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Blog Tour: Servant, by Patrick R. Field #Paranormal #Fantasy #Giveaway #LGBTQ

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GENRE: Paranormal Fantasy

BLURB:

Not long after their move into Blackstone, married couple Mitch and Buck begin to witness strange sightings of shadowy figures, physical manifestations and inexplicable events taking place in the former Sheppard family estate nestled in the Northern Poconos of Pennsylvania. Through séances, they learn from the spirit of Jedidiah Sheppard that he has not been able to cross over into the afterlife because the truth behind his sudden disappearance in 1965 has never been solved. During this journey, Mitch and Buck and an eccentric psychic, Gladys Munch aka Madame Fortunesta, encounter interference from the spirit of a Lenape medicine man, Mesingwe Medeu, who protects Jedidiah’s spirit. Mitch and Buck eventually realize that they must find Jedidiah’s remains and let the authorities discover through modern detective work the evidence needed to try and convict the murderer. But is it too late for Jedidiah’s spirit to find eternal peace?

EXCERPT

My curiosity finally getting the better of me, I ask, “What’s in your ‘concoction’?”

“Snaps and snails and puppy dog tails,” she chortles, a devilish smile beaming across her face as she continues uninterrupted. “I’m teasing. It’s your typical combination of magical plants…Mug wort, Wormwood, Mandrake, Sage oil, and a little Belladonna. Don’t want too much of that—we don’t need a hallucinogenic tonight. I have a feeling we’re going to see quite a show.”

“We’re not gonna eat that, are we?” I exclaim, after hearing the list of ingredients.

“No, silly, we’re going to wear it, on our faces. To trick anything nasty we might find down there that we’re not part of the living,” Gladys explains.

Instantly, Buck and I look at each other, our faces reflecting the same thought: “What the hell did we get ourselves into?”

“All right, that should do it,” Gladys states as she finishes molding her paste. She then opens the three velvet-covered boxes and pulls out three identical necklaces made of fine silver chains, with a round globe-like cage at the end that’s about three inches in diameter. Picking up one of the necklaces, she springs a catch on the cage, and it opens via delicate, simple hinges. Opening another box, she extracts what looks like a light brown carrot. The root looks like the body of a miniature person. “This is Mandrake root, a very powerful plant we will wear around our necks in these necklaces to protect us,” Gladys explains.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

After twenty-five years in higher education, Patrick Field traded in teaching and textbooks to pursue his passion of writing spine-chilling fiction. Holding a Ph.D. in Anatomical Sciences and Neuroscience, his experience informs his writing, a unique blend of scientific knowledge with supernatural storytelling.

His non-scientific writing career began with Prince Patrick, a memoir of his precocious childhood that he wrote for his mother as she battled pancreatic cancer. This process was not only healing but helpful in stirring his creativity and marked the moment he was bitten by the writing bug.

An avid fan of Anne Rice, Edgar Allen Poe, and Joe Hill, Patrick’s subsequent novels were inspired by his favorite authors. His first fiction novel, The Malevolent, and his two latest novels, The Bedfordshire Warlock (release date in early 2024) and Servant were written throughout the isolation of the COVID-19 pandemic.

His latest novel Servant was inspired by the supernatural events that happened to the author, his husband, and friends that have stayed in their home in northeastern Pennsylvania. Taking a page from his teaching philosophy that those who teach must never cease to learn, Patrick found himself hungry to discover all he could about the area’s diverse cultures, including the Anthracite coal mining community and the indigenous tribe of the Lenape.

Patrick’s writing process is a mix between walking meditation and meticulous research. His novels form while he walks alone with his dogs, imagining plot lines and characters. Once he’s home, he quickly types notes on his computer before fleshing them out later. Research is a considerable part of his process- the scientist in him abhors “alternative facts.” When he encounters an idea or a historical thread unfamiliar to him, he researches all he can about it. While he writes about a world where the supernatural realm is prominent, the real world is always based on facts.

When developing characters, he usually has an idea of the destination he wants for each character but the journey to get there is often written by the character and the environment. Of all the characters he’s written, Gladys Munch in Servant is his favorite, as she’s an amalgam of delightful, humorous “mature” ladies in his life and physically inspired by British actresses Margaret Rutherford and Angela Lansbury.

In addition to writing, Patrick appears on the stage of his community theater and sings in the chorus of a local opera company each summer. He enjoys spending time with his husband, Matthew, and their dogs and exploring new destinations around the world, especially those that have a supernatural history. Haunted buildings and structures associated with the occult fascinate Patrick. His idea of a perfect day: drinking pints of Guinness draught with friends and family over scintillating and humorous conversation.

Website: patrickfieldauthor.com
Instagram: patrickfieldauthor
Facebook: actoranatomist

Links for purchasing Servant

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Servant-Patrick-R-Field/dp/1509248765/ref=sr_1_1

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/servant-patrick-r-field/1143071600

Walmart:
https://www.walmart.com/ip/Servant-Paperback-9781509248766/2686843043

GIVEAWAY INFORMATION 

Patrick R. Field will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
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Blog Tour: The Empath and the Soldier, by A. K. Holubek #Giveaway #LGBTQ #FantasyFiction

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The Empath and the Soldier - A.K. Holubek
A.K. Holubek has a new MM Regency period fantasy book out, The Unconventionals book 1: The Empath and the Soldier. And there’s a giveaway.

The situation seemed hopeless. But Tyrran couldn’t pretend to be ignorant of the danger and just wait for his home to disintegrate around him.

