Crime &amp; Mystery

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Are you ready for another
thrilling T.A.G. adventure?

Blurb

Agent code name Mr. Ti takes the lead in Operation
Cyberlick. (Note to self: Stop letting Connor name the operations)

Mr. Ti is hot on the trail of the Poacher, having finally
discovered his identity. A trap is laid, but will it get sprung?

Follow Mr. Ti as he hunts down his prey. But who is hunting
whom? And will love smack Mr. Ti in the butt face?

Find out this and more exciting answers to questions
lurking in the depths of your mind in this next archive from The Assassins’ Guild.

Attention: There is explicit language, violence, and
sexual content suitable only for mature audiences. Who are we kidding? Only on bad days
are we more mature than teenagers.

Excerpt – Nicola POV

I took the chair across from the slender, silver-haired older man with an uneasy smile.
“Good evening, Zio.”

“Nicola, you’re looking,” he scrutinized my appearance especially considering I had worn
jeans compared to his thousands of dollars bespoke suit, “underfed.” He waved at someone
behind me, and a bowl of the same soup Don Athos was eating appeared before me.

“Thank you, Zio.” Now that the food was in front of me, I realized I was famished. I didn’t
remember if I had eaten today. I picked up a spoon and took a bite of the hearty vegetable
soup.

“Your mother is worried about you.”

I snorted and finished my mouthful before speaking. “My mother is only worried about the

money I send her.” My mother wasn’t Don Athos’s sister, but our family had worked for the
Stagliano family for many generations. I grew up at the country estate with my brother and
cousins, calling Don Athos uncle.

“Don’t disrespect your mother, boy.” Despite Don Athos nearing seventy, he was still a
formidable man and not one to trifle with even if you didn’t know he was one of the most
powerful men in the world.

“I’m sorry, Zio.” I looked intently at my soup and took another bite. “Is she well?” I asked
after the silence continued.

“She is fine, just worried about her only remaining son.” He paused again. I was sure for
dramatic effect. There must be a school people like the capi went to that taught you how to
look intimidating when speaking and how to make grandiose speeches. “She tells me that
you took another trip out of the country.”

I nodded in confirmation because it was pointless to deny it. If he was coming to me with
this, he already knew where I was. I tore a piece of bread off the loaf on the table and
dipped it into the remaining bits of soup.

“I have told you to stop looking into the bombing. It is done and over. Nothing will come of
continuing down this road.” Don Athos’s voice softened. “Nico, I know you loved your
brother, and I am saddened by his loss as well as the loss of my son, may God rest their
souls, but he wouldn’t want you to continue on this way. He’d want you to finish school and
start your life the way you should have.”

“Zio, I’m so close to finding him. I finally know who bombed the hotel. And if I can just locate
them.” I leaned forward in my seat. I refused to believe that Enzo was dead. I couldn’t,
wouldn’t believe it until I heard it from the horse’s mouth.

“Stupido, do you think we don’t know who did it?” Don Athos whisper-yelled to not draw
more attention to our discussion. “Of course, we know.”

“Then why haven’t you asked The Assassins’ Guild about the abnormality in the account
about my brother or who hired them in the first place?” I tried to restrain myself from
raising my voice as I boldly called out the organization’s name that was only whispered of
like the Boogieman.

“You don’t understand, boy. You don’t just ask The Assassins’ Guild questions, and you never
ask who hired them. It’s a fool’s errand.” If I didn’t know him better, I’d say that he looked
scared just talking about them.

About the Author

D.G. Carothers is actually a dragon very cleverly disguised as a
human. They are a non-binary author of LGBTQIA Romance and Urban Fantasy, who enjoys
writing original and entertaining stories. They are very excited to share the worlds they’ve
created with you.

D.G. currently lives in
Tennessee with their platonic life partner, who is not a dragon. They yearn to live back in
Europe and will some day. In their spare time they are addicted to losing themselves in the
lovely worlds created by other authors

D.G. is committed to writing the stories they see in
their head without restrictions. Love is blind and doesn’t see gender, race, or
sexuality.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website |
Facebook | Twitter

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all three previous
T.A.G. books in Audio. (International Distribution through Bookfunnel).

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RELEASE BLITZ: “Seashell Virgin” by Steve Schatz. Rafflecopter Giveaway Included!

Post author:Eric Huffbind
Post published:November 19, 2021
Post category:Gay Book Promotions New Release
Post comments:0 Comments

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Seashell
Virgin

Author: Steve
Schatz

Publisher: Any Summer
Sunday Books

Cover Artist: James –
GoOnWrite.com

Release Date: October 31,
2021

Genre: Humorous Mystery, Gay Friends, Drag

Tropes: Friends overcoming haters,

Themes: Empowering, humor

Heat Rating: 2
flames

Length: 85 000 words/ 288
pages

It is a standalone story and
does not end on a cliffhanger.

It is part of a series with
related characters and themes, but reading the other books in the series is not required.

