LGBT Fiction

BOOK BLAST: “Caged Time” by Erik S. Meyers

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Caged
Time

Author: Erik S.
Meyers

Publisher: Mirador
Publishing

Release Date: February 2,
2021

Genres: LGBTQ Jewish historical fiction

Tropes: Struggling to be yourself in a place/time that doesn’t really want
you

Themes: Coming out, being yourself

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 144
pages

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

Goodreads

Buy Links

Amazon US | Amazon UK | B&N

David Tarniss faces his
desire and his faith

Short Blurb

In 1930s New York, David Tarniss leads a quiet life as a cab
driver-too quiet. In reality he is hiding a dark secret, his homosexuality, something for which

he will pay dearly due to the unique circumstances of the time.

A fascinating, if disturbing, story about the challenges that
confronted gays (and Jews) in 1930s New York.

Long Blurb

In 1930s New York, Jewish immigrant David Tarniss leads a
quiet life as a cab driver—too quiet—In reality he is hiding a dark secret, his homosexuality,
something for which he will pay dearly due to the unique circumstances of the time.

Based on the author’s fictional interpretation of a family
tragedy, “Caged Time” is an attempt to explain how society can mold who you are and
significantly impact your life. The novel focuses on a small group of characters that all have
key significance in David’s life, the people that most affect what he does, how he thinks, and
how he lives. The setting of the novel is even more impactful as it plays out in the context of
a pre-World War II society haunted by the looming war. Most of the characters are Jewish,
bringing another angle to the events.

Whenever things seem to be moving forward, David faces a
setback. Whether being shunned by his brother when he reveals who he is, haunted by a
strange encounter with a friend, or being beat up when he least expects it, he’s always
taking two steps forward and one back. But he always seems determined to go on.

A fascinating, if disturbing, look at the challenges that
confronted gays (and Jews) in 1930s New York with a glimmer of hope at the end.

Excerpt

David hurried down Eighth Avenue, his usual brisk New York walk that his relatives often
scolded him about, saying he was being antisocial and not walking with them. Well, he just
walked fast; it didn’t have anything to do with being social or antisocial. He whizzed past
stores, restaurants, and coffee shops, full of people as they chatted with their friends on this
cool Saturday morning—summer at its weakest point with fall just around the corner. He
was content wearing his checkered coat, although a brisk wind came up countering the sun’s
warmth and he thought he maybe should have brought a scarf.

As he approached Union Square, that nervous, giddy feeling hit him, and he began to shake
from the thought of what was to come. Though he had tried to compose himself while on
the train and walking down the street, as soon as he got nearer to Child’s, his palms started
sweating and his pace quickened. Somehow he felt couldn’t help but feel ashamed about
being who he was and the thought of meeting with others of his kind, as it were, made him
shake. He really wanted to meet someone. His nerves often held him back. But not today!

I don’t have anything to be nervous about, David told himself. I come here every Saturday.
Today I just have a different goal in mind.

At that moment he arrived at Child’s, his favorite coffee shop, and peered in the window,
half expecting everyone to stop what they were saying or doing and turn their heads at him,
as if they were all waiting, watching. Of course, the thought was ridiculous, and no one did
anything of the sort. He slowly reached for the handle, staring more at it than the interior,
his heart beating rapidly and his fingers twitching in anticipation. Or is it fear? David
wondered.

Then, with a rush, he pushed open the door, strode inside, and quickly found a booth near
the door, which meant, like many of the other men inside, he was waiting, watching…and
hoping. The place wasn’t that big with only a few booths along the walls and several tables
in the middle, so David was happy to have the perfect vantage point.

About the Author

Currently in Austria, Erik
Meyers is an American abroad for years and years who has lived or worked in six countries
on three continents, the longest in Germany. I’m an award-winning author and
communications professional with 25 years of expertise in a variety of corporate roles.
Reading and writing are my passions, when I’m not hiking one of the amazing trails in Austria
or elsewhere.

Author Links

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Facebook

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BOOK BLAST: “The Road to Montepulciano” by Garrick Jones.

