NYT and USA Today Bestselling author Kaylee Ryan brings you a new standalone series surrounding the Nashville Rampage football team. Follow the Play is a single dad, nanny, friends-to-lovers, forced proximity sports romance.
Baker
Being a single dad was never part of the playbook, but one look at my son and everything changed.
Now football and fatherhood are my whole world—a world that gets turned upside down when my nanny quits two weeks before training camp.
Sloane Peterson runs interference by stepping in to help.
She’s sweet, dependable, and the one woman I shouldn’t want. Not when our lives are so entwined.
But every time she smiles at my son—or me—it gets harder to remember that our little arrangement is only temporary.
Sloane
Taking a short-term nanny gig for Nashville Rampage’s most eligible DILF has disaster written all over it.
But when Daddy Sin is in a bind, I do just that. It keeps me from waiting tables, and his son is the cutest little boy on the planet.
Baker Sinclair is famous, has a body like a Greek god, and when he’s in daddy mode… he’s irresistible. He’s also currently my new boss, and completely forbidden.
The longer I’m in his home, the less this feels like a job.
Because between reading bedtime stories and baking cookies, I can’t imagine my life without them… either of them. Too bad love doesn’t follow lesson plans… or playbooks.
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Kaylee Ryan has been crowned the Queen of Swoon by her readers. With nearly fifty romance books under her belt, she’s known for penning happily ever afters with heart. When she’s not writing, you can find her with a book in her hand or hanging out with her family where she resides in her home state of Ohio.
The Skeleton Faerie A.P. Mobley (Children of the Death Gods, #1) Publication date: November 8th 2025 Genres: Adult, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Mythology
Faerie folklore meets a nuclear postapocalypse in this dark mythological fantasy woven with secrets, treachery, and star-crossed love.
Ninety-nine years after the Nuclear War of 1989, twenty-one-year-old Gus Brandon should only be interested in the survival of humanity and the expansion of his compound. But he’s obsessed with legends from the distant past, superstitions of an expired people.
While searching forbidden ruins for the scraps of stories lost to time, he stumbles upon a mysterious young woman covered in scars. Her name is Saoirse, and their meeting sets off a bloody chain of events—one in which Gus discovers that the folklore he loves just might be real, and that it’s tied to mankind in ways he could have never imagined.
Soon the lines between myth and reality blur, as do the lines between realms.
Gus will have to rely on his knowledge—and Saoirse—to survive the horrors awaiting him… in this world and the next.
When Gus and his teammates were a mere mile from the compound, the sun had almost finished setting, and the temperature had dropped significantly. A breeze grazed the back of his bare neck and arms, sending chills through his body. In every direction, all that was visible were trees, the only noises those of his and his companions’ boots and their animals’ hooves crunching against shriveled grass and fallen leaves. Occasionally, crows—some of them genetically altered, their feathers stained a pinkish color—flapped from branch to branch, their harsh caws piercing the quiet.
Maybe it was because of the extensive amount of folklore he’d been reading, but these days, the dark played tricks on Gus’s eyes, making him see monsters when nothing was there.
Nothing could be there, after all, as the stories he so loved weren’t real.
And even if there was a chance that they were real (and he knew there wasn’t), his compound was on the western side of a mountain range called the Black Hills, located within the fallen United States of America—far, far away from the places those magical tales took place.
Yet he still found himself imagining all manner of malevolent faeries prowling the woods at night. He saw them skulking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
In masses of collapsed cottonwoods, he imagined there were redcaps hiding, plotting to slaughter any stray travelers passing by.
In murders of crows, he imagined there were sluagh flying, scouring the forest floor for the next unlucky fellow whose soul they might devour.
In fast-moving streams, he imagined there were kelpies biding their time, anticipating the moment a person came close enough to drown and eat.
Thankfully, the logical side of his brain knew he had nothing to worry about—even as far as nonfictional threats went. The worst anyone on scavenge-duty had encountered in the last year was a couple of mountain lions and some rattlesnakes, and although he and his teammates had never run into anything like that, they knew how to take care of it as easily as the other people of the compound had: with bullets.
No one left the compound without a loaded gun and extra ammo.
Gus and his team were safe.
The sun dipped below the horizon, and if it weren’t for the smog blanketing the sky (a lingering effect of the Nuclear War, which the elders said should clear up any decade now), the moon and stars might have lit up the night. The temperature fell even further, clouds of breath filling the air in front of Gus’s face and fogging up his glasses.
“Guess we should have packed our coats,” Nancy remarked as she walked in front of Gus, guiding her pig along. She began to shiver. “I hate when the weather gets like this. Hot during the day, cold at night.”
Twigs cracked to the left. Hand flying to his holster, Gus looked that way, his goat bleating, Nancy’s pig squealing.
A flash of movement in the trees, there and gone in an instant.
“What the . . . ?” Oliver tossed his bundle of birds over his shoulder and retrieved his flashlight, his teeth chattering. He and Adam stood several feet to Gus’s right. “Did you guys see that?”
Adam drew his handgun. “Probably a mountain lion. We’re almost home, so just keep your eyes peeled and your weapons ready.”
“Maybe speed it up a little too,” Gus added, and he and Nancy pulled out their handguns. The team continued toward the compound.
Not five minutes had passed before more branches snapped behind them. Again, the goat bleated, and the pig squealed.
Everyone swung around, preparing to shoot. Oliver shined his flashlight into the trees.
The glow revealed a creature that made Gus’s skin prickle with goose bumps.
Author Bio:
A. P. Mobley is the Halloween-loving, rock-music-obsessed author of dark fantasy inspired by mythology. She doesn’t only write about her favorite myths, folktales, and fairy tales in books, though; she discusses them on her podcast, Myths (& Folktales & Fairy tales), as well as on her blog and newsletter. She grew up in Wyoming and Nebraska and currently lives in South Dakota, and when she’s not up to her elbows in research for her next project, she can be found consuming dangerous amounts of coffee, reading speculative fiction, or rewatching The Good Place.
