Tag Archives: IndiGo Marketing & Design

RELEASE BLITZ: Standard Tuning by Andi Tozier

Posted on by
Reply

Title: Standard Tuning

Author: Andi Tozier

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 05/12/2026

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 280

Genre: Historical, Genre/lit, historical, family-drama, bisexual, musician, supergroup, drug addiction, BDSM play, slow burn

Add to Goodreads

Description

It’s 1988 and solo act Bill Kason is invited to take part in a supergroup. Three generations of talent band together over three long weekends to record an album; talking shop, tweaking tunes, and touring their memories. Behind the music and the rumors that he saw Jesus in a Connecticut bathroom, Bill is barely holding himself together, but he is willing to make the effort for the sake of Martin Henry, one of the best-loved men in the music business and beyond. With Bill always somewhere between suicide and spiritual awakening, Martin is the only one who can make him take a good, hard look at himself, and not be completely repulsed. The question now: is Martin’s friendship and admiration enough to make the difference?

Excerpt

Standard Tuning
Andi Tozier © 2026
All Rights Reserved

May 1988

For the record, he said yes. Wasn’t a maybe; wasn’t a let me think about it. Martin asked, and Bill said yes. Ever since he’d been stamped with the Return to Sender labels of difficult, uncooperative, uncollaborative, and downright creative hell, not too many creative colleagues were calling. Not that he gave out his number all that often.

But when Martin asked if Bill was willing to lay down tunes with him and his closest friends, a bit of fun, nothing serious, Bill shoved a toothbrush in his back pocket, packed the rear of his Volkswagen van with some clothes and every relevant and a few irrelevant instruments atop that. And he drove through the Cali valley, where the business-class whores told fortunes and the palm-reading gypsies turned tricks.

Martin didn’t have a studio rented out and he didn’t own a house around town; he’d done the sensible British thing out of a P.G. Wodehouse plot and simply swapped enormous mansions across the pond.

Cutting up the canyon crawl in the impending lurch of traffic, sliding around horse rail fences that kept the cliffside at bay, circling, encircling Dante’s fury. Dust pressed into the tires, rocks rattling. Maybe manual transmission wasn’t the best choice.

Bill idled at the ostiaries of the monetary and materially inclined. Call systems and gates cordoned off the rest of the way, next to bushes and vines that clung to life strangled by temperature and technology.

He cranked the window down and waved his arm toward the buzzer box, but he realized a little later than he’d have liked to that he was going to have to unbuckle his seatbelt and lean halfway out the window just to make contact.

The prolonged dial tone could hold a note better than he could.

“Name and secret password please,” the mechanical mouth spoke in the tones of Martin.

“Aw heck, I made it this far,” Bill moaned at the callbox’s gap-toothed speaker.

The machine cackled through crackling static. “Come on in, Bill.”

The new electronic hum of the gates was too high to catch, and the hinges creaked like screws breaking loose as they juddered open. Bill’s slow push on the gas pedal wasn’t just van versus incline; he wanted a second look at the wrought iron artistry.

Bill had a thing for gates. Their construction, their intention, their being. This one had sweeping calligraphy strokes of iron, hidden flowers in the folds, a little barbed wire edge to it. Made you kind of blue and he didn’t know why.

Halfway up the private road and he was already feeling regret like the blazing desert sun. He had to segment it out into a million little intolerable pieces, starting with the anxiety of figuring out where to park.

With cars already in designated parking areas, he didn’t want to be the one to box anyone in, but he also wanted to have the easiest escape plan, in case the whole thing was strange, or just not his version of strange.

The ever-helpful parking attendant was James, who wasn’t a parking attendant at all, but a rock star in his own right. Piano-heavy starship stuff, trills and electronic tones that normally couldn’t exist outside a studio, but James had a mimic’s knack for making those sounds appear on his glitzy, celestial tours.

He guided Bill’s van in like a flight crewmember partway through an Aldous Huxley trip. Once he was safely between a Jaguar and a Porsche, Bill left the comfortable cave of his van and, with a hesitant breath in, entered back into reality.

James leaned on the side of the van, near the driver’s side door. Considering the shape the vehicle was in, he probably assumed Bill was okay with that kind of contact when really any play for personal space had Bill on the offensive.

James was the cast-off of a Bob Ross hairstylist with the bright disposition of the first breath of spring. But somehow the two of them just could never find the right key to play in together, and it always felt a little off. Uncomfortable pleasantries. But maybe James never caught that.

“Bill, I’m so glad you could make it.” He peered down, aiming for eye contact which Bill was reluctant to match.

James had a voice like a steel drum, whose Englishness was accentuated by his grammatical substitutions of me for my. “You can leave your stuff. We’ll send someone round to nick it.”

“Thanks,” Bill mumbled.

So he wasn’t completely armorless, he stuffed a Marine Band harmonica into his front pocket without a glance as to the key and slung his acoustic over his shoulder, holding it by the neck in a fireman carry.

The front entrance was hidden under an archway, rounded at the top like a hoop skirt, the same wrought iron designs in the glass. There was an old cemetery grounds feel to it. Just as he was about to study it, really tap in and find out what it was all about, what it meant to him, the doors opened and Martin was on the other side.

Bill exhaled sharply, like a broadhead arrow sliced through the air and wedged in his lungs. Martin was radiant; he was made of pure stardust. He operated on different levels but felt so completely you.

Anyone who met him felt without question they’d known him forever and surprised themselves even further when he seemed to seamlessly fit in as a family member. Or…or something else.

“Bill, yes, excellent, wonderful.” Martin clapped him on the shoulder and Bill watched the contact happen more than felt it. “James get you to the right spot? Had to send him out there after Fisher made it to the neighbors by accident. They wouldn’t let him go without three tunes for a singsong.”

This was the face teenyboppers fainted over, that drove them wild—well, this and a few of his other bandmates. Talent that changed the landscape, that made everyone else work to outdo them and fail. An unstoppable force that paused itself, then a few over-publicized tragedies led to the remaining crew seeking solo work.

Martin’s hair was like the mane on a stallion, his eyes bright and true. To Bill, who was once described by a journalist as having the face of a bitter eagle and the personality of unwashed gym socks, it was borderline unfair to have such good-looking, kind friends.

“Come in, come in, come in.” Martin ushered Bill inside. He’d already missed his cue to follow when James had entered, and Martin had probably sensed correctly that Bill was fine with staying detached from the happenings forever.

Martin’s English dialect came straight out of the muck and grime, lifted out just as he was through a fog of disorder. Bill felt the need to say something to block the staccato steps of his boots and Martin’s sneakers across the tile floor.

“Nice curtains,” he tried without a glance for them or making the effort to check that they existed.

“Yeah, I got them in India from this little old lady that weren’t any taller than my knee. Hand dyed and washed in big rocky pits. Thought they’d be a great welcome home gift to Edmund once we trade our houses back. But you don’t want to hear about all that. Now.” Martin stepped out in front of Bill and stretched his hands out on Bill’s face. “Now. Roger’s here, Fisher’s here, you’re here, James is here. Who are we missing? Me? I am here; I am everywhere. Bits of me scuttling about. Do make yourself at home. I’ll come grab you if you’re missing anything. I trust you’ll do the same for me. And if you need anyone to harmonize with…” He sang a brief scale on, “I’m your man.” Then he said, “Cheers,” and took off in some impossible direction in the house.

Bill ran his hand over where Martin had held his face. If he wasn’t careful, acts of simple human affection were liable to disintegrate him.

He took stock of the place. It was hard to see the old-world charm of the estate when masked by all the recording equipment. A drum set stuffed into an alcove. Microphones cabled over stands; creeping vines up walls. Card towers of separately sized speakers.

Bill bit down a smirk as he thought about his own studio, wired to the max where the recorded sound captured all over the damn place and how those he invited over always did that single take recoil, where they reviewed what they had said and what they were going to say. Not that he reviewed their remarks, not that he reviewed them every night.

He zeroed in on a collection of guitars; electric and acoustics on stands with a few spare stands beside them.

Abandoning his armor for want of completing the set, Bill dropped his guitar next to a Rickenbacker and had a bit of insight as to whose guitars were whose. It was like examining sneakers in a closet; you knew the style and the wear. He caught a glimpse of the roadies known as household help carrying his belongings up a set of stairs ending surely in whatever was to be his room. So long as it had a bed, Bill could manage. And even then, he’d done without when he had to.

He wandered into the kitchen where Ty Fisher was cracking a bottle of beer open with the help of the edge of the countertop.

Fisher had a Dick Cavett sort of smallness to him. He was still sporting some Sissy Spacek hairstyle, hair that confused men in public when they caught Fisher at his most feminine angles. The times Fisher sported a beard a few shades darker from his hair only served to further confuse people. He would have been some sideshow Venus on the half shell.

Bill liked him. There wasn’t a person in the house he didn’t like—hell, you couldn’t not like James—but Fisher had a gentle ‘ribbons in a schoolgirl’s hair’ sorta kindness with a rocker’s edge. Sweet, funny, with strong opinions on art, music, life’s poetry, as all of them did.

Still young, still striving. Aiming for the purest rock and roll he and his redneck crew could create. While devilishly handsome under stadium lights, up close a casual observer might catch that he had a history of hitting some substance or some man of no substance hitting him.

“Hey, Bill.” Fisher gave him a wide beacon of a smile. “I saw you last…last year August.”

Bill screwed up his face in thought. “What for?”

“We were on tour together.”

“Oh right.” Bill considered it a bit longer. “How’d we do?”