As a Favored male, Tyrran belongs to a select group of men born with one of the Four Gifts, a blessing usually reserved for women. Quiet, introverted, and filled with self-doubt, Tyrran has always struggled with living up to the responsibilities that come with being Gifted. Still, he had managed to achieve the near impossible — admission to the prestigious Lyceum Institute in Corvit, the Coarian Sovereignty’s bustling capital city. With this success, Tyrran’s future seems clear: the best education, a position in a Temple, and, one day, marriage to a young man of good fortune.

That is, until sinister forces intervene to shove him down a much bleaker path. Tyrran’s plans are thrown into upheaval when a deadly attack reveals the existence of an insidious evil festering within the ranks of the Sovereignty’s elite.

Now, he must use the privileges afforded him as a Lyceum student to uncover the secrets of a corrupt government. Targeted by relentless assassins and trying to ignore his growing attachment to the handsome exchange student Adwin, Tyrran must gather trustworthy allies to face the dangers that threaten to tear apart his nation and his home.

Bridgerton meets The Magicians in this fantasy novel about the importance of confidence and the strength of friendship.

Get It On Amazon

Giveaway

A.K. is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour:

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Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47280/

Excerpt

The Empath and The Soldier meme
At that moment they stopped suddenly, startled by someone crawling out of the pond almost directly in front of them. The someone turned out to be a man—an East Silacian, Tyrran noted right away, due to his black skin. He was shirtless, wearing only white tights, and he looked about Tyrran’s age. He was shorter than Tyrran and his chest, stomach, and arms were muscular—sculpted was the more appropriate term, his skin stretched tight over every muscle. His physique was compact rather than large, he had deep brown eyes, and his black hair was cut close to his head.

Tyrran had always suspected that the Silacian reputation for beauty was exaggerated, stemming from the inferiority complex Coarians held towards Silacians, whose empire was much larger, wealthier, and more advanced than the Sovereignty. But if Nyri and this man were any indication, then their reputed good looks were understated if anything.

“Good morning, soldier,” the man said, addressing Lena as he wiped water from his face with his hands. He spoke the Common Tongue with a sophisticated accent that sounded very similar to Nyri’s.

“Good morning, Adwin,” Lena replied, looking puzzled. “Did you, uh, fall in the pond?”

“Not at all. I was just going for a morning swim.” He smiled as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“In public? In the middle of campus?”

“But of course. This appears to be the closest body of water to our college. However, by your expressions, I assume Coarian notions of decorum discourage public bathing. I did swim wearing my tights, since I know public nudity is frowned upon.”

He may as well have removed them, for what little use they were in covering his nudity. The material clung to his skin, revealing bulging leg muscles as well as other bulges that Tyrran was making a concerted effort not to stare at.

“We do tend to prefer bathing in secluded areas,” Lena said. “Spaces set aside for bathing. Like the bathhouse next to the Barracks House, for instance.”

“I did try the bathhouse, but the water is heated. Quite uncomfortable on a warm day like today. Do you suppose I shall be sent packing back to Silacia for this breach of conduct?” An impudent grin spread across his face.

“It’s early enough that I’m sure no one but us has seen you. Though I do suggest you put the rest of your clothes back on soon. Where are they, by the by?”

“My clothes? I left them further down the trail. In truth, I was swimming about the pond for exercise rather than for bathing, then I saw the two of you and thought to come greet you. And now I think I have finished with swimming. Would you mind accompanying me to fetch my clothes?”

Tyrran could see that Lena was annoyed by the request and had every intention of replying in the negative. But Tyrran didn’t want Adwin to be offended, so he quickly spoke up.

“We would be happy to.”

That earned him an evil look from Lena.

Adwin offered his arm to Tyrran. “Adwin Mekalbe, at your service.”

Tyrran grasped his forearm, “Tyrran Kens, at yours,” he replied, trying to keep his voice from squeaking.

“I assume you do not attend the Military College,” Adwin continued, as the three of them resumed walking along the trail.

“No, I’m at Roothe College. Lena and I are friends from Temple Academy.”

“Ah, yes. In Hifield City. I am truly sorry about the attacks. I do hope you were not directly affected.”

Guest Post

Thanks for the opportunity to talk a little about my new book. In this post, I’d like to discuss how I began writing my novel.

I started writing The Empath and the Soldier on my phone. My husband and I had just moved from Washington, DC to Baltimore, Maryland for his job. But I continued to work in DC, which meant my commute was now an hour trek each way. Fortunately, that journey was made mostly on a train, rather than sitting in my car on congested highways.

When I first began this commute, like many of my fellow train passengers I would put on headphones to block out the world around me, listening to music while scrolling through social media or catching up on the news. But at the time, both social media and the news were very bleak places. I would often arrive at work or at home completely despondent after an hour-long train ride subjecting myself to a litany of the world’s evils.

I finally decided I needed a break from the constant doom scrolling. Usually, I would escape from social media by diving into a good novel. But at that moment I was suffering from reader ennui—I just couldn’t find a novel that really captured my interest. So I figured it might be time to write down a story idea that had been bouncing around in my head for years.

Actually, “story idea” is a massive exaggeration. What I really had was an idea for the opening scene of a story. Two friends climbing a hill together in the early morning, before some sort of special school function (exciting, right?). I honestly had no idea where the story would go from there. I only knew that it would be fantasy and take place in a different world, rather than some alternative version of Earth. I really wanted to get completely away from our planet.

One morning I began to pen my opening scene on a notetaking app I had downloaded to my phone, using my thumb to “swype” the words of my first novel onto the screen. I couldn’t use my work computer for personal writing, and my home computer wasn’t all that portable. My phone was really the only option for writing on my way to work.