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: The Road to
Montepulciano

Author: Garrick
Jones

Publisher: Moshpit
Publications

Cover Artist: Garrick
Jones

Release Date: September 19,
2023

Genre: Crime Thriller/Historical Fiction

Themes: Sowing one’s oats; Finding Mr. Right; Acceptance in
community

Heat Rating: 5 flames

Length: 140 500 words/ 393
pages (paperback version)

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

Goodreads

Buy Links

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | Smashwords

Blurb

Two years after finishing his tour of duty in the

Occupational Forces in Japan, Damson O’Reilly arrives in Siena, Italy. Sight-unseen at a local
auction, he buys an abandoned Tuscan farmhouse in which he aims to write, paint, and start
a new life.

The house, passed over at auction, becomes an
impulse buy when it’s put up for a final time. He’s prepared for a semi-ruin, happy to turn his
hand to renovating the house—however, what he’s totally unprepared for are three dead
bodies, one of which he stumbles over when he arrives at La Mensola, the name of his
isolated farmhouse on the road between Siena and Montepulciano.

Against the backdrop of a series of grisly murders,
The Road to Montepulciano is the story of a young man, still suffering the scars of war, who,
despite betrayal of trust and surrounded by a complex web of lies, finds friendship, love and
the warmth of community.

Excerpt

I was lying in bed listening to Donati potter around in the
kitchen for a few minutes, trying to make up my mind whether or not to get out of bed. I
checked my watch: half past five. It was still dark outside—it wouldn’t start getting light for
another three-quarters of an hour.

He had to know, I thought, reflecting on the whole of last
evening. He must have guessed that I was queer, otherwise what had happened wouldn’t
have taken place. We’d have washed separately, each waiting in our rooms until the other
had finished, then continued to drink, play cards and behave like kids, but with our clothes
on … or at least our underwear.

Some people just seemed to know it about me, although I
wasn’t aware that I’d ever telegraphed where my preferences lay. A few times during the
war I’d found myself on the receiving end of some very not-so-subtle advances quite out of
the blue, far more forthright than the almost imperceptible, ever-so-slightly charged evening
I’d enjoyed last night. And as for him? Well, I wasn’t sure just yet. There was something
though that made me wonder: a frequent holding of eye contact, as if he was trying to
discover what I was thinking, always breaking away abruptly with a soft smile on his face.

I’d never been able to recognise who was one of the tribe
like some of my bedfellows, although at the same time I’d never been shy to leap at an
opportunity when it offered itself up. But I found it hard to initiate things. Usually I’d wait
until the other person either made a move or gave me a sign that he was interested in more
than passing the time of day.

I’d heard Italian men were basically open to
anything—whether that was true or not, I had no idea. Maybe Donati was just a regular man
who liked a bit of variety every so often—I’d met a few of those—or maybe he was just like
me: lonely and looking for a friend.

Deciding to finally get up, I’d barely thrown back the sheet
and sat up, my feet drawn up and knees splayed while I leaned over, searching for my
cigarettes—which for some strange reason I’d thrown into my haversack last night—when
Renzo walked into the room with a demitasse in each hand. The smell of the coffee made my
stomach grumble.

He was naked too. It seemed that clothing was to be an
optional extra during my stay … I returned his smile.

“Buongiorno, Damson,” he said, handing
one of the cups to me, then sat in the middle of the bed, one of his legs at an angle, the
knee resting on my foot.

“Buongiorno, Renzo. You. Sleep.
Good?”

“Hai dormito
bene?” he corrected my Italian, saying the
words slowly, twirling his finger in the air to encourage me to repeat the correct version.

“In English?” Renzo asked after I’d got it right.

“Did you sleep well?”

When he repeated the words, he made a pretty good fist of
it, so I held out my hand. The shake happened directly over my crotch, mainly because
having finished his coffee he’d stretched out over the bed. It was obvious that my genitals
were right in front of his face, but his eyes hadn’t flicked away from my own, despite his
Cheshire cat grin. This time I was the first to break eye contact, playfully nudging his
shoulder with my foot, then reaching for my cigarettes once more.

