The Coven by Stephanie Burke #LGBTQ #paranormalromance @FlashyCat @GoIndiMarketing

Title: The Coven

Series: Gargoyles’ Song #1

Author: Stephanie Burke

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: May 7, 2021

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 302 pages

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Mystery, Science Fiction, paranormal romance, pansexual & multisexual, multiple partners, murder mystery, alien encounters, action adventure

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Synopsis

Cyprus Reid is an enigma who courts the spotlight while carefully maintaining her mystique, intriguing legions of fans with her stylistic lyrics and a voice that brings many to tears. Even more intriguing than her all-male entourage is the fact that people are dying to get to her… literally.

To ex-Navy SEAL-turned-government intelligence operative Jason Giles, Cyprus is either a victim of an elaborate conspiracy, or the most fiendish killer since Jack the Ripper. Sure, the victims had shady pasts and shared a connection to a strange incident at Mount McKinley some fifty years ago, but that doesn’t mean they deserved to die, seemingly drained of life while engaged in acts of wanton carnality.

Jason is sent to discover the truth, but what he finds is more seductive, more intriguing, more enticing than a mere boy in a dress. What Jason finds is the existence of The Coven. And once they discover you, there is no going back.

Excerpt

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Stephanie Burke

“Ms. Reid? Over here!”

“Ms. Reid, you are looking perfect tonight. Look this way, please!”

“Ms. Reid! You are an inspiration! I love you!”

“Ms. Reid! Ms. Reid! You are a goddess!”

“You are a dirty tramp, and you seduce men into worshiping you, you nasty slut!”

“You stole my husband, you bitch!”

“I hope you rot in hell!”

And Cyprus, as usual, ignored it all.

The flashing bulbs temporarily blinded her, but she ignored the minor inconvenience as well, as she moved with her customary style and grace down the wrinkled red carpet that had been rolled out for her visit.

She turned and flashed one last mysterious smile at the gathered crowd, both the hateful and the adoring fans, and silently made her way into the safety of the hotel.

“Ms. Reid?” She looked up at the oh-so-proper, British-accented voice, realizing absently that it was the hotel manager.

She paused, giving the short, balding man her full attention, noting how he flushed a little at her scrutiny.

The doors behind them closed with a <em>whoosh</em>, muting the noise and shouts of the crowd, though bulbs continued to flash as paparazzi desperately tried to get that winning shot of one of the world’s most beautiful and renowned vocalists.

“Um.” He cleared his throat, tugging at his collar as he shifted from foot to foot, more like an adolescent than a grown man. “Security has been tightened on your floor as you requested. Also, you are the only occupant of the twenty-seventh floor, though we can easily accommodate you and your entourage in the penthouse suite.”

“Thank you and that will be all,” a tall, long-haired man spoke, towering over both the manager and Cyprus. “Though we appreciate the hospitality you and your staff have provided thus far, Ms. Reid does not prefer the penthouse or any of the presidential suites. The twenty-seventh floor is perfect for our needs.”

The manager froze, staring at the man as if suddenly noticing his presence and that the sheer aura surrounding Cyprus had rendered the world blind to anyone else around her.

But then, that was part of her mystery.

Cyprus Reid never traveled with fewer than five men, five painfully handsome, dominating men.

How anyone could ever not notice them was a complete mystery, but usually they managed the neat theatrical trick of fading into the background. Once they decided to be seen, however, a blind man couldn’t miss them.

Each stood over six feet tall — five perfectly formed men, each unique and differently beautiful in his own way, who made it a point to surround and protect Ms. Reid from any and all activities that could be considered dangerous, especially keeping any unsavory fanatics at bay.

The one who spoke to him — Unus, he had discovered — the one with long, dark hair, appeared to be the spokesman for the rest of the group. If there was anything to be settled, this one was the one to do it.

He stood before the manager, his perfectly cut Savile Row suit doing nothing to hide the raw masculinity and barely leashed savagery that seemed to glow from his eyes.

The other four, all mystery men of different ethnic backgrounds and styles, moved in closer, alert to any trouble that might develop.

“V-v-very g-good, s-sir,” the manager stuttered, growing nervous now that all that male power was directed toward him. He reached into his pocket, then took a quick step back as all the men moved forward, hiding Cyprus behind a wall of muscle.

“It’s just the electronic key card,” he quickly explained, sweating under his collar as if suddenly fearing for his very life. “Just the key. No one else besides our head of security has a copy.”

