When the only course of action is revenge, only the most damaged man is capable of maximum destruction.
Blurb
Hired by a Chicago billionaire to pluck his runaway son from the Palm Springs compound of a wealthy pedophile, former military extraction and information specialist, Cordon Finn, believes it will be a simple snatch and go job with a big payday. But after grabbing the kid at a Pride Week party, Cordon discovers that nothing is as it seems. His quarry isn’t underage, and isn’t the billionaire’s son, but rather his trans-daughter who goes by the name of Lucious. And her father wants Lucious dead, putting Cordon, who is dealing with his own sexual identity, in the crosshairs as well. After fighting off a cadre of assassins, Cordon vows to keep Lucious alive. But when the billionaire kidnaps Cordon’s girlfriend and comes after his family and friends, Cordon takes the fight back to the billionaire’s door. With the surprising help of Lucious, as well as his sister, Annie, Cordon battles the billionaire’s small army, until he’s face-to-face with the billionaire. And in this battle, there will be only one man left standing, the one who is capable of maximum destruction.
Excerpt
Arriving at his car, Cordon puts down the top and tosses his bag in before opening the door to climb in, when he hears, “We’re even,” from behind him.
Turning, he finds the young guy, smiling cheekily, standing behind him.
“Even?” Cordon asks, unsure.
“You enjoyed the show I put on for you inside, I enjoyed the show you put on for me as you sashayed across the parking lot,” the kid says.
“I don’t sashay. And I didn’t take off my shirt for you.”
The kid giggles, rolling his eyes dramatically as he says, “Liar. That’s the only reason you took off your shirt. Hoping I’d notice and come running up to you.”
“And here you are.”
The kid’s face squishes up like he’s eaten rotten lemons.
“I’m a sucker for a muscle daddy. And you certainly got size. Hopefully, in the places I can’t see.”
“How old are you?” Cordon asks, ignoring the kid’s comment.
“Twenty-two.”
“Now who’s the liar?”
The kid smirks mischievously, hand on hip. “Nineteen. Five-ten. Twenty-eight-inch waist. My name is Gio. Want to know my cock size?”
Cordon doesn’t answer, which causes Gio to grin mischievously.
“Come on, I saw you looking at it. Though I imagine being a giant, yours is bigger. But for my frame, mine is super-sized,” he laughs.
“This bullshit work?”
“Work how?”
“On other guys. Talking about your dick like it’s a 78-inch flat screen.”
“Just the ones who I think are interested,” Gio laughs, then suddenly gets more direct as he adds, “or have the money to pay.”
Cordon nods, understanding more clearly Gio’s game. “Which one do you think I am?” Cordon asks.
“You’re driving a really nice car, so you got the money. But I don’t think you have to pay men to have sex with you, unless you do it for the control, or you’re married, which I wouldn’t doubt, and you hope money will keep your trick’s mouth shut. Either way, I know you’re interested. I always know.”
“You party up at Lansing’s?” Cordon asks, tiring of the conversation.
Again, Gio’s smile fades, his head turning slightly as if looking at the Cordon from a different angle might jog his memory. “Did we meet up there?” Gio asks more of himself than Cordon. “No. I’d remember. Lansing would never invite a guy like you. All his little boys would flit around you like butterflies to bougainvillea, and he doesn’t allow anyone to steal his thunder. You a cop?”
“No.”
“You know if I ask, you have to tell me,” Gio inserts.
“That’s bullshit. But I’m not.”
Gio takes Cordon in silently for a moment. And even though he knows he shouldn’t say too much to the statuesque man he doesn’t know, Gio is not adept at shutting up, even when it’s in his best interest.
“Sure, I party up at Lansing’s. Never lived there, though. Those guys think Lansing’s the answer to their prayers. Please. He has a revolving bedroom door with guys going in all young, dewy-eyed, and hopeful, and coming out all used up and sad. The man’s an emotional vampire. Sucks the life out of everybody. They all think that he’s going to help make them a star, or they’ll meet some other old queen through Lansing that will. And they all end up going back home, broke, hungry, and completely jaded, or they end up selling it to pay the rent. Hell, even when you’re up there, all that’s there are other fairies just like them or some dried-up, old, coke addict trying to get his Viagra dick up your ass. Don’t know anybody Lansing’s actually helped. Ever.”
“You don’t hold back, do you?”
“Just so I know who just insulted me, what’s your name?”