Never miss an update from A. P. by signing up for her newsletter. Full list of books and Content Warnings on her website.
Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Christmas Romance
Date Published: December 12, 2025
I’ve played every game there is. But this time, it’s for
keeps.
Heather — Brick promised me a good paying job. I just didn’t know he
was working for a cartel. When their money went missing, I was hunted along
with him, used and finally left with the Hounds of Hell MC in Mercy to answer
for his crimes. If not for Player, I would have wound up dead or worse. He
claimed me as his old lady to keep me from being turned over to the cartel. He
shielded me, fought for me. And somehow, I started to believe I mattered
again. The cartel is still gunning for me, but Player’s not backing
down. He says I’m his, and I want to be. If we can survive this.
Player — I’m called Player for a reason. My life’s been a string
of one-night stands and bad decisions. Until Heather. She’s scared and
in over her head, but there’s something about her I can’t shake.
When Brick left her in Mercy, running from the cartel he stole from, I made a
choice. I don’t care what she’s done or what they think she knows.
Heather is under my protection now. And if anyone wants her, they’ll
have to go through me — and every single brother I’ve got.
Warning: Player contains adult language, explicit sex, violence, threats of
torture, stalking, and references to past emotional abuse. It also features a
dirty-talking alpha biker who will cross every line to protect the woman he
claims as his own.
EXCERPT
Player
The Hounds of Hell clubhouse sat at the far end of Main Street, past the reach
of the twinkling lights and holiday carolers who’d turned Mercy’s
annual tree lighting into a full-blown event last night. Normally, the Hounds
didn’t bother with Christmas decorations because they were too much
trouble, too much cheer. But this year was different.
Deva, Razor’s old lady, made it clear even if the club wasn’t
going to feel like home, the place could at least look the part for the
holidays. No one was going to tell the president’s lady no. So now
mismatched strands of blinking lights clung to the porch like a half-hearted
apology, and the scent of pine fought to cut through layers of leather, smoke,
and liquor. Inside, the mood was anything but festive.
Since Player had lost a bet, one he still claimed was rigged, he’d
earned the honor of decorating the Christmas tree Deva had dropped off at the
clubhouse the night before. The tree was still boxed in Razor’s office,
fake pine branches and all, along with a tub of lights, ornaments, and exactly
one glitter-covered star Snow refused to touch.
Player had his hand on the doorknob, figuring he’d grab the box and let
Razor know he was making good on his punishment. But then he paused, hearing
Razor and Snow talking in low and clipped voices, the kind of conversation you
didn’t interrupt unless invited. Whatever was going down in there, it
wasn’t about garland or tinsel.
He heard the rumble of a bike pulling in out front. Curiosity made him let go
of the doorknob and head for the front of the clubhouse to see who’d
come calling.
The bike now parked out front belonged to Brick, a patch from the Mississippi
chapter in Biloxi. From what he remembered, the guy was all swagger and no
spine. Player didn’t like him, but Brick had never been dumb enough to
test anyone here directly. He’d visited Mercy a couple of times in the
past, but he always had the good sense to fly under the radar.
A second rider dismounted, swinging one long leg over the back of the bike. A
woman. No, not just a woman. A vision.
Her dark jeans clung to her like old sin, her boots dusted with grit from the
road. A leather jack hung too heavy on her slender frame. When she pulled off
the helmet, she shook loose long, glossy dark spirals of hair. She turned her
head enough for Player to catch a flash of wide green eyes and a full mouth. A
woman who looked like that should be all sass and fire, but there was a
wariness about her. Her gaze moved over the front of the clubhouse as though
being there filled her with dread. She expected trouble.
Was she with Brick? How had he gotten a woman who looked that good? Brick
looked like he’d crawled out from under a busted oil pan and
hadn’t changed his shirt since. He had a thick neck, and a gut
stretching the bottom of his cut. He wore his hair slicked back, as if he
thought he still had a full head of it. The man’s nose was twisted from
too many fights he probably hadn’t won, and a mouth that curved like he
was about to lie.
Brick turned and spoke to her. She nodded and followed him. There was a subtle
shift in her posture. Her shoulders were tight. She was bracing for a fight.
Player wasn’t buying those two as a couple. She didn’t belonged on
the back of Brick’s bike or in his bed unless money was involved.
Staying in the shadows near the main entrance, he folded his arms and watched
as Brick swaggered toward the clubhouse.
The main door opened, and Brick walked in with the woman, just in time to see
Razor and Snow walk back to the front of the house.
“Brick,” Razor said, voice flat. “Didn’t expect to see
you.”
Brick gave Razor a lazy grin. “I’m calling in that favor, brother.
Need a place to crash for a while. Lay low.”
Favor, huh? Player stepped toward the front door. Razor didn’t do
favors. Anyone who knew the man knew that. But Player had a pretty good idea
what favor Brick was talking about.
Back when Sadie had first showed up in Mercy, before becoming Axel’s old
lady, they’d found a tracker on her car, put there by the abusive Mafia
boyfriend she’d been running from. To throw him off, Ryder, Axel’s
twin, had driven the vehicle all the way to Mississippi. The Biloxi Hounds had
been the ones to help him make the tracker disappear without a trace.
If that was the “favor” Brick meant, it wasn’t much of one.
Ryder wouldn’t have needed a lot of help to lose the tracker. If Brick
was desperate enough to stretch the truth about something like that, there was
a lot more to why he’d shown up here with a woman on the back of his
bike.
Razor’s stare was ice cold. Apparently their president didn’t like
Brick any more than Player did. Player leaned against the wall, letting his
presence be known. Brick’s gaze moved toward him and back. Player
smiled.