Fisher took a long sip. “Good, very good, some just okay, and then one shit show which I won’t rehash for both our sakes. I mean, really, I couldn’t even tell you what went wrong, but I know they were happiest when we left.”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Andi Tozier grew up in Florida and found their way to the Midwest. They hold an MFA in Fiction Writing from Columbia College Chicago and have credits in anthologies and small publications. Their love of music and writing is vast and varied, and they’re happy to share this work with NineStar Press and all their readers.

Blog Button 2

RELEASE BLITZ: Claimed by Ashlynn Monroe

Posted on by
Reply

Title: Claimed

Author: Ashlynn Monroe

Publisher: Changeling Press

Cover Art: Marteeka Karland

Genres: Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Futuristic, Mystery /Suspense /Intrigue, New Releases, Romance, Sci-Fi , Urban Fantasy

Themes: Alien Encounters, Dark Romance, LGBTQ+ Bisexual /Nonbinary /Transgender, Multiple Partners, Second Edition

Series: Claimed (#3)

Book Length: Box Set

Page Count: 114

Synopsis

Lexa never really knew what it meant to live until she was condemned to die.

Framed for a crime she’d never even contemplated, Lexa Mercer’s doing thirty days or death on the Intergalactic Broadcasting Channel’s hit reality show Nariasma. She owes her life to one of the show’s hottest contestants — and a ghost of a man no one is supposed to know exists.

Roan of the Northlands is a man made famous by enduring his sentence on the space station Nariasma. Lexa has seen the rugged hunk on television, but she never imagined he’d be rescuing her from hunters who’ve paid to kill criminals.

Roan’s strange companion Jenner is convinced Lexa is the key to their freedom. Surviving and keeping her alive is just part of the challenge. Now Roan has more to lose than his future. He’s made the mistake of falling in love with Lexa, and that makes him the one thing he’s never been on Nariasma — vulnerable.

Roan and Jenner will give all they’ve got to protect Lexa. Jenner’s convinced she’s the only one who can save them. But does she have the strength to change their reality?

Excerpt

Claimed
Second Edition
Ashlynn Monroe
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2026 Ashlynn Monroe
Excerpt from Claimed

Lexa’s mouth felt dry. She tasted a bitter metallic tang on her tongue. For a few seconds she lay, hurting, with her eyes closed. Her head ached as she sat up. She didn’t remember much at first, but then the horror of Dom’s death and her sham of a trial came rushing back in a torrent.

She groaned and opened her eyes. The room was small. Bright light shone down from a single fixture in the ceiling. She was dressed in a dark brown leather corset and matching — too tight — leather pants. She ran her hands over her backside. The horrible pants weren’t ass-less, and she was glad of that, at least. There was a black nylon utility vest over her shoulders. A row of silver and gold sequins sparkled on the hem of the vest. The combination of style and material was strange. Glam survivalist?

She closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose in an attempt to clear her foggy mind. Her stomach rolled. Someone had seen her naked when she’d been at her most vulnerable. Shivering, she forced herself to stop thinking about how dirty having been stripped made her feel. Pushing herself up, using the wall, she managed to get to her feet.

The door slid open with a whoosh. Whoever designed the room had hidden the door so well she’d never even noticed it until it opened. A tall woman watched her mutely.

Lexa flinched under the scrutiny. “Why are you here? What’s happening to me?” Lexa screamed the questions at the woman as her hysteria rose.

“You’ll have a ten second head start. Go right to avoid the desert. Get to the trees, and you’ll have a better chance. Here is your pack. It’s all any of the contestants start out with. Inside you’ll find a utility knife, canteen and matches. Millions of fans will be watching you. Take solace in knowing you won’t die alone.” The woman spoke without any hint of emotion or remorse.

“I don’t plan to die at all,” Lexa said. She hated how this woman had written her off. She wasn’t doomed. She wasn’t going to give up. Just because wealthy men had paid for a license to hunt her didn’t mean she was automatically condemned. “I’m going to serve my time and return home.”

Sympathy flickered across the woman’s features, but she quickly covered the expression with a scowl. “Few have lived long enough to serve their time. No woman has left this place alive. Many find it easier just to walk out and wait for the end.”

“I’ve never been good at taking the easy way out. I’ll take my chances with the woods. Why are you giving me advice?”

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had a woman as young as you on the show. I’d like to make the most of your time.” The tall stranger’s words held the ring of truth.

Lexa shrugged. “I’ll do my best to outlast my sentence. I’d hate it if Interplanetary Broadcasting lost ratings due to my untimely demise. How bad can a month be?” Lexa spoke as sarcastically as possible. She didn’t know if the cameras were already watching her, but she had a feeling they might be. Hatred for the mindless people watching her injustice boiled in her core. Until now, she’d been just like them.

The reality of how meaningless human life was hit her with shocking force.

The woman’s eyes darkened. “May the enlightenment of justice guide your path.”

Her sentence had begun. The cameras were watching. The woman’s use of words made that clear. “Um, thanks, I’ll make my own light. I’ve had a taste of justice, and it wasn’t for me.” Her new reality was a terrifying example of how deep a lie could burrow to masquerade as truth. She glared at the woman. No matter how afraid she felt she refused to let her fear show.

The emotionless expression taking over the woman’s face made her shiver. “What happens now?” Lexa asked.

“Now you survive, or not. Either way, it’ll be good TV.”

Lexa’s eyes widened as the woman shoved her out the door.

She ended up on an elevator and not in a hallway as she’d expected. As her brain kicked in, she realized it was now or never. With shaking hands, she took the items from the pack and shoved them in the few pockets her thin vest offered. She’d seen this show a few times — enough to know the bright orange backpack was a good way to die.

Now she wished she’d watched more often. Her mother hated the show and always said it was low class and not what her daughter should watch.

Just as she put the last item into a secure place and dropped the bright bag, the elevator stopped. Her heart raced. Her heavy breathing was the only sound she could hear.

The doors opened and bright sunlight flooded the dark space to blind her. She took a shaky step and saw trees in the distance. She took the woman’s advice and ran toward them.

In her mind, she started to count. One… two… three… The ten seconds would be over long before she reached the trees. She didn’t look back, afraid of what she’d see. They’d be waiting. Men had paid for the privilege of killing her for the entertainment of bored television viewers back home.

A breeze ruffled her hair. Everything felt so real here, but it wasn’t a planet. It was a space station. Terror hit her in the stomach so hard she stumbled. Horrified, she watched the ground coming at her face as she fell forward. She was giving her life to those bastards too easily. Her eager executioners would be upon her in seconds.

Eight… nine… ouch. She landed as her ten seconds ended. Rolling to her back, she sat up only to see three well-armed men wearing body armor aiming old-fashioned high-powered automatic rifles at her.

Death. She wasn’t ready. Hands grabbed her roughly. The brutality of their grip caused her shock to turn into terror. She didn’t scream or struggle. The raw panic kept her still. She was standing because those large hands hand pulled her to her feet.

“Run!”

She spun around and her breath hitched in her throat. He was glorious.

Roan of the Northlands, one of the sexiest men on TV, was rescuing her. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward just as the first shot rang out. Dirt erupted next to her foot. “Go!”

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Ashlynn Monroe is a busy working mom. She loves her kids and family. Her greatest joy is creating stories to entertain others, and she hopes they bring a little more romance into the world. She’s been writing since her teens for her own enjoyment but decided in her thirties to share her imagination with readers. Ashlynn enjoys biking, camping, reading, video games, and filling her home and life with love. If she’s not working or chasing children, you can find her daydreaming up her next tale of romance.

Website | Facebook | X | Goodreads

 

Blog Button 2

RELEASE BLITZ: Wild Ride by Will Okati

Posted on by

Title: Wild Ride

Author: Will Okati

Cover Art: Marteeka Karland

Genres: Action Adventure, Box Sets, Dark Fantasy, Mystery /Suspense /Intrigue, New Releases, Paranormal, Romance, Wildest West

Themes: Capture Fantasy, Dark Romance, LGBTQ+ Gay, Magic /Sorcery /Witchcraft, Second Edition, Vampires

Book Length: Box Set

Page Count: 220

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Time traveler, highwayman, beast, and storyteller — it’s going to be a wild ride.

Wild Ride — Strange dreams tell Nikos he’s meant to be more than a Secret Keeper, tracking the predatory Nightlings. Alexei, a time traveler from the past, has come to find Nikos and take him back to the year 2007. It’s going to be a wild ride…

Hell at One Dark Window — It’s the end of the world as we knew it. For most folk survival is all that matters, and the only justice to be found comes at the end of a pistol or the point of a stake. Barrett, a vampire and a highwayman, gets his kicks out of stealing from robber barons. He’s going to take his human lover, Nathaniel, and getting the hell out of Dodge. So to speak. All he needs is to pull off one last big job…

Blood Red — On the coldest night of the year, Ros is cast out of a village for the sin of lying with another man. He’s meant to go to his death, but stumbles instead into the enchanted garden of a Beast… a vampire Beast. Will the Beast find the salvation he’s sought for so long in the arms of a wise and willing story teller?

Sidetracked — An escort-for-hire, Devon’s just been humiliated and stiffed by his patron of the evening. When the subway taking him home switches tracks, Devon finds himself alone with a man in a white mask and gloves, a man who embodies every sexual fantasy Devon’s ever had. Is this a dream, or has he found himself Phantom Night Rider?

Excerpt

Wild Ride (Box Set)
Will Okati
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2026 Will Okati
Excerpt from Hell at One Dark Window

Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I’ll come to thee by moonlight,
Though hell should bar the way!

