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
Ryld must learn to control
his dangerous shadows before they kill someone he cares about or someone unscrupulous
learns how to control him.
AURA’s offices have been quiet since the mage tower
incident—as quiet as they can be for an agency dedicated to policing holes in reality—and
the department heads have been free to turn their attention back to mundane matters. The
return to quiet bureaucracy gives AURA’s Director of Research, Kai Hiltas, the time to turn
his energy to a new issue—a young drow with unusual and dangerous powers named
Though his shadows always lurk at the edges of his vision,
Ryld does his best to live peacefully and not let them hurt anyone. He has his work, his
apartment and a succession of minders assigned by AURA who are, ostensibly, there to keep
him safe in his new world and to prevent him from causing any scenes with his shadows.
Most of the time, the arrangement works. But one disastrous incident causes Ryld’s minder
to leave him unattended and lost—the precise thing he was hired to prevent.
To replace the faithless minder, Kai suggests Hank, a
half-goblin accountant recently in the middle of a string of terrible luck, while Kai works out
how best to get Ryld the magical training he so desperately needs. For his part, Hank truly
likes Ryld and insists he would be happier working as Ryld’s companion rather than as a
As Hank and Ryld slowly come to terms with sharing
space—and eventually more—Kai’s search for a teacher for Ryld takes them out west on the
invitation of the Elvenhome’s aelfe queen and right into the lap of inter-elven feuds, ancient
prejudice, conspiracies and trafficking rings. What should have been a pleasant visit soon
turns into more than even forever-scheming Kai can handle.
“Another one, Brady. I don’t have all night.”
The bartender sighed when Hank thumped his fist on the
bar. That crack was already there. I know it
“One terabin per customer. You know the rules.”
“I’m not even close to drunk enough.”
Shaking his head, the bartender put a glass of water in
front of Hank. The water swayed. Maybe the bar swayed. A single terabin would’ve
taken down a human and sent them to the ER. A second one would even put a troll on the
floor. Hank was pretty sure he could manage another.
Brady put his hands on the bar and leaned in. “What’s
happened, Hank? This isn’t like you.”
Hank tried to answer, his short tusks getting in the way of
his words. That hadn’t happened since he was a teenager.
“What was that?”
“They fired me today. Fired me.” Hank gave up trying to look
menacing and put his head in his hands.
“Did you screw something up? Lose a decimal place or
something?” What Brady knew about accounting probably wouldn’t have filled half a
“No.” Hank gulped a breath. “I did my job. I worked hard.
But the new manager… She said I wasn’t commensurate with the company image.”
“Wait. Just ’cause of how you look? You could file a
“Sure. Right. The pretty sylphs in the non-human rights
office are gonna get right on that. Far as they’re concerned, the only place I should be is
The bartender winced in an uncomfortable way and patted
Hank’s arm awkwardly. “Not like you’re riding a varg down the street swinging a battle-axe.
You’re, you know, civilized. Still can’t serve you another one.”
A bitter smile curled Hank’s mouth as he took the water
and chugged half of it down. “Thanks, Brady. I feel so much better now. I’ll… I guess I’ll find
Out on the sidewalk, Hank breathed in the relatively fresh
air. Poisoned with exhaust fumes and all the reek of too many humans in too small a
space—still it was cooler and not the close, claustrophobic smell of the bar. He probably
shouldn’t have let Brady’s racist comments go, but tonight he was too damn tired to deal
with it, and Brady needed to count his lucky pebbles that Hank wasn’t some thin-skinned
goblin kid with a chip bigger than his head.
You’re okay, Hank. You’re one of the few good goblins. Not like those other filthy barbarians. Pat the half-gobbo on the head and
He wanted chilies, huge bags of them, wanted to drown in
the capsaicin high they’d bring. But he had enough sense, even this drunk, to know he’d
overdo it in his current state of mind and probably end up in the ER from a ghost pepper OD
Once was enough.
No. Go home. Get some sleep. Figure it out in the
He’d manage. He always did.
It was just that this time he thought he had managed. Found
a place for himself. Reached the spot where things could be routine, and he could be
normal. Just another worker bee in the crowd.
The screech of tires on pavement yanked him out of his
reverie and just about made him jump out of his skin. His reactions were muddled and slow,
but the shot of adrenaline racing through him as he stared at the truck only inches away was
almost enough to knock him sober.
The driver’s door opened, and a tall elf got out. His face
was full of haughty arrogance and disdain, as was usual for aelfe, but his words were even
and neutral as he asked, “Are you all right?”