Razor looked Brick over like he was already sorting out the lie.
“Funny,” he said. “I don’t remember owing you
shit.”
Brick tipped his chin up. “You don’t, huh? What about when Ryder
came down to Mississippi with that tracker you needed gone? Who do you think
helped him ditch it in the bayou, so no one found it?”
Razor’s gaze didn’t so much as flicker. “I remember Biloxi
helping him out. Didn’t know that meant you specifically.”
Brick gave a shrug meant to look casual. “I was there. Helped ditch the
thing myself. Figured that kind of help might buy me a place to breathe for a
few days.”
“You think you’re in the right place for that?”
Razor’s voice was low, dangerous.
Snow shifted beside him, arms crossed. Player watched the way Brick’s
gaze bounced between them, like he couldn’t decide who’d swing
first.
“You want a roof? I want answers,” Razor went on. “Why
you’re here. What kind of heat’s chasing you.” Razor’s
hazel-eyed gaze shifted to the woman standing behind him. “And her? She
yours?”
Brick gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Yeah. She rides with me.”
“Didn’t ask if she rode in with you. I asked if she’s yours.”
“Heather’s with me,” Brick said, a little more force in his
voice now. “You don’t need to worry about her.”
“If she’s under this roof, she’s my business,” Razor
told him. “You want her here, then I need to know she’s not a
problem.”
Brick chuckled without humor. “She won’t be. She knows how to stay
quiet.”
Snow’s jaw muscle moved. Their VP didn’t like men who talked about
women as if they were property. Not in his clubhouse. Not since he met his
little blonde baker, Emily.
Snow remained silent, his gaze locked on Brick like he was already considering
the consequences of dragging the fucker out by his dirty collar. Player felt
the same way, and not only because Brick was an asshole. They’d all seen
worse. What bothered him was the way the young woman with him stood behind
him. She was keeping quiet, and she didn’t look down or even move.
Seemed like she didn’t want to draw attention. Was she afraid of
something? The only thing he knew for sure about her was she didn’t
belong with a man like Brick. Player couldn’t decide if that made her
more interesting or more dangerous.
About the Author
Jamie Targaet is the author of the Hounds of Hell MC. She’s anxious to
introduce you to this club of gorgeous, dominant men and the lucky women who
surrender to them. The ride is going to get wild at times, not going to lie.
But there’s thrilling action, scorching hot sex scenes, and all the feels.
Jamie writes erotic romance for Changeling Press, a little fanfiction on the
side, and she’s an aspiring horror writer in another life. She enjoys time
with her family (including the fur babies). She likes good horror movies and
shows, emo metal and classic rock, and time spent in other worlds writing and
reading. She loves hearing from readers and is looking forward to hearing from
you.
Reclamation Kristen Zimmer (Dark Horse Series, #1) Publication date: December 9th 2025 Genres: Adult, Dystopian, New Adult, Science Fiction
Kristen Zimmer, author of The Gravity Between Us, When Sparks Fly, and Forbidden Girl takes readers on an adrenaline-fueled dystopian journey into the future where a scrappy band of rebels rise up to bring down an unequal and unrelenting government.
This is your future.
The United States of America has been gone for over a century.
In its place, The Unified American Territories—a nation divided, the impoverished and the wealthy are separated by a looming steel wall. In the Northern Territories—The Vault, as it is known by its inhabitants—the government rules with an iron fist: All citizens are tested for intelligence and aptitude, thrust into compulsory higher education and saddled with insurmountable debt. All student loans are granted and controlled by a branch of the regime called The Federal Bureau of Education. Failure to repay their debt consigns borrowers to the Knowledge Reclamation Process, a mysterious government-sanctioned brainwashing program that strips them of their education with dire mental and physical side effects.
Fletcher Daniels is a recent college graduate struggling to stay ahead of her arrears. After a visit from Reclamation Agents, she knows her life is about to change for the worse. Enter Youth Opposed to Reclamation, a scrappy band of rebels who try in their own small way to bring some relief to the people of The Vault by smuggling as many potential Reclaimees to safety as possible. When Fletcher meets and falls for fellow female YOR member, Sparrow, her world is twisted away from the one she once knew even more radically. The group offers Fletcher a chance to escape her fate, but through them, she sees the promise of bringing real change to The Vault. History has taught her that even the smallest rebellions can trigger revolutions. It’s time for history to repeat itself.
FLETCHER HAD BEEN ENJOYING the luxury of her sole day off work, reading The Scarlet Letter. Happily. Quietly. Until some unknowable thing, a strange tug in her chest, made her look up. She shut down her antiquated digireader with a tap of the cracked screen and watched from her bedroom window as a sleek, silver sedan pulled to a stop at the curb outside of her dilapidated row house. Agents.
She couldn’t see them through the car’s blacked-out windows, but it was obvious. The simple fact that the vehicle had the shine of something new was enough to give the Agents away. Being from The Vault, or The Northern Territories, as Fletcher’s part of the country was known officially, she rarely saw any cars on the road at all; cars in such impeccable condition were all but complete anomalies. Why do they even bother plastering the Department of Reclamation’s seal on the doors? She wondered.
That hideous seal. Words failed to capture how much Fletcher both loathed and feared it. The great red and black per bend crest, showcasing a scroll of parchment in one half and a tasseled mortarboard in the other, had always been reviled by citizens of The Vault. It meant that someone hadn’t paid their dues, and The Department of Reclamation had come to collect.