“Cordon.”
“Cordon from where?”
“Chicago.”
“You’re a long way from home, aren’t you, Dorothy? Are you here for Pride Week? I mean, I don’t get that vibe from you, that you’re down here to party with the boys. But you could be one of those sad, married men who told your wife back in Chicago that you’re going on a golfing trip or a hunting trip or something equally lame. And you’re here because you really like dick but you’re Catholic or worse, Evangelical, like my parents, and your guilt is off the charts because you married some pretty blonde, church-going girl, you have two kids, but all you think about when you’re fucking her is guys like me.”
“If you’re paying and I get to pick the restaurant,” Gio quickly tacks on.
Cordon lets a half-smile slip on his lip at Gio’s young, alpha nonsense.
“Get in,” Cordon says.
About the Author
Mr. Baker has written seven novels, including WHAT REMAINS, THE VIRGIN DAIQUIRI, and THE WEDDING GIFT. The film rights to his beloved novel, HONEYMOON WITH HARRY, were purchased by New Line Cinema. The book also spawned two sequels, A SECOND HONEYMOON WITH HARRY and THE LAST HONEYMOON WITH HARRY. Bart has also written for the theater, having eight plays produced around the world. The film rights to his play, RELAY, were purchased by Warner Bros., which led him into screenwriting. Bart has had 18 produced film and TV credits, including the feature film, LIVE WIRE, starring Pierce Brosnan, the BRIDE trilogy of films for CBS, as well as projects for CBS, ABC, FX, The Family Channel, Lifetime, The USA Network, and Hallmark among others.
A fallen angel with a broken heart. The third horseman
who rejected him. A love that can destroy them both.
Blurb
Punished for choosing love over faith, the Archangel of
Kindness emerged from a century of confinement enshrined in darkness, a shell of his
former self. Rejected by the very Being for whom he sold his soul, the last threads of his
sanity were stripped away. He is now Lucifer, the King of Hell.
Famine’s choices have only ever caused suffering for those
he loves. He struggles with guilt, blaming himself for what Lucifer has become. He’s certain
keeping his distance is the only way he can ensure Lucifer falls no further.
But together or apart, on the same side or not, it doesn’t
matter. They are forever bound, forced to endure a never-ending loop of anguish. Betrayed
and surrounded by new threats, they find themselves relying on each other while battling
their own demons. But soon a choice must be made: allow their love to destroy them both
or embrace it before the world ends.
Famine is the
third book in the Four Horsemen series. This book is not a standalone and must be read in order.
Content Warnings: Religious themes, extreme violence,
gore, and others.
Arachnophobia warning: There is also a dog-sized pet
spider named Paul who just wants to be loved.
This is a paranormal, second chance, lovers-to-enemies-
to-lovers, MM romance filled with snark and morally questionable characters. It ends with a
HFN and a mild plot cliffhanger.
Excerpt
Famine moved closer to Lucifer as though being drawn into his
orbit. Lucifer wondered if it was a conscious movement or if it was instinct. It was instinct for him. Every fiber of him always wanted to be closer to Famine. He hoped—even
knowing how moronic it was to hope after every hand he’d been dealt—that
Famine felt the same. Lucifer needed him to. Needed him to want Lucifer with the same raw
need that Lucifer wanted him. It had to be mutual. This much longing and anguish and
palpable loss was too much for him to shoulder alone.
He savored any chance just to be in Famine’s presence—had
summoned the Horsemen for no other purpose than just to see him again. The
carnage of it was delectable, of course, but it was a pleasant bonus, not the aim. The mere
minutes Lucifer spent with Famine between years apart was agony, but every waking
moment was spent only in anticipation of them. Being this close to Famine and not touching
was the worst torture he had ever endured.
He couldn’t be alone in this. He couldn’t.
“These are only the start of the creatures that God has under
his command,” Famine continued. “If he’s choosing to let these loose, there’s no telling
what’s next.”
“No,” Lucifer said. They all turned to look at him, and he gave
them a secretive closed-mouth smile. He did enjoy being the center of attention. And
making them wait.
He closed the remaining distance between himself and Famine,
pressing the tips of his fingers against Famine’s cheek. Famine’s light-blue eyes darkened,
and the sight of them heated Lucifer’s blood and made lust curl in the depths of his
stomach. He had never touched another after Famine, even after all this time. And he was starved for the kind of touch that only Famine could gift him. That Famine had
been keeping from him.
