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urban fantasy

New Release! Caleb, by Kate Hill @KateHillRomance #werewolf #urbanfantasy #shortstory #KU #MFRWAuthor

September 8, 2023 by Adriana Kraft Leave a Comment

 

Book Information

Title: Caleb
Author: Kate Hill
Series: Romantic Moments
Format(s): Ebook
Heat Level: Mild
Pairing(s): M/F
Genre/Themes: Werewolf, Hurt and Comfort, Urban Fantasy
Length: Short Story

Buy Link:

https://www.amazon.com/Caleb-Romantic-Moments-Book-2-ebook/dp/B0CD9G6XL5

Free to read on Kindle Unlimited

Blurb:

Tia is there to remind him that even an alpha wolf’s broken spirit can heal.

I’m a powerful and respected Alpha, but the wolf Mette covets my leadership. I’m injured when my conniving enemy challenges me.

After losing my pack and nearly my life, I go to lick my wounds in the human world, but my beloved mate Tia knows that a wolf’s broken spirit can heal, and there is only one true leader of our pack.

Note: Caleb is a very short werewolf action romance story with a mild heat level, moderate violence, and a HEA. This Romantic Moments story is the perfect length for a lunch break, before bed, or any time you want a quick, romantic read.

Excerpt:

Growling playfully, I dived underwater and tugged her into my arms. She met my playful passion with matching intensity, yet when we surfaced, uncertainty shone in her eyes.

“Mette worries me,” she confided.

“He’s strong, but I’m stronger. He lost a challenge to me once, and he won’t be stupid enough to try a second time.”

“That’s exactly what scares me. Mette isn’t stupid, and you shouldn’t have spared his life.” Tia slipped from my arms and waded toward shore. She stood, her sleek body glistening wetly in the moonlight.

Raising an eyebrow, I strode out of the lake to join her. “What about compassion?”

She glanced sharply at me over her shoulder. “At the very least, you shouldn’t have let him rejoin the pack after he challenged you.”

“Tia, you’ve spent more time among humans than I have. We both know their savagery knows no bounds, but they also understand mercy.”

 Author Bio:

Kate Hill is a vegetarian New Englander who loves writing romantic fantasies. When she’s not working on her books, Kate enjoys reading, working out, watching horror movies, and researching vampires and Viking history. She runs the Compelling Beasts Blog that is dedicated to antagonists, antiheroes, and paranormal creatures. Kate also writes as Saloni Quinby.

Visit her online at https://www.kate-hill.com. Join her newsletter at https://kate-hill.com/index.php/newsletter.

Social Links:

Website: https://kate-hill.com/
Blog: https://kate-hill.com/blog/
Newsletter: https://kate-hill.com/index.php/newsletter/
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Kate-Hill/e/B002BLS7OW
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/kate-hill
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16157.Kate_Hill
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/katehillromancewritingandmore/_saved/
Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/katehillromancewritingandmore
Twitter: https://twitter.com/KateHillRomance

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Filed Under: Blog, Excerpts, Guest Bloggers Tagged With: short story, urban fantasy, Werewolf

New Release! Waiting for the Son, by Trevann Rogers @TrevannRogers #LGBT #Paranormal #Romance #UrbanFantasy

July 28, 2023 by Adriana Kraft

BOOK INFORMATION

Title: Waiting for the Son

Series: Living After Midnight, Book Three

Author: Trevann Rogers

ASIN: ‎ B0C9XVHZKW

Publisher: ‎ LAM Publishing (July 15, 2023)

Publication date‏: ‎ July 15, 2023

Print length‏: ‎ 305 pages

 

BLURB

Waiting for the Son, by Trevann Rogers

Living After Midnight Series, Book 3

Cheyenne, the half-human son of the Monarch, is getting beaten up on the regular. He’s also fighting with his weretiger boyfriend, holding down his gig in the city’s premier nightclub, and taking care of his kids. Adulting is more complicated than he thought it would be.

Someone close to the Monarch is putting the supernatural races at risk. With everyone in his inner circle under suspicion, he asks his son for help unearthing the traitor.

Cheyenne declines. He doesn’t have the bandwidth, and politics is not his thing.

When his father’s troubles escalate, Cheyenne has no choice but to get involved. If he succeeds, the traitor will be exposed. If he fails, his father will die, and the backstabber will be free to lift the veil of secrecy that protects them all.

