Six to carry the casket and one to say the mass: reflections on life,
identity, and moving forward offers the unique opportunity for its readers to
start a new dialogue, take an active hand in creating culture and reshaping
the world, and think about making meaning from formative experiences and
relationships. From family dynamics and professional challenges that bolstered
and battered him to the TV shows, films, books, and people who impacted his
queer identity, Bill deconstructs the world that he inherited and begins to
reconstruct the person he wants to become through short, poignant,
thought-provoking, and frequently hilarious essays. The post-2020 world
revealed to Bill that social transformation only comes with individual
choices. If he wanted the world to change, he had to truthfully and
compassionately understand how choices made long ago brought him to this
moment and how the choices he makes now shape the future.
This book is not didactic or instructional; not self-help or psychology; not
academic philosophy or cultural criticism. It is an exercise in honesty and a
portrait of Bill, his family, and how we construct multiple
identities—sexual, religious, philosophical, political, familial,
relational—without reducing them to a monolithic whole, without being
argumentative.
For anyone looking to make meaning out of their lives and the world around
them, this book offers a model.
Gilbert Sullivan, crown prince of the basilisks, hates his name, but he
fears the rhyme may be prophecy.
Rhyme of Longing (Jack & Gil 1): When Prince Gilbert Sullivan meets Jack
Sowerby, the new head of SearchLight, his attraction won’t let him stay
away. Jack’s need for Prince Gilbert blossoms and he’s unable to
resist — until he’s forcibly changed into a magical creature. Will
their shattered relationship ever be restored?
Rhyme of Longing (Jack & Gil 2)
Jack is falling apart, but no one seems to notice. As Jack withdraws, the tide
of war rises. Jack must find a way to regain his strength and determination or
SearchLight will fall. And he’s convinced he must do it alone.
Rhyme of Love (Jack & Gil 3)
Gil struggles to hide his loss of status from Jack, but when he finally
confesses, Jack blurts out his secret. Jack knows he screwed up. Well, almost.
Running the risk of losing Gil, Jack must learn to lie convincingly, or
he’ll lose SearchLight, his life, and Gil, as well.
Excerpt from Rhyme of Longing
Jack wanted so badly to be done with this night that he felt uncomfortable in
his skin. That was not the proper way to begin thinking about his sixty-eighth
birthday, his five-year anniversary as the head of SearchLight Academy. This
was a party for both those things but no one said “no” to Agent
Weinberg.
Not necessarily the most powerful magical being in the world, she was still
the head of the entire organization. Even though she held the nominal title of
“head of Public Relations,” SearchLight’s whole reason for
existing was to protect the relationship between magical and nonmagical
peoples. Which was, of course, officially, no relationship at all. SearchLight
was a secret and must remain so.
The influence she held would make most magical creatures bow in submission.
Jack, being merely human, was suitably impressed. And although as yet not
cowed, he was too fond of his life to waste it needlessly. Not that Agent
Weinberg had killed anyone. Recently.
Jack took a deep breath in through his nose as the limousine pulled up to the
curb. He’d been commanded to take this limo and the implicit service of
a driver, and although he hadn’t enjoyed it particularly, he was glad
that he hadn’t needed to find a place to park in downtown Washington,
DC. So, unsure if he was supposed to tip the driver but wanting to show his
appreciation, he stepped around to the driver’s side after the car was
parked at the curb and offered the person behind the wheel, whom, his
telepathic sense, told him wasn’t human, ten dollars.
“Would you be trying to bribe me to take you home, Agent Sowerby?”
Jack saw the humor in the green eyes turned up to his and smiled. “Never
in life,” he told the Irish-sounding sprite or Faery or leprechaun.
Damn, sometimes he wished for a werewolf’s sense of smell so he’d
know the magical creatures around him at once.
“You’re a good man, Agent Sowerby. Don’t let her bully you
now.” And with that, he winked and rolled up his window. Jack stepped
around the car to the sidewalk and watched the limo drive away.
“Hey there.” The voice was soft, lightly accented, and full of a
syrupy, sarcastic undertone that put Jack’s hackles up. He turned more
slowly than he could have, wanting to appear older and so less threatening. He
gazed at the three people facing him and saw they were all armed.
He was aware of others watching from the doorway of the restaurant but knew
they wouldn’t intercede unless it became obvious he couldn’t
handle himself. That was one thing about Agent Weinberg he didn’t like
much. She believed in the “sink or swim” philosophy.
The woman who’d spoken was smiling in a particularly condescending way.
“Got a handout for me?” She twirled the knife in her right hand as
she reached out with her left for the ten spot Jack still held.
Jack offered it, keeping a good distance from her, forcing her to step forward
to take the bill. He was aware of the other two moving to flank him. He
disliked using his telepathic sense against what he considered to be
defenseless people, magical or mundane, and yet he wouldn’t risk his own
life to preserve theirs. “I suggest you take this and be on your
way,” he said softly, putting a slight psychic push into the words. He
blanketed the area with his calming presence, lacking the ability to focus on
more than two people at once. Both of the men who’d been flanking him
stopped. One of them shook his head but the other was definitely under
Jack’s control.
“Back off,” Jack said and watched the woman lower her knife a
little.
She snatched at the bill and her knife hand flicked upward.
Jack dropped the ten spot and caught her wrist. The knife’s blade
skidded across the waterproof material of his trench coat. He forced her to
drop the knife as he said, “Go away.”
The man under his control turned and fled. But the other lunged at Jack.
Yanking the woman close, Jack used her as a shield. The other man’s
blade slid between her ribs. He swore, stumbling back, and lost his grip on
his knife. As he turned to flee, Jack lowered the woman to the ground. He
shouted, “Someone call nine-one-one.”