Before Hank could answer the passenger door opened, and
another elf got out, this one a drow. “You are walking where vehicles are supposed to be
“Get back in the truck, Ryld,” the first elf said
“But, he’s walking where vehicles are driven. That’s against
“Get. In. The. Truck. Ryld.”
The drow cut his eyes away. He made some odd gestures
but sat back down and closed his door. Even from behind the windshield Hank could pick
out how unnaturally blue his eyes were. He’d only ever seen drow with red eyes or
“Are you all right?” the blond elf asked again.
Hank pulled in a slow breath, then two more. The rising
nausea settled, and he leaned a hand against the lamppost on the corner. “Fine. I’m fine.
You stopped in time.”
The elf stared at him, maybe thinking Hank owed him a
thank you for not ploughing over him. Finally, he gave a sharp nod. “Okay. Good.”
That was it. He climbed back into the truck, shut the door,
said something sharp to the drow and drove off.
Weird. That was…weird. Though maybe the terabin had made the whole interaction
so strange. Maybe there hadn’t been any blue-eyed drow insisting on road rules. Hank
shook himself, hurried across the street and reached his apartment building without any
further bizarre incidents.
About the Authors
The unlikely black sheep of
an ivory tower intellectual family, Angel Martinez has managed to make her way through life
reasonably unscathed. Despite a wildly misspent youth, she snagged a degree in English Lit,
married once and did it right the first time, (same husband for almost twenty-four years)
gave birth to one amazing son, (now in college) and realized at some point that she could
get paid for writing.
Published since 2006, Angel’s
cynical heart cloaks a desperate romantic. You’ll find drama and humor given equal weight
in her writing and don’t expect sad endings. Life is sad enough.
She currently lives in
Delaware in a drinking town with a college problem and writes Science Fiction and Fantasy
centered around gay heroes.
Originally hailing from Detroit
Michigan, Bellora now resides on the sunny Gulf Coast of Florida where a herd of
Dachshunds keeps her entertained. She got her start in writing at the dawn of the internet
when she discovered PbEMs (Play by email) and found a passion for collaborative writing
and steamy hot erotica. Soap Opera like blogs soon followed and eventually full
The majority of her stories
are in the M/M genre with urban fantasy or paranormal settings and many with a strong
Only one man could save
me. What I found in him was unexpected.
Wrongs righted. Love fated. Passionate desires unleashed.
I didn’t need a protector. And I wanted more than a hot
alpha possessing me.
I desired love. What I found in him was unexpected. If only
the world around us would stop judging, we would have a chance to build a life
When the past caught up to me and a friend, dark forces
Only one man could save me.
It turned out his protection, his possession, and his love all
claimed me, fulfilling every dream possible.
Iris Faire weaves a tale of past wrongs righted, of love fated, and passionate desires
explored. The quick read romp ends in a happy ever after. It can be read as a stand alone,
but will have you wishing for more in the interconnected Stepdad Summer Series.
“Who were those guys?” His fists balled up on my stomach,
and I heard the crack of his jawline tightening with teeth gnashing. These signs of his
possession turned my heart to jelly.
“Relax there, Mr. Protective. They were punk ass college
guys on spring break. Never saw them again. And I haven’t been with anyone since . . . Until
last night. With you.”
“Me? So you were my first in forever, and I was as well for
you?” He squeezed me tighter.
“Hm-hmm. After your birthday, I intended to quit for sure.
But then you came to see me. So I danced for you. And then I kept going, wondering if you
might come back. And you did. Every Tuesday and Thursday, when Mom had her meetings
like clockwork. Somehow, you made me feel safe. And . . . I enjoyed dancing for you. I liked
your eyes following my every move.”
“Don’t go back. I don’t want you there. I can’t stand the
thought of other men watching you, touching your G-string or going anywhere near your
I tightened our hold once again, wiggling my bottom
against his half hard morning wood. “Hm. So you’re the jealous type. I like it.”
“Yeah, maybe I am. Besides, I should have stopped you
when I first saw you. If I had given any thought to how dangerous it might be for you there .
. . maybe Nico wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“Fucking Nico,” I said with upmost affection for my friend.
“It probably didn’t matter. His drug use would have still gotten out of hand, maybe slower is
“Still, don’t go back. Quit today.”
“And work where? I can’t stay at moms, and can’t stay at
Dominic’s. It’s nice of you to offer here, but I need a job to afford my own place.” I already
had a printout of some jobs to check on for the week. Coffee barista, nighttime janitor . . .
nothing really appealing, but my options narrowed without a degree or career trajectory. I’d
go to hell before admitting Mom was right about college.