Alfred Noyes
“The Highwayman”

“You’re quiet tonight, lover.”

“Am I?”

“Not a word’s passed your lips except ‘harder,’ ‘more,’ and ‘oh, God…’ and those I recall being spoken in the heat of passion. You’ve not made a peep since. Being the smart type myself, despite all appearances, this tells me you’ve got something going on in that busy mind of yours. You care to share?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Well, that’s fair.” Cool, strong arms wrapped around Nathaniel’s waist, pulling him backwards against his lover’s body. “Of course, you know I don’t plan to let up until you spill the whole pot of beans.”

Nathaniel gave a soft laugh despite himself. “I know you won’t.”

“So? Save us a little trouble, and tell me what’s on your mind right now.”

“Not yet.” Nathaniel raised his hand and placed it palm-down on the cold window glass, where he stood staring out into the night, down to the abandoned stretch of cracked pavement running past his apartment. “There aren’t words, so far.”

“Hmm. Never known you to be at a loss before.” Nathaniel’s lover jostled him gently, playfully. “Never did meet a man who liked so much to talk about anything and everything. Apples to anthills. That’s why I took a shine to you in the first place — well, aside from an ass you could bounce quarters off and your pretty face. Sing for me.”

“O figlio perdito –“

Nathaniel’s lover jostled him. “Smarty-pants.”

“Yeah.” Nathaniel leaned into his lover’s firm, gentle hold, savoring the feel of being held strong and sure by someone who’d never let him fall. Life taught gay men an early lesson: don’t trust anyone unless you know for a fact they won’t turn on you, and that they mean it when they say they love you. His partner had it all, did it all, said it all, and meant it all.

Nathaniel should have been able to be open about what was worrying him. Yet somehow, he found that he couldn’t put his thoughts into words. Not yet.

His lover seemed to accept that. One thing about him, he did know when not to push. He simply held Nathaniel and rocked them soft and easy against one another, sexy yet comforting. “It’ll be all right,” he murmured after a moment. “Whatever’s got you fretting, it’ll be just fine.”

Nathaniel’s lips curved in a smile. “I know.”

He reached down to lay his hands over his lover’s, feeling the same mild shock as he had the first time they touched, finding them to be cool and satin-slick despite a few calluses. They held still as if carved from marble. No human could ever hold such a pose without so much as twitching.

Nathaniel had learned that there were more things on heaven and earth, Horatio, and so forth, but even he’d had a hard time accepting that the gorgeous man, all tousled hazelnut hair, twinkling blue eyes, and ready wit, was, of all things, a vampire.

Honestly, weren’t vampires supposed to at least give a nod to tradition? He’d seen enough wannabes in his time to know the accepted look was unrelieved black from hair to clothes to boots. This man — vampire — on the other hand, gloried in wearing a soft flannel shirt, molded-on and faded blue jeans, and clean but battered sneakers. No thick, chunky jewelry, save for a cross necklace.

Yeah, a cross.

When he’d leaned back against the bar counter in the sports watering hole where they’d met, arms crossed, grinning broadly, Nathaniel had cracked up and told the man he had a hell of an imagination.

The vampire had shrugged, and asked for one night to prove himself.

Nathaniel didn’t usually go for one-night stands, but this man had the look, he had the wit, and you had to admire someone with balls big enough to tell such outrageous stories.

He’d taken the vampire up on his offer.

And back in his apartment, when sharp fangs that were in no way fake pierced the soft skin of his neck, where throat met shoulder, and the vampire drank deep of his blood, Nathaniel had realized this was no lie. He’d found an honest-to-Satan vampire, and brought him home to bed.

What a bedding it had been, too! Tangled, sweaty limbs, lips and tongues fighting for dominance in wet, devouring kisses, and hands everywhere, from pinching nipples to gently rolling balls to stripping heavy, swollen cocks. Cool fingers, slick with oil, slipping inside Nathaniel, stretching him open with more patience and tenderness than any mortal had ever shown. The feel of the vampire’s cock splitting him open, making him ache for more even as it was given to him, and then the blissful burn of being totally filled… well, Nathaniel hadn’t minded the blood loss by then.

To his surprise, it still hadn’t bothered him when he came down from his orgasm, when he and the vampire lay tangled together in a mass of sweaty sheets, stained with one another’s come, marked by new-forming bruises and love bites. He’d let the vampire rest atop him, not breathing but still quaking in every muscle from the force of his climax, and thought, So, this is a vampire. If this is a creature of the night, I’ll take him over a human any day.

The vampire had chuckled, as if reading Nathaniel’s thoughts. He’d raised his head and grinned. “Barrett,” he’d said, stroking Nathaniel’s cheek. “My name’s Barrett. D’you believe me now?”

Barrett. Nathaniel let himself fall into the soothing, rocking rhythm. When Barrett began to hum, some old tune by Johnny Cash that just fit his raspy voice, Nathaniel almost closed his eyes and purred with the pleasure of it.

Yes, his lover was a killer. More, he was a thief, a gambler, and an all-around bad guy. But Barrett loved Nathaniel with all his un-beating heart, would do anything for him, and that was what mattered in the end.

Soft lips brushed Nathaniel’s ear. “So,” Barrett murmured, “you feel ready to talk yet?”

Nathaniel stared out the window, at the lonely stretch of highway beneath them. He took in a deep breath, and nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Don’t leave me tonight. Promise you won’t leave me.”

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Will Okati (formerly known as Willa) has lived through a few Interesting Times, but come out the other side a little grayer, a little wiser, and ready to get writing. Still as passionate about coffee, cats, and crafts as ever, but knowing that to your own self you must be true. Also still one of the quiet ones to watch out for, but life — like storytelling — is always a work in progress.

Website | Facebook

Blog Button 2

BOOK BLITZ: Claimed Without Mercy by Dulce Dennison

Posted on by

Title: Claimed Without Mercy

Author: Dulce Dennison

Cover Artist: Marteeka Karland

Publisher: Changeling Press

Release Date: April 24, 2026

Genre: Action Adventure, Contemporary, Mystery /Suspense /Intrigue, New Releases, Romance

Themes: Capture Fantasy, Dark Romance, LGBTQ+ Gay, Mafia /Organized Crime

Book Length: Novel

Page Count: 150

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Captive. Claimed. Protected by the devil himself.

I’m Tyson Hughes’ right hand. Collector. Enforcer. Executioner. When a low-level idiot tries to clear his debt by offering up his own nephew, I expect a clean transaction. A body to move. A message to send. Business.

I don’t expect Kellen. Bruised. Beautiful. Untouched by this world in ways that make my jaw lock. He looks at me like I’m either the devil come to claim him… or the only thing standing between him and worse. Taking him wasn’t part of the plan. Delivering him to Tyson would’ve been easier. Smarter. Safer. Instead, I claim him.

Now he’s living under my roof, breathing my air, learning the rules of a world I don’t sugarcoat. I’m not a hero. I don’t rescue people. I own what’s mine. I protect it. And I destroy anyone stupid enough to threaten it. But the deeper I pull Kellen into my life—into the violence, the loyalty, the blood that binds us—the harder it is to tell where captivity ends… and desire begins.

When the debt comes due, I’ll have to choose. Tyson’s empire. Or the young man I claimed without mercy—and refuse to let go.

Excerpt

Claimed Without Mercy
Dulce Dennison
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2026 Dulce Dennison

Ian

I watched the men work, arms folded across my chest. The dim lights of the warehouse cast long shadows as they moved product from one crate to another, their movements precise and mechanical. Nobody spoke much — they knew better. When I oversaw an operation, I expected efficiency, not conversation. The tattoos on my forearms seemed to pulse in the half-light, a reminder to everyone present of who I was and what I was capable of. The man who made problems disappear.

“Faster,” I said, my voice echoing against the concrete walls. “We need this shit loaded before sunrise.”

The men picked up their pace, sweat beading on their foreheads. This shipment was worth seven figures — premium grade heroin straight from our overseas connections. The kind of product that kept Tyson’s empire running and our pockets lined.

I paced between the rows of crates, watching each man’s hands, each movement. Trust wasn’t something I gave easily, especially not to the low-level soldiers Tyson assigned to these jobs. Most were competent enough, but all it took was one fuck-up, one greedy asshole, and we’d have cops swarming the place or, worse, a war with another organization.

Something caught my eye. A slight hesitation from one of the newer guys — skinny fuck with a neck tattoo that screamed prison ink. He glanced over his shoulder when he thought I wasn’t looking, then slipped his hand into his jacket pocket just a little too casually.

I moved behind a stack of crates, circling around until I was positioned where he couldn’t see me. Three years of working as Tyson’s enforcer had taught me to spot a rat before they even knew they were one.

“Something interesting in your pocket, Alvarez?” I asked, appearing beside him like a shadow.

He jumped, nearly dropping the bag he was holding. “No, Mr. Grant. Just checking the time.”

“Really? Pull it out, then.”

His eyes darted to the exit, calculating the distance. I knew that look. I’d seen it dozens of times before on the faces of men who thought they could outsmart me.

“Now,” I said, not raising my voice. I never had to.

“It’s nothing, I swear –”

I grabbed his wrist, twisting until he gasped in pain, then reached into his pocket myself. My fingers closed around a small plastic bag containing about twenty grams of our product. The weight of it told me everything I needed to know.

“Everyone stop,” I commanded, and the warehouse fell silent. “Gather round. Seems we need to have a little lesson in loyalty.”

The men formed a circle, their faces grim. They knew what was coming. They’d seen it before, or at least heard the stories.

I held up the bag. “Alvarez here thinks he deserves a bonus. Isn’t that right?”