Someone joined him out on the sidewalk. It wasn’t Agent Weinberg. It
wasn’t a SearchLight agent he knew. There was regal bearing in the
other’s posture as he crouched beside Jack. “Let me heal
her.”
Jack didn’t protest, although he did skate his telepathic sense outward
to determine if this was a magical creature. The fact that he’d said
“heal” rather than “help” argued for him not being
human. He came into contact with an impenetrable psychic wall and winced as
his telepathic sense bounced off. Well, there weren’t all that many
humans who could resist even his most casual reach. Ergo, this was a magical
creature.
Jack nodded and said, “Go ahead.” He retreated inside his own head
and as he pulled out his cell phone, unwilling to trust to others to call for
help, he watched the broad-shouldered male beside him spit into his hand and
press the palm against the wound even as he pulled the knife free.
Dragon, Jack thought. Dragons could heal with their saliva or a blood
exchange. But this wasn’t a dragon Jack knew.
About the Author
Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender
women’s speculative fiction. Seeking a world made of equality, she
created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its
problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host
of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires. And in the
contemporary world she’s named “Sticks & Stones,” Emily
has vowed to create small towns where prejudice is challenged by a passionate
quest for equality. Find her on Facebook at Shapeshifter Central or on her
website.
After spending two years away at culinary school, learning the arts of baking and magic, all Karl wants to do after graduation is return home to the kitchen where he grew up. However, when Karl’s adoptive uncle asks him to do a little favor for him along his journey, of course Karl says yes. He needs to find a missing person, one who may have been captured somewhere in Yaroi, a neighboring country to Karl’s home in Toval.
Finding the missing person is hard enough. Add in each of their secretive pasts, and the implications and dangers inherent with being a Prince of Toval, and a simple rescue turns into a deadly adventure. Especially once Karl learns just why Ama was arrested in the first place. Karl’s chances of returning home to use his newly honed baking skills dwindle as escaping the situation with their heads still attached is proving to be almost impossible.
Prologue
Ama knew how he had gotten into this situation. The Yarokai had excellent noses, so sniffing him out, tracking him down, and capturing him had been far easier than in most of the places Ama went to sneak around. Even his magic hadn’t been enough to prevent his capture, warning him too late that he should have taken his chances heading for the border rather than holing up and trying to hide.
What Ama didn’t know was how he was going to get out of this with his head still attached to the rest of his body. The Yarokai were, in general, a suspicious bunch, insular, and parochial. Any strangers in the cities within the country of Yaroi received extra scrutiny. Tracking them all had to be difficult, since the majority of Yaroi’s cities were coastal trade cities along the Eiroi Strait with merchants, sailors, and travelers from other countries coming and going constantly. They were the main entry port to the rest of the continent for land-based travel too, so Yaroi always had caravans of foreigners crossing through.
Ama had planned to blend in. He arrived at Yaroi’s capital city of Yari with a merchant caravan, acting as a guard to deter thieves, and then spent plenty of time each day visibly working to negotiate a contract to leave Yaroi with a different caravan. Only in the quiet hours around noon, when any good Yarokian was meditating and business was never conducted, or in the dark of night, had Ama tried sneaking around.
He had never failed so miserably.
Sensory deprivation was the worst sort of punishment for a Yarokai, so Ama’s cell didn’t have any windows to allow light or air in. The door was thick wood with only a small flap at the bottom to push meals through. While depriving sight, sound, and smell might be particularly terrible for the Yarokai, it wasn’t exactly a walk in the park for Ama either, especially since he was basically convicted before they could put him on stage for a sham trial.
At least Ama would go to his execution knowing his last mission had been successful. Queen Trina would be relieved to know that much. Aunt Millie would be sad to know he was gone, although given her abilities, she probably already knew he was in trouble. She was too far away to help, though, so Ama wasn’t counting on that. Aunt Millie knew better too. In her four years since taking the throne in Namin, she had become a good and trustworthy ruler, and Namin was beginning to return to prosperity. She wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that, including engaging with Yaroi on his behalf, particularly after what he had just done. Even if Yaroi didn’t use military assets to attack Namin, they controlled the trade from the Eiroi Strait. If they leveled extra tariffs on Namese goods or simply refused to allow Namese goods to be traded through Yaroi ports, Namin’s economy would backslide. No, Ama was definitely on his own there.
At least Ama had visited home recently, to see all his aunts, uncles, and cousins, and had visited Namin too. Seeing Aunt Millie was always fun. She had been too busy at the time to really talk though. The last time Ama had actually sat down with her alone for more than a hurried lunch, before she went on to her next meeting and Ama returned to work, had been four years ago, right after her coronation. Ama had hoped her words at the time meant he had a happy future in front of him, but now he knew better. She had meant he shouldn’t worry about his future because he would be executed before he had a chance to actually achieve his dreams.
“If you want my advice, I think you should continue adventuring on Prince Braxton’s behalf. Have some fun for a few more years, and maybe someday you’ll find whatever it is you’re actually searching for.”
Even Toval, who had assigned him this delicate mission, wouldn’t be able to save him. They couldn’t admit they had sent him to Yaroi, that they were involved at all, nor that they knew Ama even existed—all for the same reasons Namin wouldn’t dare help Ama. No, Ama had to take complete responsibility for this fiasco. That was the only way to save Toval and Namin, as well as to ensure the last parts of this mission were successful.
Ama shifted on the hard stone bench, the only furniture in his cell, and leaned against the rock wall, attempting to get as comfortable as possible. He tried to focus on happier memories as he waited to die.
