The fast, furry, and furious! A lynx shifter, pursued by a cryptid trophy hunter. A wolf shifter desperate to rescue a lover who’s not just his fated mate—but his one true pairing across past lives. And a love that transcends time.
The fast, furry, and furious! A lynx shifter, pursued by a cryptid trophy hunter. A wolf shifter desperate to rescue a lover who’s not just his fated mate—but his one true pairing across past lives. And a love that transcends time.
Lynx shifter Noah Wilson narrowly escaped being captured by the Huntsman. While recuperating in Fox Hollow, he meets his fated mate, wolf shifter Drew Lowe.
Noah has to return to Canada to finish filming his TV projects, so he and Drew visit when they can and come up with creative solutions to their long-distance relationship. Noah and Drew are sure they’re meant for each other and start making plans.
Drew’s dreams make him wonder if he and Noah are more than fated mates—could they be a true pairing, destined to find each other lifetime after lifetime?
Then Noah accidentally records a murder, and the killer is on his trail. Can he elude a master tracker and reach the safety of Fox Hollow, or will he and Drew have to wait to find happiness in another life?
Again is a thrill-packed MM shifter romance adventure full of sexy shifters, hurt/comfort, one true pairing, reincarnation, sincere psychics, hunky mechanics, first responders, a sexy wildlife photographer, found family, and fated mates.
“I wish you could see this view in person—except for how cold it is.” Noah snapped a photo that didn’t do the colors of dawn justice, and sent it with his text to Drew.
He waited for a reply and realized Drew probably wasn’t awake yet. No one in their right mind is up at this hour.
He’d made the best of the cramped hotel room, knowing from experience to bring an extra blanket, good pillow, books, and power strips. Hotels never had enough outlets to charge his cameras. Fortunately, travel wasn’t a constant, but staying overnight to get the right light or have time to set up cameras happened fairly often.
Will that be a problem with Drew? Will he resent my photography? It’s a demanding job.
Noah cleaned his lenses and checked his batteries as he packed his day bag. Travel made it easy to find overnight company without entanglement, and he’d long ago grown tired of waking up alone. He’d had a serious relationship back in film school, which fizzled after graduation. There were a few boyfriends who lasted more than a month or two, but his irregular hours always ended up being more than anyone wanted to deal with for long.
Can it be different with Drew? We felt such an immediate bond—I’ve never had a connection like that with anyone. It’s like we’ve known each other forever.
“Of course. We’re fated mates,” his lynx reminded him, as if Noah could forget.
He smiled, thinking of their conversation that ended only a few hours ago. It wasn’t just the sex—although that was combustible in a way Noah had never experienced before. Everything took on a different light when it involved Drew. Talking about the trivial activities of the day wasn’t boring. Sharing a movie or even reading the same book and talking about their reactions now felt satisfying and fun.
I’m a Cancer—we’re protective and defend our family. Except I don’t really have any.
Noah didn’t have many living relatives. His father had vanished when he was young, and his mother died two years ago from a bad heart. He had a brother and sister, but they drifted apart, and Noah hadn’t heard from them in years. He wasn’t sure he even had valid addresses for them.
Drew is my mate. He’s my family now. And he has Russ and Liam and their friends. A pack. Someday, they’ll be my pack.
Clowder, his lynx sniffed. Lynxes have a clowder, not a pack.
Sounds like soup.
Clowder is not chowder, silly human. But we could vote to let Drew be an honorary lynx and join.
Vote? Who—you and me?
We are the only ones in our clowder now. It would be nice to add our mate—even if he is a dog.
I’ve fallen hard. And it should scare me. But it doesn’t. When I worry that he might not feel the same, I can’t breathe
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!
Contemporary MM Romance, murder, conversion
Young lovers Greg and Tyler secretly meet to spend time
together, until a moment of passion by the moonlight throws their lives into chaos. When
their parents learn about their little escapade, it opens a Pandora’s box that spreads family
discord, resentment, and heartaches. When someone adds fuel to an already fragile
situation, things get out of hand quickly. Will these two young lovers stay safe? How much
can they endure before they break?
Nestled in southwest Alberta’s rolling foothills lies the
quaint little town of Cardston—the Miller and Bradshaw families’ hometown. Cardston
straddled the Lee Creek valley and served as a shopping and tourist hub for southwest
Alberta, and was the unrivalled centre of Mormon life in Canada. Three-quarters of the
town’s residents belonged to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, while the other
quarter was Catholic and Baptist. The town’s social life revolved around family life, team
sports and religion.
Greg Miller was the captain of the town football team, the
Cardston Cougars, and the proud son of John and Teresa Miller. Greg’s parents owned the
only shoe store in town, where Greg helped on weekends and summer holidays.
Greg and his teammates had been busy preparing for their
next big game against the Calgary Golden Bears; it was the Cougars’ opportunity to bring
back home the trophy they lost to the Bears three years ago. Unfortunately, John and Teresa
couldn’t be there to cheer on their son—John had his business to run, and since Greg would
be in Calgary, his mother would have to be at the store instead. Sales had been down, and
closing for even one day could cause the family hardship in the coming months. Tyler had
attended Greg’s practices ever since they met. You could tell in Tyler’s eyes how proud he
was of his boyfriend―his secret boyfriend. Unfortunately, Greg and Tyler needed to be
discreet and hide when they wanted to meet, a drawback of living in a small religious
It was Greg’s last year of high school, and if his team won
the game, it could mean a scholarship for him at the University of Alberta and a golden
chance to play for the Golden Bears. Over dinner, Greg asked his parents once more if they
were sure they couldn’t make the game.