“Sometimes,” he murmured, for Famine’s ears only, “I want to
peel the skin from your bones, make you hurt and bleed the way you make me.”
The heat in Famine’s eyes didn’t diminish from the words. If
anything, they darkened further, the pulse in his throat visible and tempting Lucifer to bite
down, to taste.
“It is never my intention to make you hurt.”
“You think intent matters?” Lucifer gripped Famine’s upper arm
and tugged him closer until their breath mingled. “When I lie broken and bruised and aching for you, do you think I care about intent?” They would continue to hurt
each other for eternity regardless of intent.
“Get your fucking hands off him,” War snarled.
Lucifer didn’t move, his eyes flicking to where War was
pointing his sword at them. As though Lucifer was afraid of him. Lucifer feared no one. No
one but Famine, who had the power to destroy him. Who already had, too many times to
count.
Famine lifted a hand to placate his brother. “It’s fine.”
Uriel rolled his eyes and turned from them, surveying the area.
“Tell us what you meant, Lucifer, or be on your way to do whatever it is you do when you
have no purpose.”
Lucifer stroked Famine’s cheek and then moved up to lightly
grasp the curls of his brown hair. He urged Famine forward and Famine followed, bending to
him and resting his forehead on Lucifer’s shoulder. Lucifer’s insides wobbled, pleasure and
joy singing in his veins at the instant, easy acceptance of his touch.
Lucifer breathed in deeply, his nose pressed against Famine’s
hair. It smelled like blueberries, freshly mowed grass, and a hint of lemon.
About the Author
Sienna Moreau is a dark MM
romance author who likes to let the darker side of life come out to play. If you’re looking for
morally grey characters, snark, mayhem and steamy situations then you’re in the right
place.
A fallen angel with a broken heart. The third horseman
who rejected him. A love that can destroy them both.
Blurb
Punished for choosing love over faith, the Archangel of
Kindness emerged from a century of confinement enshrined in darkness, a shell of his
former self. Rejected by the very Being for whom he sold his soul, the last threads of his
sanity were stripped away. He is now Lucifer, the King of Hell.
Famine’s choices have only ever caused suffering for those
he loves. He struggles with guilt, blaming himself for what Lucifer has become. He’s certain
keeping his distance is the only way he can ensure Lucifer falls no further.
But together or apart, on the same side or not, it doesn’t
matter. They are forever bound, forced to endure a never-ending loop of anguish. Betrayed
and surrounded by new threats, they find themselves relying on each other while battling
their own demons. But soon a choice must be made: allow their love to destroy them both
or embrace it before the world ends.
Famine is the
third book in the Four Horsemen series. This book is not a standalone and must be read in order.
Content Warnings: Religious themes, extreme violence,
gore, and others.
Arachnophobia warning: There is also a dog-sized pet
spider named Paul who just wants to be loved.
This is a paranormal, second chance, lovers-to-enemies-
to-lovers, MM romance filled with snark and morally questionable characters. It ends with a
HFN and a mild plot cliffhanger.
Excerpt
“Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” Famine said, his
voice low. “You know something.”
“I know many things,” Lucifer said. He slowly circled Famine, his tail
dragging on the concrete behind him. It slid over Famine’s boots, scratching lines into the
black.
Famine didn’t follow the movement, even when his instincts screamed
at him not to let Lucifer stand at his back. He had trusted Samael with everything in him, and
he wanted—wanted so badly—to be able to trust Lucifer, even though he knew it was futile.
Lucifer still loved him but that love had been contorted, turned to something dark and
nothing like the beautiful love they had once shared. He was just as likely to stab Famine in
the back as he was to kiss it. A deep, dark, twisted part of Famine didn’t care which one he
did, so long as Lucifer touched him. When Lucifer touched him with any kind of intent,
everything in Famine settled. The world righted itself, and the turmoil that he lived with
every day seemed less, more manageable.
Sharp nails slid across his back. They didn’t dig enough to draw blood,
but even through the fabric of his shirt Famine felt it. He flinched, even as warmth trailed
out from the places Lucifer touched.
“I have so many secrets, Famine,” Lucifer whispered. He pressed his
nose against Famine’s nape, breathing in deeply. Wet flicked across his skin—Lucifer’s
tongue.
“I gather them, so you’re forced to come to me. To beg.”
