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RELEASE BLITZ: Moonlight & the Mirror by Evelynn Carver

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Title: Moonlight and the Mirror

Series: The Moonlight Curse, Book Three

Author: Evelynn Carver

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 11/03/2026

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 472

Genre: Fantasy, fantasy, gay/M/M, action/adventure, bonded, demons, established couple, magic/magic users, monsters/ demons, gore, spells, royalty, shifters, spies, family drama, violence

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Description

Exiled prince Brand Lykanos and his partner Valentino Vicari are living quietly in the tropics until fate drags them back to the kingdom they once fled. With a demonic curse looming over them, they agree to a perilous ruse: fake their execution to buy their freedom. But death, even staged, has consequences—and the deeper they dig into the curse’s origins, the clearer it becomes that it began long ago with another story of forbidden love.

A hundred years past, Felideran mage and assassin Valencia Vicari enters the enemy king’s castle in disguise expecting to meet a tyrant. Instead, she finds Castor Lykanos, a soft-spoken ruler haunted by his brother’s legacy and driven by desperation. As Valencia uncovers a dangerous secret, she realizes she may be the savior her people need and the only one who can stop a curse from consuming the realm. It’s too bad her heart has other ideas.

As Brand and Valentino infiltrate an ancient cult, hoping to uncover a way to reverse the curse, they unknowingly follow in Valencia’s footsteps as she escapes from Castor’s castle with blood on her hands. When their paths converge on a haunted battlefield, past and present collide, binding them in blood, fire, and a final choice that could break the curse or destroy them all.

Moonlight and the Mirror is a romantic epic fantasy full of sharp-tongued banter, twisted legacies, and found family. Perfect for fans of Freya Marske and C.L. Polk, this is a tale of how love, in all its forms, can twist a soul or save it.

Moonlight and the Mirror is the third book in the series and will be best enjoyed if read in order.

Excerpt

Moonlight and the Mirror
Evelynn Carver © 2026
All Rights Reserved

Brand’s palms began to sweat as he stared at the faded scrap of paper in his hands. He’d studied his mother’s drawing a thousand times, traced every line, memorized every curve. Now, standing at the foot of the hill with the sun hot on his back and salt in the air, he beheld the real thing at last. Though not entirely accurate, the rendering was close enough to be undeniable, depicting the shape of the archways, the number of pillars, the elegant curves of the capped roofs, shining in the balmy sunlight—all of it as she had sketched out many years ago. Though not a palace, not quite, it seemed near enough. It stood like something out of a storybook, a beautiful, shining star overlooking the bustling marketplace below, all hidden in the center of a tropical paradise surrounded by the ruins of war.

Brand stood staring at the house on the hill for a long time from under the shade of a mango tree, his stomach heavy as if filled with stones.

He likely had relatives in that house. Extremely likely. But how could he face them? He couldn’t exactly waltz up to the front door and knock. He didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong anywhere.

Blending into the marketplace came easily enough. Unlike the streets back home, the markets teemed with all sorts, flush with colors and smells and shouting between shopkeepers and haggling customers. Food was all around him: spices and sweets, fresh fruit and vegetables overflowing from stalls and baskets, pans of oil frying this or that in the muggy afternoon heat. Teahouses lined every other block, full of old men arguing over cards and dice, children laughing, and musicians playing instruments he had never seen, much less heard before. Magic drifted through it all, the small, everyday kind of boiling kettles, mending socks, and growing things. Nothing about it resembled the tidy farming villages in Felidereaux or the stinking, labyrinthine alleys back in Kaenys.

Dengaluru thrived—a loud and lively, beautifully bustling society built on the ruins of an ancient way of life that had nearly been erased, but instead burst forth, vibrant and stubborn, from between the cracks.

Brand should feel at home here. No one gave him a second glance as he fetched letters and delivered discreet packages or went about any of the various chores and tasks to earn his keep. Brand, unlike Valentino, blended in easily, his warm brown skin and dark hair much like most of the populace on the island. This land belonged to his mother, after all.