“Please, Mr. Grant, I wasn’t –”

My fist connected with his jaw before he could finish the sentence. He stumbled backward but didn’t fall. Good. I wanted him conscious for what came next.

“Tyson Hughes pays you well,” I said, addressing everyone now. “He provides for your families. Keeps the cops off your backs. And in return, he asks for one thing.” I grabbed Alvarez by the throat. “Loyalty.”

I slammed him against a crate, my hand still tight around his neck. His eyes bulged, face turning red, then purple.

“You know what happens to thieves in this organization?” I asked, loosening my grip just enough for him to breathe.

He nodded frantically, gasping for air.

“Tell them,” I demanded, nodding toward the other men.

“They… they die,” he choked out.

I smiled. “Usually. But tonight, I’m feeling generous.”

Relief flooded his face for a brief moment before I slammed my knee into his groin. As he doubled over, I caught him with an uppercut that sent him sprawling across the concrete floor.

The men watched in silence as I approached Alvarez, who was now curled into a ball, blood trickling from his split lip. I knelt beside him, keeping my voice low enough that only he could hear.

“I’m going to let you live, but not out of mercy.” I pulled a switchblade from my pocket and flicked it open. “You’re going to be a message.”

What happened next filled the warehouse with screams that the thick walls swallowed whole. The men watched, faces impassive but eyes wide with fear as I made my point in blood. When I was done, Alvarez lay sobbing on the floor, clutching what remained of his left hand.

“Get him patched up,” I told two of the men. “Then drop him at the emergency room across town. Make sure he understands that if he says a word about where he was or who did this, the next visit won’t be so pleasant.”

They nodded and dragged Alvarez away, leaving a smear of crimson across the floor. I turned to the remaining men, wiping my blade clean on a handkerchief.

“Finish loading the shipment. I want everything out of here in thirty minutes.”

They scattered like cockroaches under a light, moving twice as fast as before. The metallic smell of blood hung in the air, mixing with the dust and chemical odors of the warehouse. I checked my watch. Almost 3 AM.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from Tyson:

Need you at the house. 9 AM sharp. Important matter to discuss.

I stared at the message, feeling a familiar mix of pride and anxiety. A direct summons from Tyson usually meant one of two things: I’d fucked up, or he had a special job that only I could handle. Given that I’d been running operations smoothly for months, I was betting on the latter.

I supervised the rest of the loading in silence, watching as the men carefully avoided the bloodstain on the floor. By 4:15 AM, the warehouse was empty except for me and the lingering evidence of what happened to those who betrayed Tyson Hughes.

I locked up and climbed into my black Audi, the leather seat cool against my back. The night had turned cold, but I barely noticed. My mind was already on the meeting with Tyson, wondering what assignment awaited me. Whatever it was, I’d handle it. I always did. That’s why, despite everything, I was still alive when so many others weren’t.

I pulled out of the warehouse district, leaving behind the night’s violence and heading toward my apartment for a few hours of sleep before meeting with the only man I’d ever truly respected. The only man who’d ever given me a chance when everyone else saw nothing but gutter trash. The man who’d made me what I was.

For Tyson Hughes, I’d do anything. And he knew it.

I pulled up to Tyson’s estate at 8:55 AM, early as always. The gates opened automatically — security knew my car. As I drove up the long, winding driveway, I caught glimpses of the sprawling mansion through the trees. Tyson had built all this from nothing, clawing his way up from the streets to become the most powerful man in the city’s underworld. And he’d picked me. Even after all these years, that fact still hit me in the chest sometimes, a mixture of pride and the constant fear of disappointing him.

I parked next to Tyson’s collection of luxury cars and straightened my tie in the rearview mirror. Despite only three hours of sleep, I looked presentable. The dark circles under my eyes were practically permanent fixtures anyway.

The front door opened before I could knock. Nick, Tyson’s longtime second-in-command, greeted me with a curt nod.

“He’s in his study,” he said, stepping aside.

I walked through the marble-floored foyer, past priceless artwork and antiques that Tyson collected not because he gave a shit about art, but because they signified his rise from poverty. Everything in this house was a trophy, a reminder of victories and conquered enemies.

The study door stood ajar. I knocked anyway.

“Come in, Ian,” Tyson called.

He sat behind a massive oak desk, silver hair immaculately styled, wearing what I knew was a hand-tailored suit that probably cost more than most people made in a month. At fifty-three, Tyson Hughes carried himself with the ease of a man who knew his own power and had no need to flaunt it. When he killed, he did it with a phone call, not his hands. Those days were behind him.

“Right on time,” he said, looking up from his computer and removing his reading glasses. “How’d the shipment go last night?”

“Clean and quick. One minor issue that’s been handled.”

Tyson raised an eyebrow. “What kind of issue?”

“Alvarez tried skimming product. Won’t happen again.”

“Is he breathing?”

I nodded. “Missing some fingers, but alive. I figured he’d be more useful as a warning than a corpse.”

A smile touched the corners of Tyson’s mouth. “Smart. That’s why I trust you with these things.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit. Drink?”

“It’s not even ten.”

“Since when has that ever stopped either of us?”

I smiled despite myself and took the seat. Tyson poured two glasses of scotch from a crystal decanter, sliding one across the desk to me.

“You look like shit,” he said casually. “Not sleeping?”

“Sleep’s overrated.”

“Not when I need you sharp.” He leaned back in his chair, studying me with those penetrating gray eyes that saw everything. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard lately.”

“Just doing my job.”

“Your job is to follow orders and stay alive. Can’t do either if you’re running on fumes.”

I took a sip of the scotch, letting the burn distract me from the fact that Tyson was the only person on earth who could talk to me like this without ending up in pieces.

“I’m fine,” I said. “What’s this important matter you wanted to discuss?”

Tyson’s expression shifted, his eyes hardening. “Sean Collins.”

The name hung in the air between us.

“What about him?” I asked.

“He owes us three hundred grand. Has for almost six months now.” Tyson took a long swallow of his drink. “I’ve been patient. Sent Nick to have a chat with him twice. Sent messages through mutual associates. Nothing.”

“You want me to collect.”

“I want you to make an example of him.” Tyson’s voice dropped, became colder. “Collins thinks because he’s got connections with the Irish that he’s untouchable. He’s been spreading word that I’ve gone soft in my old age.”

My jaw clenched. “That’s a mistake.”

“A fatal one.” Tyson stood up and walked to the window, looking out over his manicured gardens. “Sean Collins is a particular kind of vermin. Beats the girls who work for him, sometimes kills them if they try to leave. Has a taste for the young ones too.”

“Want me to take care of him permanently?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Tyson turned, his expression softer now, almost paternal. “Not yet. First, get my money. Make him understand who he’s dealing with.” He returned to his desk and pulled out a file, sliding it across to me. “Here’s everything you need to know. Addresses, hangouts, known associates. His nephew lives with him — kid named Kellen Lin. Collins had custody since the boy’s mother died. He’s an adult now but hasn’t moved out.”

I flipped through the file. Photos, financial records, property deeds. Tyson was nothing if not thorough.

“The nephew — he involved in Collins’ business?” I asked.

“Not as far as we know. Works at a coffee shop. Keeps to himself.” Tyson refilled his glass. “Use your judgment there.”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Collateral damage was part of the job.

“When?” I asked, closing the file.

“Yesterday would’ve been good. Today’s acceptable. By the end of the week, non-negotiable.”

I nodded, downing the rest of my scotch in one swallow. “Consider it done.”

“I always do when I give you an assignment.” Tyson smiled, the kind of smile that had always made me feel like I belonged somewhere. “That’s why I chose you, Ian. From the first day I pulled you out of that shithole your father called a home, I knew you were different. You understand loyalty.”

“You gave me a life,” I said simply. It wasn’t flattery. It was fact. Before Tyson, I was nothing. A fifteen-year-old kid with a junkie father and violence in my blood. Tyson had channeled that violence, given it purpose and direction.

“And you’ve repaid that a thousand times over.” He walked around the desk and put a hand on my shoulder. “Collins is just the beginning. I’m getting older, Ian. Starting to think about the future of this organization.”

My heart skipped a beat. We’d never discussed succession before, though everyone in the hierarchy wondered who would take over when Tyson eventually stepped aside. I’d always assumed it would be Nick, but at the same time, Nick was also getting up there in years. Both men were close in age and had worked side-by-side for as long as anyone could remember. But if I thought about it, I was probably the next closest to Tyson, the most trusted after Nick.

I left the study with the file tucked under my arm and a sense of purpose burning in my chest. Tyson had called me “his boy.” It wasn’t the first time, but it never failed to hit something deep inside me — that hungry, abandoned part that had never known a real father’s approval.

For Tyson, I’d collect this debt and a thousand more. I’d tear Sean Collins apart if necessary. Because when Tyson Hughes looked at me like that — with pride and expectation — I felt like I was worth something. And that feeling was more addictive than any drug I’d ever tried.

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Dulce Dennison is a pen name for gay and LGBTQA+ themed love stories from best selling MC romance author Harley Wylde, AKA award-winning science fiction/paranormal romance author Jessica Coulter Smith. From cowboys to shapeshifters, Dulce/Harley/Jess believes in love in all shapes and sizes, and that everyone deserves a happily-ever-after.