Buy Links

Blog/Website
|
Twitter: @AnySummerSunday

Mystery, Wit &
Drag Queens

Blurb

Fast-paced fun. Touching and tawdry. Churchies, crooks,
and rapscallions scheme to close our only gay bar, rape a forest, and get rich with a

gay-hating charter school. Break-ins, kidnapping, threats, blackmail, bondage, and the most
spectacular drag show the world has ever seen, thrill and delight you as the anti-heroes
from Nacho Mama’s Patio Cafe once more answer the call to set things straight, as it
were.

Excerpt

Chapter 1 – Some Days Suck

Gone! A fourteen-foot truck packed to the tits with geegaws, gowns, and glamour—spirited
away. I had parked it right here, less than thirty minutes before, obvious as a zit on a first
date, across the street from Hoosier Daddy, the town’s only gay bar. Close, so when I got
stuck carrying everything TiaRa del Fuego chose into the dressing rooms backstage, I’d have
less of a struggle. I had already been far too butch for a day off. I had planned for a day full
of napping, occasional attempts at cleaning, some light reading, and more napping. Then
Beau showed up far too early and ever since, I had been far too active for someone of my
tender years and with my lack of motivation.

All that splendor had not just walked itself into the van. No, these arms, these legs, and this
back had been repeatedly besmirched by physical effort and all were letting their
displeasure be known. When I’d pulled up to the bar a few minutes earlier, I wanted,
needed, and deserved a drink, possibly two—while I described the glories that awaited in
the truck to TiaRa and Suave. Timmy had laid the groundwork and my ebullience had sealed
the deal. TiaRa had said she positively hungered for the gowns and baubles. Suave KitTan
had declared she already had a plan to sneak a quantity of the lovely things into her store,
Suave Delights, while evading the watchful eye of her devoted husband Foxy, who had once
again decreed no new stock was allowed until there were sales to match. Suave was always
much more interested in acquisition than disposition. All that remained between me and a
lovely lie down was the actual hand over. So, we went out to complete the exchange.
Simple. But there the truck wasn’t.

“Are you sure you parked it here?” asked TiaRa in much the same tone a mother uses when
asking, “Where did you see it last?”

Swallowing my frustration, I managed to contain my impulse to point out that my age and
mental abilities had not declined to such an extent that I would have forgotten where I had
parked the truck in such a short time. TiaRa, a delicate being, did not deserve snippy replies,
despite my rising alarm.

The truck had been either towed or stolen. One possibility was expensive, and the other
horrifying. I had just promised the contents to TiaRa and Suave and I hated to disappoint
them. Far worse, the truck was actually the property of my latest job. I had only recently

been given keys to the shop and knew where the keys to the truck were kept. No one had
been at work when Beau’s moving emergency arose. The truck wasn’t scheduled to be used,
so I had borrowed it without asking. I just left a note for Brian, the owner. I knew this was
generally acceptable. Others had done it, but I was new and hadn’t taken the liberty before.
If the truck was in any way damaged, I would be looking for a new job. If it had been stolen,
I might be looking for a lawyer. I do not handle stress well. My mouth tends to make talking
motions without actually forming words. Tia and Suave looked at me with growing concern.

Maybe the churchies, I thought.

About the Author

Steve Schatz writes with a
crazy mashup of laughs and excitement and humor. Readers can’t stop reading, but don’t
want the story to end. Each book is an adventure where endearing anti-heroes struggle
against this crazy world and triumph using the twin forces of intentional, creative action and
friends helping friends. Schatz draws on a lifetime of varied and fascinating experiences,
from instructional designer and college prof to party clown and nightclub
owner.

His series of adult fiction
highlights a group of middle-aged gay friends who gather every week in a small, Indiana
college town. Mixing drinks, snappy repartee, and the humor and joy of long-time friends, in
one book they rescue the fair drag queen from an obvious miscreant. In another, they ride
to the protection of a lesbian candidate for judge who is being targeted by mysterious
evil-doers. The excitement reveals itself against a backdrop of drag performance and efforts
by anti-heroes. You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. You’ll beg for more. Steve Schatz offers a new voice
and a smile for the LGBT community and their friends.

Author Links

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an ebook of each of the 3 books in the series

(Any Summer Sunday, Who
Plugged the Dyke, and Seashell Virgin)

a

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RELEASE BLITZ: “Genie in a Vodka Bottle” by Rob Rosen. Rafflecopter Giveaway Included!

Post author:Eric Huffbind
Post published:November 10, 2021
Post category:Gay Book Promotions New Release
Post comments:0 Comments

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Genie in a Vodka Bottle

Author: Rob
Rosen

Publisher: JMS
Books

Release Date: November 6,
2021

Genre: Speculative M/M Romance, Mystery, Adventure

Tropes: Genie, Enemy to Friend, Magic

Themes: Searching for love, forgiveness

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 139 pages/56 000
words

It is a standalone story and
does not end on a cliffhanger.

Buy Links

Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Google Play

A funny, frisky, and
frequently heart-pounding genie romance and adventure novel!

Blurb

Mysterious forces are at play when Paul’s vacation to Spain
unexpectedly detours to Gibraltar and then Morocco, to a vodka bottle in a hole in the wall
bar, to a handsome genie with a slew of secrets, plus almost limitless powers, virtually no
memory, and a keen desire to be freed from his curse. Along the way, Paul is reunited with
his ex-lover and the genie’s previous master as fate draws them ever deeper into a murky,
dangerous past.