“Stay with me. I’ll take care of us until you find something
“Yeah?” I twisted, facing him, and cupped his cheek. I hung
on every hope for what this meant between us.
I brushed his lips, taking full advantage of this euphoric
morning feeling. This thing right now between us, undefined, yet perfect. Undeterred by an
uncertain future, simply luxuriating in each other’s arms before time or whatever life threw
at us took it away.
He worked down, brushing his lips across my neck and
“Mm. If I stay with you, does it mean I get more of your lips
all over me?”
“Whatever you want, I’m happy to provide,” he said,
pushing me onto my back. Brushing his whiskers down my torso followed by his soft lips and
tongue, every move of his grew like little reassurances of our path ahead, freely exploring
whatever this was between us.
About the Author
Iris writes from the comfort
of her kitchen, while sipping vanilla lattes on a good day—even in summer. Writing MM
Romance is a nice distraction from her many other commitments, like needle-working,
homemaking, and mom taxi service. While it’s terrible fun to invest time in her book
characters, she’s not expecting to quit her day job anytime soon.
Visit her website to keep up to date on her latest work in
On a more serious note: Iris
has a teen who is trans. And she loves them with her whole heart and soul.
Losing himself to the
shadows is not possible, but who can help him learn to live again?
Despite being third in line to the throne, George doesn’t
believe he will ever be king, and he is content with that knowledge. He prefers to live his life
in the shadow of his brothers because he can hide his extra-curricular activities there. When
his life is torn apart by grief, he loses himself in those shadows until he focuses on what
matters to him. Love.
More media attention is the last thing Timothy wants. He
left his hometown to get away from it, but his new position makes that almost impossible.
Balancing the requirements of his teaching role, the needs of his new patient, and the
feelings that should never have grown, he struggles to see the right course of action until
the choice is taken away from him.
Stepping back inside the place where Eddie had been
abused by the one person who should’ve taken care of him has been harder than he
expected. Finding someone who is patient enough to help him through his anxieties about a
BDSM relationship is easier. Unfortunately, royal duties threaten to pull them apart before
they’ve even started.
As the three lives intertwine in the unlikeliest of situations,
who will throw themselves into the deep end, and who will back away, scared of the
This is an MMM book containing BDSM scenes and
D/s dynamics in all forms. It also has lots of loving, friendships, family drama and, of course,
a triple HEA.
He searched the room for the voice but couldn’t see
anyone until Master George stepped through the parted crowd.
Eddie lowered his head. “Master George.” Eddie’s heart
raced, and he couldn’t contain his smile.
“Clarice didn’t hear from you. Does that mean you’ve
decided not to go ahead with what we talked about?”
Was he supposed to have called her? “Oh, um, I still want
to go ahead with it. I forgot to call her and tell her. I was excited about coming tonight and
didn’t think about calling ahead.”
“Shh. Eddie, breathe. It’s fine.” Master George slipped an
arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “I wanted to go through a contract with you, that’s all. Can
we do that now?”
Eddie didn’t want to read a contract. He wanted Master
George. “Can we do it later?” he asked, eyes still lowered.
Master George was quiet, then a finger curved under his
chin, lifting his head. When he met the vibrant blue eyes, he relaxed.
“Better. Yes, we can do it later, but we must do it if you
want to go ahead.”
“I do, Sir. Definitely.”
Master George smiled. “What would you like to do
Eddie licked his lips. “I’m not really sure.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Implicitly,” Eddie said in a firm voice.
Master George nodded once. “Come on.”
Eddie went with Master George to one of the private
rooms but hesitated at the threshold, even though Master George still had his arm around
“What’s wrong?” Master George stepped in front of him
and cupped his jaw, bringing their gazes together. “Talk to me.”
“This is the room…Master Douglas found me in.” Eddie’s
heart pounded. He knew he’d have to face the room eventually because it was ridiculous to
think a space could have this much of a hold over him.
“Let’s try another room.”
“No! Sir. No.” He stared into Master George’s eyes. “Will
you help me?”
“With anything and everything I can. What do you
“I want to do it here. I need something good to wash away
the bad memories of this room.”
“Are you sure, Eddie? There is no weakness in not being
“I’m sure.” He nodded to emphasise his answer.
Master George stared at him for a long minute, then
nodded in return. He slid his hands into Eddie’s and gripped them hard. “I’m here.” He
stepped backwards, tugging Eddie into the room with him.
Every step had Eddie’s palms sweating and his heart
jumping, but when they finally stopped in the centre of the room, Eddie sighed. He glanced
around, never letting go of Master George’s hands.