The Department of Reclamation employed the Agents who did the strong-arming for The Federal Bureau of Education. While the BOE housed the bookkeepers, The Department of Reclamation’s Agents handled the unseemlier work… and their work was generally quite unseemly. The Governing Council of The Unified American Territories had long ago authorized Reclamation Agents to use brute force “in the event of necessity.” More often than not, visits from Agents did end in violence—if not on their first visit, when a potential Reclaimee received their Notification of Violation, then most definitely on their second visit, when the Agents returned to take the Reclaimee into custody. Reclaimees seldom initiated said violence, of course; Fletcher had heard that most cried or begged for just a few more moments with their loved ones. They would be flogged once or twice and give up or otherwise be knocked out with narcotics. Occasionally, a Reclaimee would try to escape. Those individuals had it much worse. Fletcher closed her eyes and, although it pained her to do it, allowed herself to envision the brutality Agents inflicted upon braver people: Arms twisted so violently that shoulders snapped out their sockets, fingers bent backward with such force that the metacarpals fractured, skulls cracked against living room floors. She shuddered as if her skin had been kissed by an icy wind.
Reclamation Agents were no strangers to The Vault, considering it was the part of the country reserved for the impoverished, the destitute and the disillusioned—those who needed “excessive assistance” from the Government. Those like Fletcher. She would need at least ten more fingers to be able to count the number of times she had seen Agents in her neighborhood in the last week alone. Watching these two men march toward her home, she couldn’t help but wonder if they had come for her this time.
“Fletcher,” her father’s voice boomed through the dimness of her room. “Can you come out here, please?”
“I’ll be right there.”
She peered into the tarnished mirror atop her bedside table. Using the remnants of daylight to aid her vision, she pulled her long blonde hair up into a ponytail. “Alright,” she sighed to herself, her sharp jawline clenching and her hazel eyes burning with angst. “If they are here for you, you’ll find out soon enough.”
Author Bio:
Kristen Zimmer is the author of The Gravity Between Us, which spent 12 weeks as the number one best-seller in both the Lesbian Fiction and Lesbian Romance genres on Amazon. It was listed as one of USA Today’s “10 Best books to read for Pride 2018” and in December 2021 was named one of Reader’s Digest ’50 Best Romance Novels of All Time’
That same year, her follow-up novel, When Sparks Fly, debuted as the best-seller in Lesbian Fiction and Lesbian romance, and clung to the spot for four weeks.
Her latest novel, Forbidden Girl, a dark mafia sapphic romance, is available now.
Kristen lives in Salem, Massachusetts— yes, where the witches were.
Cupid trades arrows for scones in a magical screwball comedy
Romantic Comedy, Humor Novel, Light Fantasy
Tropes: Valentine’s Day romance, Small Town Romance Slow Burn Romance,
Found Family, Forbidden Romance, Meddling Family
Publisher: Making Hay Press
Date Published: 12-09-2025
“The Valentine Lines” reimagines Cupid—aka Bart
McGee—as an underdog ditching the corporate grind of Mt. Olympus, Inc.,
for small-town life in quaint Mineral Point, Wisconsin. When Bart launches a
matchmaking business and falls in love with a local baker, chaos ensues as his
meddling Olympus relatives crash the scene. It’s packed with snappy
banter, slapstick escapades, mythological mishaps, and thoughtful explorations
of love, trust, and self-discovery.
It’s a modern “Bell, Book, and Candle.” A light,
literary escape for readers craving whimsy with emotional resonance.
No sex, politics, foul language. Manuscript winner/finalist in CIBA (humor)
and Southwest Writers.
About the Author
TK Sheffield, MA, writes stories to laugh and escape, including new a romcom
“The Valentine Lines,” and “Nellie’s Island,” a children’s horse
story set in Mackinac Island. Sheffield also writes funny cozy mysteries, “The
Devil Wears Prada” meets a Wisconsin supper club, which have earned an IBPA
Humor medal, a Claymore, and an IPPY. She’s on the Wisconsin Writers
Association’s board, host of the Wispresso Café, an author talk
show, and a member of Blackbird Writers, Sisters in Crime, and SCBWI.
Bobby’s always had a thing for silver foxes. Still has. Just never expected to find the ultimate one is his fated mate.
Bobby Kirkland leads a simple life — mostly simple, considering his budding romance with the esteemed Deacon Saridan, head vamp of House Saridan.
Amid the romance and Bobby’s exploration of the BDSM lifestyle with his new mate, a string of murders leads Deacon to believe that a familiar, though certainly not kind, face has shown itself in the lands of House Saridan… and this threat proves to be an even bigger challenge than first thought.
WARNING: Adult language and situations, including BDSM
The dock foreman, Toryn, leaned against the frame of the plate-glass window we stood at as we watched the workers in the shipping area below. “Seems to be. He gets along with the guys pretty well.”
I glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. “But…”
He sighed. “He struggles to stay on task sometimes, and he tends to daydream a good bit. Not a bad thing inherently, but not great when working around forklifts and eighteen-wheelers.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. The young man who’d captured my attention weeks ago was indeed a bit flighty at times. According to Cam, Bobby Kirkland had always been that way, and a diagnosis of ADHD as a pre-teen had answered a lot of questions. He needed structure and routine, in my opinion. I’d hoped working here would give him that, but he still seemed to have trouble staying focused on occasion.
The bell signaling the end of the workday rang out in the warehouse. I spotted Bobby going toward the door that led into the large breakroom where the lockers were. Beside me, Toryn snickered softly.
“I’m surprised you haven’t claimed him yet.”
I turned away from the window. “Soon.”
I followed him out of my office and downstairs. Most of the workers were already heading home, but a few — including Bobby — remained in the breakroom. Toryn patted my shoulder and went to his own locker. The others glanced over at me, and a couple of them shot Bobby teasing smirks. Even from the doorway, I saw him blush. There wasn’t any hint of jealousy with this group, thankfully. When Bobby met my gaze, I discreetly gestured for him to join me upstairs. He nodded, and I headed back up. Once I claimed him, we’d be able to speak telepathically and not worry about coworker issues. Then again, he also wouldn’t be working either, but that was a discussion for another day.