Waiting for the Son is the third book in the LGBTQ urban fantasy series Living After Midnight.

Warning: This book features quirky supernatural creatures, a luncheon that makes an orgy look like a made-for-TV movie and an incubus who makes you hope what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

EXCERPT

The standing-room-only crowd at Underhill had been into his new songs. Guys and girls alike had been in sync with him, swaying when he swayed and smiling when he smiled. His skin tingled with all the positive energy—until a voicemail from Unakite City Elementary School sucked all the happy out of him.

Cheyenne thumbed off his phone and tossed it onto the sofa in his dressing room. No sense in getting agitated. He couldn’t find out what new crime his kid had committed until Monday morning. So instead, he changed out of his leather and chains performance gear and into more comfortable jeans and a black tee-shirt before packing up his guitar.

His footsteps echoed as he made his way through the empty club to the alarm panel. Eric, the manager, appreciated the chance to leave early, ensuring he made it to wherever he lay to rest before the sun came up.

Chey didn’t like the vampire and owed him no favors. He didn’t have to be the last to leave, and Eric knew it. Chey stayed when it worked for him, either because a fan-with-benefits caught his eye or he needed extra time to come down from the post-concert high.

He punched in his code and turned on the alarm. A sense of peace washed over him as the whirring of the industrial fans slowed, the florescent blue lights faded, and internal doors locked with a mechanical swoosh that reverberated throughout the cavernous building. The click-click of the alarm system started a rhythmic chant signaling it was time to leave or risk being trapped inside.

The club’s rear double doors closed behind him with a clang. Underhill’s parking was never adequate for the number of people attending his shows, but Cheyenne always arrived early to be sure he parked close to the building. With his history of getting jumped in alleys and parking lots, he wasn’t taking any chances. At least Gre’gori, the owner, had installed adequate lighting.

He headed to the Cutlass, his ever-faithful ride. She stood waiting right where he left her, dependable if not shiny and new. Not that a bit of wear and tear was a problem. It kept anyone from thinking she was worth stealing or vandalizing. One day he’d be able to afford a new ride, something bigger and fancier, but even then, he’d keep this pretty green thing, maybe give her to the kids one day so she’d stay in the family. But for now, she was all his, like his guitar, the other important inanimate object in his life.

“Hey there, sweetness.” He patted her roof affectionately, placed his guitar case on the passenger seat, and froze. The acrid taste of challenge and jealousy, something like burnt marshmallow and ash, assaulted his senses.

Jeeze. Not again. Was the entire population of incubi out to kill him?

BUY LINKS

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/waiting-for-the-son

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/waiting-for-the-son-trevann-rogers/1143735202?ean=2940160983226

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0C9XVHZKWhttps://books.apple.com/us/book/waiting-for-the-son/id6450937140

https://books.apple.com/us/book/waiting-for-the-son/id6450937140

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Trevann Rogers writes rock star romances, urban fantasy, and LGBT paranormal romances. Her books include HOUSE OF THE RISING SON and AFTER MIDNIGHT: The Beginning.

Her short stories appear in the anthologies Dangerous Curves Ahead: An Anthology, and Wickedly Ever After.

Each story incorporates an unquenchable addiction to music and Trevann’s love for vampires, Weres, incubi and rock stars. She writes long after the sun goes down because, like these elusive creatures, she learned long ago that sometimes being yourself means Living After Midnight.

Trevann lives in Connecticut with Toby, her 10-year-old rescue puppy, and Lil Monkey, a sock monkey who thinks he’s real but refuses to chip in on the mortgage.

Trevann’s internet home is www.trevannrogers.com/about

Social Media

www.bookbub.com/profile/trevann-rogers

www.facebook.com/trevannr

www.pinterest.com/trevannr

www.twitter.com/trevannrogers

www.trevannrogers.com/about

For up-to-date information about releases www.subscribepage.com/enter_livingaftermidnight

 

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Filed Under: Blog, Excerpts, Guest Bloggers, LGBT Tagged With: LGBTQ, paranormal romance, urban fantasy

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

April 28, 2023 by Adriana Kraft

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

Add to Goodreads

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.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

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).

