in his metal band and that the baby was the spawn of their passionate, clandestine romance that occurred often in the backseat of his truck while Oakley was tuning his guitar. Oakley never fully recovered.

Here we are, years later, Oakley childless, and me breastless.

A few months ago, Oakley’s grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was having a double mastectomy done in Seattle and would be returning to her ranch in a small town in Eastern Montana. She needed someone to take care of her and provide transportation for medical appointments. She offered Oakley free room and board, homecooked Granny meals and a beautiful, skyscraper-free skyline. Her only caveat was that she wanted Oakley to enroll in the local university and hold a part-time job. Since he had spent his childhood and adolescent years taking many trips to Montana for snowboarding and skiing, Oakley claimed that he was ready for a change and that the South just wasn’t where his soul belonged. Too afraid to embark on this new Pacific Northwest adventure on his own, he talked his grandmother into letting me move with him.

Neither of us grew up in urban, crowded, skyscraper jungles, but we were products of endless major highways with exits every five to ten miles that glowed under golden arches and gas station beams. As Oakley’s 2004 Pontiac Sunfire flew up Highway 2, my eyes frantically searched for lights, gas stations, food and civilization, only to see nothing more than flat earth and cattle ranches every time our car passed over a hill. I think I will need to develop a strong bladder.

“Are you sure that there is a town on this road?” I asked, more to myself than Oakley. “And why the fuck is it so cold? It’s freakin’ July!” I shoved my hands into my armpits in futile hopes of warmth. All my clothes were packed tight into old suitcases and garbage bags in the trunk, and I was sporting a tight-fitting black tank to show off my petite but toned biceps. But when our little Sunfire pulled into the dark, shady gas station along the Montana and North Dakota border, my face was met with a slap of icy cold wind and droplets of rain, sending a piercing shiver up my spine. I checked the weather on my phone. It read forty-five degrees.

“I’ve never actually driven here. We’ve always flown in from Billings in the eight-seater plane. Trust me, it will look better when we reach Cloverleaf,” Oakley calmly assured me.

Rising up from the conservative Southern trenches that had filled my belly with a large, hardened rock, I had learned to keep my mouth shut and my head down. As my eyes scoured the landscape of dilapidated derelict buildings and closed businesses when our car arrived in town, my heart wasn’t optimistic that Cloverleaf was going to be the place for me to thrive. As I looked closely at a man climbing out of his gargantuan four-by-four truck, I could just make out the ruggedness of his dirty hands with bloody cracks, his stiff, muddy boots that were probably black underneath all the dirt, and his deep forehead wrinkles from the hours in the blazing sun and frigid wind. Even if men here accepted me as a man, I didn’t know how I would interact with this form of masculinity. Instead, I gently caressed my soft, delicate, feminine hands.

I wasn’t a man’s man, yet in some ways, I was. I’d always been athletic. I played sports in elementary and middle school before quitting to work during high school. I was never talented, always preferring to support the good players rather than put myself out there, especially with the form-fitting uniforms that showcased my bouncy breasts when I ran. However, sports offered me a good excuse to exercise and stay fit in an attempt to avoid developing female curves.

Even after I started working, I still jogged three miles daily and lifted weights to make everything as lean and tight as possible. It took about a year and a half for the testosterone to thin me out like a man. As I ran my hands along my thigh bones that were hugged by my runner’s muscles, then along my abdomen where I could now feel the subtle crevices that nearly formed a complete six-pack, I finally adored my body. Years of working out and restricting my diet still left a hovering, protruding belly of fat that stuck out, and round hips that insisted on telling the whole world that I was a woman and never allowed me to have the body that my exercise efforts and heart cried out for. I scratched between my legs, waking up from my physical admiration as my genitals reminded me that I was still only half a man.

“You’ll be fine. There’s still a lot of pretty girls around here. And we’ll be hot stuff because we’re new and exotic,” Oakley sang as he rubbed his septum bullring piercing, causing his shirt sleeve to rise, revealing his array of skull tattoos.