He could only speak a few sentences of the language fluently though, the rest a broken garbled mess of Dengalese and the Queen’s Common they spoke on the mainland where he’d been born and raised. His father had forbidden his mother to speak her native tongue to her children. Though Brand knew a few of her songs, he didn’t know their full meaning. He couldn’t carry on a proper conversation with the people here without giving himself away as an outsider, and if someone got a bit too close, caught his eyes in the right light, terror clawed up his spine that they might see a tyrant staring back at them. Sometimes as he passed a mirror, he caught his reflection and found his father scowling from the glass instead. Would the people here know what the king across the ocean looked like? Brand didn’t want to find out. He didn’t want to catch too much attention, not after everything he had done.

What would his grandparents think of him? His mother had rarely ever spoken of them, terrified of inciting her husband’s wrath. Could they still be alive? And if so, would they want to meet the son of the monster who had taken their precious daughter away, the power-hungry king who had tried to drain this beautiful island dry? With every moonrise, Brand grew more and more afraid of becoming more like him.

After his bond with Valentino last winter, the curse had…changed. Something inside him had shifted, the mixing of magic altering the contract written in his blood, but unfortunately not curing. Not breaking.

He needed to get back to the inn, back to Valentino’s side, and he needed to do it soon. Being apart had taken a toll. Even now in the warm tropical afternoon, the cold magic of the curse swam right under his skin, slinking about and waiting to be set free, gnawing at him. The comforting warmth of Valentino’s magic lay half an island away, and without it, the demon grew ravenous.

The damn thing had plagued Brand his entire life, but just a season ago, he’d been barely aware of the creature’s presence in flashes and fever dreams, the bulk of it only surging forth completely once every full moon. Now, it dogged him relentlessly, always lurking, waiting, biding its time, itching at the back of his skull every day and night. Valentino, with his supernova surplus of power, certainly helped to soothe the itch, but that presented another problem entirely. Brand worried more and more about becoming a drain on their partnership, and the guilt and fear weighed heavily on his heart. Did hungry shadows torment his father the same way, consuming him from the inside out? Had he eaten all his wife’s magic away through their bond, until she slowly lost her mind as well?

The sound of a carriage approaching up the road startled Brand out of his reverie, and he stepped back to let it pass.

But instead of a single carriage, a caravan of them came around the bend, the ones in front and back carrying a group of men in striking black uniforms, sashed in red. The center carriage, large and splendid, had a tasseled canopy shading its solitary rider from the sun. When they passed, Brand caught a glimpse of the occupant’s profile—an elegant, elderly woman draped in finery, gold chains and bangles dripping from her ears, nose, and neck. Something about her struck him as startlingly familiar, and for a moment he could only gape.

Brand stared after her as the final carriage passed, nerves jangling, and then he stepped out and followed them, calling out.

“Pardon me, my lady!” He prayed he used passible Dengalese. “May I have a word?”

One guard shouted at him, turning on his horse and pointing a spear in Brand’s direction.

Brand held up his hands. “I just want to talk with the lady for a moment, please. I mean no harm.”

Another guard joined the first one, and they converged on him.

Sweating, Brand turned to run, but another shout stopped him as the lady herself spoke loudly and sternly to her driver, and the carriage stopped.

Brand took the chance. “My lady! My lady, I apologize for interrupting your travels, but—”

The guards yelled at him again, so Brand yelled louder.

“Lady Al’Uldahl. It’s about your daughter—your daughter, Deepika. I’m her—”

One of the guards hit Brand in the stomach with the butt of his spear, and he fell to the ground with a grunt, the air knocked out of him.

Another sharp word from the lady made the guards pause as she stepped down from her carriage and approached, pushing between them.

Gasping, Brand squinted up at her.

The lady frowned down at him with a dark, unreadable gaze, staring for nearly a full minute, taking in every feature, finally settling on his eyes. Her expression did not change, no light of recognition or a raised eyebrow, but when she spoke again, she did so precisely, as if for his benefit.