Website | Twitter

Giveaway

One lucky winner will receive a $50.00 NineStar Press Gift Code!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Filed Under: Blog, Contests, Excerpts, Guest Bloggers Tagged With: gay, interracial, monsters, nonbinary, paranormal, romance, Time Travel, urban fantasy, witch

Chantz, by Tim Rayborn: New queer urban fantasy! #Giveaway

April 20, 2023 by Adriana Kraft

Chantz - Tim Rayborn

Tim Rayborn has a new queer urban fantasy out (bi, lesbian)
Qwyrk Tales book 3: Chantz.

Qwyrk can’t get a break. Spring is springing, but she’s stuck breaking up drunken faery fights as Beltane approaches. She really wants to take things to the next level with her possibly-probably-girlfriend Holly, but she keeps coming down with a chronic case of chickening out.

And now, her best human friend, Jilly Pleeth, has had a rather odd encounter. While attending a concert by her favorite band, the Mystic Wedding Weasels, Jilly was amazed by their enigmatic singer, Chantz. There’s something downright magical about her voice, something so magical that an evil force from outside this world wants her for nefarious reasons. But will Chantz succumb to its lure?

Chantz is the third in a series of four novels about the comic misadventures of a group of misfits at the edge of normal reality in modern northern England, a world of shadows, Nighttime Nasties, eldritch screaming horrors, appalling neo-Shakespearean sonnets, undead corvids, an abundance of verbal sparring, and… Qwyrk is not an elf, all right? They’re just silly!

Universal Buy Link


Giveaway

Tim is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47279/?


Excerpt

Chantz meme - Tim Rayborn
After a few minutes of meandering on campus, she found a rather expansive and tree-filled enclosure marked by a sign reading “Welcome to St. George’s Field.” Seeing as she could lose herself in its trees, this place would suffice. Wandering in, she found herself strolling through a historic cemetery, which appealed to her gothy aesthetic sensibilities. She sat herself down on a stone bench not far from some centuries-old headstones and tried to focus, to think, to something.

She closed her eyes, trying to recall the feeling of the power flowing through her.

“What are you?” she whispered.

For a time, she felt nothing. Sighing in frustration, she opened her eyes. The field was mercifully unpopulated today, so she decided to risk singing a little tune, an old Irish folk song. She couldn’t remember where she’d learned it. She couldn’t remember much of anything before the last couple of years, to be honest. But there it was, stuck in her head, so she called on it.

It was a simple melody with a short verse and a chorus. She didn’t even know all the words, but that didn’t matter. She just sang the bit she knew over and over. It was soothing, comforting, and connected her to something, as if stirring a memory. She closed her eyes again, allowing it to wash over her. For the first time in a while, she formed a genuine smile. Not a big smile, mind you, she did have her reputation to think of, after all.

As she neared the third repeat, something happened. She heard a voice in her head, one that contrasted with her own. It was more like a momentary flash of sound, in a language she didn’t recognize. It didn’t make her stop singing; in fact, she wanted to continue. After she sang another verse or two, and she heard it again, like a call across some great gap. But was it far away in the distance? Or maybe in time?

How does that even make any sense?

Intrigued, she kept singing, but lowered her voice so as not to attract any onlookers. It would be just like someone to come up in the middle of it and ruin the whole experience, with their chattiness and insipid curiosity.

As it turned out, she was indeed interrupted, but not by any passersby who should have been minding their own business. In her mind’s eye, she saw a face. The face of an old woman. She had long, disheveled grey-streaked hair, and her complexion was wan and weathered, with dark shadows under her eyes. There was almost something cool about her. The face was obscured, as if peering through a fog, and Moirin couldn’t gauge its intent. She wasn’t imagining it; her imagination was good, but not this good. The woman opened her mouth as if to say something, but no words emerged, and if she were the one speaking those foreign words, Moirin wouldn’t have understood her, anyway.

The old woman smiled, but it was an odd smile, and not really a happy one, more like sinister grin. She seemed to want something from Moirin. The smile grew bigger and stretched to unnatural proportions. Her eyes began to lighten, not just the pupils, but the whole of her eyes, greying at first and then fading into a milky white.