A few minutes after I sat down on the small couch in my office, the door opened. Bobby smiled, though there was a good bit of nervousness behind it. He shut the door and sat a couple of feet beside me at my urging. I twisted a little to face him and got comfortable.
“How was work?”
“Good,” he said, fidgeting a bit with his hands, like he didn’t know what to do with them. One leg bounced a little.
“Have you had any problems with your coworkers?”
Bobby didn’t answer right away, which told me everything I needed to know. I reached over and put my hand on his knee, stilling the movement almost immediately. His eyes widened for a moment, making him seem far younger than thirty-one. Of course, at my age, he was young.
“What is it? You can tell me anything, Bobby.”
He swallowed and tore his gaze from mine. I waited while he thought about whatever he wanted to say. Finally, he spoke. “Just a couple of guys who seem to think I’m an idiot.” He looked back up at me. “I’m not. I just get… distracted sometimes, hyper focused at others.”
“No, you’re definitely not an idiot. You wouldn’t be working here if so,” I said. “Have they done or said anything directly to you?”
“No, but I’ve caught a few whispers here and there,” he replied. “Not to mention the weird glances.” He shrugged and sighed. “I feel like I’m back in fucking high school, to be honest. It’s ridiculous.”
I chuckled softly and gave his knee a gentle squeeze. “I have a potential solution then, but I think we need to have a good, long talk before we go any further.”
Bobby nodded and stared down at my hand. “I honestly started to worry that this was a one-sided thing,” he muttered.
Unable to resist, I lifted my hand to cup his chin, tilting his head until I was looking into those soulful brown eyes. I stroked my thumb across his lower lip, and he let out a soft gasp. “I assure you, this is very much mutual. That said, there are details we must go over first.”
“Those details have anything to do with your necklace?”
I smiled and lifted the thin chain from under my shirt. Light reflected off the tiny handcuff pendant accented with garnets. “Indeed. How about we have dinner, and we can chat?”
“Sounds good to me. I need to let Dad and Cam know where I’ll be. I don’t have to, but it’s an old habit.”
“Absolutely, and a good one to have. Do you have any food preferences or sensitivities I need to know about?”
“I’m lactose intolerant, but that’s it.”
“Understood. Let Beau and Cam know what’s going on and then meet me in my chambers upstairs. Normally, I’d take you out, but the things we need to discuss are not for anyone else’s ears.”
His gaze shifted a bit, and I couldn’t ignore the urge any longer. Fingers gripping his chin, I tipped his head and leaned close. Bobby’s soft moan the moment our lips touched sent almost overwhelming need rushing through me. His scent — a decadent mix of soap, shampoo, and something woodsy yet sweet — filled every part of my psyche. The urge to bite flitted through my mind, but I shoved it away for now. I knew he was mine; I didn’t need to taste his blood to confirm it.
Bobby opened for me, pliant, eager, and so insanely delicious. I released his chin and cupped the back of his head, pushing the kiss into hungrier territory for both of us. Before I could lose control and take him right here, though, I made myself pull back. He grumbled, and I nipped his lower lip before soothing it with my tongue.
“Dinner,” I murmured. “I need to taste every inch of you but not before we talk.”
Mychael Black has been writing professionally since 2005. He writes gay romance and erotica, but also het romance as Carys Seraphine and queer fantasy as Katherine Cook.
He’s an avid PC gamer with a love for RPGs, a horror fanatic, and a fantasy nut. He also has a weakness for anything relating to skulls, dogs, and Spongebob Squarepants.
Mychael lives on the Eastern Shore of the US with his family. He loves to hear from readers, be it via email or Facebook.
‘Tis the season for twinkling lights, cookies, joy, and a little sprinkle of mom guilt on the side. Did I say little? I mean an entire sleigh full. Which is exactly why I’m on my way home to Winterbury for the holidays, something my parents have been pleading for since I left the small-town life for a view of the city nearly ten years ago.
It’s not that I don’t come home to visit. I do.
Just not at Christmas.
The last time I was there, I got wrapped up in the romantasy of the town’s mistletoe legend, and it ruined my entire life. Okay, maybe not my entire life, but it did turn my best friend into my biggest enemy.
And maybe gave me a raging case of mistletoe PTSD.
Don’t laugh. It’s a thing.
Which is exactly why I’m going to do everything possible to avoid the raising of the mistletoe, Archer Hodge, and his Christmas tree farm. I’m just going to help my father out with the family animal clinic and mind my own business.
So of course Archer walks right into the clinic and nearly runs me over with his clompy boots, pine-scented flannel, and trademark scowl. Turns out, even after ten years, he still plucks every last nerve in my body. It doesn’t matter that he looks better than I remember and he’s cradling a beautiful dog who steals my heart.
Archer is my sworn frenemy, and no amount of forced proximity, small-town tradition, or mistletoe magic will ever change that.
Cambria Hebert is a bestselling novelist of more than fifty titles. She went to college for a bachelor’s degree, couldn’t pick a major, and ended up with a degree in cosmetology. So rest assured her characters will always have good hair.
Besides writing, Cambria loves a pumpkin spice latte, staying up late, sleeping in, and watching K drama until her eyes won’t stay open. She considers math human torture and has an irrational fear of chickens (yes, chickens). You can often find her running on the treadmill (she’d rather be eating a donut), painting her toenails (because she bites her fingernails), or walking her chihuahuas (the real bosses of the house).
Cambria has written in many genres, including new adult, sports romance, male/male romance, sci-fi, thriller, suspense, contemporary romance, and young adult. Many of her titles have been translated into foreign languages and have been the recipients of multiple awards.