We chatted for a while, trying out words with each other
while smoking, Renzo idly playing with the hair trail below his navel while we traded
vocabulary for items in the room. Then, after we’d given each other a lesson on conjugating
the present tense of the verb “to be” in our own languages, I checked my watch. “Is that the
time?” I said in English. I jumped out of bed, pulling on my only pair of slacks and grabbing a
white American T-shirt from my haversack. It was wrinkled, but there was nothing I could do
about it.

“No …?” he asked, making a plucking gesture at his waist
with his thumb.

Damn, I’d been so distracted that I’d forgotten. Pulling off
my trousers, I rummaged in my backpack again and found a pair of Y-fronts—they were a
French brand and fairly new on the market. I usually washed my smalls every night, but
there’d been too much going on and it had slipped my mind

Renzo whistled as I pulled them on, watching as I put my
hand down inside the front of the waistband and adjusted myself in the pouch before pulling
on my trousers once more.

“You. Like?” I asked.

He nodded, so I found another pair, still in its packet, and
threw them to him. “Go ahead,” I said, while pulling on my socks, then lacing my canvas
shoes.

He undid the packet, swung his legs off the bed, put both
feet in the underpants, then, as he stood up, pulled them up, turning to look at his arse in
the mirror of the wardrobe. “Che bel
culo,” he said, winking over his shoulder at
me.

I laughed. That phrase I did understand, and he did have a
very nice arse.

About the Author

From the outback to the
opera.

After a thirty-year career as a
professional opera singer, performing as a soloist in opera houses and in concert halls all
over the world, I took up a position as lecturer in music in Australia in 1999, at the Central
Queensland Conservatorium of Music, which is now part of CQ University.

Brought up in Australia,
between the bush and the beaches of the Eastern suburbs, I retired in 2015 and now live in
the tropics, writing, gardening, and finally finding time to enjoy life and to re-establish a
connection with who I am after a very busy career on the stage and as an
academic.

Author Links

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Facebook | Twitter |
Instagram

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NEW RELEASE: “Treading Water” by Alex Winters.

NEW RELEASE

Book Title: Treading Water

Author: Alex
Winters

Cover Artist: Reece
Notley

Release Date: October 03,
2023

Genres: Contemporary M/M Sports Romance, Gay Romance, Gay
Fiction

Tropes: Hollywood A-Lister Versus Small Town Stud, Actor Versus Athlete,
Coming Out, Forced Proximity

Themes: (Almost) first time gay, summer love, Hollywood scandal, coach
falling for his student, student falling for his coach, deserted summer camp

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 310
pages

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

Goodreads

Buy Links

Amazon US | Amazon UK | B&N
| Dreamspinner Press

What happens when love
is sink or swim?

Blurb

Actor Tucker Crawford is having the worst summer ever.
Thanks to a viral video of him trying to swim, he’s the laughingstock of Hollywood and his
role in a hit TV series is in jeopardy. The only bright spot is Tucker’s sexy new swim coach,
Reed Oliver, but even that has its problems—because Tucker is deep in the closet and has
never been with a guy.

Reed Oliver is having the best summer ever. He’s just scored
a high-paying freelance gig teaching a Hollywood actor how to swim. The two of them have
the run of a deserted summer camp, complete with an Olympic-size swimming pool. But
when cocky playboy Reed meets shy, virgin Tucker, sparks fly and Reed’s walk-in-the-park
coaching job becomes a minefield of temptation. Once they kiss for the first time, there’s no
way to overcome their mutual passion and no looking back. But after two weeks of secluded
intimacy, can they keep their romance alive in the real world?

Excerpt

Tuck made a tongue-clucking sound and then sipped the last of
his beer. “My strategy at this point is just get through the day without another scandal, you
know?”

Reed gave him a stern, fatherly glance. “You’ve got to let that
go, Tuck. You can’t let it control your life.”

“Easy for you to say, Reed.”

“I know it, but that’s what we’re here for, right?”