The first time he had seen Prince Braxton, looking so strong and powerful on a horse as he rode through Ama’s home village. Ama making the decision to help Prince Braxton any way he could and going about gathering information so he could convince Braxton to hire him. The second time he had seen Braxton, he had snuck into Braxton’s camp and startled him. Once Braxton calmed down, Ama had managed to convince Braxton Ama was only there to share information. That memory made him smile.
Another of his favorite memories was more recent. Namin’s aggressions against Toval had grown too much, so Toval had decided to intervene by sending troops to support a coup. Braxton had asked if Ama might be able to find someone suitable to sit on the Namin throne after they removed the king of the time, which meant finding someone capable of wielding Namin’s royal magic. Ama had traveled only a few hours before finding Aunt Millie, who had chosen to come to him, to support Ama in Ama’s quest to help Braxton in any way the Tovalians needed. Now Aunt Millie was Queen Carmillian of Namin.
Ama couldn’t say how much time passed as he sat in the tiny prison cell, inwardly focused on his memories —a couple days, at least, but he couldn’t be sure. Food came, but not at regular intervals, so Ama couldn’t use that to gauge time. After what felt like a very, very long time, he finally heard the scrape as the lock was turned. The door opened with a slow groan, the light beyond almost blinding Ama. He blinked, trying to clear the spots from his vision, and a grinning guard eventually came into view. A pair of manacles in his hands were held out in Ama’s direction.
“Your punishment has been decided,” the guard stated as Ama stood and walked over to the door, arms outheld for the guard to place the manacles around Ama’s wrists. He didn’t say anything more, instead, shoving Ama forward so he stood in the middle of a circle of guards. They walked for a while, the floor sloping slowly upward, only the torches set into the walls at intervals supplying any light. The group paused when they reached a door, then waited for the guard in front to unlock it and pull the door open. He stepped aside and waved for Ama to go through first.
The guards and the excited crowd surrounding the perimeter of the stone-flagged amphitheater just outside the door let Ama get a good look at his punishment for a few long moments. Eager anticipation emanated from the crowd as they let him take it all in. Ama swallowed hard, but his resolve was firm. He would complete his mission no matter what they did to him.
“Anytime you want to tell us everything, this will stop,” the guard growled in Ama’s ear.
“There’s nothing to tell. I didn’t do anything wrong,” Ama replied. He tried to sound unconcerned, but his throat was dry and stomach clenched. He had hoped for a quick hanging or beheading, not a slow death like this, but either way, he would endure–for the sake of everyone he had to protect.
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.
Can love be shield, sword, and healing balm for this troubled couple?
White Oak (Heartwood 1): Mike Delaney, a sheltered nineteen year old, is hired to assist Aidan Kelly, a blind high school senior with a rainbow for every occasion. But the man who tormented Mike will stop at nothing, including murder, to ensure his silence.
Black Mahogany (Heartwood 2): When Rick Hanlon, the man who molested Mike as a teenager, escapes justice, Aidan will stop at nothing to keep his lover safe, but Mike can’t let go of his self-recriminations or share his nightmares with Aidan.
Yew (Heartwood 3): Mike and Aidan have raised a daughter together. Now they’re looking to foster a second child. But fear and prejudice are even more dangerous enemies than Hanlon, the man who molested Mike when he was a teenager.
Thorn (Heartwood 4): Hanlon is not the only threat to Mike and Aidan’s happiness. From within their marriage, old arguments and insecurities rear their ugly heads. Can Mike and Aidan’s marriage survive?
Mike gulped at his third cup of coffee. He fidgeted with the folder that held his résumé. “They’re paying nineteen thousand for the entire school year.”
His mother, over at the sink, asked, “Are you going to tell us what this interview’s for finally, Mr. I Don’t Want To Jinx It?”
“An aide position at Marisburg High.” He grabbed his cup again as another yawn threatened. God, but he needed to get more sleep.
His mother stalked to the table and grabbed both his cup and the nearly empty carafe from its place in the middle of the table. “Your hands are already shaking. You don’t need any more of this.”
Mike scratched at the narrow space between his neck and the collar of his dress shirt. He adjusted his tie. “I’m fine.”
She rolled her eyes. “If you go in there looking like a tweaker, no one will take you seriously.”
“A what?” Mike laughed. “Where’d you hear that word? They’re not called tweakers anymore. That must be a word you used back in the sixties.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “Were you a tweaker, Mom?”
“Getting back to this teaching position…”
“What?” his father grunted from the depths of the mudroom. “You’re not qualified for that, are you, Mike? You’ve only been at the community college for the summer, and you’re taking different language classes, not how-to-teach classes.”
“Foreign language classes, John,” Mike’s mother murmured.
The older Delaney laughed. “Listen to the woman, would you? She takes one college course herself, and now she’s the professor.” He clomped two steps into the kitchen, took off his hat, and bowed to his wife. “Thank you, Molly. I appreciate the correction.” Then he turned his attention back to Mike. “Well?”
“I’d be assisting a blind student with his class work.” His jittery fingers danced on the table, and he worked to pass it off as impatient tapping on the cover of a second copy of his résumé. “My interview’s in half an hour.”
“So get going,” his father said. “You planned to take night classes this semester anyway. Make the most of this opportunity.”
Mike got up, clutching the folder. Maybe I can take a nap when I get home. He rushed out the door. Assuming I can sleep.
* * *
Ninety minutes later Mr. Callahan, superintendent of schools, Mr. Connolly, the principal, and Ms. O’Carolyn, the guidance counselor, took turns shaking his hand. Their grips were a bit awkward, Mike being left-handed, but he’d given up trying to shake the normal way. Even if that would have further dispelled the stereotypes.