“Your head of security?” the man asked, leaning forward, getting closer so that the manager could make out small, very fine tribal tattooing along his hairline, down in front of his ears, and down into the collar of his shirt.

“Jason Giles,” the manager explained. “Very good, comes highly recommended. He is securing the twenty-seventh floor as we speak. Ms. Reid’s safety is our chief concern.”

A slim, dusky hand reached between the two of them, halting any movement the tall man might have made and pulling him back into line.

“Very good.”

He conceded to the smaller female whose hand now rested on his arm, nodding once. “Ms. Reid is exhausted…”

“Oh, excuse me!” The manager snapped back into host mode and hastily directed the small party to the private elevators. “These only stop at executive floors, like the twenty-seventh,” he explained, while placing the card against a small scanner.

The doors immediately opened, and he quickly ushered them inside. The men immediately surrounded Cyprus protectively. Within seconds, they were whisked to the proper floor, and all exited into the plushly carpeted, brightly lit hall.

“As requested, Ms. Reid’s room is in the center. The rooms on either side of her are prepared for occupancy and can be accessed only though the interior doors that are in Ms. Reid’s main suite. All others are closed off and locked, both electronically and by physical means. This floor is as safe as Fort Knox.”

That said, he led them to a door where another man, one with nearly white-blond hair, stood at attention.

Instantly, the men were once again on high alert, their bodies tensing as they formed a barrier between Cyprus and the unknown man.

“This is Jason Giles,” the manager introduced. “He is head of security, hired exclusively for your safety during this visit.”

“An honor.” Jason spoke softly, his eyes going to the odd collection of men who surrounded the artist.

“We thank you.” The long-haired spokesman for the group eyed the strange male carefully. “But your services, though appreciated, are not needed.”

There was steel in that voice only a dead man could miss. The undercurrents flowed strongly and were rife with testosterone.

“Be that as it may,” Jason replied, “I remain your first line of defense. If something gets out of hand, I will do my best to quell it before it even makes it this far. And if you have any issues, no matter how minor, be sure to let me know. Any extra security is a must. We all have to protect the beauteous Ms. Reid,” he added, with barely veiled sarcasm.

“If you think –” the now disgruntled leader of apparent party-toy men began, but a slim hand pressing against his arm stopped him again.

Huffing and visibly fighting to control himself, the man nodded and stepped aside.

And Jason got his first glimpse of the real-life Cyprus Reid.

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Meet the Author

Stephanie is a USA Today Best Selling, multi published, multi award-winning author, Master Costumer, handicapped, wife and mother of two.

From sex-shifting, shape-shifting dragons to undersea worlds, sexually confused elemental Fey and homo-erotic mysteries, all the way to pastel-challenged urban sprites, Stephanie has done it all, and hopes to do more.

Stephanie is an orator on her favorite subjects of writing and world-building, a sometime teacher when you feed her enough tea and donuts, an anime nut, a costumer, and a frequent guest of various sci-fi and writing cons where she can be found leading panel discussions or researching varied legends and theories to improve her writing skills.

Stephanie is known for her love of the outrageous, strong female characters, believable worlds, male characters filled with depth, and multi-cultural stories that make the reader sit up and take notice.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Instagram | Bookbub

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Born a Halfling by M.D. Stewart #bisexual #pansexual #gendernonconforming #PNR #LGBTbooks #DragQueen #RomanceBooks

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Angela Knight

 

Michael: After a troubled childhood and becoming a Marine, I returned from war injured and alone. I found myself again when I discovered Drag. I love being a Queen almost as much as I love the boy I’ve dreamed of since I was a child. Now he needs my help and I’ll fight hell itself to save him.

Te’Garth: My mother is a demon, my dad is an angel, and their love is legendary. I hope to have that kind of passion with Michael, a man I’ve shared dreams with since childhood. But first I need to reverse a forced mating claim, or death will take me from my true love.

Jessie: I met Michael in Afghanistan, and helped the injured Marine heal in body and soul. Together we explored our forbidden desires until he was sent home months later. We lost contact, only to meet again at Chasers, a gay bar, where he’s a Drag Queen and I provide security. I still want him — and the man he’s in love with. But something dangerous is hunting Garth. If I want to save them both, I must overcome my fears. Even if it means risking more than my life…

 

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or preorder for October 4th at retailers

   

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 M.D. Stewart

Michael

I rolled over and hit the alarm. I usually worked until almost dawn and slept until the afternoon, but my boss had wanted me to come in early to help interview some new talent. I’d get today off with pay. I usually didn’t mind, but today I felt so drained I could hardly move. I knew it was from the reoccurring nightmares I’d had last night.