Tucker sat up, and little ripples fluttered across his concave
belly. Reed inched up as well and reached to open the cooler top so one of them could slip
their hand inside. Tuck obviously had the same idea, and their fingers glanced across one
another’s as they reached for the lid.

“Sorry!” they blurted at the same time, descending into
mirthful little beer-buzzed giggles until Reed noticed they were still lingering in each other’s
grip.

“I’ll grab the beer.” Reed reluctantly pulled his hand away.

“Okay, but it’s gotta be my last.”

Reed glanced at the two or three bottles left inside the
shimmering ice. “Oh yeah?”

“Big day tomorrow, right?”

Reed sighed. For some reason, the last thing he wanted to do
with Tucker at the moment was work. Coach. Admonish. Correct. Teach. “I mean, it’s not like
we have to set our alarms, though, right?”

Tucker gave him a wry grin. “This how you are with your
swimmers back home?”

“Hell no,” he barked, very much the same way he might at
them. Then he softened. “But this is different.”

They were still sitting up. The sun caressed Tucker’s smooth,
unlined face like an unseen hand, and they were mere inches away from each other
now—so close Reed could smell the chlorine in Tucker’s hair and feel the heat coming off his
half-naked body in tempting, shimmering waves that Reed felt deep inside his clenched gut.
“Oh yeah? How so?”

Their eyes met in the afternoon sun. Reed’s answer was
revealing in more ways than one. “I’m miles away from home, kid.”

About the Author

Alex Winters is the
pseudonym of a busy restaurant manager whose curious young staff would love nothing
more than to follow him around the dining room reading his steamiest, most romantic
passages aloud! When not writing romantic holiday stories of various heat levels, he enjoys
long walks with his wife, scary movies and smooth jazz. Visit him at www.awintersromance.com to see what
stories are brewing up next!

Social Media Links

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Continue ReadingNEW RELEASE: “Treading Water” by Alex Winters.

RECENT RELEASE: “The Earl’s Awakening” by Joy Lynn Fielding. $15.00 Amazon Gift Included.

RECENT RELEASE

Book Title: The Earl’s
Awakening

Author: Joy Lynn
Fielding

Publisher: Extasy
Books

Cover Artist: Martine
Jardin

Release Date: September 8,
2023

Genre: Regency M/M romance

Tropes: Rake/bad boy romance

Themes: Learning to live, self-discovery.

Heat Rating: 5 flames

Length: 55 000 words/ 198
pages

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

Goodreads

Buy Links

Extasy Books | Amazon US | Amazon UK

One glance, and his past
life was history.

Blurb

Leander Talbot’s life changed forever when his wife died.

He is now reluctantly venturing back into society, knowing that, as the Earl of Ockley, he
must marry again to produce an heir. But he can’t bring himself to the sticking point. Instead,
he spends his time evading the matchmaking mamas of the ton.

The dark and dangerous Duke of Arden is an infamous
libertine. It is said that he seduces innocents, and there are even more sinister tales
whispered of his predilections. Only the wild young blades who form his retinue know the
truth, but he is shunned by all save those wishing to court notoriety.

A chance meeting brings Leander into Arden’s orbit.
Ignoring the warnings about Arden’s intentions, Leander is drawn into a seductive world of
sexual indulgence. There, he finds the freedom he craves from his overbearing family. By the
time he suspects Arden might have ulterior motives, it may be too late to save his
reputation—and his heart.

Excerpt

Leander sighed slightly. He had immersed himself in work
and duty since Bella’s death, but it was only now he understood how removed from his
contemporaries he had become. Most faces here were unfamiliar to him. Take the character
in the corner—a dark complexion, his dress rich but careless in a way that proclaimed he
cared little for the opinion of society. Leander was certain he had never set eyes on him,
though the deference with which his circle of friends was treating him indicated that he was
a man of some standing. He took the opportunity to ask the servant who brought him a glass
of champagne.

“His Grace the Duke of Arden, my lord,” the man informed
him.