“Bring him with us. Now.”

Instead of to a dungeon, the guards ushered Brand into the estate’s courtyard. There, they indicated a plush cushion and told him to wait.

Brand blinked in the sunlight, squinting at his surroundings. The house, more awe-inducing up close, had pale white stone walls, gleaming with elaborate designs cut into them, and ceiling and floor tiles inlaid with chips of colorful glass. He sat, enchanted, in this beautiful stained-glass confection, flanked with tropical trees and gently gurgling fountains. All of it, so jarringly different from his father’s dusty old castle, made him wonder how his mother had ever been convinced to leave this place, royal marriage or not. He pondered this in silence, the guards watching him dutifully from the nearby doorway.

Not more than a quarter hour later, the grand lady joined him, her jewelry and finery gone except for a single shining stud in her nose and a pleated fall of gold-embroidered cloth draped over her shoulder, stark against the rich green of her dress. She wore her long hair parted at the center and gathered severely in a thick gray coil at her nape. Brand found the style rather unnervingly reminiscent of a cobra preparing to strike.

She did not speak as a maid served them tea from a steaming pot and then hurried away, leaving them alone except for another pair of guards standing several yards away near the fountain.

Lady Al’Uldahl took a sip of her tea and regarded him coolly through the fragrant steam.

“You are my grandson, I take it?” She spoke with a crisp and elegant accent, a combination of the lyrical bounce of her native tongue and his own unaffected Common from the continent.

Brand’s heart beat wildly in his chest. “Yes, I think so, my lady. My name is Brand. Brandahl Lykanos. I’m the son of Queen Deepika Al’Uldahl a Lykanos. Your daughter?”

She nodded and took a drink. “You’re the one that killed him, then? My son-in-law, the scoundrel who called himself a king.”

Brand swallowed. News traveled fast. This pretty courtyard, filled with plush pillows, fountains, and guards with spears, made a strange space for a murder confession. But when he gazed into her eyes, Brand knew he could not lie to her. He’d grown so sick of lying.

“Yes, that’s right.”

She took another sip of her tea. “How did you do it?”

Brand had expected at least a gasp or a frown, but her expression remained placid, as if discussing the weather.

“How, my lady?”

“You heard me, boy. Do not spare the details.”

A year ago, his father had transformed into a demon in broad daylight in the middle of the castle chapel. He’d flown into a wild rage, and Brand and Valentino had put him down. The image of the creature’s lifeless form, bloody and smoking in the middle of the chapel aisle, remained etched into the back of Brand’s eyelids. He flexed his hands, recalling the way the sword had vibrated as it scraped against his father’s spine. Brand did not regret it for one moment, not after he learned what his father had done to his mother, what he had hoped to do to Brand himself, what he tried to do to Valentino there between the rows of pews. Still, the image haunted him, mocking him from an ocean away.

His grandmother waited for an answer. Her eyes remained hard and emotionless, but as Brand stared at her, he noticed a barely perceptible sharpness that hadn’t been there before. He suddenly understood and did not hesitate any longer.

“I used a sword. Ran him through the back, my lady. We opened his throat, too, and burned him.”

Valentino had done that last bit, of course, but it brought Brand instant relief, confessing to the bare, honest truth.

Lady Al’Uldahl set her teacup on the small table between them and dabbed her lips with a napkin. When she finally smiled, her even, white teeth gleamed like a crescent moon on a dark, clear night. “Very good. Now, what can I do for you, dear boy?”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Evelynn recently moved to southern Japan with her partner, child, and various cats. In her free time, she reads genre fiction, plays video games, watches cartoons, and engages in other related unseemly behavior. She’s been writing and drawing stories since she was in grade school and would one day love to grow up to be a Real Author.

Website | Instagram | Bluesky

 

BOOK BLITZ: Jack & Gil by Emily Carrington

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LGBTQ, Paranormal Romance, Shifters

Date Published: June 27, 2025

 
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.