His father looked at him and said, “Sorry, Greg. I wish we
could go, but we can’t close the business. You know how important November is to
“Can’t you ask Steve to cover for you?”
“No. Steve has decided to move on, and even if he was still
with us, I don’t have the money to pay for him to replace me. I’m sorry, son, you’ll have to
do this one on your own.”
“You don’t need us there,” his mother said. “You’ll do just
“I know. It would have been nice to have you guys there,
that’s all. But I understand,” Greg said.
“Besides,” his mother said, “if we went, we’d need a hotel
room and Calgary’s expensive.”
Greg nodded and lowered his head. He quietly finished his
meal, took his empty plate to the dishwasher, and went to his room. He turned on his
computer and browsed the internet for anything and nothing, then went and laid in his bed,
staring at the ceiling. Bummer. I’ll probably be the only guy whose parents won’t be
He texted Tyler about meeting up. Thirty minutes later,
Greg stopped by the living room and told his parents he was going out. He hopped on his
bike and met his boyfriend, Tyler, at Lee Creek Park.
Unlike Greg, who was a Catholic, Tyler was Baptist. Tyler
thought being Baptist was very similar to other denominations, but their parents thought
differently. A typical week for Tyler was packed with religion, beginning with a seminar at six
in the morning, youth group on Wednesdays, and bible school on Sunday. In high school,
Tyler was referred to as the boy who didn’t drink, smoke, or hook up with girls. There was
nothing he’d like more than to be like the other guys his age, but his religion forbade it, as
did his parents.
Tyler was already at the park when Greg arrived, sitting
near the creek, leaning against a tree and lost in his thoughts. Greg quietly approached him
from behind the tree and grabbed one of his arms.
“What the…” Tyler jerked his arm away, and Greg burst out
“You scared me,” Tyler said.
“How’s it going, dude?”
“Okay. And you? Ready for the big game?”
“I think so, but it’s a bummer my folks can’t come.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
“Yeah, but what can you do?” Greg said with a
“Would you like me to be there? I can be your cheering
section in the audience,” Tyler said with a smile.
“You would do that?”
“That would be so cool. We could rent a room for after the
“Won’t you have one already?”
“Yeah, but we’re four of us in there, and I don’t think the
coach would let you crash. Besides,” Greg said, leaning forward towards Tyler, “we wouldn’t
be able to do this.” The two of them kissed.
“You have a point there,” Tyler said. “I’ll ask my parents to
reserve a room for me. You need to keep your cash for university.”
“Will they let you go?” Greg asked, excited at the prospect
of being with his boyfriend alone where no one knew them.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll be there to support you,” Tyler
said with confidence.
“I can’t wait for us to be at university so we can be
together. I’m tired of hiding,” Greg said, looking at Tyler.
“Me too. You’ll have to wait, though, because you’re a
school year ahead of me.” Tyler grinned.
“Right.” Greg made a sad face. “But you can join me the
year after,” he said with a smile.
“Think of what would happen if our parents found out
about us,” Tyler said, lost in his thoughts.
“That’s a scary thought. Come here.” Greg placed his hands
on Tyler’s shoulder and lowered him on his lap.
Tyler rested his head on Greg’s lap, and Greg bent over and
placed his lips on Tyler’s.
About the Author
Kristian Daniels is a published
author. His first novel Stolen Heart was published a little more than one year ago. An
Information Technologist by profession, he retired a few years ago to dedicate his time to his
storytelling. Kristian is passionate about writing. Fiction and coming–of-age stories are what
he likes to write about. Kristian lives and works out of his home in Canada and spends his
summers traveling and enjoying a drink a good book and the sun by his pool.
He has far too much
nerve. He can blow things up with his mind. He’s got anxiety. Yeah. The world should
probably brace itself for this one.
British superheroes, melodramatic Mages, snarky secret
agents, one hell of a found family, and a whole load of weird people. Also, there’s a duck. This is the painfully bizarre origin story of Rexley
Nova. When Rex was four years old, he became one of
the world’s first superhumans. When Rex turns twenty, he feels the drive to use
his scientifically given abilities to protect the world. He leaves home to become a member of
the Secret Superhero Security unit, alongside three of his friends and Danger City’s own
superhero, Polaris. Rex fights murderous Mages, evil organisations,
criminal mafias, his agency appointed psychiatrist, his own anxious brain, and the most
frightening of all, his attraction to a certain blue-eyed superhero.
“Come on, North,” I say, coaxing, spitting blood out of my
mouth. “Don’t be nice.” I get as close as he’ll let me. “Treat me like you’re paying for it.”
Damon’s nose flares, and his lips curl to form a jagged snarl. His
expression changing from robot to human in zero point five seconds flat. He makes a low
sound that’s just the right side of threatening to be a problem for me. And not in the way it
should be a problem for me.