About the Author
Sienna Moreau is a dark MM
romance author who likes to let the darker side of life come out to play. If you’re looking for
morally grey characters, snark, mayhem and steamy situations then you’re in the right
place.
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.
Excerpt
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
away.
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
police officer.
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.
BANG!
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
alive.
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
warmth.
“Jin, we’re going to need a recovery charm,” he yelled at an
unknown person.
“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
memory.
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
condescending.
“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
softly.
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
crime.
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.
Ezra Hamilton hasn’t felt the warm spurt of blood flow
through his fingers or the indescribable feeling of pushing a knife deep into someone’s flesh
in a long time. Too long.
He’s been watching a man stalk women, curious as
to what he’s doing with them. Ezra’s never encountered someone with similar dark
tendencies before, and what starts off as genuine curiosity turns into much more when
Kaspian turns the tables on him.
As their chemistry builds, so does the mistrust.
They both know they can’t trust a killer, but their inner demons call to each other
anyway.
When Kaspian’s impulsivity threatens to ruin Ezra’s
freedom, he knows he has to stop him. Kas appears to be fixated on Willow—a woman Ezra
works with. In an effort to not have to worry about her disappearance bringing heat on him,
he tracks Kaspian as Kaspian follows Willow into a cabin in the mountains.
There, in the middle of a blizzard, secrets will be
revealed and revelations made, but the chances of everybody making it out alive are
slim.
Excerpt
“Are you planning on killing me? Or is that just reserved for
women?”
I grin and take a sip. “I don’t plan these things. Not
really.”
“So, then maybe I should take care of you right now. I could
live in peace without the worry that you’ll run your mouth or decide to try to kill me one
day.”
“I wouldn’t kill you, Ezra.”
“You couldn’t kill me, Kaspian.”
I bite my bottom lip before a smile takes over. “Don’t
underestimate me.”
“Don’t play with me.”
“Like this?” I say, chancing a step in his direction as I slide
my fingers into his waistband again.
His hand is around my throat in an instant. “If you even
think about saying anything to anyone, I will end you before you even realize I’m a
threat.”
“You’re always a threat.”
“Don’t forget it.” He eases his grip but keeps his hand in
place. It’s probably because he just likes touching me, but I don’t mind it.
“We could work together.”
“What we do is different, and I don’t work well with
others.”
My fingers unsnap the button before dragging his zipper
down. “We’re similar, you and I. It could be fun.”
“I don’t have a reason to anymore.” He struggles to get the
sentence out, long pauses between the words.
“Oh, you don’t think I believe that, do you? Maybe you had
a reason to kill the first two, but what about the others? Was there a reason? Or did you
simply have a need? An urge?”
I start to tug his pants and underwear down, and he keeps
watching me.
“I told you. I don’t want to have to worry about moving
again. I’m fine with the way things are now.”
“Are you?” I question. “Really?”
He ignores me, because he knows his answer would be a
lie. “Now that you’ve gotten my attention, what’re you planning on doing next? Find more
girls to follow?”
My fingers wrap around his shaft. “Would that make you
jealous?”
He moans as I drag my fist down to his crown. “No. There’s
nothing between us.”
My nostrils flare when I look at him. “I wouldn’t say
that.”
His hand moves from my throat to my hair, yanking on the
strands until my head is as far back as it can go. “You want me now, huh? That’s what this is?
You’ve used the girls, you’ve killed them, and it’s my turn, right? You want me to take care of
you? I’m supposed to fawn over you, care where you are and who you’re with? You want me
to be the daddy you likely didn’t have? Is that it?”
I suck in deep breath through my nostrils, rage running
through my veins as I clench my jaw. “Don’t. Do not mention him.”
His lips curl up into a snarl. Hardly a smile, but he’s amused.
“Ah, I’m starting to understand. Daddy didn’t give you what you needed.”
“Shut up,” I say, releasing my grip on his cock and trying to
push away.
He tightens his hold on my hair assuring I can’t go
anywhere. He’s got maybe fifteen pounds on me, and it’s all muscle.
“Daddy didn’t give you any attention, did he? He didn’t care
about you. Wasn’t there for you. Maybe he didn’t love you. Daddy ignored you, didn’t he?”
His tone is nothing but mocking hostility.