It didn’t take long to finish the one scene that I had been imagining. After that, I actually had to consider what the plot would be, the characters’ personalities, what the world they lived in was like, etc. Besides wanting the story to be an otherworldly fantasy tale, I also wanted the novel to focus on LGBTQ+ characters, reflecting my own life experience as a gay man. In addition, I decided that the book should take place in a college-like setting. I thought it would be interesting to revisit and explore that time in life when adolescence has just ended and for the first time you really start to discover what it means to be an adult.

I didn’t map out the entire plot and character arcs like some authors do. Instead, I wrote the novel scene by scene, figuring out the characters and story as I went along. And while this might sound like an imaginative and spontaneous process, it’s also super inefficient. I would constantly have to rewrite earlier portions of the novel when they conflicted with later events or when something I wanted to happen halfway through the book required an introductory scene at the beginning.

Eventually, though, a cohesive and consistent story began to take shape. A few years, and many, many rewrites later, The Empath and the Soldier was complete.

In those first few days of writing the book, as my thumb slid across the glass screen of my phone in a frenzied effort to keep up with my thoughts for what happened next in the story, I had the “brilliant” idea to write the entire novel via smartphone.

“Yes,” I imagined myself saying on The Kelly Clarkson Show, “I wrote everything on my Samsung Galaxy.” Kelly, and the world, would be astonished at how I took writing to the next level, technologically speaking.

Obviously, this was a ridiculous notion. Writing more than a few sentences at a time on a phone is extremely tedious. I gave up after a week and purchased a cheap laptop I could use on the train.

In short, The Empath and the Soldier began as a sort of doodling with words on my phone to pass the time on a long commute to work. I’m still not quite sure how I found the patience and persistence to turn these word doodles into a published novel, but it’s one of my proudest life accomplishments thus far.

Author Bio

A.K. Holubek
The moment A.K. Holubek stumbled across a ragged copy of The Fellowship of the Ring in his elementary school library, his life changed forever. The rest of his childhood, his adolescence, and even his college years were spent living only part time in the real world. He much preferred spending time in the fantasy lands of his imagination than in the reality of life as a closeted gay kid. As real life got better, he left his fantasy worlds behind. But a few years ago, those worlds called him to return, and to share his created worlds with others who might also need a place to escape. He now endeavors to carry out this mission from his home in Baltimore, supported by his husband and two ridiculous cats.

Author Website: http://theunconventionals.com

Author Facebook (Personal): https://www.facebook.com/andrew.holubeck

Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/akholubek

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theunconventionalsbooks/

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New Release Blitz: Diversion Plan, by Tag Gregory @TagWritesBooks #Giveaway #Contemporary #GayRomance #LGBTQ+

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Title: Diversion Plan

Series: Rooms For Romance, Book Two

Author: Tag Gregory

Publisher: Tag Gregory

Release Date: 4/21/23

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 330

Genre: Romance, Contemporary Romance, LGBTQ, MM Romance, Gay Romance

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Synopsis

Brent Riddick has been up to his armpits in work ever since he started his job as the Truman School’s manager. He admits he probably qualifies as a workaholic, although he doesn’t really care. He’s simply more comfortable standing in front of a board meeting than sitting in a cocktail lounge and has no desire to examine his lack of a social life. So it isn’t a big deal to him that he sorta forgets it’s his birthday.

Unfortunately his staff, led by the hotel’s sexiest troublemaker, Guthrie, remembers the occasion and Brent is begrudgingly forced to allow his co-workers to take him out for drinks. However, when all those birthday drinks go to Brent’s head and he ends up going home with an equally drunken Guthrie, things get a little more complicated.

Guthrie Walker is the kind of guy who always knows where the next party is happening. He also has a Plan B Party and a Plan C Party if his original party plans fall through. He’s still young and figures there’ll be plenty of time later to get serious about life. Drinking and dancing with his friends is definitely more fun than dealing with his messed up finances or dwelling on the festering rift with his family. So what if he occasionally drinks a little too much, does a few club drugs, comes in late to work a time or two, and suffers from an almost perpetual hangover? Everyone does it, right? Too bad the judge overseeing his case after Guthrie is arrested for drug possession doesn’t see things that way.

As if things weren’t messy enough, the court-ordered Diversion Plan requires Guthrie to enlist the help of his supervisor at work – who also happens to be one of Guthrie’s many one-night stands – if he wants to stay out of jail, retain his server’s license, and not lose his job. The hotel is already short-staffed and Brent is too much of a softie to say no to his desperate subordinate. Which is how Brent ends up vouching for Guthrie and agreeing to monitor his compliance with the court’s mandates. Now Brent just has to come up with a way to divert the party boy’s attention away from his club-scene past and himself away from lusting after his hot mess employee.

Excerpt

Chapter 1 – Brent

It’s not my fault that I’m so busy I sorta forget my own birthday.

The past six months, ever since I was hired as the manager of the Truman School, have been wild. I’ve been so busy that I rarely even remember what day of the week it is, let alone the actual date. Unless, of course, there’s some critically important work event I need to know the date of; those dates I remember because I’m paid well not to forget them. Personal stuff, though . . . Not so much.

The first three months leading up to the Grand Opening of the hotel were filled with hiring staff, overseeing the remodeling of the building, and working with the PR team to plan the opening. Most of that time I was working fourteen hour days, six or seven days a week. Things only slowed down incrementally following the opening. Being the manager, I end up being the one expected to handle all the problems and, for some reason, those problems always happen at the least opportune times. Primarily weekends and the middle of the night, it seems. I don’t think I’ve really taken a relaxed breath since starting this job.