“Congratulations,” Mr. Callahan said. “We don’t usually make a decision this fast, but with teacher in-services starting next week, it’s important. You’ll be expected to participate in those, of course. I’ll e-mail you a schedule.”
Mike swallowed. “Yes, sir. I’ll be there.” He almost asked when he would meet Aidan Kelly, the blind student, but that would probably be on the schedule. For now he needed to worry about teacher in-services. Whatever those were.
“If you have questions, don’t hesitate to contact any of us. We’re at your disposal. But be patient. This is a busy time of year.” The superintendent ushered Mike toward the office door. “Good luck. I hear Mr. Kelly is intelligence personified, but a little… quirky.” He chuckled. “Have a great day, Mike, and again, congratulations.”
The carpet scraped the bottoms of Mike’s shoes as he made good his escape. Other administrative offices surrounded the superintendent’s enclosed haven like deficient, two-walled boxes. Mike headed back the way he’d come, unable to take a straight path because of the random assignment of desks and file cabinets.
His heart jackhammered in his throat. He slowed his feet and flexed his hands to keep his fingers relaxed. I got the job? Really? He felt a five year old’s irrepressible grin starting and forced himself to hold his bland, polite expression.
I’ll be reporting to Marisburg High every day. Just like when I was in high school.
That thought squashed any and all urges to grin, and he rushed past the final desk, anxious to be alone in his car.
He saw the wavering shadow of a person on the other side of the outer door. He had barely enough time to get out of the way as the door flew open.
“They promised to wait.” The man, resplendent in a black suit and dark, subdued tie, shoved his way past Mike as if he didn’t see him. Despite the overcast skies, he wore dark sunglasses. “They promised to get our input,” he went on muttering, his words barely audible. He swung a long stick out in front of him like a pendulum, tapping the floor rhythmically. “Now I hear they’re holding interviews for my aide without consulting me?”
Mike escaped out the door before it closed. And before too many people could catch him staring. Not that any of the office staff seemed to be watching him. Through the door’s window, Mike watched a woman intercepting the blind man, taking his arm.
The red-haired man tore his wrist out of her grasp.
That’s a white cane, Mike thought as his logic caught up with his shock. And that must be Aidan Kelly. He’s a high school senior, which means he’s probably sixteen or seventeen, but he looks like an Irish god.
Quirky wasn’t exactly the word for him. Arrogant, maybe, or rude.
A woman brushed by Mike, opening the office door and rushing in, but he scarcely noticed.
Or hot. His gaze lingered on the man’s mildly curly locks. And if he’s got an ounce of fat along with all that muscle, I’m a — He froze. A what? What was he exactly, staring at another man?
I’m straight. End of discussion.
“At least I got the job,” he told the empty foyer.
Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender women’s speculative fiction. Seeking a world made of equality, she created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires. And in the contemporary world she’s named “Sticks & Stones,” Emily has vowed to create small towns where prejudice is challenged by a passionate quest for equality. Find her on Facebook at Shapeshifter Central or on her website.
Genres: Action Adventure, BDSM, Box Sets, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal, Romance
Themes: Alternative Universe, Dark Romance, Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures, LGBTQ+ Gay, Multicultural & Interracial, Vampires
Book Length: Duet/Box Set
Page Count: 237
Synopsis
Three vampires battle the lives they left behind to build a future out of the ashes of their pasts.
Immortal Steps: Tain, a renowned Celtic dancer, has bitter memories of his first crush and the trainer who left him without a word. For years he’s flung himself from one brief romantic encounter to another, the subject of tabloid gossip and speculation, always insisting he’s not gay. When Kyle, Tain’s old mentor, comes back into Tain’s life, the last thing Tain wants is to give the man, or the vampire, a place in his heart.
Hidden Depths: Pat’s devoted his life to locating the wreck of The Pelican’s Flight, sunk in 1692, along with forty other ships, when the infamous town of Port Royal slid into the Caribbean. Jamie lost more than his lover when The Pelican went down. Pat offers Jamie hope at finding his ship, along with a chance at rediscovering love. Will the secrets they share bring them together? Or tear them apart?
Vampires In Heat: Humans in Seattle are dying as a result of domestic cat vampires and demonesses working together. The latest victim is Erron’s neighbor and best friend. Nolan, the leader of Seattle’s Pacifistic Vampire Clan, and Erron, an albino who is commonly mistaken for a vampire, team up with the cat vamp leader to find the rogues who are killing needlessly and trying to discredit vampire-kind. And just maybe, between them, they’ll find more than a remedy for this vampire scourge — like love!
Publisher’s Note: Immortal Steps, Vampires In Heat, and Hidden Depths have been previously published as stand alone novellas.
Alone, Kyle Lohan entered his private balcony at the Grampian Theater in Edinburgh, Scotland. As he sat down, the house lights dimmed briefly to signal a two minute warning before the show began. The box smelled faintly of sex, although he doubted anyone without a vampire’s heightened senses could detect the erotic scent. Regardless, it was his own fault for sneaking in to watch rehearsals the previous evening. He’d been unable to resist tugging his cock in time with the heavy beat of the dancers as they practiced.
Okay, not all the performers excited him. Just one.
Tain O’Halloran.
Tonight Kyle had better prepared for the public performance, or so he’d thought. The quick release during his shower should have calmed his libido enough to sit through the performance without a hard-on. But as the first strains of a flute solo poured across the stage, the anticipation proved to be more than his body could resist and his cock rose to an aching fullness.
Tain. On stage. His stage.
How long had he waited for this? Worked for this? Dreamed of this? Sometimes it seemed like forever. And yet, very soon, the moment he’d been preparing for would arrive. One way or another, he would finally end his long pursuit.