Damon catches my arm at the right angle and twists me
around so my back is pressed against his front. He wraps an arm securely around my waist,
hauling me in even closer. A blaze of heat singes along my nerves when Damon runs his
hand under my T-shirt, his fingers dragging over the hot skin of my belly. I try to kill it dead,
the vulnerable quiver his intimate touch invokes, but that just makes it worse.
A full-on no-shit bonfire lights up inside my stomach. It sends a
fucked-up message to my head, which in turn sends an even more fucked-up message to my
cock. It’s like my body is playing telephone with itself.
You’re not supposed to want to get off with the bloke who’s
making you bruise and bleed. Not without a serious discussion about it beforehand,
Pretty sure Damon and I aren’t going to be doing anything that
sensible. Especially since the most sensible thing would be letting go and walking away
before we can make this situation any worse.
Damon wraps his other hand around my throat, fingers digging
in lightly, his thumb pressing against the edge of my jaw. He tilts my head to the side,
exposing more of my throat to him. I resist the urge to lean my head back on his shoulder.
Because I’m not mad.
My chest rapidly rises and falls as I struggle to breathe. It’s not
really because of all the hits I’ve taken. I’m having more trouble dealing with Damon’s
proximity than I am to what he’s done to me with his hands. A sign that maybe he was
pulling some of his punches.
“You,” I say, barely getting the words out through all the
tightness and the pain and the blood, “have got some serious control issues, North.” I shift
against him, and he tightens his hold in response. I smile, oddly charmed by it.
“Might want—” Another few unsteady breaths. “—to see
somebody about that.”
Damon feels like solid stone against my back, his body so tense
I’m worried he might shatter if I tap the wrong spot too hard. As if in response to my
thoughts, Damon’s arm around my waist changes from tight to crushing. His fingers press
into my neck with clear intention. Not enough to choke. Just a reminder. Or a warning. A
warning to be careful where I’m going with all of this.
My pale skin bruises easily. I can tell I’m going to have some on
my throat. I don’t hate that idea like I should. And something about it being Damon who
made them, whose fingers dug into my skin and left behind a mark, speaks to a primal part
of my brain.
Damon’s mouth skates along my jaw, either by accident or on
purpose, I’m not sure which. It doesn’t really matter. A short, bitten-off moan leaves my
throat in a rush. I clamp my lips together to try to contain the rest of it. But it’s too late.
Damon heard it. A shudder runs through him, a ripple of feeling and skin and warmth. An
answering wave rolls through me, my body set to quaking.
I need to stop.
Damon bends his neck to speak directly into my ear. Our height
and size difference aids him in making me feel completely taken over, enveloped, held in
place, swallowed up and overwhelmed by my temporary loss of autonomy.
“Is this a game?” Damon asks, and he sounds, it beggars belief,
genuinely upset by the idea.
About the Author
BL Jones is a
twentysomething British author who spends all her free time reading and writing and
taming her three little brothers. She lives in Bristol with a temperamental bunny named
Pepsi. She’s been writing stories since she was five, rarely sharing them with anyone except
her numerous stuffed animals. BL has had a difficult journey into discovering and accepting
her own queerness, and therefore believes that positive, honest, and authentic stories about
queer people are very important. She hopes to contribute her own stories for people to have
fun with and enjoy.
Alone and in London for the first time, Alex Anderson is
being hunted by the darkness as the fates have
seen fit to turn his dream holiday into his worst nightmare before he even steps foot out of the airport.
An archaic evil hungers for him and will stop at nothing to
possess the twenty-two-year-old and the coveted secrets that have been hidden from Alex his whole life.
All that stands in their way is a two-and-half-thousand-year-
old spartan Commander named Nikos and his fellow guardian sidekick Jin; a pink haired descendant of the goddess Hekate.
Nikos will move heaven and hell to protect Alex even if that
means protecting him from himself.
When boy meets man sparks fly and an instant bond is felt,
a connection that feels as old as the fabric of time.
But Alex must first learn to trust Nikos and Jin while
fighting his anxieties that have controlled his life if he has any hope of surviving what’s to come.
The Last Son Of Venus is the first in the fast-paced LGBT
fantasy romance series of the same name
featuring queer male characters, high fantasy creatures, magic and the true gods of old. The Last Son of Venus will take you on a long multi-series journey to a well-deserved HEA. So come and join Alex and Nikos and see what the Fates
have in store.
Bitter wind violated my exposed flesh, sending a deep chill
to the very core of my bones. Mother had warned me that London was cold, but I thought
she meant cold like Melbourne in winter, not winter in Antarctica. If it wasn’t for the fact
that my jumpers were all packed down at the very bottom, I would have stopped and added
an extra layer of protection. But I was cold and feeling far too lazy to reorder my bag, so I
went without. Yes, I was an idiot.
As per the map’s instructions, I turned right onto Gillingham
Street. It was becoming really
hard to focus on the map because the streets were barely
lit. I cursed myself inwardly that I didn’t just buy a portable phone charger, but I would be
sure to rectify my error first thing tomorrow. My goodness, this would be a lot smoother if I
was using my phone’s Google Maps. Anyway, what was done was done.