Not that I really mind. I guess I probably qualify as a ‘work-a-holic’ but that’s fine with me. I’d rather be too busy than not busy enough. Work is good. I’m good at what I do. I like knowing that I’m appreciated. I like hearing the accolades from my bosses at McNally’s. I really like that I’ve already received one merit-based promotion despite being with the company less than a year. Plus, when I’m up to my armpits in work shit, I don’t have time to worry about anything else. So, generally speaking, I don’t complain about being too busy. Life is easier when you’ve got a purpose and, since I don’t have much of a life outside of work right now, that’s really my only purpose.

However, this weekend is proving especially hectic, what with it being Labor Day. The last official weekend of Summer is traditionally one of the busiest times of the year in the hospitality industry and, happily, the hotel is booked to capacity. It doesn’t help matters that our chef up and quit on me last week and the replacement, Easton, is not one hundred percent up to speed yet. Or that I’m immersed in marketing meetings with Ryan Zellers and the McNally’s PR team most of the weekend. Or that Ryan and his boyfriend – our ex-artist, Jayce – invited most of the staff to join them for dinner on Friday night. Or that the plumbing in the north wing backed up on Saturday afternoon. Or that any of the hundreds of other things that I’ve had to worry about this weekend have been taking up any spare brain capacity I might have left over.

Anyway, it’s no wonder I’m far too preoccupied with the daily crises of managing a full hotel to notice that this year September sixth – my birthday – falls on the first Monday of the month. I’m not sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that Logan, my assistant manager, remembers the occasion. I’m afraid that I probably look a little confused, though, when my team surprises me with an impromptu celebration just as soon as I give the okay to the restaurant staff to close up the Courtyard kitchen at nine-thirty that Monday evening.

“For he’s a jolly good fellow . . .” They all sing as Malia emerges from the kitchen with a Jaciva chocolate cake festooned with three largish candles.

The fact that they aren’t singing the traditional birthday song adds to my confusion. “What’s this for?” I ask as the group circles round the table where the cake has been placed and I’m pushed down into a chair facing the confection. “Are you folks angling for promotions or something?”

“I told you he’d forget.” Logan gives a conspiratorial laugh. “Happy birthday, Brent!”

“Happy birthday, Boss!” the crowd echos.

I look around and see the faces of pretty much the entire hotel staff staring at me: Logan, Guthrie, Easton, Wyatt, Keshawn, Perry, Tasha, and all the rest. I note that even Mark has come by this evening, despite working out of corporate headquarters most of the time. I smile around at them lamely and try to look happy at being ambushed, even though I hate being made the center of attention like this. I’ve never been overly comfortable in social situations, especially when I haven’t had time to prepare something to say or figure out how I’m supposed to act. It’s different when I’m standing in a boardroom or in front of a staff meeting. Those I can handle. But random surprise parties where I’m the guest of honor are a whole ‘nother thing.

I can feel my skin heating up and I try to fight back the blush I feel creeping up from under the collar of my shirt. Being a redhead, I can’t control the fact that my ruddy skin usually gives me away any time I’m feeling embarrassed or put on the spot. I try not to let myself get caught out like this too often. I’m the fucking manager after all; I can’t be going around blushing like a school-girl in front of my staff. Apparently my body doesn’t understand the need to maintain a professional demeanor, though, and that stupid blush takes over, no doubt turning my cheeks almost as red as my beard. But I try to smile anyway as I laugh at myself along with the rest.

“Thank you. But you didn’t have to do this.” I gesture at the cake and try to bat away the hands attempting to pull the elastic strap of a paper birthday hat under my chin. “Really. You shouldn’t have . . .”

“Of course we should,” Logan insists, pulling out the chair across from me and smiling in an officious manner as they seat themselves. “Celebrating staff birthdays together is part of the fun of working here – or so it says in the McNally’s Team Policy Manual – but I knew you wouldn’t take the time to celebrate on your own, so I made the executive decision to ensure you at least sat down long enough to eat a piece of cake. And, after the ridiculously busy weekend we all just had, everyone deserves a party. Including you. Now, be a good boss and pretend to enjoy yourself.”

I know they’re only teasing so I try to play along. “Who has time for birthdays?” I respond, causing several of the party to chuckle.

“C’mon, Boss. You’d think someone born on ‘Labor Day’ would at least remember when to celebrate!” Someone in the back – I think it’s probably that smart-ass, Guthrie – calls out.

And, yes, I’m aware of the irony of the fact that the celebration of my birth is happening on ‘Labor Day’ this year. My poor mother, going into labor on ‘Labor Day’ thirty years ago, no doubt also thought it hilarious at the time. However, since my birthday and the holiday coincide about every six or seven years, I’ve definitely heard that joke more than a few times. It wasn’t funny the first four times I heard it, and I’m not really that amused now either. But I can’t be ungracious when they’re all trying to be nice by throwing me this party so I offer an awkward smile and fake a chuckle.

Did I mention how much I hate uncomfortable social situations?

Then another voice from the crowd – Guthrie again, I assume, because nobody else would dare to be that flippant with the boss – urges me to, “make a wish and blow already!” which, of course, leads to more teasing and joking.

What else can I do? I can’t just walk out of my own birthday party, so I play along, blowing out the candles and accepting a piece of cake. Malia pours beers for everyone who’s already off the clock, and maybe a few who are supposed to still be on the clock, but I turn a blind eye to that minor policy infraction since they’re ostensibly only doing it in my honor. The party carries on from there.

I’m not sure exactly when the party gets so out of control.