Website | Facebook | Twitter

 

Blog Button 2

RELEASE BLITZ: Somewhere in Nowhere by Steven Gellman

Posted on by

Title: Somewhere in Nowhere

Author: Steven Gellman

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 04/14/2026

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 238

Genre: Contemporary YA, Genre/lit, young adult, family-drama, gay, lesbian, high school, lesbian mothers, coming out, funeral, friendship group, friends to lovers

Add to Goodreads

Description

Coming out is hard, especially when you have two gay moms. At least it is for Simon Bugg. He doesn’t want the world to think that having gay parents has turned him gay. And he certainly doesn’t want anyone to know about the alien in his stomach that’s trying to kill him.

It’s Simon’s senior year and his world just turned upside down. When his mom scores a dream job, Simon lands at a new school away from the only friends he has ever known. Now, his mom is overworked and chronically stressed, and his deadbeat dad is back on the scene. Navigating a new school and new friends is a challenge for a neurotic overthinker, and Simon finds himself turning to his rescue cat and a local barista for support. But when Simon meets the handsome PJ in drama class, he gets talked into a date that he derails in spectacular fashion.

With a little help from his friends—new and old—Simon finds his way back to PJ. But how can he have a real relationship with the boy of his dreams when he’s convinced he’s going to die? No one knows about the nightly alien attacks at 11:22. Why then, and why do they keep getting worse? Simon must face a dark secret inside before he loses his chance with the boy he loves.

Excerpt

Somewhere in Nowhere
Steven Gellman © 2026
All Rights Reserved

11.22 p.m.

Fat drops of rain splatter across the windshield as I watch the speedometer creep ever higher. Curfew has come and gone. It’s no longer a question of will I get home late, but rather, how late will I be. Carole will be cool about it, but Mom will lose her shit. I push ahead faster. The cool air is exhilarating as it rushes through my window and works its way in and around each tight curl on my head. I feel practically airborne as I race against the clock. I haven’t forgotten Mom’s threat to take my car from me if I keep missing my curfew. I can do this. Just a little faster and I’ll be home. If I’m lucky, I might even sneak in unnoticed. Unlikely, but possible.

The sky opens and rain sheets across the windshield in torrents that the wipers try, but fail, to slice through. I fumble with the crank to roll the window up against the spray pelting my face. The dashboard clock advances to 11:22 and the air is sucked from my lungs. Time seems to slow, and I glance at the photo tucked into the visor. My throat is closing! Mags, Neel, and I had crammed into the photo booth for one last picture before I moved away. I can’t breathe! We’re making silly faces, but the raindrops splattering the photo make it look like we’re crying. I can’t breathe! Instinctively, I let go of the wheel and reach for my throat when I feel movement. In my stomach. Scratching. It feels like something wants out.

The car careens to the right. The abrupt shift in my trajectory snaps my attention back to the road. The headlights cast a glimmering runway on the wet asphalt. I slam on the brakes, and the car begins to spin out of control. A cold sweat trickles down my neck. Tires scream against the rough surface below as a panorama of cutting rain and passing lights spills across my field of vision. This is it. I’m going to die.

The car comes to an abrupt halt. I’m looking back toward the way I just came, but the angle is wrong. My eyes lock back on the clock. Still 11:22. My breath returns in shallow clips, but at least I’m breathing. Come on, Simon. Get it together. I gather my bearings and quickly realize that I’ve slid off the road and into the ditch. I take stock of the situation. I didn’t hit anything. Nothing hurts, and the car seems fine, but I am wrecked. I press on the accelerator, the tires spin, but the car doesn’t budge. Shit! I have to make it home, and fast. If Mom takes the car from me, I’ll never see Mags and Neel again. I press harder, the engine revs, and the tires grind deeper into the mud. I’m completely stuck. Now I’m really going to be in trouble. I lean my head against the steering wheel.

My shock gives way to self-pity and fear. Something warm drips down my face and onto my lips. It tastes metallic. Blood? No. Not metallic, salty. I lick the tears from my lips. Movement from beyond the now-fogged-up windows has my hair standing on end.

“Who’s there!” I cry out.

No one answers.

A shadow moves across the windshield, and I close my eyes in fear. When I reopen them, flashes of red and blue blur my vision. A bright light shines through my driver-side window, hurting my eyes. I put my hand up to shield from the glare.

“Kid, are you all right?” a voice says.

The light fades, and I put my hand down to see a police officer lowering her flashlight. I roll down my window.

“Looks like someone’s had quite the adventure. Are you hurt?”

My words stick in my throat like a thick spoonful of peanut butter.

“I’m going to ask you again. Are you hurt?”

Then the word vomit begins. “I’m okay now, but I was rushing home to beat curfew, and then the car was spinning, and I couldn’t breathe, and there was something…”

“Slow down.” She puts a hand on my shoulder. “Tell me what happened. You said there was something?”

I can’t tell her the truth. My face flushes with embarrassment. “There was…a deer,” I lie.

“A deer?”

“Yes, that’s it. I swerved to avoid a deer and now I’m stuck.” I can’t possibly tell her that I thought something was scratching from the inside.

“I see.” She seems dubious. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I think I’m fine. Just shaken up.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“No, officer, I promise.”

“Well, I’m still going to need you to blow into this.”

She holds out a small metal box with a plastic tube on top. I do as she asks.

“Okay, good. Now I’ll need your license and registration.”

“Am I in trouble?” I hand her what she asks for.

“Just sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

She strides over to her cruiser. She’s gone so long; I can’t begin to imagine what she’s doing back there. I chew the corner of my thumbnail. She must be writing a ticket. Or worse, preparing to take me to jail! My brain won’t stop catastrophizing.

“You good?” Reappearing at my window, she hands me my license and registration but doesn’t wait for my answer. “I called for a tow truck to pull you back onto the road; it should be here soon. I would also like to call your parents. You seem shaken, and I don’t want you back on the road alone once we get you out of this ditch.”

Oh my God, why is this happening to me? I begin to cry, and she pats my shoulder.

“Hey, come on, stop that. Everything is fine. This could be a lot worse. You know that, right?”

I nod and rub the tears from my cheeks.

“Do you have a phone?”

I nod again.

“Please dial a parent or guardian and I’ll talk to them so you don’t have to.”

I pull my phone from my pocket, tap my contacts, and hand her the phone. “It’s my mom.”

She takes the phone and steps away out of earshot. I watch her pace back and forth talking on my phone in the rain that has slowed to a soft mist. I don’t even want to think about Mom’s reaction to getting a phone call from a police officer. I shiver as she walks back to me.

“Your mom is on her way. She’ll be here shortly. So, what do you kids like to talk about these days? Here, I have one for you. I have two dogs named Taylor and Swift. Funny story…”

This is going to be a long wait.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Steven Gellman is an award-winning songwriter turned author whose stories hum with the same heart and honesty found in his music. Inspired by the books of Judy Blume that once kept him company through his own adolescence, Steven now writes coming-of-age fiction that gives voice to LGBTQ+ teens finding their way in an ever-changing world.

When not writing novels or performing music, Steven can be found in a comfy chair with a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. Steven lives in Maryland’s Piedmont region with his husband and a houseful of rescued companion animals.

Somewhere in Nowhere is his first novel.

Website | Facebook | X

 

Blog Button 2

RELEASE BLITZ: Divine Judgment by Mell Eight

Posted on by

Title: Divine Judgment

Author: Mell Eight

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 03/10/2026

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 43908

Genre: Romantasy, MM Romance, nonexplicit, gods, priests, royalty, prisoners, punishment, rewards, disability, magic/magic-users

Add to Goodreads

Description

Ves’s life has always been a troubled one. An orphan growing up on the streets and imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit, Ves knows how bad things can be. When he’s chosen to go before the God of Judgment to be judged for his crimes, Ves knows the result of that will either be insanity or death. Except, Judgment doesn’t go as anyone expected when, instead, the God chooses Ves to be his head priest.

Settling into his new life as priest to a God is strange, but being around Rais, the God of Judgment, is no chore. Spending time together as Ves learns what it means to be a Priest of Judgment is wonderful, until people from Ves’s past realize where he is. Ves must decide whether he wants the past he didn’t realize he had lost, or the future he was just starting to build with Rais. Presuming the other powers at play allow him to live long enough to make that decision.

Excerpt

Divine Judgment
Mell Eight © 2026
All Rights Reserved

One

Ves’s side of the room was small with no windows and a single chair in the center of the stained wood floor. The walls had been white originally but were now a murky shade of brownish gray. The guard behind him grunted pointedly, so Ves made his slow way to the chair. He gratefully sat down and placed his crutch on the floor next to him before looking across his portion of the room to the other side. A high wall separated his dingy room from the court judge in his comfortably padded chair behind a carved wooden desk. The upper half of the wall was open like a long window and high enough anyone from Ves’s side would require a few extra seconds to climb, which was more than enough time for the guard standing behind Ves to stop them. Not that Ves could climb like that, of course, but Ves doubted the judge or the guard cared.

The judge had a steaming mug of tea at one hand, a folio in front of him, and a fancy quill in a stand to his right. The walls in his half of the room were painted a cheery yellow, which augmented the afternoon light streaming in from the glass-paned window.

“You have been recommended for early release,” the judge said. He didn’t look up from the folio, nor otherwise acknowledge Ves was in the room. “Based on your criminal history and your behavior while incarcerated, the court is willing to consider this sentence reduction.”

Ves swallowed down his growing hope, knowing better than to say anything or let any budding happiness show on his face in any way that could be seen by the guards or the judge. In this world of prison bars and shackles, hiding emotion was much safer. Besides, Ves had always been skilled at discerning the truth hidden behind the words. In this case, the truth was the prison was overcrowded and funding was limited. Thanks to his injury, Ves wasn’t likely to repeat the crimes for which he had been convicted, and providing medical care and accommodations for him was expensive. Tossing him out on the street and hoping for the best was far more economical for the courts than keeping him for the full term of his sentence.