About the Author
I am Elouise East but feel free
to call me Elli. I write sweet and steamy connections in gay romance. I also touch on taboo
stories under the name Elouise R East.
Books that tell the stories
where friendship and family are the focal point – be it blood family or chosen – is very
important to me. That’s why I include a variety of personalities, talents, ages, situations and
abilities as I believe a story or a character needs. I want my characters to be real, to be
relatable, to be free to have whatever views they tell me they have. And trust me, most of
the time, I do not have any say in the matter!
My characters come to life on
the page for me as well as my readers. Their stories unfold in front of me, and I have very
little input into how they want to be shown. Just like real life, the lives of my characters
change with every choice, every interaction and every conversation. And I wouldn’t have it
any other way.
I write books that are
emotionally realistic, even if liberties are taken with other aspects of my stories. I don’t
know any other way to write. It comes from deep inside.
Who am I? A single parent to
two children who make life worth living. An avid reader who still devours every book she can
get her hands on. A student of learning about any subject that takes her fancy. An author of
books she would read herself. And a romantic at heart who loves anything cheesy.
Torn between finding answers and escaping chains, can
Michael trust his werewolf lover or is the devious vampire prince the only one truly on his
“And if I am a monster? Will you want me then?”
Ten days after the battle at Blackriver, Michael struggles
with new forbidden desires, with his rampant Flame, and a deepening relationship with the
taciturn werewolf, Commander Gabriel Flanagan.
Feeling responsible for their loss, Michael longs to rescue
the students stolen by the manipulative vampire prince, Alexei Vasiliev. But the High Council
refuses to free Michael from his chains. They fear the whisperer — the half-breed who
decimated an entire company of soldiers and came back from the dead. Yet, Michael still
yearns for a future among the Guardians. For a place beside his Finnish, silver-eyed giant.
For a home within the crazy supernatural world he’s now bound to.
But does Michael still have a future? He’s a descendent of
the Warlock — from a bloodline that produces only monsters. If discovered, not even his
protective lover can save him from certain execution. He may not want to.
Dark Fate is the second book in the Flame Born
series. This MM urban fantasy/paranormal romance is action packed, featuring steaming hot
scenes, a hunk of an alpha love interest, a chocolate scented snarky vampire prince, a clever
best friend who can kill a man with her little finger, and one too many shady characters to
count. See inside for trigger warnings on both books.
I grip the sink edge, knuckles white, and glare at the
contents of the glass vial lying beside the tap. The viscous liquid, the color of a fine bottled
wine, looks so innocuous. Innocent. A random sample of blood.
There’s nothing innocent about this vial’s contents.
Every time I see it, my mouth salivates with the need for a
taste. Whenever I take the vial from my pocket to caress the cool glass in my hand, a
clamoring monster of desire rips through me like a fire.
Not this time.
I swipe up the tube, twist out the cork, and prepare to pour
the blood away. Metal clanks against ceramic, echoing through the small bathroom, as the
chain between my wrist manacles knocks the sink. A heady smell of cocoa and figs hits my
nostrils. My hand falters. God, that scent.
An urgency to inhale the smell deep into my lungs, to press
the glass into my lips and lick the rim, almost takes control.
Alexei. That devious vampire. He knew exactly what he was
doing when he left me with this. His blood constantly tugs at me like an unfinished song.
Like a broken tooth my tongue won’t leave alone.
I could wash temptation away. Watch clear water turn
burgundy as the vile substance slides into the drain.
I’ve faced this trial for ten days, and the result never
I’ve tried to show the vial to Flanagan. Tried to hand it over
so he can smash the glass and destroy the contents. Somehow, it always returns to my
hiding places. A dirty secret.
About the Author
I’m a simple northern English
lass with an addiction to writing, as well as all things romance. Also addicted to cats, cat
videos, and anything with, you know, cats in it. And there’s chocolate, and tea, coffee too,
and rainy Sundays. Okay, I have many addictions. But my first love has always been story in
all its forms, from movies to books to anecdotes told over a beer at the local pub. If we’re
sharing a story, I’m all ears. And if it’s fantasy with sexy heroes and vampires and lots of
angsty luuurve, I’m probably drooling. Come in, pour yourself a tea, and kick your shoes off.
Let me tell you a story.
Boys and men of Berlin. A captivating journey through their
lives, love affairs and misdemeanours across the city’s turbulent history.