One minute we’re sitting around in the empty dining room, drinking beer and eating cake, chatting and laughing about work stuff and the crazy weekend we’d just lived through, and the next minute someone suggests we take the party on the road. I hear Guthrie, the eternal party boy, proposing we all go to Scandals. Several other voices concur. I try to demur, using the pile of administrative paperwork waiting on my desk as an excuse to get out of this little field trip, but I’m shouted down. After all, it’s my party, right? I’m the guest of honor. They all want to buy me more drinks. I might still have backed out, though, if Guthrie wasn’t teasing me so relentlessly.

“Come on, Boss!” The tall, bold blond waggles his eyebrows at me from behind those hipster horned-rimmed glasses of his. “Pull the stick out of your ass and live a little for once!”

I want to tell him to fuck off, and maybe even write him up for talking to his superior in such an improper manner, but that would make me look like an ungrateful jerk. This whole celebration is supposedly for my benefit, right? I’m expected to play along. Which is exactly why I hate social interaction. I feel so awkward; I never know how I’m supposed to react when put on the spot like this. So, despite feeling completely out of my element, I allow myself to be talked into relocating the party to one of Portland’s more well-known gay bars. What the hell, right? I suppose I can allow the diversion this once.

The debauchery progresses rapidly from that point.

I suppose it’s obvious fairly early on that I don’t routinely drink very heavily. I’d had a couple beers back at the Truman School, so I’m already feeling a bit loose when we arrive at Scandals. The team immediately insists that I drink something called a ‘Birthday Cake Shot’ to celebrate my special day. That’s followed up by a Jagerbomb. After that I completely lose track of the seemingly endless rounds of drinks that follow as everyone and their brother offers to buy the Birthday Boy a drink.

Although Scandals isn’t a dance club, per se, at some point during the night the entire Truman team ends up in the middle of the floor, jumping, twisting, gyrating, and dancing together in a big group. Surprisingly, I’m right in the middle of the roiling mess of them and, for once, I’m having a pretty good time, despite my introvert tendencies. The bartender cranks up the tunes. The music is decent and quite danceable. None of us are feeling any pain and the party moves into high gear.

I’m more than halfway sloshed by this point. I will readily admit that all the toasts I’ve been the recipient of have me flying pretty high. I’ve had enough to drink that my inhibitions are pretty nonexistent and I’m relaxed enough not to care how I look anymore. I even give up trying to remove the stupid party hat that my staff insists I keep wearing. I’m having a great time dancing, to be honest – something I usually avoid out of fear of looking like a juvenile red-headed moose having a seizure – which is, unfortunately, my go-to dance move. But I’m just tipsy enough tonight to not give a damn and it feels good to let go for a change.

So, when Guthrie comes up behind me at some point and starts grinding against me from behind I don’t sweat it. I merely laugh and wiggle my ass a little provocatively. Then I toss back the rest of the glowing, fruity blue drink that is currently in my hand and twirl around like some kind of drunken ballerina.

“Oh, so he can dance,” Guthrie says, taking advantage of the smooth tempo of the music to pull me back against him even closer.

I can feel his tall, lanky body pressed up against me from behind and then his hips do this swivel thing that causes his crotch to grind into the crack of my ass. I don’t even bother trying to stifle the groan that escapes from my lips at that move. It’s been a hella long time since I had anyone grinding up against me and I’m not about to waste the experience. Especially not when it’s a hot blond like Guthrie.

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Meet the Author

TAG has been living in Portland, Oregon, so long that it’s almost like being a native. They don’t even mind the rain that much anymore. TAG loves the city and the state with a passion. TAG has been writing for almost a decade, starting out with a hesitant toe in the realm of fanfiction before venturing into the scarier world of self-publishing original works. With an eclectic background as an attorney, microbiologist, all-around nerd, and adventurer, TAG brings to all their writing an off-kilter sense of humor, unbounded curiosity, a love of historical and contemporary details, and astonishing powers of research. If you are looking for a gripping story, with compelling characters that deal with real world issues, then you’re in the right place.

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Blog Tour: Shattered, by Cassie Swindon #Giveaway #Fantasy #Romance

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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Cassie Swindon will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Darkness is gnawing at my soul. The shadows swallow me a little more each day. But someone needs to destroy Elana Elidi. And I may be the only one who can. There’s a spell to stop her from destroying the remaining Ordulls. But it requires a sacrifice from my true love. The problem is—who does my heart belong to—Jadox or Isaac?

Read an Excerpt

Terrified of making any sudden movements, I crossed the room at a snail’s pace. Kyra patted the floor beside her without taking those obsidian eyes off me. Haunting, unnatural eyes.

Another shudder threatened to rip through me, but I held it back, using all my energy not to spook her. One wrong move might push the thing possessing her to lash out. As a child, I had heard Gemm tell a story about spirits, but it was only supposed to be a fairytale.

I gulped down what felt like a pile of stones and carefully sat beside her. The healing spell was at the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t want to scare her. Instead, I silently chanted Terra angakok. Terra angakok, again and again, praying to the Divinity above that it would save her from whatever monster bewitched her body. It didn’t work. Kyra stared at me like an empty shell.

My heart rammed chaotically against my chest. I needed help. Reinforcements. Where was fuckin’ Nilson when we actually needed him? Maybe if I distracted her, it’d break the stupor. Terror seized my soul, and I didn’t move a single muscle. What the Flames was I supposed to do? If I touched her, would she snap out of the trance? Had someone cursed her? Why were her eyes the color of death? Sweat dripped down my back, and time ceased to exist.

“Hallie wants me to buy a puppy.” She stroked my dog’s head again and again. The sweetness of her voice had an actual scent; it was like ice cream dipped in poison and spider webs.