“Stop it. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
His arm wraps around my back to keep me from fighting
out of his grip, pinning my arms down in the process. He smashes me into him, his
expression wicked. This isn’t Ezra. It’s Quintin.
“That’s why you need a man to obsess over you. You want
that father figure, right? I’m guessing dear old Dad didn’t discipline you either. You seek it
out in men. That’s why you like them dominant.”
“You couldn’t be dominant if you tried,” I sneer. “Mr. I-have-
to-have-reasons. There’s no fucking moral code to killing. You don’t get to make up an
excuse to justify why you did it. You did it because you fucking wanted to. If you can’t admit
that, then—”
I’m spinning. He doesn’t let me finish my rant, because he
releases his hold on me just to swirl me around and bend me over the kitchen counter. His
cock presses into my ass while his hand comes down on the side of my head, pressing my
cheek to the cold granite.
“Shut the fuck up.” His voice is like gravel—rough, and it
sends a thrill up my spine. “You like commanding men? Then do what the fuck I say and stay
there.”
He walks around me, his hand moving to my back while he
uses his other one to open up drawers.
“What are you looking for?”
“Shut up.”
“A knife? You gonna kill me?”
A drawer slams shut, and when he has to lean over to open
the next one, his hand on my back lifts slightly, so I take the opportunity and run.
About the Author
Isabel Lucero is a bestselling
author, finding joy in giving readers books for every mood.
Though born in a small town
in New Mexico, Isabel currently lives in Delaware with her family. When not completely lost
in the world of her next WIP, she can be found reading, or in the nearest Target buying
things she doesn’t need.
Isabel loves connecting with
her readers and fans of books in general. You can find her on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram,
and TikTok
In his monotonous life as a drug lord, Gustavo has seen and done it all and has long forgotten the taste of excitement.
Things change when he watches a man murder and take the victim’s heart.
Leaving behind a bloody crime scene, the killer flees and makes Gustavo a dangerous witness and the sole holder of all the evidence.
Drunk on a toxic mix of fascination and morbid curiosity, Gustavo places his life at stake and enters the murderer’s twisted world to play a game of dare for the thrill of it. But the more he plays with Seth, the deeper he sinks into a web of attraction.
How far can he tempt Death before Death strikes back?
Welcome to the dark world of Malicious Gods: Egypt. A collection of standalone modern tales, both magical and non-magical, featuring deities from Ancient Egypt. You’ll find reincarnated Gods, assassins, gangs, madness, and different realities. Expect high heat and morally ambiguous themes. Seductive and often twisted, they are not for the fainthearted.
POSSIBLE SPOILERS/WARNINGS:
NOT a romance (at least not a traditional one), Zero redeeming qualities, Serial killer, Drug lord, Obsession, Fire play, BDSM, Severe depression, Asexual character, Blood art, Blood, gore, God complex, Mass murder, Graphic murder, Dark humor, The Three Kings’ World. Yep, this is Gustavo’s story.
Excerpt
Gustavo’s muscles trembled as the heel of his shoe lost contact with the ground. His head hovered over the molten glass as Seth’s hips rammed against his own. His awareness shifted to the lower part of his body. Confusion washed over, as he wasn’t sure if the source of the heat was the molten glass or Seth’s thrusting against him. He could even feel the softness of Seth’s cock brushing against his thigh. He swallowed hard. Catching Seth’s glare, he said, “A fair warning: if you keep rubbing against me like this, I’ll get a hard-on.”
Seth’s face contorted in distaste. Fire dancing in his eyes, he leaned against Gustavo with all his weight, chest to chest. “You should have pulled the gun when you had a chance.”
With a roar, Gustavo hurled forward, winning back an inch of lost space. Seth’s teeth bared, and a low, barely audible growl broke from his throat. His neck corded, muscles bulged, and even the veins under his eyes strained with pressure. Gustavo thought that any moment now, his eyeballs would pop out of their sockets. He shook his head, unable to believe how someone like Seth could possess such strength. Gustavo was taller, bulkier, had more mass, but still, inch by inch, his back bent over the rim of the charger. His skin felt like it would start sizzling at any moment; hot sweat rolled down his temples and spine.
“I warned you it’s not a blade that kills but arrogance,” Seth rustled.
The edge of the furnace scraped the small of Gustavo’s back. Seth’s face inched closer, and his right hand abandoned Gustavo’s chest to grab the side of the shutter before he thrust himself forward. The tiny blood vessels in his right eye burst, staining the sclera red.