The name was one with which Leander was familiar. It was
a name with which all of London and some of the more enlightened provinces were familiar.
Arden represented all that was decadent in the ton, his philandering ways extending far
beyond opera dancers and actresses to ladies of quality. And it was not only widows or
liaisons with married ladies, for it was said of him that he had ruined more than one young
maiden. The number of duels that he had fought and won, the drunken orgies at which he
presided, and his losses and gains at the gaming table had all assumed the proportions of
legend. There were still darker things whispered about him. Only the coterie of wild young
blades who formed his retinue knew the truth of these, but the intimations were there, and
Arden remained unrecognised by all save those wishing to court notoriety.

Leander became aware that Arden was returning his gaze,
his heavy-lidded eyes holding what appeared to be a gleam of amusement. As Leander
watched, Arden raised his glass in a mocking salute before putting it to his lips and tossing
back the contents.

Perhaps it was the champagne, perhaps it was the shock of
realising that his acquaintances now viewed him as a prig. Whatever the reason, some
demon prompted Leander to his feet. In defiance of all proper behaviour, he crossed the
room to Arden and introduced himself.

Those dark eyebrows raised briefly, a noble head was
inclined, and one of the young men clustered around Arden was moving from his seat,
offering it to Leander.

“So you’re Ockley.” The duke’s aristocratic fingers curved
elegantly around the stem of his glass and his dark eyes surveyed Leander as he sat. “I didn’t
think this to be your sort of place. I’d thought you more of a White’s man.”

The provocation was there. It was well known that Arden
had been pre-emptively blackballed by the respectable club lest any member lose their
faculties and propose him for membership.

“Indeed?” Leander said stiffly, his somewhat lamentable
temper aroused by Arden’s dismissal of him as a priggish bore. “And I thought you a legend,
sir. A cautionary tale used by protective parents to keep young cubs in line.”

Reaction rippled through the assembled ranks, but
Leander’s gaze was on Arden’s face. A smile touched his lips as he looked at Leander. “A
palpable hit, Ockley,” he murmured. His voice was rich and soft, with a hint of steel that
intrigued Leander.

“Lea.” Henry’s voice broke in. He was not precisely floored,
but he was foxed enough to ignore all dictates of manners as he tugged insistently at his
brother’s arm. Knowing that if he resisted, Henry would only become more forceful, Leander
allowed himself to be raised to his feet. His brother had been the same since nursery
days—when he wanted something, he wanted it now, and it was usually attention he
craved. Leander directed a small bow towards Arden, whose smile had widened at the
spectacle Henry was making of them both, before following his brother’s urgent strictures to
leave immediately.

About the Author

Joy Lynn Fielding lives in a
small English market town, where she indulges her passions for vintage aircraft, horse riding
and gardening (though not all at the same time).

Joy tends to wax lyrical about
the fascinating facts she discovers during her research for books. Thankfully, she has a very
patient Labrador who has a gift for looking interested in what she’s saying while he waits for
the food to arrive.

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SERIES TOUR: “Paradigm Lost Trilogy” by R. Roderick Rowe.

SERIES TOUR

 

Book Title: Jamari and the Manhood Rites Trilogy

Author: R. Roderick Rowe

Publisher: RWCollins Publishing

Cover Artist: Farland Publishing

Genre: Fantasy Fiction, Epic Fantasy, Dystopian Fiction, Future Fiction

Tropes: Forbidden love, Magical Realism

Themes: Coming of age, Sexuality,

Heat Rating: 3 flames

This is the introduction to the world of Paradigm Lost, which currently includes this trilogy and also two Gay Erotica books.

The trilogy is a very long story divided into three parts.

 

BOOK 1

Title: Jamari and the Manhood Rites

Length: 211 pages

This book does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links

Amazon US | Amazon UK

Blurb

A forest paradise surrounded by lands gutted from corporate greed. The Elk Creek Tribe holds the hope for mankind’s future. One young man becomes paramount in bringing spirituality back into a desolate and hostile world. But first he must find himself.

Follow the life of a young man in the year 2115 as he decides to take on the challenge of the Manhood Rites. Journey with Jamari as he discovers his world, his community and his culture.