For a Saturday, there was very little nightlife, which I
thought was odd considering what I knew about Londoners and drinking, although I have to
say my knowledge on the subject was like ninety-five percent based on Geordie Shore
reruns. But still, there was not a soul on the street.
I could feel my anxiety grow; it wasn’t helped by the fact
that some random man told me someone was trying to kill me—though he wasn’t some
random man, was he? He knew my name. I felt a shiver run up my arms; I didn’t think I
could feel any colder. Maybe I should have stayed and heard him out before running
away…again, if I had, maybe he had a portable phone charger.
Looking back down at the map, I estimated I had maybe
another six-minute walk ahead, although I wished I had just paid for the stupid cab fare, but
I really couldn’t justify the cost for, what, maybe four hundred metres. I walked further
every day on my morning run.
The light flickered in the lamppost above. How strange. It
flickered again, but this time, it didn’t light back up. I was plunged into darkness as the rest
of the streetlights also extinguished.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
My anxiety started to peak, and my instincts told me to get
out of there fast. All of a sudden, I felt eyes on me. Shit shit shit. My pace quickened into a
slight jog, my bag swinging heavy behind me.
Why did it feel like the approaching darkness was watching
me? I looked up to the sky where once a moon sat giving light to the sky, but now it was
gone, shrouded by darkness. I started to shake uncontrollably; I couldn’t tell if it was from
the cold or my anxiety. Both seemed to be at war for dominance over my body and mind.
A sound emerged through the darkness, muttered voices. I
started to run, every fibre of my body telling me to do so. My flight response was fully
active, I flew down the street, but the voices seemed to be gaining on me. They were now
close enough to hear what it was they were chanting. “Consumptura est lux tenebris.” They
repeated it over and over.
I crossed the street in mere seconds, but was stopped from
going further by a gate of iron. I turned to go around, but to the left of me, I found that the
men were closing in on me. Looking to the right, they were doing the same yet only metres
Fuck fuck fuck, my only option was to jump the fence. It
wasn’t very tall, so I knew I could make short work of it. I put my hands on the spikes and
pushed down, lifting my body. I swung my legs up and jumped down. The hem of my shirt
got caught on a spike, lifting my shirt up, trapping my arms. “FUUUUCK!” I yelled, trying to
fumble myself free. I was shaking so violently, I could barely unhook it, the process taking
minutes rather than seconds.
It came loose just as the men closed in. It was then that I
realised my duffle bag’s strap must have also gotten caught on the spike as it lay broken just
on the other side of the fence, but I could clearly see the men’s robes of red now. I hadn’t
the time to retrieve it. I’d have to let it go and hope I found it later after I had made it to a
Even the darkness seemed to draw dimmer. How was that
possible? Turning, I started to run, pushing past plants and shrubs, pulling my shirt back
down as I ran.
Their chant suddenly changed, I could now hear their voices
ringing in my head as if they were whispering right into my ears. “Arbores et plantae saxa
animari, prohibere eum.” Their chant had changed. It felt as if the trees were drawing
closer, which couldn’t be so.
Something grabbed my foot. I let out a scream as I fell to
the ground hard. What was that? I looked around, but all I could see was grass. I must have
tripped over a root or something, though I couldn’t see one. Getting back on my feet, my
left ankle felt swollen, and as I put pressure on it, I let out a loud scream. I hoped against
hope that it was just twisted and not broken. I tried to run, but the pain was just too great.
CRASH. The gate lifted from the ground and flew into a
tree. The robed men continued to follow me. FUCK.
“HELP! Someone, anyone, help me!” I shouted.
One of the men raised his hand at me, and my voice
faltered. I tried to let out a scream, but my voice was gone. What in the name of Ursula the
sea witch was this? All I could do was try limping away.
Roots lifted from the ground before my very eyes, spraying
moss into the air, leaving the earth a maze of traps, clearly designed to stop my escape.
What was I to do? I tried to hop over them, the pain forcing tears to fall from my eyes. But
the pain didn’t stop me. I continued to push myself, for my life clearly depended on it.
“Corrumpam vineam eius,” shouted one of the robed men.
Instantly, vines fell from the trees and launched themselves at me. I ducked and missed the
first one, but the rest found their target, instantly forcing me to the ground, wrapping
around me like dangerous pythons.
The roots curled up, pulling me to face the robed men,
forcing me to watch as they approached. The men were dressed in robes of red. I could just
make out a crucifix scar on one of the men’s outstretched arms. Wrapped around their
hands were what looked to be rosary beads, but something looked wrong. It seemed like
the beads dug into their hands, drawing out a dark fluid.
The wind changed, and the smell of metallic ooze hit my
sinuses, causing my nose to curl. That answered the question of what the fluid was: it was
blood. I struggled with everything left in my body, but it was no use, the vines just grew
tighter and tighter, almost to the point of breaking bone.
“Help me,” I prayed inwardly. “Someone, please.”
A man in the centre stepped forward chanting with the
others, “Accipere auferat divina virtute.” Something jabbed into me sharp like a needle,
causing unimaginable pain to flow through me. I screamed and screamed, but no sound
escaped me. Whatever it was it felt like it was crawling through my veins.