“However, there are requirements that must be fulfilled prior to certifying your release,” the judge continued. “Per our laws enshrined in the annals of the divine accolades, first, you must go before the God of Judgment and beg for absolution of your crime. Should the God grant mercy, you will be released from prison. Second, should you be granted release, you will be provided housing for one week, after which you must obtain lawful employment. You must be gainfully employed for the remaining time left on your sentence. A gap of longer than a week is grounds for reincarceration. Third, you will be assigned a liaison officer with whom you must meet weekly. This officer will assess your activities and provide reports to the court regarding whether you should return to prison. Lastly, commission of any crime is grounds for immediate cancellation of your early release.”

The court judge picked up the fancy quill, dipped it in ink, and signed something at the bottom of one of the papers in the folio. He dusted the ink with sand before closing the folio and passing it to someone standing by the door, likely a secretary. Once that was done, he looked at the guard.

“Next case. I would like to have this chore completed in time to be home for afternoon tea.” The judge still hadn’t looked at Ves, more interested in the contents of his cooling teacup as Ves picked up his crutch and struggled to his feet.

Ves followed the guard out the door and back into the prison, trying not to let hope take root in his chest. He had no idea what obtaining a divine Judgment required, but felt safe assuming he didn’t have enough money to bribe the priests in the temple of the God of Judgment to agree to his release. Even if he did manage to get through Judgment, getting a job with his injury was going to be next to impossible. Ves didn’t remember the stabbing or know why he had been targeted by another inmate, just that when he woke in the prison’s medical wing, he had lost the use of his right leg as a result. The leg was still attached, but he could only bend his knee, feel his foot, or wiggle his toes about 10 percent of the time. The other 90 percent, his right foot hung like a deadweight. There was no way to know whether the stabbing had been the cause or whether the incompetent medical care Ves received afterward was the problem, but he was restricted to the speed of his crutch and only had one free hand to carry things while he was upright. Most ex-convicts found work at the docks unloading ships. Ves wouldn’t be able to do that, which limited his options severely. Regardless, even a few days of freedom would be a nice vacation from the hell that was prison.

“Do you know when I’ll be able to request absolution from the God of Judgment?” Ves asked the guard, who grunted in response.

“Today’s Moonsadai. Convict absolution is always the morning of Raisadai, so in two days. Don’t be in a rush to meet this God though.” The guard smirked at Ves. “If you’re lucky, you’ll come back here more injured than you left. If you’re not lucky, you’ll be dead.” Still smirking, the guard stopped at the first set of doors leading into Ves’s shared cell. He pulled a lever, and the first barred door slid aside. Ves stepped through the doorway and the first door slid closed, locking him into the two-by-two-foot space. The guard pulled the lever again, and the second door slid to the side, revealing the nine-by-nine-foot square cell he shared with three other inmates.

The man Ves only knew as Fang grinned at Ves as the second door closed behind him. Both of Fang’s pointed incisors, sharpened prior to his arrest for ripping out chunks of people with his teeth, were prominent in his mouth, so the grin was equally a threat and a welcome.

“Well, you getting out of here?” Fang asked, watching from where he was sitting on his bottom bunk as Ves slowly made his way to the other bunk bed. Ves got the bottom of his bed thanks to necessity, since he couldn’t climb. Fang liked Ves for some reason, so it was thanks to his influence over their other two cellmates that Ves hadn’t been challenged for the better bed.

“I get to have a hearing with the God of Judgment in two days. I’m not sure that means I’m getting out of here though.”

“If you only get to see one of the priests, you’ll be back here in an hour,” Omnit called from where he was flopped out on the bed above Ves.

Fang nodded and ran his hand over his mouth. “Maybe. If you actually get to go into the temple to get a Judgment directly from the God, though, I’ll bet you’ll be freed. You’re one of the noble mistakes, right? I’ve heard the God of Judgment doesn’t care about rank or money, just whether you actually committed the crime.”

“And I’ve heard people who go see the God come back missing limbs or go straight to the crazy house ’cause their heads got messed up instead,” Omnit added. “They spend the rest of their days laughing at blank walls or screaming at the air. Better to see a corrupt priest instead.”

Ves sighed and lay back on the thin mattress, staring up at the straps holding Omnit’s mattress in place. One of the noble mistakes. In the prison system they were so common they had a name, and people who fell into that category tended to receive a bit more leeway from the other inmates. They weren’t usually randomly stabbed like Ves. The guards didn’t care, but Fang had defended Ves on multiple occasions because of it. When nobles broke the law and got caught, that mistake was rectified with money put in the right hands and a scapegoat going to prison instead. Ves hadn’t even had a trial but was now seven years into a fifteen-year sentence, convicted of two attempted rapes, the last one resulting in manslaughter of the victim. He would be turning twenty-one years old in two days, Ves realized as his gloomy thoughts identified something else depressing to focus on. When people reached the age of majority, they visited the temple of the God of Life to pray for guidance as they stepped into adulthood. Hopefully visiting the God of Judgment, instead, wouldn’t be yet another black mark against him.

“It’s not like I have a choice,” Ves finally responded. “The court judge signed some paperwork, so I’ll be dragged to the temple whether I like it or not.”

Fang let out a barking laugh. “That’s the world of the Gods, I guess. All we can do is hope they don’t make us suffer too damned much.”

Before Ves could think of a response, the afternoon klaxon went off, echoing through the prison as it did twice every day—first thing in the morning and now. Ves’s ears continued to ring for a few seconds after the klaxon stopped. By the time he could hear again, he could also hear the squeaky wheel from the meal cart in the hallway. A moment later a slot opened above the small table in the corner, bolted to the wall so they couldn’t move it, and someone pushed four trays filled with their dinner onto it. Omnit scrambled down from his bed and returned holding two trays, one of which he passed to Ves. Fang grabbed a tray, and the fourth man in their cell climbed down from his bunk over Fang to get his as well. The man never spoke, ever, so Ves didn’t know his name, but he also never caused problems, so he wasn’t the worst roommate Ves had endured in his seven years here.

Dinner was boiled chicken, boiled potatoes, and boiled beans, each portioned exactly so every tray had the same amount of bland, lifeless grub. At first, Ves had been excited about the prospect of regular meals, since that wasn’t something he had enjoyed before his incarceration, but that minimal silver lining had faded away fast. He ate the food, tasting nothing the entire time, and let Omnit return the empty tray to the table next to the slot for the workers to remove later. With nothing else to anticipate before the morning klaxon announcing breakfast, Ves curled up on his bed and pulled his thin blanket over his shoulders. Sleeping wouldn’t end his misery or allay his worries about the impending temple visit, but at least he could turn off his brain for a few hours. After seven years of long practice, Ves forced himself to sleep, knowing everything would still be waiting for him to dwell on in the morning.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

When Mell Eight was in high school, she discovered dragons. Beautiful, wondrous creatures that took her on epic adventures both to faraway lands and on journeys of the heart. Mell wanted to create dragons of her own, so she put pen to paper. Mell Eight is now known for her own soaring dragons, as well as for other wonderful characters dancing across the pages of her books. While she mostly writes paranormal or fantasy stories, she has been seen exploring the real world once or twice.

Website | Facebook | X

 

Blog Button 2

RELEASE BLITZ: Cupids’ Arrows by Mell Eight

Posted on by

Title: Cupids’ Arrows

Author: Mell Eight

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 01/13/2026

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 17300

Genre: Holiday Fantasy, MM Romance, Valentine’s Day, anthropomorphic, established couples, magic, grief

Add to Goodreads

Description

Sable and Wynn have kept their relationship quiet. Love cupids and loss cupids are too different, after all. But cupid society wasn’t always separated. When Elder Meir hatches a plot to use Sable and Wynn to prove cupids work better together, Sable and Wynn are all in. However, the plot requires they travel to the human world to tackle a very complicated case of love and loss where failure isn’t an option. They can only hope their bond will be enough to overcome the odds.

Excerpt

Cupids’ Arrows
Mell Eight © 2026
All Rights Reserved

Prologue

Sable shook his head and sighed. The poor guy sitting at the park bench on the other side of the path from where Sable stood, reading a brochure with a picture of white sand and blue ocean on the cover, really was suffering, and all because a love cupid had hit him with an arrow. On the one hand, the man was clearly very in love with his wife. He adored her and the life they had together. On the other, his real love was the opportunity to travel. He wanted to see the world, exactly as the brochure in his hands invited. However, as long as he was married to his wife and tied up with her social calendar, he was never going to have the opportunity.

Sable concentrated, using his magic to sift through the pieces of information he felt emanating from the subject as the man closed the brochure and tipped his head back against the top of the bench to stare at the blue sky. To find his true happiness, what the man needed was to be able to say no to the next charity ball, to skip the musical or play that month, or even to miss the golf tournament his wife signed him up for every year.

There was no need to negate the marriage or remove the love cupid’s arrow completely, Sable decided. The man really did love his wife, and he didn’t mind most of the events she dragged him to. He just needed enough free time between those events to get on a plane and fly to another country. To do that, he had to develop a backbone and the ability to be firm about advocating for himself against her demands to escort her to all her events.

That wouldn’t be too difficult to manufacture. The shaft of an arrow appeared in Sable’s hand, cedar to hold the spell and fly true. He added goose feathers with a bit of twine and glue on one end of the shaft because they symbolized both loyalty to family and a transition. A steel broadhead for resiliency went on the other end. Sable concentrated on the finished arrow, calling up his magic.