Felix and Walther bestride a deep class divide, forging an
enduring bond in 1890s Prussia. Kaspar and Max navigate the fraught upheavals of the
Weimar Republic by skilfully marketing the only commodity in demand. Young Kazimierz
leaves his impoverished Silesian village and sets off on an epic journey to the Prussian
capital, the seat of an ageing Frederick the Great. His heavenly beauty, endearing naivety
and, ultimately, fate will transform his life once through the gates of the city.
Echoes within echoes. Circles within circles. Wealth,
poverty and moral compromise. The privilege and toxic masculinity of the Prussian officer
Excerpt from The Lodger
Grey sky. It has been so for the last few days, or weeks,
months perhaps. It had been his decision to move here so there is no one else to blame.
That irks him no end, no
one to blame, no one to shout at.
Up here on the sixth floor one can barely hear the
fic below and there is never much of it anyway; it’s early
morning and he lives on a quiet and leafy street, upmarket, expensive, unaffordable for
The air is warm and all he wears is pyjama bottoms; he
prefers to walk around the apartment barefoot though he misses a soft thick carpet. But
more often than not homes come with beautiful wooden parquet here: beautiful but
uncomfortable for his feet which have lost some of the supple elasticity they used to have.
Age, always age; he wishes he could log out from thinking about ageing.
Coffee time. He walks back inside through the French doors
and inserts a capsule in the machine, the mechanical noise reassuring, another morning
with the same routine.
Frau Greta is on her way and he needs to get out. It’s his
rule number one or, rather, hers: get out of the cleaning lady’s way, you’re just a hindrance
and when she took on the job she dropped a few stern hints which allowed no debate. Very
German, he smiles.
No breakfast at home; he’ll walk to the Bismarck Bistro for
mid-morning brunch. The temperature is warm enough to sit outside with just a light jacket
and watch the world go by.
Except that it never does. The bistro is quaint and the fare
of good quality but it never seems to be that busy, though the lack of a crowd has lately
developed into a pleasure rather than a shortcoming.
Either way the bistro is close, reasonably priced, and on the
edge of that vast and wild forest in the centre of the city peculiarly described as a
He’s ready now and he feels pleasantly casual: slacks, a
polo and a light blue jacket. A scarf around his neck protects him from the light
And sunglasses. He has spent a good chunk of his previous
life in a part of the world where everyone wore sunglasses, outdoor and indoor. You could
never see anyone’s eyes. Beautiful eyes, old eyes, blue, green, black, it didn’t matter; they
were all behind dark lenses. All the fucking time.
But he has kept the habit; perhaps one day he’ll lose it.
Habits come and go.
He strolls along the oak-lined paths before turning towards
the bistro. Empty roads. Is that Sunday? Perhaps not, but the roads are always empty here
anyway. Which he loves. Or not. He’s not yet sure.
When he reaches the bistro, he lazily scans the area: a few
tables outside, almost empty as usual, one middle-aged guy tapping away at his laptop in
the far corner.
He takes a seat and then remembers the free newspapers
inside so he gets up again and strolls in to pick up a copy of the Morgenpost.
Ella is at the till. The owner greets him in a low voice and
with a smile. She must do that with all the regular customers, he thinks, but he likes it as it
makes him feel special even if he is dead sure he isn’t.
After three years his German has improved dramatically. He
has subjected himself to a gruelling and eye-wateringly expensive blitz of private tuitions.
He can now finish read- ing long-winded and often completely irrelevant opinion pieces.
Nothing much ever seems to happen here anyway. He prefers books to news but he forgot
to bring one along.
‘Good morning sir, what can I get you today?’
Not Ella’s voice. It sounds soft and warm, young, almost
female though clearly not.
As he turns, a young man of perhaps less than twenty
stands there with a smile and detectable eagerness. The eagerness of the new employee,
the excitement of a new job, the freshness of a new chapter.
The boy gently shifts the wheat blond fringe along his
forehead; a pair of black framed spectacles sits on his angular nose, the thick prescription
lenses magnifying his light blue eyes.
‘Good morning, let’s see: a cappuccino for a start, I haven’t
decided on the food, may I have a minute?’
‘Sure, sir, I’ll get the drink ready for you, take your
The manners are calm and polite. Unassuming, he
After a few minutes the young man returns with the
cappuccino and briefly stands there, clearly waiting for the order but with no impatient
About the Author
Paolo G. Grossi was born and
raised in Milan. Thirty years ago, he spent a weekend in London and decided to stay. Like
most Italians, opera and the visual arts are his main passions. When not writing, you will
surely find him attending a performance, visiting a museum and, of course, spending some
time cycling in Berlin or around the Wannsee. He lives in London with his partner David.