He continued forward towards me, chanting. Only a few
feet away, I could now clearly make out his face that was hidden by a hood. He looked to be
in his mid-fifties with a full white beard, long hooked nose, and beady black eyes. He
kneeled beside me and raised his outstretched hand over my face. I tried to close my eyes,
but they were forced open. The man squeezed his palm into the rosary beads, which I could
now see were made of jagged barbed wire that cut into his flesh. As the man squeezed,
blood fell like water droplets over my face. On impact with my flesh, it sizzled like acid; it
smelled like it too. I was truly dead. My only thought was on my parents, hoping they would be able to get past my death. My vision started to
fade to black. This was the end of me. My eyes finally closed. I had no strength anymore.
Maybe death wouldn’t be so bad? And with that thought, it all went silent.
The earth reverberated. There was loud running, yelling,
and what sounded like sandbags hitting a wall, but I couldn’t open my eyes to see. They felt
like they were welded shut.
“You must continue the chant!” shouted a voice that felt
like spiders crying in my ears.
The chanting started again. “Accipere auferat—” But was
cut off mid-sentence as what sounded like thunder struck the earth. I needed to run, move,
get up, break the bonds holding me. My brain told me this, but it was as if I was buried
Something dropped beside me. It radiated warmth. I
wanted to lean into it. I tried to but failed. I wanted it closer. “Please come closer,” I begged
the universe, and by some grace, it did. I felt a hand on my cheek; it was warm to the touch.
Who was this? What was this? Again, I tried to open my eyes but failed. I started to panic
again. This couldn’t be the end. My mind started to race. Mentally, I was thrashing back and
forth, wishing my body to do the same. This feeling of disconnection was the scariest thing I
had ever felt.
“By Zeus, Alex, gods fucking dammit, your lips are blue,”
growled a familiar voice. Was it the Adonis? It sounded like him, and for some unexplainable
reason, I hoped it was him. I could feel his hands on me. Everywhere he touched, I felt
“Jin, we’re going to need a recovery charm,” he yelled at an
“Babes, I am fucking busy if you didn’t realise, you know,
holding off the Priests of Bellum Sacrum,” bit back an unknown, effeminate voice.
“Fuck it all to Hades, you couldn’t have just come with me
at the train station.” The Adonis’s voice turned gravelly. But I couldn’t follow him at the train
station because he was a stranger. I didn’t know him; therefore, I couldn’t trust him. But was
he here now to save me? So maybe that meant I could trust him?
“Fuck it, we’ll have to swap,” called the Adonis back to the
person he called Jin, I assumed.
No, don’t leave me! He can not leave me. Don’t take the
warmth away. I’m so very cold. As if he could hear me, he assured, “Don’t worry, Alex, I’ll be
back.” Then he was gone. The coldness set back in, his warmth only a haunting
Thunder struck the earth again; there were more screams
of pain and terror. The smell of metallic ooze grew almost too strong to possibly bear. A
thud beside me. Was it the Adonis? It couldn’t be because this person didn’t radiate warmth
like he had. Was he friend or foe?
“Queen, don’t even stress, okay, I’m here to help you, boo.”
It was that voice again; it was distinctly fem, but like fem male, not a fem female. I assumed
it was Jin, but I really wished I could open my eyes and stop all the guesswork.
“Álysoi kaí desmá nýn spázete.” I felt warmth all over my
body. Suddenly, I felt weightless like I was flying in the air. The darkness began to fade as a
white light came towards me. I tried to meet it halfway.
Light burst into my reality as my eyes flew open,
temporarily blinding me as my eyes readjusted. A man who couldn’t be any older than
myself stood over me, his hair fairy-floss pink, kept neat and short on the side with a front
fringe that covered the tops of his brows.
“Is he awake yet?” yelled the Adonis from somewhere just
out of my field of view. “Yes, fuck, give me a second, Miss Bossy Tiger,” snapped the pink-
haired man. He turned and spoke to me, trying for a soothing voice, but came off very
“Hi, Alex, my name is Jin. I’m going to need you to stand up.
Can you do that for me, dolls?” But wasn’t I tied to the ground by vines?
“Jin, get him the fuck up now. We need to move!” said the
Adonis, running back into view. “I’m trying,” he responded.
“Then try harder.”
Before I could process what was happening, one of the
robed figures instantly appeared
behind the Adonis, bloodied dagger outstretched ready to
strike, going for the killing blow. “NOOOOOOOO!” I screamed, sending out a blast of energy
that felt like it came from my
very soul. I couldn’t let the Adonis die.
Gusts of power forced the robed man into the air, flying
back with a loud crunching sound
into a tree. The dagger burst into smoke. It took me a
moment to realise what it was I had done. My body retracted inwardly, instantly forming a
ball. What had I just done? I started to rock
back and forth, tears falling from my eyes.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
I was a freak, and I may have just killed someone. I needed
my mother to tell me it would be okay, but she wasn’t there, so I didn’t know what to do. I
needed to know I didn’t just kill someone. “Shhhh, calm down, it will all be okay,” said Jin
But it wasn’t going to be okay; nothing was. It would never
be okay again. “Right, fuck this. Get the fuck up now, idiot, before you get us all killed,”
growled the Adonis.
I just looked at him, like was he kidding? Like really, was he
kidding? The rudeness. I was
going through something. Instantly, my anxiety and grief
turned to anger like a light switch. I was standing up, pointing my finger at him. “Who the
hell do you think you are? Do not EVER talk to me like that again, do you understand?”