Barefoot on soft white sand, the quiet rush of the waves, and the glow of the moon overhead. Beauty and peace. And then his wife walked up to him and took his hand, holding him close to enjoy the view together, and the moment became perfect. All he had to do was find the courage and ask, and this dream would become reality.

Sable let out a breath and opened his eyes as the spell snapped into place. His fingers tingled with the backlash, but the arrow was complete. The glue was still a little damp, but there was no time to wait. This opportunity while the subject sat on the bench was too perfect. Sable called up his bow, the recurve crossbow appearing in his free hand. He loaded the arrow and aimed.

“Don’t you dare!”

Sable jumped. Thankfully his finger hadn’t been on the trigger, because he would have shot the arrow into a tree instead of his target.

“Don’t you loss cupids have anything better to do than ruin all of the love cupids’ hard work?” the voice continued.

Sable turned to look, already scowling. The man standing behind Sable, hands on his hips, was vaguely familiar. Sable had definitely seen him flying around the clouds the cupids called home but had never spoken with him before. Down on Earth and confined to a human form, he didn’t look all that different to what Sable remembered. Long blond hair, windswept and slightly tangled in the breeze, and blue eyes darkened by scorn, he was the embodiment of what a love cupid should look like. Minus the wings, of course, since those were hidden from human view whenever any cupid came down to Earth. He was also incredibly hot, particularly the way his lower lip jutted out—begging for a nibble—as his scowl deepened.

“I have my mission,” Sable replied, but that only made the love cupid scoff.

“Some mission.”

Sable managed to keep himself from rolling his eyes at the level of sarcasm in those two words. Sable had his mission, exactly as he had said, and no love cupid was going to get in the way of that. Still though… Sable bit his lip, and when the cupid’s eyes dipped down, tracking as Sable slowly let his lip slide free from between his teeth, Sable made his decision.

“Use your magic on him. What do you feel?”

The love cupid stared at Sable a moment longer before huffing out a breath and refocusing on Sable’s subject.

“He’s happy and in love,” the cupid replied after a moment.

“Is he?” Sable replied, keeping his tone bland. While the love cupid was distracted, Sable lifted his crossbow, aimed, and fired. The arrow flew true, slamming into the man’s chest directly over his heart where it shimmered for a moment before vanishing.

“Hey!”

“Feel him now,” Sable said, cutting into the cupid’s ire as he spun back toward Sable. “Now tell me if he’s happy. Tell me!” Sable insisted

The cupid glared at Sable, but when Sable only looked back, firm with the knowledge that he was right, the cupid huffed out another breath and turned back to the man.

The subject was no longer staring longingly at the sky. Instead, he had the brochure open again and was running a finger down the line of departure dates on the final panel, a broad smile on his face. A moment later he pulled out his cell phone, tapping to make a call before bringing it to his ear.

“Honey, remember how you were complaining that you didn’t want to see that one-man play where the character has multiple personalities that Jan insisted we needed to see because her son helped produce it? What if we already had other plans?” He paused, listening. “Well, we don’t need to tell her when we booked our other plans, but I think we would both enjoy two weeks exploring Panama and Colombia with a few days relaxing on the beaches in Aruba rather than seeing that play.” He listened again, his smile growing even wider. “Exactly! Should I go ahead and book it?”

Sable turned away, satisfied both by what he was hearing and by what his magic told him. The man had taken the first step toward truly being happy; there was no reason for Sable to linger.

“How did you do that?” the love cupid asked, hurrying to catch up to Sable. “You didn’t break my arrow. You layered your own on top of mine!”

“I needed to break his attachment to always saying yes to ensure his wife was always happy,” Sable explained. “You were right that he and his wife are a perfect match, but his happiness was entirely dependent on hers. My arrow gave him the incentive he needed to balance ensuring her happiness and his own.”

“Huh.” The love cupid suddenly stopped walking and held out his hand. “I’m Wynn.”

“Sable,” he responded, taking Wynn’s hand and shaking it. Wynn let go slowly, his fingers almost caressing against Sable’s.

“I like the way you think, Sable,” Wynn said, his voice when he said Sable’s name dipping low and sultry. “I’ll definitely be seeing you again.”

He winked before abruptly turning and jogging away into the trees. A moment later, he vanished with a brief flash of light, heading back up to the clouds.

Sable looked at his hand for a moment, his skin still tingling faintly from Wynn’s warmth.

“Huh,” Sable said, echoing Wynn from a moment ago.

He had a feeling Wynn was lingering in the landing zone up in the clouds, waiting to see whether Sable might be interested in a game of chase. A game, Sable thought, smiling to himself, that would likely end up in one of their bedrooms.

Sable was definitely interested in giving Wynn’s little game a try.

He walked the last few steps into the trees, reaching the spot where Wynn had vanished, and paused to double-check himself. Wynn was a love cupid, after all, and Sable a loss cupid. They were so different, and this really wasn’t a good idea, and yet… Wynn’s playful wink said he didn’t care. Sable… He shook his head. He cared, but despite that, he still wanted to see where a tryst with Wynn might lead.

Sable signaled, and the flash of light enveloped him. A moment later, the cloud where the landing zone was located appeared around him. Wynn stood in the doorway, his bright white wings spread. When he saw Sable looking at him, he grinned and took off, flying over the clouds in the general direction of the city.

Sable rustled his own wings, stretching them out after their confinement while on Earth, then took off, too, following Wynn.

While the chase might be fun, catching Wynn was definitely going to be much more so. Sable honestly couldn’t wait.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

When Mell Eight was in high school, she discovered dragons. Beautiful, wondrous creatures that took her on epic adventures both to faraway lands and on journeys of the heart. Mell wanted to create dragons of her own, so she put pen to paper. Mell Eight is now known for her own soaring dragons, as well as for other wonderful characters dancing across the pages of her books. While she mostly writes paranormal or fantasy stories, she has been seen exploring the real world once or twice.

Website | Facebook | X

 

Blog Button 2

NEW RELEASE BLITZ: Vermont Paradise by Natalie Monteiro

Posted on by

Title: Vermont Paradise

Author: Natalie Monteiro

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 01/06/2026

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 71200

Genre: Contemporary YA, Romance, contemporary, young adult, family-drama, lesbian, family vacation, campsite, vanlife, dogs, sisters

Add to Goodreads

Description

A camping trip with her family is what Maria was expecting. Long walks with her dog, Maggie, the usual banter with her sister, Tanya, receiving unsolicited survival lessons from her dad, and pep talks of positivity from her mom. But her predictions were only half correct. Never would she expect to spend so much time with anyone else. Especially not a total stranger. A stranger with such a pretty smile and beautiful green eyes. Because that’s the thing about people who you don’t know. They can teach you things that you never knew about yourself.

Excerpt

Vermont Paradise
Natalie Monteiro © 2026
All Rights Reserved

I threw my backpack into the backseat of our blue Subaru Outback and closed the door. I really wanted to slam it, but I had recently taken it upon myself to be less passive-aggressive. Regardless, I shouldn’t show my cards. Mom had practically begged us to be on our best behavior. For Dad’s sake, she had said. It was his idea to go on this family camping trip. Our first one ever. I didn’t know what inspired this idea of his. All I knew was that he thought it would be a good idea to teach us kids about the outdoors. In case we ever got lost in the wilderness or in case there was total collapse of society. The latter seemed to be his greatest fear.

“All set?” my mom asked as she approached the Subaru.

“Yes, my bag is all packed,” I responded.

“Do you know if Tanya is ready?”

Tanya. My lovely older sister. She was the main reason I was dreading this family trip. I tried my best to keep my composure.

“Probably not. You know how she is. Waiting until the last minute to get ready just like Dad.”

“Ugh, I know,” Mom said with a huff. “Your father is still in the shower.”

We were supposed to be on the road by 8:00 a.m., but here we were at 8:20 a.m., still waiting for them. Getting up early was not an issue for me. If anything, I woke up too early. Like today. Five-thirty a.m. was a bit too much, even for me. I knew it was because I had too much on my mind… I just wanted to get this camping trip over with already.

I gave my mom a half smile before passing her by to go back inside. I wanted to say goodbye to my cat, Remy, while I still could. I bet he would enjoy the house all to himself. If anything, he would enjoy being free from Maggie, our four-year-old Australian Shepherd who still had the energy of a puppy. Which, unfortunately for Remy, meant that she wanted to play with him whenever the rest of us were too busy.

It was one of my favorite things about Maggie. How much she loved to play. We could do it for hours. Fetch with her favorite tennis ball or playing with my old, beat-up soccer ball. She even knew how to play hide and seek! But for her, she didn’t really care what we did, so long as we were doing it together. That was why I made sure she was included in this family trip. But truthfully, it was just as much for her sake as it was for mine.

That the one good thing about camping, at least. It was dog friendly.

I opened the kitchen cupboard, hoping to find Remy there. It wasn’t his typical hiding spot, but it definitely wasn’t his most unusual. He was usually to be found under my parents’ bed, but with all the extra commotion this morning, I figured he wanted somewhere quieter.

I was right. There he was, curled up in a tight ball, staring up at me with his bright-green eyes. He gave me a look of “please just let me sleep some more.” Not this time. If only he could understand that he could go back to sleeping in a few minutes, once all of us had left.

He let out a soft meow as I scooped him up and plopped us onto the black pleather couch. I held him tight against my chest, and he nuzzled in, making himself more comfortable. I stroked the long dirty-brown fur on his back, and I could feel him relaxing more deeply. Soon, he closed his eyes as if ready to return to sleep.