On our heroes travel, from the frigid north of Russia to a
magic carpet ride across China, ultimately finding themselves in the deserts of ancient
Jordan. Here, they encounter another of the genie’s previous masters and a power far
greater than they could’ve ever imagined, all within a massive temple carved into a
mountainside. Can our intrepid foursome uncover the truth before the curse takes them all
and possibly the entire world down? Will love win out in the end? Or is the genie forever
doomed to a life foretold in fairy tales?

In this funny, frisky, and frequently heart-pounding
adventure, only one thing is for certain: magic can happen even without three
wishes.

Excerpt

The bottle was still in my hand. I reached for the cork. I
gave it a pull. It didn’t budge. I pulled again, harder this time. Nope, nothing. That cork
must’ve been in there a long, long time, I figured. I stood up, placed the bottle between my
knees, wiped the sweat from my palms and grabbed on tightly to the cork. Then, seeing as
where I was, grunted, “Open sesame,” and gave one final, massive yank.

POP went
the cork.

“Oh fuck,” went I.

I mean sure, the bottle was open, but, um, well, time was
suddenly standing still. Like totally still. Nothing was moving, not the fans, the waitress, not
Omar, who was pouring a drink that was suspended in midair. Though me, yeah, me I was
moving. Or least my heart was. Super-fast, in fact. Energizer Bunny fast.

“Oh fuck,” went I, yet again.

Because now the vodka bottle was pouring, only, it wasn’t
pouring vodka. And the pouring wasn’t obeying the laws of gravity because what was being
poured went out and up as opposed down and down some more. Plus, the vodka bottle

should have been pouring liquid but appeared to be pouring gas, a massive white cloud of it
tinged with swirls of various shades of blue and, if I wasn’t mistaken, which I wasn’t,
lightning. I mean, I knew lightning when I saw it, it’s just I’d never seen it being poured from
a vodka bottle before.

The cloud spread, the blue becoming purple, then red, then
all the colors of the rainbow at once. It looked like what you saw in an oil slick, greasy and
blending and bleeding. And then the room I was in was all cloud, and it was just me in the
cloud, me and the vodka bottle and the cloud of smoke and lightning and rainbow. The hairs
on my neck stood on end as I tried to take it all in, but how do you take in a cloud, especially
when it’s all around you, choking you, engulfing you completely as if it were a living,
breathing thing? And you could feel it, too. The power of it.

“Oh fuck,” went I for the third time. Because now I was not
alone in the cloud, and the eyes that had been staring back at me from the label on the
bottle were no longer on the bottle and were no longer the same eyes. And the face on the
bottle had a body, a different body, a new body, and the body was big, and the body was
torso on top and cloudy solidness down below, and the face was above mine, and the eyes
were staring down upon me, boring through me, piercing what felt like my very soul. Or
maybe that was me being a bit overdramatic, but how can you not be overdramatic at a
time such as that?

“Master,” boomed the voice that erupted forth from the
mouth in the face, the cloud all at once swept from the still-stagnant room. The half torso,
half solid cloud still floated above me, still churning in color and lightning and a slight
tremble of thunder that reminded me of our drive through Spain, me and Omar number
two.

“Paul,” I managed to squeak out.

The face tilted ever so slightly. “Paul? What is a Paul? I do
not know this word.” The voice again boomed, rattled my bones, shook the fillings in my
mouth. The voice was deep as the ocean, heavy as a boulder, pressing down upon me with
each vowel and syllable that was uttered.

“Paul,” I said, sitting back down in my chair. Or falling back
down in my chair. Probably the latter. “That is my name. Paul.”

The cloud-man craned down, the eyes barely a foot away.
“Paul,” came the voice in a whoosh that washed over me like a tidal wave, the exhale
smelling of spices and earth and incense. If you bottled it, it’d sell well. I had a bottle in
hand, but, like the room around me, I was sort of also frozen to the spot, and so bottling, at
least for the time being, seemed out of the question. “You have freed me, Master
Paul.”

I blinked. He did not. He had eyes the color of fresh moss,
skin the color of The Rock back in Gibraltar, perhaps a shade darker. He was shirtless, dense
with smooth muscle from chest to arms to hands to fingers. And despite the obvious power

of him, he looked young, my age, give or take. And as for the cloud below him, it swirled like
a cyclone, shooting off sparks as he hovered there. He was beautiful. He was fearsome. I
needed to pee. Badly.

About the Author

Rob Rosen is the author of
the award-winning novels Sparkle: The Queerest Book You’ll Ever Love, Divas Las Vegas, Hot Lava,
Southern Fried, Queerwolf, Vamp, Queens of the Apocalypse, Creature Comfort, Fate,
Midlife Crisis, Fierce, And God Belched, Mary, Queen of Scotch, Ted of the d’Urbervilles, Sort
of Dead, and Genie in a Vodka Bottle, and editor of the anthologies Lust in
Time, Men of the Manor, Best Gay Erotica 2015, and Best Gay Erotica of the Year, Volumes
1, 2, 3 and 4.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website
| Facebook

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Giveaway for a chance to win

an ebook copy of Genie in
a Vodka Bottle

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here

LGBT ROMANCE GIVEAWAY: 41 Separate Stories from 30 Authors

Post author:Eric Huffbind
Post published:September 24, 2021
Post category:Gay Book Promotions
Post comments:0 Comments

GIVEAWAY

LGBT Romance Giveaway –
41 separate stories from 30 authors

Free books from some of the Registered Authors of the GRL
2021 Retreat

These stories are written by
authors attending the GRL Retreat, the must-attend event for people who create and
celebrate LGBTQ romance. Discover new authors, new books, and new series—and find new
favorites!