The corners of his mouth turned up slightly; the barest
whisper of a smile ghosted his face. “That got you up, now didn’t it?”
About the Author
Scottish Australian author Dion Marc lives and breathes queer art. Whether he is
painting, writing, sewing or dancing naked in
the moonlight he does it with pride. He is a practising Hellenistic polytheist who believes in healing the world one hug at a time and that
drinking tea without a biscuit is a horrendous
Dion has spent over eleven years working full time in film and television as a Makeup
Artist, Hairdresser, Wig Maker and Costume
Designer. For the last year Dion has been working on the award-winning theatrical shows Hamilton, Moulin Rouge and more recently
full-time on Harry Potter and the Cursed Child
as a hair and makeup artist.
Genres: Contemporary M/M
Romance Suspense – Two men falling in love while budging bullets and chasing bad
Tropes: Mistaken identity /
opposites attract / lone wolf meets stubborn pretty boy / age gap / found family
Themes: Falling in love / chasing
bad guys / overcoming trust issues / finding balance and letting go of other people’s
Heat Rating: 4 flames
It is a standalone book and is
the first in the series to be published. It does not
end on a cliffhanger. Suspense and Romance is
complete, but there’s a 2nd book with a new couple and a continuation of the suspense
Jake Devlin knows trouble when he sees it and he wants no
part of it. His quiet, peaceful life is a hard-fought dream. And the man who stumbles through
the backdoor of Jake’s bar—beaten to hell—he is trouble with a capital T. The last thing Jake
needs is to get involved with the sexy and secretive stranger. He definitely shouldn’t
offer him a place to stay. But…he does…
Murder and mayhem follow Detective Miguel Conway. One
minute he’s working a case, and the next, his cover is blown and he barely escapes with his
life. Con didn’t expect Jake to offer help when he needs it most. And he definitely wasn’t
prepared to fall for the grumpy ex-Marine. But…he does…
Attraction sparks as the two men are thrown together to
figure out who wants to keep Con quiet and why. Well, at least Con is trying to solve his case.
Jake is mainly trying to protect the young, impulsive cop. Midnight stakeouts, a celebrity
wedding, and passion-filled nights—can Jake and Con find the balance between taking risks
and keeping safe? And turn attraction into happily ever after?
But none of that matters if they fail to get the target off
Series: End of
the Line, Book 1 in the award-winning Jake’s
Bar series, is a steamy, M/M romantic suspense featuring a rainbow-colored bar full of
quirky characters, and all the romance you can handle. It’s a place where you can always find
support (and a cold beer) when life spins out of control. So, download today, and get ready
to fall in love with Jake’s Bar.
A gay bar. Thank you, Jesus. A fucking gay bar. Loud and
proud. Con’s kind of place, but none of Murphy’s men would be caught dead in here. Con’s
body hurt all over, but they hadn’t found him. He’d given his pursuers the slip and was out of
About an hour ago—close to two in the morning—Jake had
flipped the lights on and kicked everybody out. People barely dared to finish their drinks
when the big, bulky man with his booming voice told them to go the fuck home. Con would be
surprised if any of them would come back. Damn, Jake was something else. Con had a thing
for guys who took charge and thinking of it sent sparks down his spine.
Jake had offered Con to call it a night as soon as the last
guest had left the place. Clearly, he hadn’t missed that Con was moving slower and slower as
the night progressed. And fuck, his ribs hurt something fierce. Still, he had declined Jake’s
offer to leave right away. The bar owner had raised an eyebrow, but much to his relief, Jake
had started to put the chairs up himself while Con got a broom. And every time he tried to
do anything but sweep, Jake had thundered at him to stay out of the way.
“Are you trying to dig a hole with that broom? I think that
corner is clean enough,” Jake said quietly from across the room, his tall frame propped
against the bar—arms crossed—watching. Jake’s calm focus sent chills over Con’s body as he
forced himself to relax with a few more long inhales and exhales. His overtired brain fired
some images of being at the receiving end of Jake’s laser sharp attention under different
circumstance—with a whole lot less distance between them, and fewer clothes. Jake was
hot in an angry, pissed-off way. Square. Solid. A force to be reckoned with.
Loud tapping of Jake’s fingers onto the bar brought Con
back from his wayward thoughts. For a moment, the impatient rhythm was the only sound,
then Jake let out a huff of air and said, “Listen, I’m not sure how to ask this, but—do you
have anywhere to go tonight?”
“Yes, of course, I—” Con’s answer had been a reflex, but he
actually had no idea how to end this sentence.
“You can stay here if you have nowhere safe to go.”
Nowhere safe. How did he know? Con’s heart skipped a beat and then started to race again in his
chest. His eyes shot over to the front door. How
the fuck did he know?
“Hey, calm down.” Jake pushed himself up from the counter
and walked a few steps closer but then stopped again. “You have no defensive wounds. And,
well, you’re a big dude, so I wonder what happened to you tonight.”
Three against one. I never had a chance.
“It’s fine. You’re safe. Is it okay if I touch you?” Jake was
suddenly by his side, his voice soft. Gently, a hand came down on his shoulder. “It’s okay.