If only he knew how lucky he is, not having to endure the family trip that lies ahead.

“Morning, sis!” Tanya screeched from over my shoulder. My entire body jumped in surprise as my heart rate increased. Remy too was disturbed. His eyes jolted open, and he looked direly afraid. I didn’t know if it was from Tanya’s yell or my reaction to it. Either way, it didn’t matter. I was just lucky that he didn’t run away.

“Ready for some family bonding?” she asked with an overly sarcastic tone. It took every bone in my body to not get upset with her. She knew that I startled easily, and I knew that she got pleasure from seeing it happen. I couldn’t fault her for it this time. I could only wonder how I had missed her coming down the stairs.

“Yeah, I’m ready for it if you are,” I said, trying to gauge just how bad of a mood she was in. Out of all the vacations we could have gone on, at least we could agree that this would be very low on the list. Though I knew she wouldn’t handle camping as well as I would.

She mocked me under her breath. “I’m ready if you are,” she muttered to herself in a voice that made me sound stupid. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

I stared at her without an answer. Was she really starting this already?

“God, you’re so annoying. I can’t believe I’m going to be stuck with you in a car, for, what, like four hours?”

“Like three and a half,” I corrected, wanting to add a splash of fuel to the fire.

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “Close enough.”

I stared at her in make-believe confusion. “Oh, I thought you’d be delighted. It’s less time than you were expecting to spend with me in the car.”

She stared back at me with a dirty grin on her face. “No one likes a know-it-all, Mar. And that’s only one reason why people don’t like you.”

I instinctively clenched my hand into a fist. I usually tried to ignore comments like these from her, but I was getting sick of being her punching bag. Camping would be bad enough on its own. I didn’t need her comments on top of it.

“Aw, what a real shame Tommy didn’t want to come with us. I can’t imagine why. You’re such a charmer. Hey, well, since he’s not coming, why don’t you take all that makeup off? Or are you too insecure to even let your family see what you really look like?”

Remy wasn’t having it. I could only assume he felt the tension. He jumped off my lap and ran up the stairs, probably to hide elsewhere. Anywhere far from here. It made my skin boil hotter. Tanya had ruined my goodbye with him.

She gave me a smirk. “Okay, one: you know Tommy couldn’t take the time off work. And two: you sound like a jealous bitch. It’s not my fault you’re incapable of obtaining a meaningful, long-term relationship. One that’s filled with connection. One that’s filled with love.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure he really loves you. I totally haven’t noticed him flirting with anyone else. Never.”

“That’s it!” She lunged in my direction with her arms at full stretch.

“Girls!” Mom yelled, swinging the front door open and accidentally slamming it into the wall. She stared at where it had hit, clearly upset that it had happened. She turned to give us an angry look of “see what you made me do?”

Tanya’s eyes were locked on mine as she slowly took a step backward. She maintained a glare at me while doing so, making me believe that she really was about to beat the shit out of me. What retaliation had Mom just saved me from?

“It is too early for this much animosity! Please!” Mom seemed unsatisfied that our ongoing tension hadn’t miraculously disappeared into thin air.

“She started it!” Tanya yelled, breaking our deadlock. I felt like I had teleported back to when we were kids. Her five and me four.

“I don’t want to hear it! We have been over this already! I need you two to get along for the sake of your father. This vacation is very important to him.”

I let out a heavy sigh, knowing she was right. “Yes, Mom. It won’t happen again,” I agreed, really hoping that this would be the last of our fighting. But knowing Tanya, Mom’s interference had merely delayed her retaliation, and she didn’t even have a chance to respond.

It was as if Dad had heard his name and was arriving on cue. He bounced down the stairs with a big bag of God knows what in either hand. “All right, all right, all right!” he hummed. “Who’s ready for some camping?” He expressed it in such a way that made the only appropriate answer to be one agreeing with him wholeheartedly.

“Me!” Tanya said, convincingly, taking the words right out of my mouth. It was officially time to put on the good girl show for Dad.

“Me too, Dad!” I said, sounding equally excited.

Mom looked like a wave of relief had been taken off her shoulders. She had nipped our fighting in the bud before Dad could even become aware of it. It was lucky for her, and it was lucky for us. There was no reason to make Dad upset.

“Great! Let’s pack up the car,” he said.

“I already threw my stuff in there,” I explained, alluding to the fact that I had been ready for a while now.

“Okay, well then, you can help me load these bags into the car, and Tanya, you can help your mother fill the cooler.”

I was pretty sure that Mom had already filled it, but I wasn’t going to correct him, and apparently, she didn’t want to either. She just gave him a smile.

I stepped outside. The cool air of the summer morning hit my face. I could already feel the heat from the sun beaming down on top of my head, which meant regardless of the brisk morning air, today was going to be a hot one.

Dad opened the trunk to the Subaru, looking displeased as he noticed the various items that were already loaded in there. He pulled them all out and placed them onto the pavement. I knew too well what he was doing. He needed to load everything in a specific way, making the most space possible. I stood there, watching him, letting him do his thing.

“I’m leaving space here for the cooler,” Dad said, letting me be privy to the inner workings of his mind. He started putting everything back inside, leaving the left side of the trunk open. “Normally, I’d want to put that in first, since it’s so big, but I guess we are going a little wild today.” He paused for a moment, turning to look at me with an amused grin. “Wild! Ha!”

Oh, Dad.

“Good one,” I said with a soft chuckle, mainly because of his reaction to the pun and not the pun itself. Off to the wilderness we went.

Mom and Tanya came out the front door of the house. They each had a handle to the cooler in one hand as they walked carefully toward us. Dad rushed over to meet them. He swiftly took it into his possession, carried it the rest of the way to the car, and slid it into its rightful spot.

“Great,” he said, satisfied. “Now to get the last-minute items.”

“I’ll open up the garage,” Mom said, as if she also knew Dad’s process. I let them handle the rest as I went back inside to retrieve Maggie.

“Mags!” I hollered, entering the house, but she was already patiently waiting at the door for me. Her eyes were wide, and she panted. She started doing circles around me. She hated being alone. Even if it was for a second.

“Do you want to go for a car ride?” I asked, and she stopped in her tracks. This devolved into her running around me even faster than before. She threw in some kind of silly-looking bunny hops. I let out a wholesome laugh at her utter cuteness.

“Okay, good girl! Sit,” I commanded. Her listening skills were great, just like I had trained them to be. I connected her turquoise collar to its matching leash. Together, we did a final walk around the house making sure that I had packed up everything Maggie would need. Her water bowl, her container of food, the bag of treats, and her blanket. They were nowhere to be found, which meant that I had successfully packed them all into the car.

I eyed her bin of toys, opting to bring one more with us. I hadn’t wanted to get it dirty, but I changed my mind. She’d be happy to have her favorite stuffed pickle available to chew during the car ride, so I picked up the soft green blob, and she excitedly mouthed it out of my hand. I smiled down at her, letting her carry it the rest of the way.

“Does anyone need anything else from inside?” I hollered to my family as I opened the front door once more. With overwhelming nos from the family, I locked the door behind me and joined the rest of them at the rear of the car.

They had made fast work. The trunk was now stuffed, with the cooler barely visible behind all the additional items around it. From what I could tell at a glance, they had added in the tents, a propane stove, and camping chairs. With how full the trunk was, it looked like we were going on a two-week trip, but luckily for me, we’d only be gone for the next five days.

With everything all set, we hopped into the car. Dad as the driver, Mom as the copilot, me sitting behind Dad, and Tanya seated behind Mom. Then, of course, there was Maggie, who was half on my lap and half on the middle seat. She shoved Pickle in my face, making me do nothing but smile.

I said a mental goodbye to Remy, and the house at large, as the garage door closed and we began to drive away.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Natalie Monteiro lives in Central Massachusetts where she enjoys embracing her creativity in whatever form it takes. From writing, to singing, to painting. Natalie also works as a biological research scientist in her daily life. She achieved a Master of Science in Pharmacology from the University of Minnesota and a Bachelor of Science in Neuroscience from the University of New Hampshire. Throughout her years of schooling, her creative roots never stopped calling to her, which ultimately resulted in her debut novel Vermont Paradise. It is her hope that Vermont Paradise can serve as a reminder for all to follow their passions. May the process bring much happiness.

Website | Facebook | Instagram

 

Blog Button 2

RELEASE BLITZ: Essence by Mychael Black

Posted on by

 

Title: Essence

Author: Mychael Black

Cover Art: Angela Knight

Genres: Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Mystery & Suspense, New Releases, Paranormal, Romance, Urban Fantasy

Themes: Dark Romance, LGBTQ+ /Gay, LGBTQ+ /Sex/Gender Shifters & MPreg, Vampires

Series: Splintered Bloodlines (#3)

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 71

Description

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

Excerpt

Essence (Splintered Bloodlines 3)
Mychael Black
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Mychael Black

Deacon

“How’s he doing? Fitting in okay?”

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.”

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

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.

Website | Facebook

 

Blog Button 2

BOOK BLITZ: Part of Me Fell Into You by Eule Grey

Posted on by

Title: Part of Me Fell Into You

Author: Eule Grey

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 11/25/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 33800

Genre: Contemporary romance, gay, bisexual, British, twins, cycling, ND, ADHD, crime family, anxiety, depression, loneliness, siblings, family drama

Add to Goodreads

Description

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?

Gangsters live hard, but they love even harder.

Excerpt

Excerpt
Part of Me Fell into You
Eule Grey © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Fionn

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.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

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.

Website | Facebook | X

 

Blog Button 2