He adjusted the fit of his tuxedo pants as the chorus sprinted across the stage. Their shoes hit the wooden floor in rhythmic, staccato beats, flirting with the notes. Kyle couldn’t stop his own feet from scuffing against the floor in a pale imitation of the dancers’ fancy footwork. Had his heart been prone to beat, it would have been racing as fast as the music.
A few more seconds…
Then, appearing out of a flash of light and smoke, bam! There he was. Tain O’Halloran. The male lead’s long, sleek black hair floated behind him as he bounced in perfect synchronization with the little blond at his side. His grey eyes flashed with pure joy and a little arrogance. A smile curved his thin pink lips. And what that black leather did for his ass…
Kyle groaned softly as his cock twitched with longing, but he refused to slake his lust. Privacy wasn’t an issue, even during a public performance. No, nothing mattered more than soaking up every moment of this night to tuck away in his memories. If the evening didn’t go as planned, this could be all he had left to remember the talented young man come morning.
The first dance ended, and Kyle felt the tightness in his chest ease as Tain exited stage right. He’d reappear several times throughout the performance.
Kyle itched with anticipation for the next time, and the next… and the next… By the second act, Kyle could pick out Tain’s unique sweat from the morass of odors permeating the air. The scent teased his cock like nothing else. His whole body tensed as he imagined jumping over the balcony’s rail to land on top of the dancer’s young bones, then fucking him to within an inch of his life, claiming him on stage for all the world to see.
Well, that’s one way to announce that you’re back in his life, Kyle thought with a rueful shake of his head. Definitely not one of your brightest ideas though.
If anything, such a bold, stupid move would get him thrown out of Tain’s life for good. Kyle’s goal was quite the opposite. If he had his way, nothing would separate him from Tain ever again.
The show ended with a roar of applause that pulled the dancers back on stage for a second encore. Vibrant and smiling under the lights, Tain looked like he could hold out for a third reprise if the director let him. However, the rest of the troupe wasn’t fairing as well, so when the curtains closed again the house lights came up.
The show was over, but Kyle’s performance of a lifetime was about to begin.
Kira Stone lives in a warm cave tucked away in the remote Scottish Highlands, where a small band of ever-changing heroes serves as company. As they relax in front of a roaring fire, demons dance in leather pants and angels stroke tunes from the harp strings, while the Fae stop in to share tales from other worlds. Bound by pen and imagination, these are the folk who wait to greet you from the pages of Kira’s stories. Visit Kira’s Website.
Giveaway
One lucky winner will receive a $10.00 Changeling Press Gift Code!
Catkind — they’re rough, they’re tough and they don’t take no for an answer. But who’d want to say no? Not Gabriella, a barmaid in a tiny roadhouse named Gatos near the Mexican border. Nor her sister Marnie. With his sisters carried off by the Catkind, Tony’s left to run Gatos, but he won’t be alone — a couple of misfit “alley cats” have joined forces with Tony.
Lucia’s a party girl with two hot, hunky Catkind on her trail. Orion, a white Tiger, and Jomei, a Bengal, are royalty among the Catkind. They’re about to learn Lucia’s much more than a pretty face. When the four Gatos siblings return with their Catkind mates for a final showdown against their nemesis, Anuetta thinks she’s got these tigers by their tails, but she doesn’t count on the mighty strength of the Gatos family. The line’s been drawn in the ashes, and the claws are out!
This collection contains the previously released novellas in the Cat O’Nines collection: Cat’s Claws, Cat’s Eye, Cat’s Cradle, Cat’s Meow, and Cat’s Paw.
“So there I am, standing in the middle of the street, screaming at him en Espanol. I’m calling him things our abuela would turn over in her grave to hear me say. And then she’d wash my mouth out with soap.”
“Lucia, when are you going to learn?” Gabriella unlocked the door to Gatos’ cold storage unit. “You stay away from men like him. They’re trouble.”
Lucia, her sister, had the fire of a Roman candle and a temper to match. She jammed her hands on her hips in indignation. “Like you have room to talk,” she shot back.
“I do. Do you see me getting tangled up with any troublemakers like him?” She yanked open the door, and cold air escaped with a whoosh. “Uh-uh. Oh, that’s good.” Gabriella closed her eyes and swayed in bliss. It was a gorgeous day outside in the shabby outskirts of San Miguel, the sky pure blue and the horizon clear for miles. Which meant it was hot enough to suit the devil himself, especially back in the warehouse. She let herself enjoy the cool air coming from the cold storage unit for a moment, then got back to business. She nudged the handcart. “Come on, you take one crate and I’ll take the other.”
“We shouldn’t roll out a keg?”
“If you think you can manhandle a keg in heat like this, dolly or no dolly, you’re welcome to try. Grab a case for now. Tony can get the rest later.” Gabriella sized up the hefty crate stamped with the Moctezuma Brewery logo. Nothing tasted as good or as rich as their cervesa. Moctezuma was why locals bothered traveling to her tiny, out-of-the-way bar. If the brew master hadn’t been a friend of her brother Tony, no way she’d have gotten her mitts on any of their goods. “Come on, Lucia, put your back into it.”
Lucia pouted briefly before bending and lifting the crate. Tendons stood out in her neck from the effort as she wrestled a heavy crate onto the dolly. “We need some strong young stud for this.”
“And there you go again, thinking about men,” Gabriella chided. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t like to have a strong young thing around, especially if he’s hot, eh? I’m saying we can get by fine without one. You seem to think that’s a mortal sin, which is why I’m listening to you pitch a fit in the street.” She tempered the sting of her words with the fondness of her tone.
Gabriella shut the door to the cold storage unit and clicked the padlock back in place before taking the handle of the dolly. Oof. She had to admit, the crates were terribly heavy. Together they headed back to the main room of Gatos, the tiny tumbledown bar that had been their sole legacy from their mother.