 

BOOK 2

Title: Jamari Shaman

Length: 242 pages

This book ends on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links

Amazon US | Amazon UK

Blurb

A forest paradise surrounded by lands gutted from corporate greed. The Elk Creek Tribe holds the hope for mankind’s future. One young man becomes paramount in bringing spirituality back into a desolate and hostile world. But first he must find himself.

Jamari must take on the challenges of The Manhood Rites before he can become a full citizen of The Elk Creek Tribe. He doesn’t expect the spiritual challenge that awaits him when he breaks into the spirit realm in his daily meditations. And he’s not sure he’s ready to accept what it means when he does. Can he accept his fate and transform into the respected spiritual leader he is destined to become? Is he ready to face the passage into his own spirit and soul? Travel with Jamari as he embarks on a journey down through tribal lands to the coast. Watch as he learns of other peoples outside the Elk Creek Tribe. Be a part of Jamari’s long journey home when tragedy strikes.

 

BOOK 3

Title: The Founder’s Sons

Length: 316 pages

This book does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links

Amazon US | Amazon UK

Blurb

A forest paradise surrounded by lands gutted from corporate greed. The Elk Creek Tribe holds the hope for mankind’s future. One young man becomes paramount in bringing spirituality back into a desolate and hostile world. But first he must find himself.

When Native American Mythology meets Celtic Druidism in a culture built around Gnostic Christianity, strange things come to life! Journey with Jamari as he discovers his world, his community and his culture.

Jamari works to understand a repeated spiritual vision as he also learns shamanism from the powerful Peter Shaman, 2nd Knight Shaman of the Elk Creek Tribe. He finds himself caught up in struggles, both physical and spiritual, as the world around him explodes in chaos and conquest.

In the world of 2115, nearly 100 years after the Pacific Rim erupted in a series of quakes, The Tribe remains the Pacific Northwest’s best hope of survival. Promoting peace, harmony, and the sharing of resources, The Tribe yet maintains a ferocious ability to defend itself from outsiders and wildlings. The Elk Creek Tribe, located near the town of Yoncalla, in Southwest Oregon, is the strongest civilization remaining in the region that has been long-abandoned by the mega-corps who decided that the sparse lands weren’t viable investments to rebuild roads and infrastructure to bring back into the fold.

The Tribe has defied all reason and logic, building a culture and a community that not just survives, but thrives, on the isolation, learning to live closer to the land, honoring the land and animals in return. Jamari has encountered spirit animals before, having earned two totems that have been recognized as his very own link to the Great Spirit. Over all, Eagle has visited him and marked him as His own.

He has to go on a frightening quest in order to satisfy a driving Vision. His friends, teachers and mentors guide him through this portion of his journey, building relationships that will span all time.

Jamari has been traveling Tribal Lands for two years in his quest to master the Manhood Rites and become a full citizen of the Elk Creek Tribe. It’s now 2117 and he’s getting his first views of the outer world. The outer world has been described as rapacious and vicious but, that information has not prepared him for what can happen when his world becomes the target of the Mega Corps who rule those other lands and governments. They’ve exhausted Oregon’s resources and now they’re setting eyes on the forest lands the Tribe has managed for over 100 years.

Along with threats and incursions from outside, Jamari is battling to understand why he disagrees with some major ethos of his own Tribe. His Shamanistic talents are growing and he’s becoming a reluctant legend within the Tribe. Hints of a top spot in Tribal Management and control are battling with growing internal unrest as he realizes just how big the changes the Tribe must make really are.

Can he earn the position that seems so readily his? Can he use it to make changes to better the Tribe? Can he gather the courage to let God fully enter into his corporeal body? What will he become if he does?

 

Excerpt

From “Jamari Shaman” This is the first evidence that Jamari may have shamanic abilities.

The winter woods were a quieter place. With his breath restored from his climb, he turned and headed up again. In just over a half hour, he reached his tiny little ridge-top meadow.

He paused there, wondering how he was going to settle himself in for his meditations on the water-soaked ground. He turned around a couple times, looking for a suitable place. With the bare branches of the oaks and the occasional maple offering scant shelter to form a dry spot, he simply emptied his leather carry pouch of the lunch items and settled the pouch onto the ground in a tuft of brown grass stems. He sat his bow beside the seat and settled himself for meditation.