Awards Cambria has received include:
Author of the Year 2016 (UtopiaCon2016)
The Hashtag Series: Best Contemporary Series of 2015 (UtopiaCon 2015)
#Nerd: Best Contemporary Book Cover of 2015 (UtopiaCon 2015)
Romeo from the Hashtag Series: Best Contemporary Lead (UtopiaCon 2015)
#Nerd: Top 50 Summer Reads (Buzzfeed.com 2015)
The Hashtag Series: Best Contemporary Series of 2016 (UtopiaCon 2016)
#NERD Book Trailer: Best Book Trailer of 2016 (UtopiaCon 2016)
#Nerd Book Trailer: Top 50 Most Cinematic Book Trailers of All Time (film-14.com)
#Nerd: Book Most Wanted to be Adapted to Screen: (2018)
Amnesia: Mystery Book of the Year (2018)
Cambria Hebert owns and operates Cambria Hebert Books, LLC.
You can find out more about Cambria and her titles by visiting her website:
Affer was once a peaceful planet, until a war broke out between its six
inhabiting species. The humans, who were once the mightiest force on Affer,
were massacred in droves, and the ones who survived the onslaught were reduced
to mere slaves. The five other species divided the humans amongst themselves
and returned to their respective kingdoms.
The years passed, turning into decades and centuries, without any change.
Eventually, the humans had accepted their fate as slaves. All except one. Four
hundred and seventy-three years later, Fletcher Rush starts his journey to
free his kind…and conquer the planet.
About the Author
I’ve always had a love for fantasy, and to this day LOTR and The
Inheritance Cycle remain some of my favorite books. There are limitless
possibilities when you’re writing, but with fantasy, it’s different. You don’t
have to adhere to rules or logic; you can create whatever type of world you
want. Characters can live in a dystopian society, a grand futuristic city, a
picture-perfect world, or a medieval wasteland. Time, technology, and magic
are all there for the taking, and as a writer, you get to choose what defines
your story.
This is a selection of short stories perfect for the dark, cold nights
of the Christmas season. Each warm tale is set on Christmas Eve and is best
enjoyed from a comfortable armchair by the fireside, as the special ambience
of Christmas fills the room and our hearts.
Within these six stories, you will discover a rich variety of seasonal magic.
One tale takes you to a snowbound ancestral home, where family secrets are
finally revealed beneath a blanket of white. Another follows a German refugee
in the 1940s who, by joining the local junior football team, finds hope and a
sense of belonging during the festive period.
You’ll also encounter unexpected meetings at a lonely country crossroads,
where characters’ destinies become entwined on the most magical night of the
year. The collection journeys further afield to the warmth and wonder of an
Australian Christmas, where high summer temperatures provide a striking
contrast to the traditional spirit of the season.
One story features two old neighbours returning to their hometown, doing their
utmost to recreate the cherished Christmases of years gone by. Each narrative
offers its own unique perspective on the joy, togetherness and wonder that
define this special time of year.
This book is lovingly crafted for readers of all ages and backgrounds who
delight in the spirit of Christmas. Let these stories bring warmth and festive
cheer into your home.
About the Author
Steve’s interest in writing came from the early 1970s when his somewhat
unconventional English teacher encouraged his creativity. His creativity and
imagination went back however to childhood when he would create stories and
draw them in a series of pictures. He has always had a strong interest in
History and music. As a teenager he composed many songs but never met with
success his creative abilities were slowly channeled into writing books.His
first Novel ” A Cafe In Arcadia”,about life in an insular Greek town, was
published in 2014. He had already published ” The Christmas Tree Of Tales ” in
2013 under the name S R Kerr Under the same name,he also published another
book of short stories for Christmas,”It Came Upon One Christmas Eve”..In 2021
he published another novel “The Winding Streets Of Kolonaki” set in
Athens..His last book to be published was the non-fiction Eurovision ;A Plea
For Respect(Continental Songs And British attitudes). He counts a love of
music in his interests as well as travel and reading. He has travelled
extensivly to places as diverse as Pakistan and Peru and hopes to visit Japan,
Hong Kong and the USA in the near future. Growing up next to the beach on the
River Tay in his home town was a a major influence on him as was living in a
castle. He was always interested in anthropology and visiting other countries
where he often immersed himself in their culture. Places he visited and lived
in inspired much of his writing, as did his interest in psychology, people
watching. He worked as a lecturer, tutor, journalist ,civil servant in London
where at a point he shared a house with the group The Test Department. He is
at the moment working on three other books 1)Short Stories For Christmas 3)The
afternoons of Sanjay Bassinger. 4.)The Golden Road To Glyfada
A gangster’s life is hard. As the youngest son of a Chicago mobster lord, Fionn O’Grady is no stranger to crime, even though he’s clean and renowned for kissing rather than fighting. It’s a lonely life for a pizza-loving redhead. All he’s ever wanted is an easy-going boyfriend who doesn’t take life too seriously. It’s too bad that no man will date him because of his family.
Trouble comes when a UK undercover cop infiltrates the O’Grady mansion. According to the family, it’s up to Fionn to gain revenge by kidnapping the cop’s kid brother. Kidnap? Fionn couldn’t hurt anyone, certainly not a handsome young man needing a caring boyfriend.
As the chaotic brother of an undercover cop, Oli Green is endlessly fascinated by gangsters, particularly pizza-loving redheads. At twenty, Oli’s no kid—he fantasises about being kidnapped by a gentle gangster to guide him through his first time. Bonus points for emo villains! Above all, Oli wants an easy-going boyfriend who doesn’t take life too seriously…
Fionn and Oli fall together as the gangster lord tightens his net around them. Is Fionn strong enough to decide what matters most—family honour or the tug of his heart?
Fionn O’Grady was working at a figurine factory in Boston when the boss yelled him into the office.
“Miller. In here now.”
The other workers nudged one another knowingly. “Told you,” one of them muttered, evading Fionn’s questioning, startled gaze.