Not exactly a rich and abundant inheritance. Ah, well, Mama had tried.
Lucia was still stuck back on Gabriella’s opinions. “You’re telling me if a man like Roger came on to you, you’d say no? He looked so pretty.” She swung around to walk backwards. “Those cornflower blue eyes and his soft golden hair. Like a prince out of a fairytale.” Her pleading turned wicked. “And good in bed? He was a devil when it came to loving me.”
“And how many other women at the same time?” Gabriella bumped open the swinging kitchen door. “Would I say no to a man like Roger? Hell, no, I wouldn’t. But…”
Lucia rolled her eyes.
“But,” Gabriella went on, not letting Lucia’s scorn stop her, “I’d say yes long enough to enjoy his body. If he’s as good as you say, I’d have fun with him for a few days then send him packing. No harm, no foul, and no broken heart that needs someone to sweep up the pieces.”
Lucia scoffed. “You wouldn’t know how to let your hair down if someone gave you a hands-on demonstration.”
Gabriella’s pride was stung. “Says you!”
“You’re right, says I. You want to make a bet on this? Friday night’s tip jar says you don’t have the guts to take the next handsome guy who walks into Gatos for a test run.”
Ay, Lucia had her there. Gabriella could never back down from a challenge. “I’m listening. What are the terms?”
Lucia stretched her muscles out before unlocking the cooler. “So we have a deal?”
“Not yet.” Gabriella pulled the dolly close enough to the cooler to unload it. “Let me hear the details before I say yes or no.”
“Like you would,” Lucia smirked. “All right, here’s the deal. When we open tonight, you and I man the bar. When the first hot guy walks in, one I decide is enough of a handful for even you, I point him out and that’s when the game begins. You come on to him, you do whatever you have to do, and if he’s safe you get him into bed.”
“I’m not a slut,” Gabriella objected, all the while hoisting crates and holding them for Lucia to unpack and stow in the cooler. “And how am I supposed to know if he’s ‘safe’?” She dusted off her hands after the last bottle was stashed away. “You have to give me more than that to go on. I’m supposed to proposition a customer? That’ll give me a great reputation.”
Lia Connor lives in the South, but her job takes her almost everywhere but. Her laptop is her best friend. Lia loves stories about BBW’s, hot, hot, hot threesomes and wily shifters who get into (and out of) all kinds of trouble…
Giveaway
One lucky winner will receive a $10.00 Changeling Press Gift Code!
Darce has done his best to live off the radar as one of the bloodkind, keeping himself separate from the company of other vampires and the danger they court. The cowboy might be lonely in his solitude, but he’s safe.
Raven’s come to change that. He’s come to change everything.
A newly made bloodkind, Raven’s out to shake up the old world order that oppresses their kind. He carries Darce along in his wake like a leaf on the tide, pushes and goads and tops from the bottom, inciting Darce to lust, passion and action. He makes a centuries-old cowboy feel alive again, something well worth taking risks for.
But when Raven challenges the Sanguine, the most dangerous of all vampires, has he gone too far?
EXCERPT
All he’d wanted was a quiet drink.
Darce swirled the drop or three of tequila left in his shot glass and raised it to the guy who tended bar in this backwoods dive. If he had a name, or if the bar did, Darce didn’t know it and he liked it that way. Tall and skinny as a pool cue, his head shaved just as bald, he didn’t talk much and took Darce’s glass with a grunt. Didn’t ask what Darce wanted. You had your choice here of PBR, Bud, Jose and JD. Like ’em or find somewhere else to drink.
Tequila suited Darce fine. Didn’t do anything for him, no, his being a dead man walking and all — vampire, as some might say — but he’d developed a taste for agave over the years. He held up one finger. Already had two, and three was one more than his usual.
The bartender shrugged, not giving too much of a damn. Maybe the folks around here knew what he was. Maybe they didn’t. Knew enough to keep their mouths shut, anyway.
One more drink in peace and it’d be time to walk. He had a peaceful stretch of road home, nothing but the cicadas and bullfrogs and the yellow half-moon to guide him on his way. Nothing to hinder him.
Until the stranger slid onto the bar stool next to Darce and jostled him like they were old friends, bumping his shoulder. “I’ve got this one,” he said. Sounded young. “One for me, too.”
The bartender eyed Darce’s new companion.
“I’ll pay my own way,” Darce said; that, and nothing more.
“Ouch. Not too friendly there, cowboy,” the new arrival said. He swung around to give Darce a bold once-over.
Out of his peripheral vision, Darce got a good enough look at the new kid. Pretty. Fresh-faced and young, his jaw cut firm and his grin made for promising wicked deeds in the dark. He had a dusting of freckles on his nose and cheeks that nearly tempted Darce into a snort of humor because he’d seen a lot in his time but a vampire with a scattering of pale sepia freckles was a new one on even him.
“I’m Raven,” the vamp said, offering his hand along with his unlikely name. Darce snorted quietly. Raven, Silvershadow, Witchlight, Darce had heard ’em all and believed none. This one would be newly made, then, not knowing of the rules by which their kind lived. Which were no rules at all, for the most part, except to watch your back in case someone was sneaking up to shove a silver knife in it, and most of all to keep to yourself.
“That a fact,” Darce said, not asking it. He caught the shot glass as the bartender slid it his way, amber drops spilling over the backs of his fingers.
Raven waited, then laughed under his breath. “And you’re not going to tell me your name. That’s okay. I already know who you are.”
Darce stilled. That was more than he cared to have bandied about. “You’d be wise to keep that to yourself. That and your own name. Names get you in trouble.”