Author Links

Author’s Website

Emily on Facebook

Emily on Twitter

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

Pre-Order Today

 

BOOK SPOTLIGHT: Razor (Mating Games) by Catty Diva

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The crazy king is dead, and in his wake, he’s left an entire planet in ruins. Now, it’s up to Razar, the son of the next in line for the throne, to restore their once-great empire. But is it even possible? With their people on the brink of devastation, they desperately need a strong leader to guide them through the darkness. Meanwhile, Earth teeters on the edge of its own apocalypse. But with the new empire needing mates, Earth’s government sees an opportunity to save many of its females by selling them to the desperate aliens.

As a leader, Razar must find a mate first. But there’s a catch – if the humans discover the secrets of his kind, they’ll refuse to send any more mates. Lista, a human woman desperate to save her mother’s life, volunteers to be a bride for an alien in exchange for money to fund her mother’s operation. If she can win the mating game, she’ll be free to return home with the money. But can Lista outwit Razar, or will he capture her heart before the game is over? Embark on a heart-pounding adventure filled with suspense, romance, and the struggle to rebuild a broken world. Dive into “Razar” and experience an unforgettable journey where love, courage, and leadership will be put to the ultimate test!

Get it Here

About the Author

Catty Diva is an alien! Alright, she just wishes she was when she visits countless alien worlds in her mind all before lunch. The Mating Games series is the first under this pen name and reflects the hot quick reads that bring quick satisfaction with a happy ending. You can finish them in a couple hours or less of intense action and romance that will leave you panting for the next book.

SPOTLIGHT: Alpha Vol. 2 by Treva Harte #werewolves #PNR #LGBTQ @HarteTreva

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Three blazing hot stories of werewolf packs in the wilds of West Texas.

Beg: Tala runs to Sin City the second she turns eighteen, refusing the alpha her pack has contracted her to, but somehow instead of her freedom she finds herself with not one but three were males who are hungry to make her their mate.

Heal: Arlin doesn’t want the responsibility of being pack Alpha. Ruth’s really cramping his style. How can a woman so cold smell so incredibly hot?

Carry On: Ned really doesn’t expect to fall for Frank, a cold-blooded hired gun, or MaeBelle, the owner of the speakeasy where Ned works. Now he has a bigger problem — keeping his lovers safe from the were killing anyone connected with the club… especially when Ned may just be the killer.

EXCERPT

Copyright ©2022 Treva Harte
Excerpt from Beg

“Hey, baby.”

“You’ve been drinking.”

“It’s my birthday.”

“Your eighteenth birthday, Arlin. Not legal drinking age.”

“For non-weres, maybe. But when did you turn into a member of the Temperance League? Ohh. I get it, cousin. You’re jealous. After all, I am one day older than you. I always will be.”

“Shut up. And I’m not your cousin. In fact, I’m really glad I’m not your cousin.”

“Cousin? We’re almost twins, babe. Is it the longest day of your life? You’ve been like this for every birthday since I can remember. You’d think you’d outgrow it.”

“And button up your fly, Arlin. You’ve been out sexing too. What type of bar did you go to?”

He smiled, his patented lazy smile, and took his time about obeying the order. He deliberately left the top button open.

“A sex bar, of course. C’mon, Tala. You’re so jealous you’re just about crawling out of your skin. It’s okay for me to have sex, you know. I’m not a minor now. Of course, you can’t have it even when you do turn eighteen. You’ve been sold off to the highest bidder. I bet he wants a virgin bride. How quaint.”

“If you’d been born female, it would have been you on the auction block. It’s at least one good reason to be male.” Tala stood up and began to pace. “I suppose he’ll summon me as soon as I hit the right age. I don’t even know if he’ll do that. Everything is up to him. It’s disgusting. It’s archaic.”

“Jealous and scared as hell.” Arlin grabbed her by the shoulders, halting her in midstep. “I didn’t think anything scared you, Tala. Not our little Miss Smartass.”