Why don’t you just stay on my couch tonight?”
The warmth of Jake’s hand seeped through his skin. Con
gritted his jaw to steel himself against the sudden need to lean in. Any other time, he’d have
given Jake crap for treating him like a wounded animal, but his beat-up body was starting to
give in on him. “That would be great,” he managed through clenched teeth.
About the Author
Eighteen years ago, AG
Meiers came to the US for adventure and stayed for love. Currently, she lives in New England
with her husband and two awesome kids—balancing work, friends and family, and
When she has some free
time, her favorite thing to do is travel and visit new places. Her past trips have already
brought her to a variety of countries on four continents. She never passes up an opportunity
to experience different cultures, diverse people and amazing locations.
Even though she has been
dreaming up stories all her life, she has only recently started to write them down and share
them with the world. As a writer she loves to put her characters through a lot of challenges,
conflict and heartbreak, before she allows them to find their happy-ever-after.
From strangers in the night to happy couples looking for a little spice, Naughty by Nature has the story for you. Each short story features steamy adult encounters in the great outdoors, not to mention a delicious variety of kinks. After all, roughing it shouldn’t have to mean giving up all our creature comforts that bring… pleasure.
So grab your sleeping bag and get back to nature in all the best ways. With a total of eleven stories by
some of your favorite MM Romance authors, you’re sure to find something to have you howling at the moon in no time!
Cold cases, hot leads, a
psychic psychopath, a copycat killer, cursed objects, the trial of the century–and wedding
Psychic medium Simon Kincaide and sexy homicide
detective Vic D’Amato met hunting a supernatural serial killer. Since then, Simon has
become a police consultant on cases involving the paranormal, and Vic has gotten over his
doubts about Simon’s abilities being real. Along the way, they fell in love and got engaged.
But it seems like the danger never ends.
Now, the first case Simon and Vic worked together comes
back to haunt them as the killer goes to court and all hell breaks loose. The killer has a crazy
fan setting curses on key players in the upcoming trial. Ghosts from an old cold case suggest
that someone got away with murder. And a supernatural creature attracted to fear and
death is using the Grand Strand as its feeding ground. Simon and Vic feel like they’re waging
a war on all fronts, but with the stakes so high, there can be No Surrender!
No Surrender is a fast-paced thrill ride MM paranormal
romance packed with supernatural suspense, haunted tourist attractions, monsters, visions,
hot sex, hurt/comfort, loyal friends, wedding planning, found family, ghosts galore, dark
magic, and an evolving, established romantic relationship with all the feels.
No Surrender is Book 5 in the Badlands series but can
be read as a standalone.
“Since when do serial killers get fan mail?” Homicide detective Vic D’Amato fumed. “How
fucked up is that?”
“They don’t just get fan letters; they get marriage proposals,” his
partner Ross Hamilton replied, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t get it, but that doesn’t
stop it from being true.”
Vic took a slug of coffee from his stained mug and barely kept from grimacing at the bitter
taste. Hospitals and police precincts always made the worst java. “I guess it’s like the people
who follow all the true-crime podcasts. We get paid to be hip-deep in the worst humanity
has to offer, but doing it for fun? People are weird.”
“You’ve been a cop for how long, and you’re just figuring that out now?” Ross teased.
Vic shrugged. “Every time I think that I’ve lowered my expectations too far, reality
says—‘Here, hold my beer.’”
“Yeah, well. I’m right there with you on this one.” Ross chuck‐ led. “Have you heard whether
you and Simon will have to testify at the trial?”
“Pretty certain. Of all the charges, Fischer shooting Simon is the most ironclad, with plenty
of witnesses,” Vic replied. “I’m not in any hurry to be part of the media circus, but I don’t see
a way to avoid it.”
“Lucky you—the Slitter trial is shaping up to be the biggest deal Myrtle Beach has had in a
Vic grew up in a family of cops back in Pittsburgh. For generations, D’Amatos had been proud
to serve. His father, brothers, and other relatives were still on the force up north while his
sister was studying criminology. But an encounter with something supernat‐ ural Vic couldn’t
explain had made him unwelcome with the Pitts‐ burgh police. Vic had relocated, started
over in Myrtle Beach—and met the love of his life.
“I don’t want to put Simon through what happened the last time,” Vic confided.
“Not sure you’re going to have much choice about it.” Ross finished his coffee and set the
cup aside. “The closer we get to the trial date, the more reporters will be angling for a
scoop. I’m surprised there haven’t been some camped out in front of the store already.”
“I suspect Simon boosted the wardings against nuisance as well as malice. I tried talking him
into going down to Charleston to spend some time with his cousin, but he flat-out refused to
leave me here alone during the run-up to the trial.”
“Alone—with me and the captain and the rest of the depart‐ ment, plus a squad of lawyers
and witnesses?” Ross joked.
“And not one of you with any magic, in a trial where the killer used spells to help him get
away with murder,” Vic answered. “Simon doesn’t want to be in the spotlight—or the
crosshairs—but if it comes to that, I don’t doubt he and his friends will come up with ways to
Simon Kincaide, Vic’s fiancé, ran Grand Strand Ghost Tours. The boardwalk shop also offered
psychic readings and séances, showcasing Simon’s abilities as a psychic medium as well as
his knowledge of the spooky side of local history and his background as a former folklore
and mythology professor.