Does he hate me this much? Gustavo thought, stunned.
“I do enjoy this intimacy, but you are aware that in this position, it’s nearly impossible to throw me down without falling with me, right? Not that I mind. It would be sort of romantic. And they died on the same day, just like Romeo and Juliet.”
Seth laughed; his left palm slapped against the inner wall of the furnace, giving him a fulcrum. “We shall see about that.”
He shoved forward with renewed force. The stench of burned meat filled Gustavo’s lungs. He looked at Seth’s hand and the steam rising from it. “What the fuck are you doing? Are you insane?”
“Insanity is a tasteless word humanity forever uses to taint what they can’t understand.” Seth stared at Gustavo with the unblinking eyes of a snake. His expression didn’t display any pain or discomfort.
Gustavo should have struggled for his life; he knew it. Instead, he grabbed Seth’s wrist and yanked it away from the scorching metal. “You are insane if you think killing me is worth mutilating your hand. How are you going to work with such burns?”
Seth froze. Confusion pooled behind his dilated pupils. He looked at Gustavo as if seeing him for the first time. His onslaught weakened.
It was a perfect moment to pull the gun, but the expression of ultimate loneliness, bleeding through Seth’s unsettled emotions, overruled Gustavo’s sanity. The sole of his foot found the wall behind him; he thrust his chest forward and brushed his lips against Seth’s mouth, pushing him away from the scorching heat.
About the Author
Journalist, poker player, casino events manager, designer, and SEO specialist, Nero Seal tried it all before committing to the idea of being an M/M fiction writer. Living in one of the most homophobic countries in the world, he has a lot to say. Being an avid traveler, he creates his imaginary worlds from the places he’s been and the people he’s met. Characters always talk in his head, forcing him to write their stories, using his 49 kinks as the ultimate weapon of allure. When the voices in his head aren’t slaving him around, he is drawing, hiking, and procrastinating important things in favor of momentary gratification.
What is more dangerous than a man in love? A man in love who feels betrayed.
Blurb
Marc and Alex have been best friends since childhood. When Marc was fourteen, tragedy struck, and he found himself suddenly orphaned. Having no living relatives, Marc moved in with Alex and his family, who happily opened their hearts and their home to him.
Five years have passed since the tragedy, and Marc’s love and devotion for his best friend has only intensified… some would say, to an almost obsessive level…
Alex’s life is suddenly turned upside down when he is forced to make an impossible decision. Alex quickly learns that Marc’s love for him goes much deeper than just friendship. Alex begins to wonder, just how far is Marc willing to go in the name of love? And more terrifyingly, how dangerous is a man in love, who feels… betrayed.
Fractured Love is a dark story of unrequited love, torment, and murder.
Excerpt
Marc was furious. He jumped onto Alex, as Alex struggled beneath his weight. Alex kicked and punched with all his might. He had no idea how strong Marc could be when he was angry.
He felt like he was fighting a total stranger. This was not the man that he spent countless nights cuddling up against. This man was fueled by anger and rage. How long had this rage laid dormant? Or was it always there but hidden from prying eyes?
Marc let out an angry growl and punched Alex in the face. Blood burst from Alex’s nose as Marc’s fist connected firmly with his face. Alex fell backwards defeated. He was no match for the strength and fury of his former best friend.
Marc suddenly jumped down to the ground and grabbed Alex’s body. He yanked his body close to his own and whispered, “Don’t move.”
Alex’s body tightened as he suddenly heard a deep growl from the darkness ahead of him. With Marc’s arms wrapped tight around his body, Alex pressed his back further into Marc’s chest.
They both watched as a large wolf slowly emerged from the darkness. The beast growled, as it slowly made its way towards the two of them. The beast kept its nose close to the ground as it revealed its razor-sharp teeth.
“Don’t move, whatever you do.” Marc whispered in Alex’s ear. Marc gripped Alex even tighter as he held him close to his body. Alex gripped Marc’s arm, terrified, as he waited for the beast to attack.
About the Author
Matthew Dante is a Canadian indie author who loves to write about magic, fantasy, and romance. He is an avid reader, world traveller, lover of all things Marvel and DC, and a romantic at heart.
Most of his stories center around gay main characters who are usually the love interests and the heroes of these stories. He writes these novels, so that other LGBTQ people will be able to read about characters and stories that they can relate to and be proud of.