“Nothing does.” She looked him in the eye when she lied. “Nothing will.”

Arlin’s expression softened and his grip on her changed to a soft slide down her shoulders. “Can I help?”

Help? Arlin was male and the presumptive Alpha of his pack. And she — almost cousin, almost twin, almost part of Arlin and his family — wasn’t. No. There was no help for it.

“You’re so predictable. You and your so-called help.” She leaned forward to nip his chin.

He tweaked one of her nipples and she sucked in a breath. “You don’t like it? I can stop.”

“Shut up, Arlin.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Treva Harte has always been an overachiever. She also collects things. First it was degrees. First a B.A. in English, then she decided to go back for a Master’s degree. Not content with that, she added a J.D. Since then she’s added a husband, also an attorney, and two children to her collection. She’s continuing her ways as an overachiever, writing her wonderfully offbeat tales of passion and possibilities — in her spare time.

Visit her website at www.trevaharte.com.

Release Blitz: Voice by Sean Ian O’Meidhir and Connal Braginsky #PNR #LGBTQ #dragqueens @ninestarpress @GoIndiMarketing

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Title: Voice

Series: Crossing Nuwa, Book Three

Author: Sean Ian O’Meidhir, Connal Braginsky

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 12/21/2021

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 62500

Genre: Paranormal Romance, LGBTQIA+, pride, parade, bears, action/adventure, drag queens, vampires, shifters, magic, mind control, urban fiction, plus sized

Add to Goodreads

Description

After an unfortunate mishap, Robbie has to learn how to use his Command abilities. Just when he thinks that it’s safe to turn them off entirely, he is challenged in a way he never imagined and is faced with the decision to use his abilities or lose his beloved cousin for good. His growth puts a strain on his budding relationship with Theo who is already stretched thin with his own dilemmas. Will the couple grow from their individual struggles, or will this be a final dividing point?

This is the third book in the Crossing Nüwa series and a continuation of Robbie and Theo’s relationship growth and struggles.

Excerpt

Voice
Sean Ian O’Meidhir and Connal Braginsky © 2021
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Robbie

“Oh shit!” I cursed, spitting out the flavor of another man’s unwanted lips on mine and chafing my lips as I fervently wiped my mouth on my sleeve.

With small bony hands, he grabbed both of my arms. “Robbie,” Brent said. His high-pitched nasally voice, which had always annoyed me a little, now grated on every nerve. “You know you want me as much as I want you. Stop playing hard to get.”

I couldn’t believe this was happening. At school! I glanced around the empty college hallway for anyone to potentially save me, but classes were in session. I felt more than saw Brent lunge in for another kiss, and my lua training kicked in. Thrusting into his solar plexus with one palm, I snatched his wrist and wrenched. As he fell, I twisted him, catching his chin in my left hand, and by stretching him out I was able to face him away from me.

“Oooo,” Brent cooed, kneeling from the ground. “You like it rough. Robbie, I never knew.”

Disgusted, I dropped him and tripped back into the wall. “I thought we were friends,” I managed pathetically. Confusion swirled around me. We were supposed to be on the way to class. We were supposed to be working on a project for class. We were supposed to be studying for finals. We were supposed to be doing anything but what he had just done. Brent had been my closest friend since I started college. While he had asked me out that first week, he backed off when I told him I had a boyfriend.

Brent pulled his small frame up, standing and looking up at me with a twisted smile that made me cringe. “You know we’re more than that. I don’t know what you see in that fat dude you call a boyfriend. You’re so much hotter than that. Deserve someone like me. Come on; let’s cut biology and get out of here? They know we’re working on that project anyway.”

I caught him as he moved in again. The scent of his sauerkraut-covered hot dog lunch wafted from his breath, making me shudder in revulsion. “Just stop!” I shouted, not caring if someone overheard, and pushed him back with all my strength.

He hit the other wall looking stunned and then slumped to the ground.

“Oh,” I exhaled. Nüwa are stronger than humans. What if I…?