A familiar shiver traversed Fionn’s spine. It was the end of an eight-hour shift, and he was exhausted. Still, he liked to finish his art before knocking off for the day. Carefully, almost lovingly, he placed his paintbrush across the soldier figurine’s feet with a “Back soon” before scurrying into the office. He silently prayed he wasn’t facing unemployment again.
Inside the office, the boss loomed, disgust plastered across his face. He threw rather than handed Fionn a paper wallet. “Here are your documents, Tom Miller. Now scram, O’Grady scum. Did you think I wouldn’t find out who you are? I don’t hire gangsters, even ones with your painting skills. Scram.”
Fionn didn’t ask how the boss had discovered his identity. Nor did he challenge Mr Moss’s choice of words—‘scram’—for a worker who’d single-handedly painted a battalion of figurine soldiers in one day. There’d be no point now that Mr Moss knew who Fionn was.
“All right, then. The final soldier needs a varnish.”
Fionn grabbed his coat and exited the factory with a sickening sensation; the concrete beneath his feet tried to suck him into the bowels of the earth, down, down, down. He wished there were someone he might call, a friend to share the load, maybe even a boyfriend. But there was nobody.
At the bus stop, he waited in line behind two jostling teenage boys. Their youthful skirmish soon turned into passionate necking. Maybe the hormonal steam rising from the boys caused Fionn’s invisible armour to buckle and fall away one plate at a time.
Or maybe the breathlessness tearing suddenly at his throat was born not of longing but loss. Whatever the cause, the boys’ frantic energy caused an ache to spread, searing Fionn’s muscles and nerves and settling inside his chest. A catastrophic influx of emotion shattered his habitual numbness, rendering him vulnerable against a flood of memories and cravings he couldn’t name. Could it be nostalgia squeezing his lungs for the hopeful teen he’d once been, craving a kiss from the neighbour? Or was it something else?
In his head, the words, “You’re lonely,” shouted in his sister’s voice.
Fionn baulked. The reminder of his sister, followed by some talented graffiti that had been sprayed on a wall, snapped at his energy and will. One word in particular reminded him of the many countries he’d lived in without ever finding a home or an accent that felt right.
Outsider.
Maybe his changeable accent explained why he never fitted, no matter what. He’d been told at various times that he sounded Irish, Welsh, British, or American.
Lonely, his sister whispered again.
Fionn walked away from the graffiti, muttering to himself. Ach, sure, it’d been months since his boyfriend had left without a backwards glance, throwing cruel words impossible to forget. You’re related to the O’Grady scum? Don’t contact me again. Same old, same old. But it wasn’t as if Fionn was a stranger to hardship. On the contrary, he was well used to fleeing at midnight with two carrier bags. Therefore, the unexpected churning in his stomach and head made no sense at all.
Still, it took a grave effort to return to his customary state of numbness, to push aside the memory of his sister, Sinéad. The teenage boys now had their hands down each other’s jeans, not that Fionn cared, because he didn’t.
When it was his turn to board the bus, Fionn grabbed the handle to jump on.
The driver held up a hand, shouting, “No O’Gradys. You’re banned. This city has had enough.” Then he pointed at a poster on the window bearing the faces of Fionn’s family, his mugshot in the middle. As if the poster weren’t condemning enough, the passengers joined in the tirade of hatred by shouting and making rude gestures.
The bus driver sped away, leaving Fionn stranded. He stumbled backwards into a low wall, cheeks blazing, shame burning every inch of his freckled skin. Although he didn’t wish to know what his family had been up to now, he wouldn’t have minded knowing why the whole city had turned against him. In twenty-five years, Fionn had never been involved in crime, and he never would be.
Despair gripped his heart. How could one live without a job or money? The rent was due. He’d been relying on the wage from the figurine factory to tide him over until he made his fortune painting landscapes. Dad wouldn’t allow his youngest son back into the O’Grady home until Fionn agreed to work for the ‘business’. Mum was as bad as Dad, and his other siblings were older, each deeply immersed in the gangster underworld. The O’Gradys genuinely saw nothing wrong with their way of life. To them, he was the problem.
Despite the apocalypse gathering in his chest, it was a pleasant, warm evening. Spring wafted from hanging baskets and potted flowers: lavender, rose, lemon. Along with the scents, a heavy bout of sadness settled on Fionn. His beloved twin sister’s name was in his mouth before he could stop it. How could he help it? Though Sinéad had left years ago, Fionn still recognised a geranium from a petunia. His sister had loved floral scents, spending hours among flowers in the fields surrounding the family mansion. Her passion had naturally passed to her brother, who’d adored her.
Sinéad had been the clever one, running from the family at fifteen, never to return. If only the twins had saved enough money for two air tickets to England, Fionn would have fled with her, but they hadn’t managed it. By the time he’d earned enough to buy a flight from two paper rounds and night shifts at a paint factory, Fionn had forgotten the mobile number Sinéad forced him to memorise before she left. The numbers had jumbled in his anxious, ADHD brain alongside the fear of what Dad would do if he discovered the plan. For years, Fionn waited for Sinéad’s call. It never came. Ten years later, every pretty redhead resembled her.
He’d made many attempts over the years to locate his sis on social media, to no avail. She’d undoubtedly found a safer life under a new name. A nasty inner voice insisted she was better off without her brother anyway, since he was as chaotic as a giraffe on skates, fuelled by impulsivity and paper art.
Fortunately, Fionn kept an emergency packet of tissues in his pocket. Without it, he wouldn’t have survived the despair threatening to undo the façade of normality in which he survived.
He produced a tissue, ripped it into bits, and crafted a tiny bus. When he’d finished it, he felt immeasurably better. For Fionn, art represented a safety jacket when the storms appeared.
He propped up the paper bus on the wall where he’d collapsed, figuring someone else might need it. The panic faded, leaving a familiar determination to survive no matter the odds.