While all of the authors with
stories in the giveaway will be attending the GRL Retreat 2021, there may also be additional
authors who were unable to participate.

The Giveaway runs from

September 1 – October 31

Genre: M/M Romance

Contemporary, paranormal,
mystery, fantasy, shifter, historical, sports…

Various themes, tropes and
heat ratings.

See individual
stories.

Participating Authors

Gail Z. Martin Merry Farmer Jacqueline Gray Kris Jacen

Eliot Grayson Kaje Harper Shea Balik
Neil Plakcy

Charity Parkerson
Anna Kensing Andrea Hughes BL Maxwell

Jenny FitzGerald
Drea Roman Miski Harris Shane Morton

Jamie Lynn Miller
Rain Carrington Eden Winters Luna David

Morgan Brice AJ Sherwood Nicole
Dennis Debra Sutton

Charlene Newcomb
Hank Edwards Riley Long Patricia Logan

Beth Bolden LA Bryce

RELEASE BLITZ: “A Right to Know” by Jude Tresswell. $20.00 Amazon Gift Card Included!

Post author:Eric Huffbind
Post published:September 11, 2021
Post category:Gay Book Promotions Kindle Unlimited New Release
Post comments:0 Comments

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: A Right To Know

Author: Jude Tresswell

Publisher: Self-published

Release Date: August 2021

Genres: M/M crime/mystery and relationships

Tropes: Love conquers all; unexpected visitor; false identity

Themes: Fear of rejection; data protection v. the right to know; compromise.

Trigger Warning: parental suicide

Heat Rating: 2 flames

Length: 57 300 words

It is book 7 in the County Durham Quad series, but can be read as a standalone story. Background information is worked in to help readers with the protagonists’ history.

Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited

“A son! A child! How? Why? Fuck! Phil! You can’t have! And does this sperm-child want to see you?”

Blurb

“A son! A child! How? Why? Fuck! Phil! You can’t have! And does this sperm-child want to see you?”

Abandonment, trust, suspicion and compromise—integral parts of a mystery that involves industrial espionage, sperm donation and coming to terms with oneself and the truth.

Sperm donors know that now, under UK law, offspring who reach eighteen have the right to learn a donor’s identity and last known address, but Phil Roberts donated before the law was changed. He is shocked and dismayed to learn that he has a son called Lewis who intends to visit. Phil’s husband, Raith, is furious—and very scared.

What does Lewis Lennon really want? The man he has always called ‘dad’ is dead. Was his death suicide or was he murdered? Lewis wants Phil to find out. So, Phil, Raith, Mike and Ross, the County Durham Quad, plus their special friend, Nick, are embroiled in another investigation, but, as always, their relationships come under scrutiny too.

Excerpt

Phil sat at the big kitchen table. His beard, neatly trimmed as always, failed to hide the lack of colour in his face. He looked shocked. He was holding a letter.

“You alright, Phil?” Mike was puzzled and concerned. “Bad news?”

“Not ‘bad’ exactly. Unexpected. Very.” He sighed. “I’ve an eighteen-year-old son. Sperm donation.”

Raith, Phil’s husband, dropped the glass of juice he was drinking. It rolled off the table and smashed as it hit the floor.

“A son! A child! How? Why? Fuck! Phil! You can’t have! And does this sperm-child want to see you?” Raith snatched the letter from Phil’s hands. “I can’t read this fucking stuff; it’s in joined-up. Why didn’t he type it?”

“He probably felt that this was more personal,” Mike suggested, retrieving the letter from the floor where Raith had slung it in disgust and shaking it free of orange juice.

“It’s fucking personal alright. You always said they couldn’t identify you, Phil. What the fuck’s gone wrong?”

“It looks as though we might find out,” said Ross, the fourth member of the quad. He was reading the letter over Mike’s shoulder. “He intends to visit. I think we need to talk.”

***

Mike, Ross, Raith and Phil, four men who shared a home in Tunhead, a tiny hamlet in the Durham hills. Tunhead derived its name from Tun Beck, a little stream that flowed into the larger River Wear. Tun Beck lent its name to BOTWAC too—the Beck on the Wear Arts Centre. Ross managed BOTWAC, Raith provided paintings and ceramics and Mike carried out the maintenance. Phil was the only one whose work was separate. He was a surgeon at Warbridge Hospital, an hour’s drive away and, in a sense, his medical background was the cause of the morning’s shock announcement. The four of them talked about the news that evening.

“You knew I’d donated sperm, Raith.” Phil had always made it clear that when he was a medical student, like many others on his course, he had donated both for research and for procreation.