Oakley and I were similar guys. We both had small, skinny physiques that prevented us from appearing like tough, dominant masculines, so we chose to paint our bodies with as many skulls, horror tattoos and gag-inducing piercings as possible to prove our masculinity in another kind of “tough” way. After all, I didn’t think that truck-driving ranching man who I saw at the last town was “man enough” to stick a needle in his septum or through his penis, as Oakley bravely did a few weeks ago. Yet, I felt that our masculinity was always dismissed because it didn’t follow stereotypical displays that involved driving trucks, getting dirty or flexing muscles. On the other hand, maybe it was all in my head.

“How do you suggest that I date around here?” I asked, throwing my hand up at the ocean of perpetual brown fields. “It would only take two seconds before everyone here knows I’m a freak.”

“You’re not a freak.”

“Yeah, well, say that to all the other men without vaginas.” I crossed my arms.

“I think there are a lot of women who wouldn’t care. Women are more open with their sexuality,” he argued.

“But then you add the no job, no money, no car—”

“We’ll get jobs,” he interrupted me. “There’s always hourly work around here. That’s easy. You can save up for a car. And we’re going to college, so our financial situation is acceptable.”

“Are you really into the college thing?” I challenged.

“Are you?” Oakley turned his eyes sideways to search for any dishonesty.

I heaved in a gulp of air as I looked away from him and focused my gaze on a worn-down Misfits sticker on his dashboard.

“What?” he urged.

“It’s just a waste of time,” I grumbled.

“You’re a good teacher. You’re going to be a good teacher—”

“No one is going to hire or accept a trans teacher in schools. Even if I get certified and hired, if I am ‘discovered’”—I made quotation marks with my fingers—“it’s over. And even if it’s not, I don’t want to put up the fight, you know?”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not trying to be some transgender freedom fighter.” I sighed. “I just don’t want anyone around here to know about it, okay? Like don’t tell anybody.”

“Granny knows,” he reminded me.

“Besides Granny.”

“Okay.”

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About the Author

Carey PW

Writing has always been my passion, as well as the way that I process my own life experiences. I am an openly transgender (AFAB), panromantic asexual living in rural Montana. There are few LGBTQIA+ resources here, and I always feel there is more room needed for LGBTQIA+ literary works. I have always written fiction as a hobby and earned a B.A. in English Literature and a M.Ed. in English Education from the University of Georgia; however, I ended up earning a Ph.D. in 2013, which moved most of my writing to the academic genre in which I have published several co-authored articles in peer-reviewed academic journals.

After coming out as transgender in 2018 and as asexual in 2020, I decided to refocus my writing on LGBTQIA+ themes in which I write about my own experiences through fictional characters and stories. Writing about my experiences has been extremely therapeutic for me. I am particularly enthralled with the complexities behind LGBTQIA+ identities and highly advocate that sexuality and gender identity exists on a spectrum. This topic is highly personal because my husband married me when I presented as a woman and was adamant that he could not be with a man. He underwent his own process of reevaluating his sexuality and now identifies as bisexual with a preference for women and feminine men. I think he is a wonderful example of the true fluidity behind sexuality.

Likewise, I choose to write about what it means to be LGBTQIA+ in a rural community like my current residence in Montana. Rural communities offer their own unique challenges due to little to no existing resources in some areas and a true feeling of isolation and invisibility. I want to share my experience coming out in a rural community and choosing to live openly as a transgender person and openly in a same-sex marriage.

Additionally, I work full-time as a human services instructor and a mental health counselor at a community college. Through this work, I also educate and advocate for the LGBTQIA+ community. My work as an educator and a counselor fuels my desire to use my fiction to increase awareness and acceptance for LGBTQIA+ people. Lastly, I would characterize my writing as person-centered, a term created by Carl Rogers as a counseling therapy and later as a life philosophy. My works center around the beauty and extraordinary complexity in being vulnerably authentic.

Check out Carey's website and Instagram.