“Kyra, Hallie died. She’s not here anymore. I think we should go to bed and —”

“No!” she bellowed. “I don’t have to go to sleep. I don’t have to choose one of you! I don’t have to save anyone.”

I clenched my fists into balls by my side, then released them. Clenched. Released. There was a fundamental wrongness in the air. Gemm had never taught me how to deal with dark Magik as a child. This wasn’t something I had ever trained for. It was time for a new approach.

“Kyra, it’s okay. I think you’re sleepwalking,” I pleaded, hearing the uncertainty in my voice.

She laughed, but the sound was foreign to my ears, veiled in jagged, harsh edges. “No, I’m awake, right, Hallie?”

If I knocked her unconscious and carried her inside, maybe Narelle or Caspian would have a solution. Or we could call Gemm. But there was no chance I’d leave her here alone to search for them.

“What if I die soon?” Kyra asked, her tone sweeter a scrumptious pie.

“What?”

Her gaze latched onto all my fears. That fraudulent smile returned, slithering up her face and claiming it. I had to stop this. Whatever controlled Kyra was taking another piece of her with every passing moment.

About the Author:

Cassie Swindon isn’t only an Indie author of six fiction books, but she has also tackled a stranger for a pair of Michael Phelps’ personal goggles, cried when the Cubs won the World Series and chose where to move cross-country by the flip of a coin. If you’d like to learn more about how her cat caused a flood in her house, or maybe to buy a book or two of hers, then check out the social media accounts below.

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Blog Tour: Peacemaker by Morgan Brice @MorganBriceBook #Giveaway #Steampunk #MM #Romance #Interview

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Book Title: Peacemaker (Sharps & Springfield #1)

Author: Morgan Brice

Publisher: Darkwind Press

Cover Artist: Deranged Doctor Design

Release Date: March 25, 2023

Genre: Steampunk MM romance

Tropes: Secret agents, co-workers to lovers, forced proximity, hurt/comfort, mistaken identity

Themes: Learning to love again, taking a chance on love

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 249 pages

It is a standalone book and the first in a new series. It does not end on a cliffhanger.

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Buy Links

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Nook | Kobo

 

Secret agents, forbidden love, danger, and magic!

 

Blurb

Supernatural Secret Service agents Owen Sharps and Calvin Springfield meet on the train to their new assignment in St. Louis, and sparks fly between them. But it’s 1897, and they need to be very careful—falling in love can be dangerous for men like them.

It’s their first case together, investigating mysterious disappearances—including the two agents who preceded them. Grim evidence leads them to look for a darker purpose. Old ghosts haunt the railroad line, zombie rise, signs point to ritual sacrifice, and they suspect someone is trying to open the gates of hell.

Can Calvin and Owen stop the mayhem, thwart the vampires, and find true love, or will everything go up in smoke?

Peacemaker is a high-stakes steampunk MM romance thrill ride filled with found family, paranormal Pinkertons, intrepid reporters, mysterious disappearances, nefarious land brokers, hellhounds, zombies, vengeful spirits, dark spells, absinthe magic, a ruthless vampire railroad baron and a love that won’t be denied.

Before Colt and Winchester, there was Sharps & Springfield!

Author Interview

Five random facts about the book/series.

  1. The book is set in 1897, the same year that Dracula is published, and Owen is enjoying reading the new bestseller.
  2. Fancy private passenger railroad cars, called Pullman Cars after the company that made them, were the private jets of their day. They could be very elaborate and extremely comfortable.
  3. The TV show Wild Wild West was a favorite of mine and a definite influence, except that my MCs are *together*.
  4. ‘Sharps’ and ‘Springfield’ are brands of rifles.
  5. Several side characters also show up in a big way in the Iron & Blood/Storm & Fury series written under our Gail Z. Martin & Larry N. Martin name. Sharps and Springfield is set in the same fictional world and there will continue to be overlap.

What is your advice for new writers?

  1. Don’t give up. It always takes longer than you expect.
  2. Make friends with other writers. Be allies, not competitors.
  3. Always keep learning—new software, new promotional techniques, new ways to write better, etc. There’s always something you can benefit from learning.
  4. Do good research. Your readers will know if you get details wrong.
  5. Invest in a good editor. Everyone needs to be edited.

Excerpt

September 1897

Chapter 1

Owen

Owen Sharps chuckled as he read his book on the train to St. Louis. He had been waiting to get a copy of Dracula, the sensational new book from England, and had found one in a New Pittsburgh bookstore before heading to the station.

It’s got flair, and I like how splashy Van Helsing is, but it’s obvious Stoker never fought a real vampire.

Owen had heard about the book and its growing reputation for being frightening and violent. So far nothing he’s written compares to being covered in blood in an ice-cold cemetery at midnight, hammering a stake through a vampire’s heart, and trying not to get bitten. Then again, maybe I have a skewed perspective.

“Pardon me, is this seat taken?” A drop-dead gorgeous man waited for an answer. He had raven black hair, bright blue eyes, and plush lips that filled Owen with impure thoughts. The stranger carried a suitcase and an overcoat, with a newspaper folded under his arm. Owen took one look and would have booted his granny to the cargo car to free up the seat for the man.

“It’s all yours.” Owen gave a dismissive wave, tearing his gaze away so he’d quit staring. It wouldn’t do to drool.

“I think this might be the last open seat on the train.” The man stowed his suitcase and coat, settling in across from Owen with his newspaper.

Owen couldn’t help giving him the once-over. He figured the man to be slightly shorter than his own six-foot-two inches, and from the cut of his suit jacket, he had a trim, muscular build. Owen made a mental note to be sure to get a glimpse of what was likely a prime ass when they left the train.