Moirin’s heart raced. She stopped singing and gasped. Whatever this thing was, she wanted nothing to do with it. She tried to open her eyes, but they were heavy, almost as if she’d been drugged. Her ears seemed to close up, and the world around her disappeared. She shook her head and tried to stand up, but just like her eyes, her legs no longer worked. She started to panic and opened her mouth again, not to sing but to scream, shout for help, something. But no sound escaped.

The face sneered at her, perhaps enjoying her helplessness. It became ever more twisted and grotesque and opened its mouth again, almost in mockery of Moirin’s inability to do so. A low-pitched wailing sounded from the old woman, a mournful call that seemed to portend something awful. It rose in pitch and volume to a full-on cry, a tuneless and wordless plaint that sounded like something out of an older time. It shook Moirin to the core, but the more she heard it, the more it seemed to invite her, to draw her in, even to tempt her. Whatever the ill intent of this creature invading her mind, and however frightening its call, Moirin felt oddly at home. She began to surrender to its lure, to its awful and seductive pull.


Author Bio

Tim Rayborn
Tim Rayborn has written an astonishing number of books over the past several years. He lived in England for quite some time and has a PhD from the University of Leeds, which he likes to pretend means that he knows what he’s talking about. His generous output of written material covers topics such as music, the arts, history, the strange and bizarre, fantasy and sci-fi, and general knowledge.

He’s also an acclaimed musician. He plays dozens of unusual instruments that quite a few people of have never heard of and often can’t pronounce. He has appeared on over forty recordings, and his musical wanderings and tours have taken him across the US, all over Europe, to Canada and Australia, and to such romantic locations as Marrakech, Istanbul, Renaissance chateaux, medieval churches, and high school gymnasiums.

He currently lives in Washington state (where it rains a lot), surrounded by many books and instruments, as well as with a sometimes-demanding cat. He is rather enthusiastic about good wines, and cooking excellent food.

Author Website: https://timrayborn.com/

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

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

Author Mastodon: https://mastodon.social/@timrayborn

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/rayborn.esoterica/

Author Liminal Fiction: https://www.limfic.com/?s=tim+rayborn&search_type=book_search

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Tim-Rayborn/author/B00DWY5J8E

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Filed Under: Blog, Contests, LGBT Tagged With: Bi, lesbian, new release, Queer, Rom Com, urban fantasy

Release Blitz! Rhyme of Longing by Emily Carrington @CarringtonEmily #Giveaway #LGBTQ #MM #EroticRomance #Paranormal

February 17, 2023 by Adriana Kraft

Title: Rhyme of Longing

Series: Jack and Gil #1

Author: Emikly Carrington

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: February 17, 2022

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 169 pages

Genre: Romance, Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal Romance, Suspense, Urban Fantasy, Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures, Gay, Multicultural & Interracial, Shapeshifters

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Gilbert Sullivan hates his name, but refuses to go by Gil because of a rhyme he fears is a prophecy. When he meets Jack Sowerby, the new head of SearchLight, he’s terrified the rhyme will come true and he’ll lose his place as Crown Prince of the basilisks, but his attraction to Jack won’t let him stay away.

Jack, born human, is, above all things, practical. Still, when he meets Prince Gilbert, his need for the prince blossoms and he’s unable to resist — at least until he’s forcibly changed into a magical creature. He’s terrified of the new world he’s entering. When Gilbert tries to fight the rhyme, will their shattered relationship ever be restored?

Excerpt

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2023 Emily Carrington

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.

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Meet the Author

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender erotica. 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.

Fantasy creatures not your thing? Emily has also created a contemporary romance world, called Sticks and Stones, where she explores being “different” in a small town.

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Filed Under: Blog, Erotic Romance, Excerpts, Guest Bloggers, LGBT Tagged With: Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Dragons & Magical Creatures, Elves, gay, LGBTQ, m/m, Multicultural & Interracial, paranormal romance, romance, Shapeshifters, Suspense, urban fantasy

New Release Blitz! Rory & Ink by Alexa Piper @ProwlingPiper #paranormal #Romance #M/M

January 17, 2023 by Adriana Kraft

Title: Rory & Ink

Series: Monster Apocalypse 4

Author: Alexa Piper

Publisher: Changeling Press

Release Date: January 13

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 145 pages

Genre: Romance, Thriller/Suspense, Action Adventure, Futuristic, Paranormal Romance, Romantic Comedy, Urban Fantasy, Alien Encounters, Alternative Universe, Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures, Gay, Magic

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Synopsis

Rory has never been the kind of person who enjoys fights or violence, but when a member of his newfound family is kidnapped, he will not just stand by and do nothing. No, Rory will use his still new and not entirely welcome magic to help. And when that is done, Rory will once more put all his efforts into becoming a trophy mate to his handsome blue husband, and he will worship said husband from the tips of his horns to his paw feet.