“I know that, but you’d always done it anonymously. You said so, and you never did it after they changed the law.”

Raith was referring to a change that occurred in 2005 regarding data held at UK fertility clinics. At licenced clinics, that is. Prior to the change, offspring conceived by sperm or egg donation could learn some information about their donor when they reached sixteen, but what was released was very general. If donors wished to remain anonymous, they could do so. From 2005, though, anonymity was lifted. Sixteen was still the age of release of the ‘non-identifiable information’, but at eighteen, offspring conceived by donation had the right to be told their donor’s name and date of birth and, also, their donor’s last known address.

“I didn’t donate after two thousand and five. I think I’d know if I did.”

“Sperm can be frozen though, can’t it, Phil? Perhaps it was used after the change was implemented.”

“Only for another year or so, Ross, and under the old anonymity rules. There was a transitional period but, after that, sperm could only be used in exceptional circumstances. To create a sibling, for example. I remember being contacted about it. I had the option of… going public, if you like, but I chose not to do so. I didn’t want…I didn’t want a child, well, not one that I’d feel some responsibility for. I suppose, if I’m honest, I did want to pass on my genes, have that sense of immortality—I knew it was unlikely that I’d ever father a child with a woman. I just wanted to… be helpful, I suppose. I gave a brief self-description at the time, but the details would apply to thousands of people: eyes, hair, height, weight, ethnicity. Even if you narrowed the count with ‘student medic’ and my year of birth, you’d still be talking hundreds. I was careful not to leave traces.”

“How thoughtful of you!”

“That’s not helpful, Raith.”

Ross chastised gently but, tonight, too harshly for Raith.

“Helpful! It’s not help Phil needs—it’s a fucking vasectomy, but he’s eighteen years too late. I’m going up.”

No hugs, no kisses—the little goodnight habits that told the men that they were loved and cared for and cared about. Just “I’m going up” and heavy footsteps on the stairs.

About the Author

Jude Tresswell lives in south-east England but was born and raised in the north, and that’s where her heart is. She is ace, and has been married to the same man for many years. She feels that she understands compromise. She supports Liverpool FC, listens to a lot of blues music and loves to write dialogue.

Author Links

Blog/Website | YouTube

Giveaway

Enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway for a chance to win

a $20 Amazon Gift Card

a Rafflecopter giveaway

RELEASE BLITZ: “Head Over Tentacles” by K.L. Hiers. $25.00 Amazon Gift Card Giveaway Included!

Post author:Eric Huffbind
Post published:August 26, 2021
Post category:Gay Book Promotions New Release
Post comments:0 Comments

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Head Over Tentacles

Author: K.L. Hiers

Publisher: Dreamspinner

Cover Artist: Tiferet Design

Release Date: August 24, 2021

Genre: Paranormal Romance, Mystery

Tropes: Tentacles! Wedding Drama, Meeting the In-Laws, The Cat Did It

Themes: Love Conquers All

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 60 000 words

It is not a standalone story but does not end on a cliffhanger.

Buy Links

Dreamspinner Press | Amazon US | Amazon UK

Blurb

Private investigator Sloane Beaumont should be enjoying his recent engagement to eldritch god Azaethoth the Lesser, AKA Loch. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have time for a pre-honeymoon period.

The trouble starts with a deceptively simple missing persons case. That leads to the discovery of mass kidnappings, nefarious secret experiments, and the revelation that another ancient god is trying to bring about the end of the world by twisting humans into an evil army.

Just another day at the office.

Sloane does his best to juggle wedding planning, stopping his fiancé from turning the mailman inside out, and meeting his future godly in-laws while working the case, but they’re also being hunted by a strange young man with incredible abilities. With the wedding date looming closer, Sloane and Loch must combine their powers to discover the truth—because it’s not just their own happy-ever-after at stake, but the fate of the world….

Excerpt

“Hi!” the young man said. “It’s okay! You can just call me Jay.” He smiled down at the carrier. “This is Mr. Twigs!”

“Please, come in,” Sloane said, trying to fix his hair as he opened the office door. He ushered Jay in, saying politely, “So, your roommate is missing?”

“Yes,” Jay said, setting the carrier on Sloane’s desk and opening it up. “Everyone at the department thinks I’m going nuts, and Milo said you would be able to help me.”

“I’ll definitely do my best!”

“My roommate has been missing for almost two days now, and this is not like him at all. He hasn’t been to work, he hasn’t been home, but his car is still in the parking lot. The detectives wanted me to wait before filing a missing persons report, and nobody is listening to me.”

“And you think that Mr. Twigs here might be responsible?”

“I’m Silenced, so you know, no magic for me, but I know the sound portals make. I’ve heard it on a ton of documentaries. I know I heard one right before he vanished, and no one else was home except Mr. Twigs.”

The cat slinked out of the carrier and perched right on the corner of Sloane’s desk, its tail swishing. It was fluffy, black, and it was wearing small round sunglasses.

Loch kneeled down, eyeing the cat suspiciously. They were nearly nose to nose, locked in an intense stare.

“Huh,” Sloane said, blinking slowly. “The cat… wears sunglasses?”