“Where are you headed?” Owen thought that a little conversation couldn’t hurt. He wanted to remember the man’s voice to go with his image on nights when he sought relief alone with his hand. This fellow would never know he’d been promoted to the lead in Owen’s secret fantasies. Owen particularly liked the contrast between the man’s dark hair and athletic body to his own rangy build, blond hair, fair skin, and green eyes.

“St. Louis.” The man returned Owen’s scrutiny with an assessing gaze.

Owen sat up a bit straighter, oddly wanting to make a good impression on this person he was unlikely to see again. He felt the weight of the man’s inspection, which made him wonder. Is he a cop? Private investigator? Or maybe…like me?

They were both dressed equally well in suits that were department store quality but not bespoke. The stranger’s hair was fairly short but more fashionable than military, and he was clean-shaven. Owen wondered what a hint of dark stubble might do to heighten those high cheekbones and accentuate the impossibly blue eyes, and he felt himself chub in his pants.

None of that, he admonished silently. It wouldn’t do to raise suspicion. He probably just wants to make sure I’m not the sort to steal his suitcase when he’s not looking.

“I’m headed there myself,” Owen said. “Business or pleasure?”

The man looked amused at the question but not annoyed, which boded well. “Business. You?”

Owen nodded, surprised that he wanted to continue the conversa- tion instead of returning to his book. “The same. I’ve heard the food there is good, but I doubt I’ll have time to do any exploring.” He found himself at ease with the stranger. “Will you be staying in the city, or going on from there?”

“I’ll meet with my boss, but I spend most of my time traveling,” the fellow replied. “I don’t get to stay long in any one place.”

So we have that in common too. Makes it unlikely that we might meet up again the next time I come back to St. Louis. “Me, too. I’m a bit of a rolling stone.”

About the Author

Morgan Brice is the romance pen name of bestselling author Gail Z. Martin. Morgan writes urban fantasy male/male paranormal romance, with plenty of action, adventure and supernatural thrills to go with the happily ever after. Gail writes epic fantasy and urban fantasy, and together with co-author hubby Larry N. Martin, steampunk and comedic horror, all of which have less romance, more explosions. Characters from her Gail books make frequent appearances in secondary roles in her Morgan books, and vice versa.

On the rare occasions Morgan isn’t writing, she’s either reading, cooking, or spoiling two very pampered dogs.

Series include Witchbane, Badlands, Treasure Trail, Kings of the Mountain and Fox Hollow. Watch for more in these series, plus new series coming soon!

Author Links

Website | Audible Profile | Amazon profile

Facebook Group | Facebook Page

Pinterest (for Morgan and Gail) | Twitter

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New Release Blitz: Stolen from Tomorrow by Fox Beckman @foxbeckman #Paranormal #Romance #Giveaway

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Title: Stolen From Tomorrow

Series: Trust Trilogy, Book One

Author: Fox Beckman

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 04/25/2023

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: M/NB

Length: 64600

Genre: Paranormal, Romance, urban fantasy, interracial, gay, nonbinary, time travel, monsters, witch

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Description

Ravi Abhiramnew’s job is simple: hunt down and neutralize supernatural threats. That is until he meets Cayenne, a charismatic time traveler who claims to know everything about him—even his most closely guarded secrets.

Going to dinner with Cayenne is probably a bad idea, and a romantic island getaway definitely is.

When a monster picks their resort as its hunting ground, Ravi’s combat skills and Cayenne’s time magic should make it a breeze to kill the monster and get their vacation back on track. But it turns out the real danger lurks much, much closer…

Excerpt

Stolen from Tomorrow
Fox Beckman © 2023
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Carefully peering down the sights of his 9mm, Ravi squeezes off a shot. It strikes true, lodging deep into the monster’s exposed heart. The creature doesn’t falter in the slightest, snarling in his direction as if he were a particularly irritating gnat. A perfect shot, and it isn’t good enough. Typical, really.

In all his years hunting monsters, Ravi has never seen anything quite like this before. Strips of flesh hang off grayed bones between swathes of icy-white fur, a looming eight-foot-tall humanoid crowned with twisted icicle horns, baring a mouthful of jagged fangs while the freezing air steams with its breath. The heart seems to be the obvious target, a stark knot of dark ice threading around exposed ribs into the monster’s chest, but nothing the team has thrown at it has had any effect. Val’s giant double-handed maul would surely put a crack in it, if they can get her close enough for a hit, but any time they try, the giant beast summons up a swarm of ice serpents from the surrounding snow, keeping the hunters at bay. Because being a giant, slavering behemoth with no obvious weaknesses wasn’t enough; it’s got magic too. Again, typical.

Ravi curses and ducks back to rejoin the rest of the group as the monster lets loose another bellowing roar, snaking out a many-jointed arm to rip up a huge chunk of earth and fling it at Ravi and his team. Val, eyes burning blue-white behind mirrored sunglasses, calmly steps forward and deflects the projectile with a blow of her maul. It shatters into a shower of snow and icy dirt.

“Little cover, Constance?” Harry suggests. She lowers her gun after Ravi’s shot hit dead center to zero effect, looking supremely annoyed. “Also, if you’ve got any idea what this thing is, that would be really useful.”

Constance steps forward, hands working feverishly as she pulls a tangle of thorns from her satchel and slaps it together with a handful of hastily procured dust from another pocket. A thick wall of thorns rises from the ground, cutting them off from the monster and granting a momentary reprieve. “I hast ne’er beheld such a beast ’ere, mine niece.”

“Getting a little ye olde there, Constance,” Harry tells her ancestress.