Inkiri has never been happier in his life. His human mate accepts him, and not just that, Rory loves him. And while Rory seemed afraid at first, he will stop at nothing to protect the people near and dear to him. All Inkiri can hope is that he will prove himself worthy for such an extraordinary mate.

With his future life as trophy mate almost within reach, Rory might be forgetting something that he has to do, but that’s okay. There are people in his life now who will remind him of all the things that are important and of all the things that aren’t.

Content warning: While this series is a comedy, this book alludes to physical and sexual abuse. It is not experienced on page, but it is a reality of a side character’s life.

Excerpt

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2023 Alexa Piper

Rory

It would be fine, I told myself, everything would be fine. I could do this. Once, but not because I would die the first time. I was going to be brave this once, because someone I cared about was in trouble and needed help. Starting right after we had Kinnek back, I would stop caring about people, because I would ask the presence if it would turn me into a shrub, a really fancy one with tiny berries and no attachments whatsoever.

And of course, when I wondered whether shrubbery was in fact a goal I could aim for, I wondered whether Inkiri would mind. If I were a shrub.

The presence was mildly amused, Inkiri locked eyes with me and told me he would protect me, and Vergis squeezed my hands to let me know I needed to do magic.

“Dispense,” he mumbled, because that’s what he’d started saying since sometimes, I got distracted and didn’t… dispense right away.

Fudge, but if it had been anyone but Vergis’s dad we were going to save, I would have told Vergis that I was not an effing paper towel dispenser.

Get us close to where Kinnek is, I told the magic even as I mentally waved it over to power up Vergis.

The presence — the land — acknowledged that, and off we were.

There were ten of us, all told. Vergis, Inkiri, and Lissir were the ones the land cared about most, I felt that. It also cared about Charles, either because he was Vergis’s dad or because he had already come to protect me once during the raspberry incident that had ended with Charles revealing he had a bunker and my guys liking the concept so much they’d imprisoned the cola asshat in there.

It is good he is here since two of your knights stayed with your mate’s blood, the land told me as we hopped through the veils.

Well, okay. The land could be prickly if it didn’t like a person, and it didn’t like that Zeddira was requiring medical attention.

You need to protect everyone, though, even Luëris and the other protectors, I told it. Remember, no bloodletting.

Remember how I told you such a thing is not within my power, Rory. We are here.

Here was not the dark camp made up of tents and orc-like Koa Esher with a cloud of doom looming above I’d expected, but instead a very fancy estate. It was almost a castle, from the size of it, from the gray, ivy-encrusted stone I spied from where we’d arrived… which was a golf course, one of those sandy pits, and the castle was right across a small and no doubt artificial lake, framed by formerly neatly groomed trees that had taken the chance and were growing wild now, with mistletoe in the upper branches. The lawns that were supposed to be perfectly green and flawlessly mowed were mottled, grasses growing there now and making any games a thing of the past.

“Where?” Charles asked.

He was calm and held his gun as if he was ready to use it. He was. And he might. Violence might happen. I needed to get used to the idea.

The other protectors and Inkiri closed in around me and Vergis immediately, and Lissir unsheathed one of his sickle-like swords. He got a look in his fiery eyes that I’d not seen there before, and his mouth pressed to a thin line.

I turned to the presence, and it reacted immediately.

I will guide you. There are many of them here, a lot who have the strange magic.

I started walking where the land was pointing me — toward the extremely large house or small castle — but Inkiri stopped me. “Tell us.”

Purchase

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Meet the Author

Alexa (she/her) has a lot of characters living in her head and wanting their stories told. Many of these people get snarky and won’t stop complaining if Alexa is too slow writing them, which means that for this author, sleep is a luxury. Consequently, Alexa is a coffee addict, but she is sure she has it under control (six cups of coffee are normal in a morning, right? Right!?)

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