“Do they really,” Raven murmured. He swallowed his drink like a man with nary a grimace nor a cough. Not new to that game, at least.
Darce shot him a sideways glare. He shook his hair back and slammed the tequila neat, no salt or lime around here. Damn hair; it’d been long, near to chin length when he’d come across, and no matter how he cut it back it’d grow out by the next new moon.
Freckles there had short hair, crisp-cut dark, some kind of gel keeping it stuck up in spikes that looked sharp enough to prick a finger on. So young he was damn near veal, and fresh meat for any who cared to take a bite. No wonder he’d been turned. Someone had wanted to keep him that young and pretty for good, was Darce’s bet.
And he’d gotten away. Darce wondered how, for a second, then discarded the question. Not his business. He backslapped his empty shot glass across the bar and licked his lips to get the last of the burning-hot taste off them.
“Now there’s a pretty sight,” Raven said, his gaze hot where it glanced over Darce’s face.
A vampire sometimes liked to pretend to breathe, to mix in all the better, and for the most part Darce did it well. He drew air in through his nose and let it out slow and smooth. “You want to watch that kind of talk around here,” he said. “Matter of fact, you want to keep your mouth tighter shut overall if you don’t want trouble.”
Raven laughed loud enough to draw a few wary looks. No one who drank in that backwater Texas dive wanted to draw attention, except this young’un. “You honestly think you’re fooling anyone?” He lazily drew his finger around the rim of his shot glass. “Look around you, old man. Pretty crowded in here tonight for a place like this. I count fifteen heads, yours and mine and Baldy’s not included, and it’s not a big bar. Yet there’s an empty space three men deep all around you. No one wants to get too close. They all know, even if they don’t say. Maybe they don’t want to admit it’s true, but somewhere inside them they all know what you are — what I am — and that’s why they leave you be.”
Darce ground his back teeth together. His fangs, folded up against the top of his mouth usually, rattlesnake-style, slid down and pricked his tongue as he clamped his jaw shut.
“Must be lonely.” Raven pushed his luck, shifting closer. “How long’s it been since you traded more than a handful of words with anyone else? How long have you been around, old man?”
Something cool and firm brushed the top of Darce’s thigh, tantalizingly close to his groin. He inhaled sharp and quick, and cursed it as a giveaway that Raven pounced on as sly and quick as a fox.
“If you want,” Raven said, thumbing half an inch away from Darce’s stiffening cock — it had been a long, long time, whether he’d admit it out loud or not, “I’ll leave you be. All you have to do is say ‘go,’ and I’ll be out the door.”
“Like hell you would.”
“I think we’re gonna get along, you and me.” Raven stroked higher up and closer. “You know me already.”
“I know you’re trouble walking on two legs,” Darce said. He fought with the urge to rise into the teasing pressure. Damn, it’d been half of forever since someone, anyone, laid a hand on him not in anger or with an addict’s mindless craving. “I know I want you on your way as fast as you think you can run.”
“No, you don’t.” Raven’s palm molded over Darce’s cock, his touch firm and strong as any vampire’s, and for half a moment Darce burned with curiosity over what this kid’s story was, anyway. What’d shaped him this way? He forgot that in the next second when Raven moved fast in the way of their kind, faster than most, his lips brushing Darce’s ear, and said, “I could leave, or I could take you around back and suck your dick.” He pierced Darce’s earlobe with one of his fangs, slim and needle-sharp. “Your choice.”
About 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.
Standing up for magíq means the world stands against you.
Call Forth the Moonlight:
A Magíqon’s Guide to Gryphon Liberation
by Z.M. Celestaire
Genre: LGBTQ Ecopunk Fantasy Romance
Deubrise is a land blessed by the breath of the slumbering gods. Magíq lives within nature, powerful and beautiful. Few else can harness it besides the gryphons that reside in the mountains near Nico De Falco’s home, and the rare magíqon like Nico’s little sister. But magíqon are shunned and feared by modern society.
To protect himself from such treatment, Dr. Ackerleigh Sebring keeps his magíq a secret. Yet his “radical” teachings of magíqal history gets him fired from Ravensbourne University. Desperate, he finds a gamekeeper job caring for an imprisoned gryphon. Finally, he can be his whole self.
That is, until Nico follows a misguided impulse and frees the gryphon, injuring Ackerleigh accidentally.
Their fates—and feelings—become entangled in their determination to protect the sacred magíq of the gryphon. Ackerleigh and Nico will stop at nothing for the sake of liberation.
**Order direct from the author and get extra goodies!**
Z.M. (they/them) is a writer, artist, and therapist. Writing and art have been a hobby for some twenty years now since they were a goofy little middle schooler. Z.M. grew up devouring urban fantasy authors like Charles De Lint, Holly Black, and Patricia C. Wrede. Z.M. lives in Saint Paul with their spouse, human child, and fur children.
Genre: LGBTQ M/M Paranormal Romance, Urban Fantasy
Love is magical. Let it POOF into your life.
Hey there, it’s your favorite lovable P.O.O.F agent, Nozzag! Buckle up because I’ve got a wild tale for you. Their meeting? Total “oops, my bad” moment, if you catch my drift. Let’s just say, I may have given fate a little nudge! But don’t fret, Tiki and Amalesh are in for a fabulously happy ending. *winks*
Thikoz aka Tiki – a Dragonkin, Sassy Dragon Esthetician, who is dominant and longs to find his mate.
Tiki has countless fantasies about what his ideal partner would be like. He can only hope that when he finally encounters his mate, they’ll be eager to delve into the numerous interests on his Must Try Before I Die list.
Amalesh – a Vampire, Rare Blood Procurer, reclusive introvert, who simply wishes to be left alone with his collection.