When an impasse in the hunt for the Strand Slitter brought the investigation to a standstill
more than a year ago, Vic tamped down on his deep skepticism about the paranormal and
asked for Simon’s help as a psychic. Their first encounters with each other were prickly, and
Vic accepted much of the blame for that since he had doubted Simon’s abilities and hated
needing his help.
Simon turned out to be the real deal, and his visions plus the ability to communicate with
the ghosts of the Slitter’s victims cracked the case—nearly costing Simon his life. In the year
since then, Simon became an official police consultant, working cases with Vic and Ross
when a supernatural connection seemed likely. Vic and Simon fell in love and now had a
wedding to plan.
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.
Witchbane, Badlands, Treasure Trail, Kings of the Mountain and Fox Hollow. Watch for more
in these series, plus new series coming soon!
Silas Mercer died once.
He’d rather not do it again.
1885 London, England
Silas Mercer died once. He’d rather not do it again.
On his return to the world of the living, Silas finds himself
in the hands of the mysterious Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.
The Order has London society clamouring for their services,
with tarot readings, seances and exorcisms among their arcane specialities.
Now they seem intent on making Silas their newest
But they want far more from him than cheap parlour
When the Order partners him with the scandalous rake,
Tobias Astaroth, Silas’s new life is turned on its head in more ways than one.
Tobias is quick-tempered, dangerously charming, and far
more than the man he seems.
For Silas, surviving what the Order has planned for him will
be a challenge.
But finding a way to survive Tobias Astaroth could prove
A slow-burn MM Gaslamp Fantasy series.
Contains: Sexual content, violence and rather a lot of
This is the first book in the thrilling Gaslamp Fantasy series, The Diabolus Chronicles
Mr Astaroth was clearly drunk. Reason perhaps why he
failed to be wearing any shoes. Silas noted the large brown stain upon the white of his linen
shirt with great consternation. The mark appeared not dissimilar to blood. His dark trousers
bore a tear at his right thigh, and the material at his knees was notably caked with
Gilmore cried out, more pain in the sound this time. ‘You’re
breaking my leg, you bastard.’
Silas looked to the bandalore, hoping there might be a
musical direction sung to him. But the wood was quiet. He should go to the man’s
assistance, Silas needed no magical trinket to tell him so. Man, or gnome, Gilmore was in
clear distress. But Silas hesitated.
‘Dear me, do you think I would truly do such a thing?’
Tobias’s words got away from him, slipping and sliding from his intoxicated tongue. A
shadow curved around his right eye, a rising bruise.
‘I know you would,’ Gilmore hollered. ‘You crave harm
more than your cock craves fucking.’
With no warning, Tobias landed a punch against Gilmore’s
belly. Half-hearted as it was, it at last spurred Silas from his reticence. He took a step
‘Now, see here-‘
‘Tobias! Set him down, now.’ Jane moved across the green,
clad in a nightgown of the most delicate white lace. Combined with her airy way of moving,
it was as though a ghost rushed towards them. ‘Now, Pitch. I will not ask you again.’
The man’s smile was a cruel slash across his damaged face.
‘As you wish. Catch him if you can.’
He lowered Gilmore and seemed certain to set him down,
albeit on his head, but at the very last moment, he drew back his arm and swung the frantic
Gilmore straight up into the air. Without an ounce of effort apparent, Tobias’s throw sent
the screaming, kicking man skyward. Soaring higher even than Silas’s cottage roof.
Gilmore seemed to hang in the air for a moment. His
scream curdled the blood.
‘Gilmore!’ Silas dashed in beneath the unfortunate gnome,
seeking to position himself so he might catch Gilmore when he fell. A dangerous notion,
considering the speed of descent, but the man would surely suffer grievous injury
otherwise. Silas glanced at the grinning man at his side. The viciousness that simmered
within Tobias Astaroth’s emerald eyes was breathtaking.
‘Stop!’ Jane’s command came with a rush of violent wind. A
great force swept past Silas, lifting the hairs on his head. The gust swept in beneath the
tumbling Gilmore, and at once his downward journey halted in a dead stop in midair. The
gnome sobbed, hanging limp against his invisible support, drifting slowly down, a leaf upon
a gentle breeze.
‘Why must you ruin my fun?’ Tobias folded his arms, staring
hard at Jane as she approached, a pout upon his full lips.
The sun drifted from behind a cloud, its rays setting his
eyes alight once more, and marking the pronounced angles of his face. Despite his notable
injuries, his odd beauty, accentuated by bowed lips and long dark lashes, was still evident.
Rather captivating, if Silas were honest, but he’d just now glimpsed a ferocity beneath the
delicate exterior which lent it a certain ugliness.
About the Author
Danielle K Girl is an Aussie who lives in stunning Tasmania
with her three furkids, cats Luffy, Sweetie and Ren.
Her idea of heaven is a farm full of rescue animals, with a
vegie garden that sprouts peanut M&M’s and chocolate wheaten biscuits.
When she’s not keyboard-deep in mysterious, beguiling
worlds, she is binge watching K-Dramas, listening to K-Pop or hiking through the beautiful