Bending down, I gingerly pushed him, almost expecting a horror film scene of him grappling me down. He just rolled over, looking peacefully asleep.

Scrambling, I stumbled away. And then ran.

Chapter Two
Compartmentalize, compartmentalize, compartmentalize, I chanted to myself. Brent was okay. I had just knocked him out. Someone would come along and find him passed out in the hall. Or he’d wake up and…and what? Call me? I glanced apprehensively at the phone mounted to the overly cheerful artichoke-shaped charging station in our kitchen.

I had thrown myself into cooking the moment I got home. Ms. Gomez, our live-in housekeeper and cook, kindly let me use the kitchen while she took off to the store. The new pasta maker I got online dominated my attention until it started slipping back to Brent. Maggie’s voice rung out in my mind, reminding me to compartmentalize—to put this experience in another box in my mind. And shut it. Lock it. Learning to tuck away the memories from childhood that left me feeling vulnerable had kept me sane this past year.

The memory of holding my mother’s lifeless body after she had sacrificed herself to save me came unbidden to my mind, and once again, I was awash with that guilt. The deep cleansing breath helped to center me, and I imagined settling the top on that box again.

As I thought more about it, it seemed like I was compartmentalizing other things too. The time we spent in San Diego lived in one box and my time spent in the oasis of my home with Theo in yet another. I found that I was a different person in each context. With Theo I was most at ease. He knew me better than anyone, even Maggie, though I had spared him the sordid details about my childhood. There was never any guesswork with Theo. He loved me unconditionally and was always there for me. I could be myself with Maggie and Abi, too, but felt a wall with them. I know it’s because they’re women and Nüwa, and Mother and my aunt instilled in me a fear of both and an internal need to be deferential. So, I knew what the wall was; I just didn’t see a way of getting past it. And part of me didn’t want to. They were both amazing, and loving, and kind. And nothing at all like Mother and my aunt. So, they deserved my respect and deference.

And college was another box. I groaned loudly, channeling my fury into my whisk, hitting the sides of the bowl in a frenzy. The cream sauce I was making from scratch for the Italian sausage lasagna spun around in a vortex inside the bowl. How could I go back if Brent was there? The idea of confronting him… But the idea of not going back to college left me with a sense of dread.

“Hey ya, sugar.”

I let out a yelp and spun around to see Theo casually leaning on the counter. How long had he been there?

“What’s up?” His question had a cautious tone.

“Cooking,” I muttered, turning my back to him and focusing on pouring the sauce into the pan that I had already layered with pasta, meat, and cheese. Heat stained my cheeks with just the thought of telling Theo about the kiss.

The weight of his stare on my back was a tangible thing, and I was relieved when his phone sounded. He let it ring longer than he normally would, but then answered and left. Relief slumped my shoulders. I would put this whole thing in a box. The Brent box. It belonged on a shelf with all the other bad memories and mistakes. Tonight, I was going to have dinner with my family: Kat and Theo. But first, I would need to meditate and get calm. All this rumination was getting me absolutely nowhere.

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Meet the Author

Connal Braginsky is a software engineer who lives in San Diego, California. Diagnosed with high functioning autism, Connal sometimes struggles in social situations, but has an inner world that is always incredibly rich. With an insatiable thirst for knowledge about many esoteric things, Connal brings a lot of personal philosophies and interests to writing.

Sean Ian O’Meidhir is a psychologist who lives in San Francisco, California. Sean is a hedonist who believes in living for today, living every day to the fullest, and enjoying as much as possible. They have been gaming since adolescence and have written about and played hundreds of lives, revelling in the chance to take on new personalities, dramas, even disorders.

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Release Blitz: Breaking the Shackles by Mell Eight #LGBTQ #paranormalromance @ninestarpress @GoIndiMarketing

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Title: Breaking the Shackles

Series: Dragon’s Hoard, Book Two

Author: Mell Eight

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 09/06/2021

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 23600

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, bonded mates, royalty, interspecies, mythical creatures, shifters

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Description

Separated and abused by the magi, twins Laine and Baine each swore to do whatever it took to break free and save the other. But when Baine arrives at the werewolf village prepared to rescue Laine and return home triumphant, he soon learns that any plan involving a dragon and a werewolf is bound to go awry.