When Amalesh is thrown into Tiki’s path, almost literally, he realizes that the world he has observed from a distance is far more enjoyable as an active participant. It only takes a few hundred years and an energetic, dominant dragonkin to uncover that little truth.
P.O.O.F. Please! is set in the world of Bloodlines of Fate. Twilight Temptations are instalove, high heat, low angst stories that feature various creatures and a guaranteed HEA.
Twilight Temptations is a continuous series and while each story can be read alone it is best to read them in order.
Within the shimmering guise of a mortal walks D.G. Carothers, a dragon of cunning intellect. A weaver of LGBTQIA Romance and Urban Fantasy tales, this enigmatic being revels in crafting narratives that dance between realms.
D.G. stands resolute in their commitment to unfurling tales unfettered by constraints. For in their eyes, love transcends all boundaries, a truth woven into the very fabric of their creations.
Inked in Blood and Memory Allison Ivy Publication date: December 3rd 2024 Genres: Horror, LGBTQ+, New Adult
Recluse Sophie Vanguard’s winter cabin retreat turns ominous when blue flowers mysteriously appear. They’re everywhere. On her front porch, in kitchen cabinets, and even on her pillow. It isn’t long before chilling whispers echo in the halls, and her journal repeats seven unsettling entries.
Enter the bloodied and beautifully eccentric Ly Thi Ren. Though Ren seems familiar, Sophie refuses to believe the girl’s insistence that they are trapped inside a book.
In a land of fiction, truth and lies blur together, clear decisions are marred by doubt, and shared family trauma lurks just below the surface.
Can Ren and Sophie make it out alive? Or will they end up nothing more than words inked in blood and memory?
With elements of gothic horror, splatterpunk, romance, and fantasy, Inked in Blood and Memory is a self-aware LGBTQ+ horror that wraps its clutches around the reader and doesn’t let go.
You never forget your first ritual sacrifice. So why had I? That seems like something you’d remember. It’s not something most American families gather for.
Hey, Má. Could you pass the rau răm? Oh, and what time is the sacrifice tonight?
And yet, I had forgotten. I had forgotten the little things, too. My mother’s laugh, her abrupt chortles that often devolved into giggles. My childhood nickname.
We eat pho the night our own parents sacrifice one of my best friends. It’s weird what sticks with you after years of trying to forget. We eat in silence, though I haven’t yet realized the reason for the solemn mood. My nine-year-old brain doesn’t quite grasp the idea of “sacrifice.” I can’t wait to wear my new ceremonial cloak. I begged my parents to let me wear it through dinner, but they refused.
“It’s too special,” they say. “You don’t want to ruin it, do you, con gái?”
No, I don’t want that. Still, my eyes wander to the piece of clothing that hangs on the coat tree next to the front door. The intricate symbols fascinate me. The only other place I’ve seen them is on the book. Not just any book. The book.
I get to see it on special occasions during the four months out of the year our family guards it. The other eight months are split between two additional families. My best friends’, Sophie Vanguard and Jeremy Berg-Nilsen.
We’ll join them later for the ceremony or the “thanksgiving,” but not that Thanksgiving. We are not pilgrims, but our three families are special. Chosen. And today, Jeremy is the most special.
“Ông xã, are you sure this is the only way?” Má squeezes Ba’s arm.
Ba remains quiet for so long I almost ask him if he’s heard Má. I’m not sure what she means by her question or why it’s gotten even quieter than before.
Ba answers before I speak. “It’s too late to back out. Maybe we could have years ago, but not now. This is how we keep our family safe.” He kisses my mother’s hand and stands to clear the plates.
I knit my brows together. Why are they so serious? It’s like they’re sad. But it’s the day of the thanksgiving. They should be happy.
Later that night, I beam proudly in my cloak with the strange symbols, relishing the feel of the velvet hem between my fingertips. Incense burns in a corner, permeating the air with a smoky aroma that I’ve always hated, but it reminds me of the days we celebrate the four equinoxes.
The adults hug and talk amongst themselves excitedly. All but Mrs. Berg-Nilsen, Jeremy’s mom. She stands against the wall, keeping to herself. Her long blonde hair covers most of her face, but I can tell her cheeks are wet.
I ponder this as I sit cross-legged on the antique rug with Jeremy in his family’s living room. We sip Capri-Suns and talk about what we think will happen in a few minutes.
“Happy birthday, Jeremy,” Sophie says after arriving with her parents and barreling through the adults’ legs. She holds a cloak that matches mine out behind her as she runs like she’s a superhero or a bat and plops down on the rug between us.
“Thanks, Sophie,” Jeremy mumbles, staring at his Capri-Sun.
Of the three of us, Sophie is the most frenetic. I think that’s the word Ba used. The adults are always hiding the sugar from her. She channels her chaotic energy for good most of the time. At school this past week, a couple kids from our grade cornered Jeremy. Sophie took me by the hand and came to Jeremy’s aid, not letting up until the kids backed off.
“Why is your mom crying?” I ask Jeremy.
His eyes move from his drink to his shoes, and he tugs at the laces. “Dad says she’s happy, but she won’t look at me.”
“Grownups are weird,” I say, watching Jeremy’s parents lead the rest into the kitchen.
“I think I did something real bad,” Jeremy says.
The door swings closed, and I’m on my feet, ignoring Sophie’s questions and drawn to the conversation happening behind the closed door.
Author Bio:
Allison Ivy writes under a pen name and grew up reading a book a day. She graduated from Penn State with a B.A. in English and a Creative Writing certificate. She currently lives in Connecticut and listens to far too many show tunes and DVD commentaries. The Dragon and the Double-Edged Sword is her first novel.