I hated gory horror movies, having lived my own horrors in Afghanistan. But dreaming of huge green-skinned men chasing me? In my nightmare, I could never outrun them and I could never find anywhere to hide. It brought up so many memories of the helplessness and constant fear of combat, and I didn’t want to go there. But last night, the dream had played in a loop every time I’d close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

No more Sushi before bed.

I made a note to call my therapist and get back on the sleeping pills that helped suppress my dreams. I used to enjoy my dreams, when I believed that my Halfling lover was real. I didn’t like where my thoughts were heading, so I dragged myself out of bed.

I stumbled to the bathroom to take a leak and brush my teeth. As I washed my hands, I looked in the mirror. I was dead tired and glad I didn’t have to go to deal with makeup before leaving the house. Fuck it, I didn’t think I’d even shave. I grabbed the tube of hemorrhoid cream and slathered some under my eyes to reduce those dark bags of fatigue.

I brushed my long blond hair, grabbed an elastic band and put it in a sloppy man bun. Strolling into the kitchen, I scratched my stomach and yawned. Thank God for automatic coffee makers: my life-saving brew was waiting for me. I grabbed a mug, filled it and didn’t even wait for it to cool before I took my first sip.

My phone rang, and I spent a few minutes looking for it. I was so tired and pissy, my silk robe got in my way, so I ripped it trying to pull it off. I’d be really fucking mad about it later after the caffeine worked its magic. By the time I grabbed the phone from the floor, I had missed the call. Fuck. I’d call them back after I drank my first cup, maybe even my second. I didn’t have to wait, though, as it rang again. I hit the screen.

“What?” I growled, but it was early. Especially for me. “I’m not done with my first cup of coffee.”

“It’s after ten, so it’s not early. Asshole.” My friend Conner’s voice did little to help my mood.

“Just because I like to fuck assholes doesn’t make me one. Get that straight, dipshit.”

I heard him laugh. “You’re the one who told me to call and make sure you were up. I’ve been up and at work for almost three hours. Motherfucker.”

Our habit of name-calling actually made me want to smile. “I’ll fuck anyone but your mother. Twatwaffle.” I was just full of jokes today.

“God, I hate waking you up. You’re so sarcastic. Has anyone ever told you you’re a bitch?” Conner was laughing, but I could tell he meant it.

“Only every fucking day. That’s why I’m single. No one can put up with me. In the Marines, I had to get up at five in the morning. I don’t have to do that shit anymore, and I like my sleep. Fucking sue me.” I yawned and gulped my coffee.

“Fine. Well, your grumpy ass is up, and I need to get back to work. Stories don’t write themselves. Fuckface.” Conner was the best journalist I’d ever met. He’d started at the Charlotte Observer as an intern in high school and got a job as a reporter his senior year in college.

Conner and I met several years ago when he came to Chasers to interview the staff about our project for Pride. Chasers Charlotte NoDa focused on different community projects annually. Conner’s story made the front page of the Observer’s Lifestyle section. His piece won several journalism awards, including the national Human Interest Writing Ernie Pyle Award.

Conner and I hit it off from the moment we met since he seemed to like my snarky attitude. He was straight, but I didn’t hold that against him, or so I tell him every chance I get.

Unfortunately, this morning, he didn’t appreciate my Herculean effort to not reach through the phone and strangle him. “Whatever, ConMan.” I used my term of affection so he’d know I wasn’t really angry with him. “Have a good day at work. And I have it on good authority that I have a great ass, not that you’ll ever know.” I hit the red button to hang up and dropped the phone on the couch. Draining my mug, I made my way to the coffee pot for another shot of caffeine. I trudged back to the couch and thought about setting the alarm to sleep another fifteen minutes when my phone rang again.

“Son of a bitch.” I grabbed the phone and didn’t even look at the screen before I answered. “Conner, you needle dick, stop calling me. I will kick your ass. You and I both know I can and will do it.”

“I’m sorry. I must have the wrong number.” The female voice in my ear had me cringing.