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Release Blitz: Force Majeure by Sophia Soames


 

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Force Majeure

Author and Publisher: Sophia Soames

Cover Model: Rourke

Release Date: July 15, 2022

Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance

Trope: Childhood friends to Lovers

Themes: Jealousy, Hurt/Comfort, Set in Berlin

Heat Rating: 4 flames   

Length: 32 000 words

It is a standalone story.

Goodreads 

Buy Links

Universal Link  |  Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

Love is an earthquake that relocates the centre of the universe.

Blurb

Oakley Hoffman is a walking, talking natural disaster. Not only does he seem to be the only functioning adult in his family, but he also stomps around creating irrational earthquakes with every badly thought-out ridiculous move he makes. He barely survived lockdown, and with life returning to something that vaguely resembles normal, Oakley has landed himself an inconvenient infatuation with his former best friend. Well, if he’s totally honest, he’s probably nursed that crush for years. Yet, this time around, infatuation has brought a bad streak of jealousy to boot.

Force Majeure is a 32K novella featuring childhood friends to lovers in adulthood, with explicit content intended for mature readers. No trigger warnings.

Force Majeure refers to a clause that is included in contracts to remove liability for natural and unavoidable catastrophes that interrupt the expected course of events.

Excerpt 

The clinking of the lock to the Demircis’ apartment kicks me out of my daydreams, and my heart jolts as I jump to my feet, almost tripping myself up in an effort to not look like I’m loitering.

“I could hear you a mile off,” Cem says, shuffling out into the hall, shivering despite the duvet draped around his shoulders like a royal cape. “You need to go to work and stop trying to scratch my head through the walls.”

He sits on the step. Too weak to fight the pull of his presence, I plonk down beside him, probably bruising my arse in the process, because I know I’ll get what I’ve been craving. Cem has always needed contact, and here I am, being squashed against the wall as he leans his body against mine and his head falls heavily on my shoulder.

“I’m a dick,” he says, bang on with the self-reflection.

“Yeah,” I want to shout at him, scream in his goddamn face, shake him until he gets his head in gear and sees how he has shattered my world. But I don’t. I can be a calm, reasonable person, and I have far too much self-control to fall apart in front of Cemil Demirci.

“I got carried away at the weekend,” he continues. “There was a party, and then I stayed over with friends, and time just kind of evaporated, you know?” Excuses. Always excuses.

“You have an exam today,” I say. If I sound angry, it’s because I can’t help myself.

“It’s under control.” He sighs deeply and turns his head so his nose is pressed into my shoulder. That’s something else he does to reel me in. Why do I let him so cheaply buy my forgiveness? “I studied all week, so I’m good. It’s all in here.” His hand pokes out of the duvet to point at his head. “I’m not worried about the exams.”

I’m not worried either. Cem is too clever for his own good. He’ll read a book and memorise every line, quoting it back at me in long, rambling sentences I barely understand. Nor have I ever seen him use a calculator. He scribbles down numbers at frightening speed on whatever surface he can find and then does the calculation in his head.

Cem knows stuff. Far too much stuff.

“I miss you,” I whisper without meaning to. Even shielded by all the jealousy and anger I feel, knowing I’m slowly, irrevocably losing him again, it’s the truth. He is the calm to my inner storm, and I will forgive him for anything and everything. And I hate myself for it.

About the Author 

Sophia Soames should be old enough to know better but has barely grown up. She has been known to fangirl over TV shows, has fallen in and out of love with more popstars than she dares to remember, and has a ridiculously high-flying (un-)glamourous real-life job.

Her long-suffering husband just laughs at her antics. Their children are feral. The Au Pair just sighs.

She lives in a creaky old house in rural London, although her heart is still in Scandinavia.

Discovering that the stories in her head make sense when written down has been part of the most hilarious midlife crisis ever, and she hopes it may long continue.

Find me on social media @sophiasoames on all platforms

Christina Stern is a Russian based artist. Quick sketches and portraits drawn in pencil are what she likes to do the most. Her work can be found on @christinastern on Instagram

Aurelia Morris is a cover artist, photographer, Photoshop wiz and eternal fangirl. She works in many mediums under more aliases that she can keep track of.

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