“Oh!” Jay blushed. “I know it sounds crazy, but his eyes are really sensitive to light. So yeah. I tried to take them off and he got really upset.”

“Wait, you didn’t buy them?”

“Oh no!” Jay laughed. “He had them on when I found him. He’s a rescue, and he’s, like, literally the sweetest—”

“He is a foul and wretched creature!” Loch suddenly shouted, spinning wildly and promptly smacking the cat across the room. “Go back to the depths of Xenon, you disgusting fiend!”

“Mr. Twigs!” Jay screamed in horror.

“Azaethoth!” Sloane roared, shocked and furious. “How could you? It’s just a cat!”

“That is not a cat!” Loch argued, his tentacles beginning to unfurl. “It’s a monstrous fiend that just looks like a cat!”

“Owww,” a new voice complained, the fluffy black cat picking himself up from the floor and yowling in complaint. He hopped back up on the desk, his tail lashing as he hissed, “That was super rude!”

“Mr. Twigs…?” Jay stared in awe. He started to reach for the cat but drew back. “You’re… you’re talking?”

“Duh,” the cat replied sweetly. “Now, Jay, why don’t you forget all about this and go to sleep?”

Jay’s eyes rolled back, and he immediately dropped on the carpet face-first.

“What the fuck are you?” Sloane demanded, his hands moving to summon a shield of bright starlight. Loch stood in front of him protectively, his thick tentacles writhing around him and poised to strike at any second.

The cat laughed, transforming into a very thin and very naked young man. He tilted his sunglasses down, grinning slyly to reveal a mouthful of pointed teeth as he teased, “Meow, motherfuckers. Name’s Asta. I’m here to save the world.”

About the Author

K.L. “Kat” Hiers is an embalmer, restorative artist, and queer writer. Licensed in both funeral directing and funeral service, she worked in the death industry for nearly a decade. Her first love was always telling stories, and she has been writing for over twenty years, penning her very first book at just eight years old. Publishers generally do not accept manuscripts in Hello Kitty notebooks, however, but she never gave up.

Following the success of her first novel, Cold Hard Cash, she now enjoys writing professionally, focusing on spinning tales of sultry passion, exotic worlds, and emotional journeys. She loves attending horror movie conventions and indulging in cosplay of her favorite characters. She lives in Zebulon, NC, with her husband and their children, some of whom have paws and a few that only pretend to because they think it’s cute.

Author Links

Blog/Website | Facebook | Instagram

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RELEASE BLITZ: “Sun, Sea, & Small-Town Secrets” by S.J. Coles

Post author:Eric Huffbind
Post published:July 8, 2021
Post category:Gay Book Promotions New Release
Post comments:0 Comments

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Sun, Sea & Small-Town Secrets

Author: S. J.
Coles

Publisher: Pride
Publishing

Release Date: July 6,
2021

Genre: Contemporary M/M Mystery/Holiday Romance

Tropes: Forbidden Love / Small Town / Holiday

Themes: Healing / Hurt/Comfort / Travel / Self-discovery

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 48 634 words/ 193
pages

It is a standalone
story.

Add on
Goodreads

Buy Links

Universal Link | Amazon US | Amazon UK

Pride Publishing

Small towns are full of
secrets, some harder to keep than most.

Blurb

Sebastian Conway is a professional psychologist and

accomplished criminal profiler, but when one of his patients is sentenced to life in prison for
a crime she didn’t commit, he simply cannot let it go. His borderline obsessive behaviour
has embarrassed his boss and lover, Gerrard Wilson, and the relationship has come to a
bitter end.

Seb has now grudgingly taken Gerrard’s advice and come to
the small coastal town of Ruéier in the South of France to get some distance and clear his
head—but he cannot sit by and do nothing.

He has started writing a book he believes will address the
failings in the case, but when he gets swept up in a local investigation into suspected drug
trafficking, which is led by the enigmatic and strangely enticing Antoine Damboise, the
book—and Seb’s intentions to avoid active criminal cases—take a back seat.

He knows it’s a bad idea to get involved, but he can’t seem
to help himself. And when it seems Damboise is tempted to make their relationship more
than professional, Seb finds it easier than ever to ignore his better judgment. But when a
local drug dealer is murdered and Seb is implicated, everything gets a whole lot more
complicated.

Can the two men set aside their personal feelings long
enough to figure out what’s really going on before Seb ends up in prison? Or
worse…

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of murder and drug use.

Excerpt

“Monsieur Conway?”

I turned back. He was stood by reception looking
thoughtful, scratching at the stubble on his cheek.

“Yes?”

“Would you, perhaps, like to get a coffee?”

I blinked. “A coffee?”

“Oui,” he said. “A thank you, shall we say?
For your

help.”

His smile was friendly, but his eyes were weighing me

up with a dark intensity I couldn’t penetrate. Whatever it
was going on here, saying yes, I knew, would be a very bad idea.

“Sure,” I said with a smile. “Sounds good.”

His own smile widened, and he nodded. “Bon. I will meet you
outside.”