When he was able to breathe calmly, Fionn began the ten-mile walk home, expecting every tree to turn into a cop or, worse, a knife-wielding gangster. He was useless in a fight, yet beneath the anxiety, he yearned for a scrap like those he’d had with Sinéad as a child, fights that ended in laughter and a glass of fizzy pop. Since she’d left, life had become a pursuit of rent and bills rather than what it should have been: laughter, love, fun, fun, fun.
After miles of trudging, Fionn paused at a shop to buy a water bottle. The shopkeeper immediately slammed the door shut, pointing at a poster identical to the one on the bus. “Get lost, O’Grady!”
It was the final straw. Fionn sank onto a patch of grass, head in hands. His messy red hair falling into his eyes reminded him of his sister, whose long locks had once reached her bottom. Man, he missed her and the safety of family members he could trust.
Not even emergency tissues saved him from the brink of hopelessness. He hit rock bottom on the grass amidst the scent of summer flowers. Moments passed into hours.
Fortunately, the mental darkness never lasted long. Finally, a tiny light appeared, growing brighter every second.
Fionn recognised the light as a need for action, which, in turn, would shatter the awful greyness threatening to undo him. The urge to move, to fill the empty void, wasn’t new or without risk. He’d always been impulsive, even reckless. Mostly, he recognised the craving for what it was—part of his ADHD—but sometimes, he trusted his instincts despite the consequences.
A risky idea danced into his mind provocatively. Instead of heading to his apartment, he could walk to the family mansion, which was nearby, and confront his parents. After all, there was nothing left to lose. The visage of a repentant scene, where Dad begged for forgiveness, teased Fionn mercilessly: I missed you, son.
The temptation to return home quickly became too great to ignore. Fionn told himself he only wanted to see the family one last time. Yeah, it was time to confront them and then leave the city to start anew elsewhere. He should’ve done so ages ago. Surely Dad wouldn’t deny his youngest child a second chance? The great gang lord might offer to help contact Sinéad, wherever she was. Dad was a stubborn ass, but he’d always loved the twins—up until they’d begun saying no, anyway.
Fionn walked quickly towards his childhood home. By nature, he was cheerful and optimistic. The city had got him down, but things would improve once he got away. A long time ago, he’d forgiven his parents for throwing him out and his siblings for shunning him. Fionn had been born with a generous nature not even the O’Gradys had quenched.
Thirst and a wave of panic at the far end of the O’Grady driveway forced Fionn to a halt. It had been a year since the Sunday dinner when Dad offered him a job hacking into a bank.
“Easy work, son,” Dad had said. “Time you settled down and moved back with the family instead of slumming it in the seedy shithole you call home. My son working in a paint factory? No. You make me a laughing stock.”
Fionn had tried hard to stay calm, to stick to his guns. “Dad, no. I don’t want anything to do with crime, remember? I’m happy where I am in life. Okay? I’m different from you, but it doesn’t mean we can’t still get along. We’re family—right?” Fionn had laughed. Most people experienced the same conversation with their parents, albeit with different issues. Whereas school friends had negotiated bedtime, Sinéad and Fionn had argued about firearms.
His father had turned his back, beefy arms crossed, neck rigid with anger. “You break my heart. Get out of here. Don’t come back.”
Fionn had stupidly tried to reason with him, tugging at Dad’s arm, trying to make peace as always. “Dad? Can’t we talk about it?”
The awful scene ended abruptly when the family security guard, a tall woman with tattoos, dragged Fionn across the room before hurling him outside into the rain. She turned once before locking the family home.
“You heard the boss,” she’d said. “You’re rubbish.”
Fionn was left homeless, bitter jealousy souring his heart. What kind of father preferred a security guard to his own son?
“No, you’re rubbish,” he’d shouted futilely. But it was too late. The guard had already locked the door and drawn the blinds. Nobody wanted to hear what Fionn had to say, never mind act upon his wishes.
With hindsight, Fionn wished he could’ve accepted the job and made his father happy; he really did. He loved his dad and still craved the gang lord’s approval and love. But crime? Fionn couldn’t partake then or now. One hacking job would lead to another. Anyway, he was pants at anything like that. All Fionn had ever been good at was art and snuggles.
The painful memory of being thrown out of the family home immobilised him. It took a while before Fionn could wipe his face and walk down the driveway towards the family mansion, so thirsty not even the memory of Dad’s final haunting words slowed his progress. You’re an embarrassment.
It was a surprise to find the front door wide open. Mum never left the door open. Instinctively, Fionn knew something was very wrong. A black, ragged hole opened up within his chest. As children, he and Sinéad had always feared retribution, stabbings, and worse.
He rushed forward despite the danger, expecting to find the bodies of his family strewn across the living room.
Instead, the security guard who’d thrown him out months ago appeared and rugby-tackled him to the ground with a snarl.
Grass cuttings, earth, and flowers smacked Fionn in the face. He soon stopped fighting back. “For fuck’s sake. What is it with you and beating me up? Get off me,” he gasped.
The guard straddled him, holding his hands above his head, intent on winning. “Fionn O’Grady, at last. We’ve been waiting for you. As with the rest of the O’Grady scum, you’re under arrest. Time to pay for your crimes, rubbish. This town has had enough.”
With a quick flick of her wrist, she held up a police identity card bearing her photo and name. Charlie Green.
Eule Grey has settled, for now, in the north UK. She’s worked in education, justice, youth work, and even tried her hand at butter-spreading in a sandwich factory. Sadly, she wasn’t much good at any of them!
She writes novels, novellas, poetry, and a messy combination of all three. Nothing about Eule is tidy but she rocks a boogie on a Saturday night!
For now, Eule is she/her or they/them. Eule has not yet arrived at a pronoun that feels right.