Zen had only—literally
only—ever dreamed that someone would want him this much…
Blurb
Zen is a half dark elf in a world that hates him, protected by
being raised by the Order of the Sun to become a priest. He longs for a different life with a
mysterious, beautiful man he only glimpses in dreams. After encountering an adventuring
party, Zen is drawn to accompany them to destroy a fabled vampire lord, but the pull he
feels toward those lands might be more fated than he realizes.
Excerpt
That night, before falling into an exhausted sleep—in his
tiny, wooden bed with minimal padding and coarse blankets—Zen gently touched the scar
that ran full circle around his neck. He tried ignoring it during the day, hidden by the high
collar of his vestments, but in bed, out of his robes, his fingers often strayed there.
He didn’t know what had caused the wire-thin line. He’d
had it all his life and often wondered if it had been a failed attempt to kill him as an infant.
Like Father Lewis had said, he’d been abandoned on the steps of the temple.
No one wanted a darkling child.
Zen’s existence, his life, was most people’s nightmare,
which was why it amazed and yet soothed him that he never experienced nightmares
himself. His dreams were sweet. There he had no scars. In his dreams, he was whole and
wanted.
Desired,
even.
A warm, human hand trailed slowly across Zen’s unmarred
neck and down his naked body. Here his bed was plush and opulent, or perhaps it belonged
to the man he imagined himself with. Zen had never met anyone like him in waking life, yet
every dream he’d had since he first knew he desired men starred the same mysterious
figure.
Zen never saw his face clearly, but he was still a vision of
noble beauty. Skin pale as cream with soft color in his cheeks, neatly trimmed black hair that
occasionally fell into his eyes—and oh, his eyes. Some might think them haunting or eerie,
being such a rich, ruddy brown that they almost looked red, but Zen adored them. He
adored the smooth, flawless form laid out beside him, trim but well-muscled, and as naked
as he was.
Still, all those features painted an incomplete picture that
he could never quite bring into focus.
The man’s sex was impressive though, no doubt conjured
from Zen’s most carnal fantasies, as ruddy as his eyes, swollen and leaking wetness onto the
sheets. Zen had often longed to know the feel of it in his hands, his mouth, and deep inside
him, but his dreams never allowed more than a tease.
Zen didn’t know the man’s name and had never made one
up, but he thought of him as an angel, giving him pleasures where real life never could.
“You are a beautiful crystalline snowflake, my love, silver
and blue and pure blinding white.” He kissed Zen’s cheek, his fingertips tracing
mischievously down Zen’s stomach. His other hand ran blunt nails through Zen’s short white
hair.
That wasn’t right. Zen kept his snowy-white locks tied back,
but his hair fell well past his shoulders. Like the missing scar, he was different here in the
dreamworld.
“I miss you,” his angel whispered and bent to kiss Zen’s lips.
Then touch me, Zen thought, pressing upward and opening his mouth to connect them more deeply,
while instantly wanting more.
He didn’t know why his mind created a human man instead
of someone more like him. Maybe because humans were all he’d ever known. The man was
stunning regardless and saw Zen the way he’d always wished someone would.
“Come, my love.”
Zen wanted to—
“Come to me. Come for me, my beautiful darkling, but come
to me as well.”
Zen didn’t understand. How much closer could they get?
His angel was between his legs, warm hand curling around him and squeezing with promise.
Still, for all the lust that stirred in Zen, it was the intimacy of another kiss to his cheek that
filled him with the most want.
“Please, love, come to me. Come…” He stroked Zen firmly
while licking up along one of his pointed darkling ears, inducing a deep shudder from low at
the base of Zen’s spine. “Come… my Zenos.”
That wasn’t—
“Now!”
Zen’s eyes snapped open as if triggered by a spring, his
sheets sticky and damp atop him from how he’d come before waking.
Damn it.
He rarely did that, usually waking hard and unfulfilled, and then taking himself in hand.
Today he’d made a mess, and it wasn’t even morning.
About the Author
Amanda Meuwissen is a
bisexual author, with a primary focus on M/M romance. As author of the paranormal
romance trilogy The Incubus Saga and several other titles with various publishers,
Amanda regularly attends local comic conventions for fun and to meet with fans, where she
will often be seen in costume as one of her favorite fictional characters. She lives in
Minneapolis, Minnesota, with her husband, John, and their cat, Helga.