“Aw, fu… uh, I mean, I’m sorry ma’am. I thought you were a friend of mine.” I sighed as I gulped more coffee.

“Oh, wow. Sounds like a heck of a friendship.” I could hear the amusement in her voice. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I thought I called the phone number someone gave me to get personal security. I may have transposed some numbers.”

“Yeah, that must be it. I’ve never done personal security before. I mean, I could if I weren’t working till four in the morning.” I yawned and stretched again.

“I must have woken you. No wonder you’re upset. I’ll let you go. And I’m so sorry for bothering you.”

“No ma’am, no bother. Have a good day.” I ended the call and decided I had time to drag my happy ass to the shower, even if I wasn’t going to shave. If people didn’t like looking at my morning scruff, fuck ‘em.

The shower did little to improve my mood, but at least I felt more awake. Mostly. I grabbed my large to-go mug and drained the coffee carafe into the spill-free mug and headed out the door.

Grumpy as I was, I loved my house. In San Fran, I’d had a condo in a big sub-division, but here, I could afford a nice home in a nice neighborhood. Nothing fancy, but much nicer than where I grew up.

I looked around at the well-manicured lawns of the houses on my street. I stopped, listening to the children playing in the yards. I never really paid attention to the kids before, since I’d leave for work around eight at night. The bar itself opens at nine and closes at two-thirty, but I always stayed late and made sure the guests made it to their cars safely. I always had to unwind with cheesy ‘80s movies too.

Thus, my early morning bedtime — and why ten a.m. was such an ungodly hour for me to be awake.

As I pulled into Chaser’s parking lot, I was trying to suck the last few drops of coffee from the damn too-small mug. It had to be empty, because, trust me, I can suck the last drops out of anything. Foxy had better have a pot brewed and waiting, or there’d be hell to pay.

Carl Fox might be the manager of the bar and my boss, but I could still kick his ass.
I slammed my car door before making it to the back entrance and stopped by the employee lounge.

“Damn, you look like a hot mess.” Foxy’s voice sounded behind me. His amusement didn’t help my mood.

“Fuck you, Foxy. I’ve only had a few hours of sleep. But your life is spared, since I see the coffee is made.” I poured half the pot into my to-go mug and turned to face my boss.

“You’re a surly, bitter man in the mornings.” He filled his own mug and sipped it and grimaced before he turned his attention back to me.

“It’s a good thing I work nights then, isn’t it?”

He rolled his eyes at my comment and moved in for a hug. I slid my free hand around his shoulders and gave him a tight squeeze before releasing him and gulping down a few more sips of caffeine.

“God, Foxy, you never get better at making this shit. It’s not so hard.” I shook my head but took another drink. “So, how many performers do we have scheduled today?”

“We have a few queens coming in. I have about ten go-go boys scheduled, too, but they’re all dancing at the same time. Then Manny is going to teach them a short routine and see who can pull the moves.” He looked down at his tablet. “I have a part-time bartender scheduled around two and a few bouncers and security guys who will be talking with Dan.”

I was happy to hear about the extra security; maybe I’d get home an hour earlier.
Dan was a mountain of a man who was head of security. He’d been with Chasers from the beginning. The business was starting to gain more ground, and we needed more security to protect the drag performers and go-go boys, and even make sure the clientele got to their cars safely.

I was surprised we’d gained so much new business, especially in a conservative small town in the south. But I was happy too. It showed progress, no matter the current upswing in hate rhetoric.

“Okay, who’s first and when are we going to start?” I chugged from my coffee mug and tried to hide my yawn.

Foxy chuckled and started another pot of coffee. I groaned, wishing I’d thought to do it before he did. My coffee was so much better.

“First appointment in about twenty minutes. Finish your brew. I don’t want you to scare these poor guys before we even get them to sign their contracts.”

 

More from M.D. at Changeling Press…

My vivid imagination combined with my love of reading and sci-fi. As a kid, I spent hours writing stories and poems while listening to my large collection of vinyl record albums.

My goal as an author is to tell stories that help others find enjoyment, or to escape life for a little while. I want the characters in my head to become as real to the reader as they are to me, and I hope they find another heart to settle into. I also want to interact with the people who read my books, because you never know where your next friend will come from.

You can find M.D. at the listed links, and you can also check out her Pinterest.

You can contact M.D. by clicking this link.

Website: https://www.amazon.com/author/mdstewart

Blog: http://www.mdstew.art.blog