I was grinning like a teenager with a crush as I stepped back
out into the street. The fresh breeze dried the clamminess on my face and swelled in my
lungs and chest. A small confidence boost could only help my productivity, I decided. I still
wasn’t sure what exactly his interest was. Heavy looks or not, I got exactly zero read on his
sexuality. But surely even French police didn’t take witnesses for coffee?

I was so busy retrospectively analysing his body language in
the interview room—Did he extend his leg
toward me? Rest his hand near mine?—that I
didn’t hear him behind me until he said my name.

“Apologies,” he said when I started, and a small smile
twitched the corner of his mouth. A pair of sunglasses hid his troublesome eyes from view.
He’d slung his jacket over his arm and, with the bright sunshine glinting in his corn-blond
hair and off his white teeth, I suddenly wondered how I ever considered him plain.

“It’s fine,” I managed. “Where do you want to go?” “Ah, I
know the best place. Follow me.”

“Antoine?”

We turned back. Adjudant Rayne was hurrying toward us.
She fired French at him whilst frowning at me. Damboise replied calmly, and she said
something more, her eyes leaving me to send Damboise what was unmistakably a warning
look.

“C’est
bon,” Damboise concluded. “This way,” he said
and turned toward the seafront. Rayne watched us leave with her arms crossed and
expression grim.

“She doesn’t like me very much,” I said.

“You misunderstand,” he said without looking at me. “She
was just reminding me of some paperwork that is late. I will do it after a bit.”

I spent the rest of the walk pondering the possible reasons
behind his lie.

The breeze was brisker and the air fresher as we stepped
out onto the seafront boulevard. The beach was crowded with families—the children
running, laughing and shrieking in the gentle swell of the shallows. The boats bobbed
sedately in the harbour, shining all the colours of the rainbow under the bright, sapphire sky.
Bicycles whizzed up and down the road, baskets laden with groceries or bottles of wine. The
men with guns seemed like a distant dream.

I followed him as he crossed the road to the Café De La
Mer.

“You have been here before then, yes?” he said as he
pulled out the chairs around one of the plastic tables under a blue-and-white parasol.

“The first day I got here,” I said, a little warily as I surveyed
the clear view of the harbour. “The coffee is good, but I think it’s better at Cafe Maman.”

“Oui,” he said, hanging his jacket on the
back of his chair and sitting. “I would say that is true. But have you tried the
chocolat chaud?”

“Hot chocolate?” I translated dubiously, taking the other
chair. “I don’t much like it.”

“Just wait,” he said, signalling a smiling waiter with a raised
hand and placing the order. Damboise made meaningless small talk for the interval until the
waiter returned. I blinked, surprised, as he set the shallow cup half-full of dark liquid that
looked more like espresso than chocolate in front of me.

“What, no squirty cream? Marshmallows?” I asked with a
half-smile as Damboise lifted his small cup in his distractingly delicate grip.

“We respect chocolate too much to pollute it so. This is the
local recipe, melted then mixed with a splash of cognac. Go ahead. Try it.”

I lifted the cup to my face and inhaled the rich, thick scent.
It was sweet, yes, but savoury too—bold, rather than cloying. It reminded me of
fresh-turned earth, with a slight smokiness, like when the wind brings the scent of a distant
bonfire. I drank. It was so thick that I could almost chew it. It tasted like it smelled—rich and
earthy, with the spice of tree bark and apricot from the cognac.

“Good, non?”

“Yeah,” I said, tipping the cup farther to coax more into my
mouth. “This isn’t like the instant stuff.”

“In France, nothing is instant. Everything is slow.
Considered. Deliberate.”

“I’m beginning to get that,” I said, scraping the remains of
the chocolate with the tiny spoon that had come with it. Damboise smiled at me, sipping his
own drink like someone sampling a fine wine, then he dabbed his lips with a napkin.

About the Author

S.J. Coles is a Romance writer originally from Shropshire, UK.
She has been writing stories for as long as she has been able to read them. Her biggest
passion is exploring narratives through character relationships.

She finds writing
LGBT/paranormal romance provides many unique and fulfilling opportunities to explore
many (often neglected or under-represented) aspects of human experience, expectation,
emotion and sexuality.

Among her biggest influences
are LGBT Romance authors K J Charles and Josh Lanyon and Vampire Chronicles author Anne
Rice.

Author Links

Blog/Website | Facebook | Twitter

Instagram | Pride
Publishing

BLOG TOUR: “Haven” by Morgan Brice.

Post author:Eric Huffbind
Post published:May 4, 2021
Post category:Blog Tour Gay Book Promotions Kindle Unlimited
Post comments:0 Comments

BLOG TOUR

Book Title: Haven

Author: Morgan
Brice

Cover Artist: Alexandria
Corza

Release Date: April 8,
2021

Genre/s: MM paranormal romance/mystery

Trope/s: Action, mystery, hurt/comfort, geeks in love, supernatural
secrets, a brave historian and a lovelorn private detective, plus a guaranteed HEA. Old
secrets, hidden psychics, secret shifters, ghosts, scandals—and true love.

Themes: Age gap, starting over, friends to lovers,

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 60 000 words/200
pages

It is a standalone book, but
there are soft ties to Morgan’s Fox Hollow series. Other than the shared elements of the
magic emporium, it does not connect to any of the other books in the Magic Emporium
series.