Dropping her hands, Constance turns toward the rest contritely. “Ah, yes, my apologies. I have no knowledge of this creature. Hey, nonny-nonny,” she adds with a flash of mischief.

“I think it’s a chenoo?” Nate pokes his head out from behind one of the torn-up tree trunks, still intrepidly wielding his hockey stick. He slaps one of the ice serpents away as it gets too close. “Fuck! These things are quick.”

“What’s a chenoo?” Ravi asks, eyes darting from the thorn wall and scanning the snow for more serpents. “How do we kill it?”

Nate winces. “I’m pretty sure it’s like an Algonquian version of a wendigo.”

Everyone groans. Wendigos are the worst. Harry shakes her dark hair, gun hand gesturing to the chenoo. “Okay, Professor, so how do we take it down?”

“Is it not the heart?” Val asks, peering up on her toes over the thorn wall. She’s so tall she barely needs to stretch. “It is on the outside of its body.” She ducks back down as the chenoo tears another skeletal tree right up by the roots and sends it crashing against the thorn wall.

Constance grimaces, rocking on her heels as if she’d been dealt the blow. “I cannot keep this wall up for much longer, my comrades.”

“Noted,” says Harry, forehead furrowed.

“A direct hit to the heart did nothing,” Ravi reminds her. “You’d think fire would do it, but Constance’s first spell did nothing except melt some snakes.”

Nate shakes his head. “I’m not sure what will kill it. Usually, you get the Ojibwe version of these things here in the Midwest, and the heart shot would have killed one of those. I’d have to do some research. Would have been nice if the client gave us this info before sending us here, don’t you think?”

“Take cover!” Val bellows as a massive tree trunk flies their way. Ravi grabs the person closest to him. He drags Harry out of the way while Val snatches up Nate and Constance and teleports them out of sight just as earth and bark crash down through the thorn wall onto the churned-up snow where they had all been standing.

Ravi helps Harry to her feet as they take cover behind a tangle of fallen oaks. “I guess it would have been too easy if this ice monster was vulnerable to fire, huh,” she says wryly, kicking at an errant ice snake. “If I could talk to it, I might be able to figure out what it wants. We’ve talked down monsters from a fight once or twice before.”

“If it’s like a wendigo, it just wants to eat people. I could set up a sniper nest,” Ravi offers. “There are decent vantage points there”—he points up at a pair of snowy hills—“and there.”

Harry gives him an incredulous look. “Is that what you have in that big bag, a friggin’ sniper rifle? Where’d you learn to snipe?”

“Israel,” he answers shortly.

Her eyebrows lift. “What were you doing in Israel?”

Mourning. “Training,” he says. “The Trust has a few consultants in Mossad.”

Harry rolls her eyes. “Of course you do. I bet all you covert agent types get together for regular potlucks and barbeques.” She scans their surroundings. “No rifles. Let’s try to keep any more gunplay to a minimum,” she says with regret. Ravi knows how she feels. The two of them are the marksmen of the group, and sometimes it’s not easy being overshadowed by an Amazonian angel warrior with a big magic hammer and a spell-slinging sorceress. At least the new guy just has a hockey stick.

Ravi watches her face, sees where she’s looking, thinks he can intuit her plan. “You want to give Val an opening?” It’s standard ops to get a team’s main damage dealer where they’ll do the most harm, and Harry has surprisingly good instincts for team dynamics, considering she operated as a lone PI before all this supernatural shit entered her life. She nods decisively, and he holsters his gun. “Good plan. I’ll back your play.”

“Okay. Let’s do it.” She breathes out, then they both burst into motion. Harry grabs a couple of branches, hands one to Ravi, and, wielding them like clubs, they wade out into the open. The ice snakes are quick and agile, but only take a hit or two before they shatter. The pair fan out in different directions, smashing and stomping, creating a pie slice toward the others. “Constance!” Harry cries out. “Distract it!”

Constance runs forward into the cleared space, bright energy already swirling around her hands. While she gathers up her magic, Harry nods at Ravi. He nods back and moves to cover their witch, stomping an approaching ice snake’s head under his oxfords before it can get too close to her. “Where’s Nate?”

“He went down the embankment,” Val intones. “He claimed he had an idea.”

Constance finishes her spell, speaking an unfamiliar word and pulling her hands up into twin claws. Fire spreads up from cracks in the ground in front of the chenoo. It reels back, roaring with fury, and turns toward the fire, leaving its back open and unguarded.

“Let’s hope the Professor is right,” Harry mutters, thwacking a pair of ice snakes. “Val, got your wings on?”

“Always.” Val’s sunglasses reflect the blaze, and white, feathered wings appear from nowhere, unfurling behind her. With a flash, she teleports behind the creature, raises her war hammer, and slams it down onto the monster. A solid hit. The pained screech of the thing is so piercing and terrible it raises the hairs on everybody’s arms. All the ice snakes stop their advance and writhe in place.

Ravi takes the opportunity to stomp a few more of the snakes before they recover as Constance throws open her satchel. “To battle, my familiar!” Her cat, Griswold, leaps from the bag and pounces on the nearest ice snake with a bold, strident battle cry.

“Take that, loathsome serpent! Have at thee, villains!”

The cat sinks his fangs into the back of the snake’s head and shakes fiercely.

It’s a weird team, Ravi admits, but it works.

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Meet the Author

Prone to diving way too deep down research rabbit-holes and absolutely incapable of working without a curated playlist in the background, Fox Beckman lives in the Twin Cities and has far too many irons in the fire. Fox is writer, an artist, an occasional wrangler of kangaroos, a longsword fencer, an archer, a roller of dice, and a forager of mushrooms that aren’t deadly (probably).

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