Excerpt

Breaking the Shackles
Mell Eight © 2021
All Rights Reserved

The haze covering Laine’s mind faded. Slowly he became aware of his surroundings and flinched at that realization. Awareness equaled pain: pain from the knowledge of those who had been so violently lost and pain as his own flesh writhed from the cruel ministrations of the creatures that had taken control of him.

The magi, his mind hissed. The magi had taken him captive with five others of his clan. Only he remained alive. The return of memories that came with his first moments free of the haze was one of the reasons Laine so hated each return to consciousness.

As the haze further retreated, Laine expected to feel a whip on his back or an excruciating pull as his magic was forcibly drained from his body. His magic gave him life eternal, brought breath to his body, and made his heart pump. Without it, the other five of his clan had perished, gasping for air they could no longer breathe for hearts that could no longer beat. The magi stole the magic that gave them life, and they died.

Shackles surrounded Laine’s upper arms, but pain did not wrack his body. His magic felt strong and hale, as if the magi had not drawn from him in hours. Strange, and worrying. What twisted plan did the magi have in store for him now?

Laine’s surroundings came further into focus. He felt like he was riding on something. His body was lifting and lowering in the air as whatever he was tied to bounded forward. His fingers were clenched in what felt like fur.

Laine did not open his eyes. That would alert the magi that he was awake and aware, which would lead to more pain. Instead, Laine enjoyed the soothing feeling of the fur below him. His mind drifted away into a dream—one in which he watched the magi die.

Wolves howled in the woods. One of the magi tugging Laine along the tangled forest path swore. The wolves were truly wondrous creatures. They broke cover and appeared in the clearing. One wolf with a white muzzle, as if he had dipped his nose in a bottle of milk and hadn’t yet licked himself clean, stood out. That wolf killed the magi who liked to giggle when he drew power from Laine.

Two more wolves appeared, the first a female of russet color and the second a light-brown male with large black splotches on his back. Together they ripped apart the magi’s second-in-command, a man with long brown hair and light-blond stripes growing from his temples. Laine found it strange that the magi bled the same color as Laine’s back did whenever the man gleefully used his whip.

And then a beautiful dark-brown wolf with the deepest, most wonderful brown eyes appeared in front of Laine and dove directly at the magi holding him captive. The connection between them snapped as the magi used both hands to defend himself against the wolf. Laine fell to the ground, released from the magi’s clutches. Claws slashed wickedly as the wolf backed the magi into a tree. Every time the magi opened his mouth to lay a coercion spell, the wolf increased the fervor of his attacks until all the magi could do was gasp and bleed. The wolf ripped the leader of the magi’s throat out soon after. Laine glimpsed the long black hair with two white stripes growing from the temples before a spray of blood disfigured the leader’s face forever.

The dream ended with Laine sitting on the forest floor while blood and wolves surrounded him. Even in the dream he returned to the haze. Laine wished it were possible for such things to come true. For the magi to be dead and Laine to be free. Well, it was a nice dream, but reality abhorred dreams.

Laine drifted. Hours, days…he couldn’t keep track of time. He didn’t want to keep track of time.

When he came to again, the situation had grown stranger. His side was warm and he heard crackling. Was he lying in front of a fire? He lay on a real bed with feathers and a pillow. A blanket was even tucked around his body. How many years had it been since Laine had felt the comfort of a simple blanket? He didn’t keep track of time for a reason.

He knew it would alert the enemy if he moved, but Laine couldn’t help it. He curled deeper into the warmth of the mattress and pulled the blanket over his shoulders. Laine ignored the shocked whispers behind him. Surrounded by unfamiliar comfort, his body fell into a real sleep—the first in a very, very long time.

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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.

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