Add on Goodreads

Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited

Facebook Group | Facebook Page

Old secrets, hidden
psychics, secret shifters, ghosts, scandals—and true love.

Blurb

A series of long-ago disappearances leads cold case private
detective Austin Williams to investigate a troubled sanitarium. Jamie Miller is new in town,

temporarily running the local historical association, and he willingly signs on to help solve
Austin’s mystery. Sparks fly between them as they dig into the hospital’s troubled past. But
someone wants the past to stay buried—and is willing to bury Austin and Jamie to keep it
that way.

Haven is part of the Magic Emporium series. Each
book stands alone, but each one features an appearance by Marden’s Magic Emporium, a
shop that can appear anywhere, but only once and only when someone’s in dire need. This
book contains explicit scenes, action, mystery, hurt/comfort, geeks in love, supernatural
secrets, a brave historian and a lovelorn private detective, plus a guaranteed HEA. It is
loosely connected to my Fox Hollow series.

Excerpt

The alarm on Jamie’s phone went off, telling him it
was time to lock up. “I have to close on time,” Jamie said, sorry to bring the conversation to
an end. “Our insurance company won’t let me stay open beyond the posted times or have
anyone inside after we’re closed.”

Austin rose. “I understand. Thanks for listening. I’ll
be glad for any help.” He paused. “One more question—where’s a good place to get a bite to
eat?” he asked with a slightly shy smile that sent a surge of heat to Jamie’s
groin.

“Do you like pizza? Moosehead Inn is a locals’ joint
that serves great food. I was going to head over once I lock up—you’re welcome to join me
if you don’t have other plans,” Jamie offered, trying to sound nonchalant.

Did I just ask him out? Holy shit. I haven’t done
that in…forever.

Austin brightened, and his smile grew broader. “I’d
like that. I’ll wait outside. Can we walk there? I didn’t bring my car.”

Jamie nodded, still a little surprised at his own
boldness. “Sure. See you in a few minutes.”

He ushered Austin out the door and locked it
behind him. Fortunately, Jamie had gotten a head start on the lock-up checklist before the
sexy stranger arrived. He powered down the computer and started flipping off light switches
as he made his way toward the back door.

This was the part he really disliked. Once he turned
on the alarm system, the security lights would come on. But on the way to the back door,
the old house got darker, and the shadows stretched longer with every switch he
flicked.

I thought I knew what I was getting into when I
took the job. But it’s just temporary, and I’m still sending out applications for something
better, he reminded himself.

An old house like this was likely to have ghosts,
even without being turned into a museum of sorts. Bring together the personal belongings
of hundreds of people, bits of local history, journals, and letters, and it didn’t surprise Jamie
that the place was haunted. Even if no one else seemed to believe it.

Click, click, click. He turned off the lights in the foyer and the former sitting room and dining
room. Jamie had closed up the upstairs rooms early since it was a slow day. It held a storage
area, a library of books written by local authors and books about the Saranac Lake area, as
well as a conference room and a small classroom for lectures. The attic and basement were
storage areas that weren’t open to the public, which made Jamie very happy since both
gave him the creeps.

Click. The
lights in the old parlor went dark, and Jamie braced himself. On the nights the ghosts felt
frisky, this was when the shenanigans started.

A cool breeze out of nowhere made the hair on the
back of Jamie’s neck rise. He heard the glissando of crystal pendants gently bumping
together, the decorative dangles on a vintage oil lamp in the parlor that shouldn’t have any
reason to move.

Jamie resolutely ignored the shadow gliding just at
the edge of his peripheral vision as he hurried down the hallway. The kitchen doubled as the
staff room and was the least haunted place in the building. Jamie heard footsteps on the
stairs and forced himself to breathe. He knew there was no one else in the old house—at
least, no one living.

In the room to his left by the back door, the former
sewing room for the ladies of the house, he glimpsed a familiar gray figure and heard the
swish of crinoline and linen. To his right, in the small office that was once the cook’s room, a
rocking chair creaked.

Jamie’s hand shook as he set the alarm. The ghosts
didn’t act up every night, and some evenings they were more riled than others. So far, none
of them had tried to hurt him. As unsettling as the ghostly manifestations were, Jamie
couldn’t object to spirits wanting to stay in a place that meant something to them. He didn’t
mess with them, and he really hoped that meant they would return the favor.

The alarm beeped, and the security lights came on,
dim but enough to send the shadows scurrying. The sounds stopped, and the house grew
quiet. Jamie slipped out the back door and checked the lock, then let out a long breath. The
halogen light above the door made the area around the steps almost as bright as day. He
shook off the weirdness and smiled, excited about dinner with Austin.

It’s not a date. But I wish it was.
Maybe…

This could be a pleasant diversion, Jamie told
himself. Austin was just in town to look up some family history, and Jamie’s role with the
archive was temporary. Nothing said they couldn’t have a little fun while their paths
crossed.

About the Author

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

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

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

Author Links

Website |
Audible Profile | Amazon profile

Pinterest (for Morgan and Gail) | Twitter

BookBub | Instagram

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