As he was bringing himself to focus, he watched a hawk circle into view from above the rise to his south. Seeming to catch the piercing gaze of that hovering hunter, he imagined what those keen eyes might be finding in the wintry day. A mouse maybe. Or a chipmunk. If it’s lucky, maybe a small rabbit. Jamari’s eyes lost their focus on the real world as he entered into this imagining.

He is floating in a careful circle when he sees a twitch of grass below. He immediately enters into a hover, with wings shifting to a fast flutter to hold him in place, using his tail feathers to balance himself on the cushion of air. Another twitch in the grass. It’s a squirrel! Drawn out into the meadow to dig up a cached nut.

Seeing an opening, he shifts his wings into dive mode, making his whole body into a sharp arrow, diving down unseen, unheard, until his shadow crosses over the prey. It’s too late, though. He’s opening his wings, turning up his body, and swinging his clawed feet down to snag the furry body in a spine-snapping jerk, then using the remaining momentum of his dive to pull the lifeless body aloft.

Hunger. Hunger that should be satiated. Driving him on, turning him toward the largest prey he’s ever taken on. But the hunger!

Jamari jolted out of the trance in sudden knowing and leapt to his feet, grabbing the bow and turning around as he pulled an arrow into draw. He wasn’t even fully drawn, or truly aimed, when he realized that the arrow must go now! He released and watched the arrow slip into the breast of the springing cougar.

Too late! The cat’s momentum was going to carry it into him anyway! Jamari flung up his left arm, still holding the bow for some level of shielding and reached for his knife with his right hand. The weight of the cougar carried him over backward as he saw the jaws clamp onto the wood of his bow, saw and felt the wood crush under the pressure, then felt claws penetrating his heavy leather sleeve and an intense pummeling at his abdomen as the hind legs dug in.

He got the knife in hand and plunged it into the side of the maddened animal just behind the shoulder.

When the cougar turned a snarling set of fangs to Jamari’s head and neck, he was very convinced that it was all over for him. He kept pushing away with his injured left arm. He twisted the wrist of his knife hand to force the blade up toward the spine from the inside in a final attempt.

Relief as the cat slumps and the sliding blade reached something vital. It’s snarl of rage turned to a gasp as it collapsed down onto Jamari, with only enough energy remaining for a feeble clawing attempt that didn’t even penetrate the leather.

Shocked, Jamari pushed the body aside, leaping to his feet to run. He saw the lifeless eyes, though, and held fast, shaking: all-over shaking, tremors so strong he lost his grip on the knife he hadn’t even noticed that he still held. When he reached down for the knife, he felt a stabbing pain as the leather of his left sleeve shifted over the open wound in his forearm. Gasping, he looked down to see blood dripping from the hole in his sleeve and felt a crawling sensation as a red rivulet dripped from his wrist.

Sitting back down onto the somehow-undisturbed leather pouch, he held his left arm in his right hand for a moment, before remembering that he should get to the wound and stop the bleeding. He found it awkward, trying to remove his shirt with only one arm as he favored the injured one. He suffered a couple of bumps that made him feel as though his skin was being freshly violated each time. He persevered, though; and once he got the jerkin off, he realized that two claws had penetrated to give him a double cut. Deep enough that it would certainly need stitches, but not life-threatening. He used his knife to cut the damaged part of the sleeve from his jerkin, which he then cut into strips, and used a wad of sanitary cloth from the pouch to form a bandage.

Once he had the arm bandaged, using his teeth to hold the leather strip on one end while he tied the knots, he knelt down beside the cougar, laying his good right hand on her head. “I thank you for giving yourself so that my tribe will not go hungry. You honor me with your gift.”

He offered the Hunter’s Thanks, hoping that it was appropriate in this circumstance. He hadn’t actually set out to hunt a cougar, after all, and, do you thank the one who was hunting you? He donned the mutilated jerkin for its warmth.

 

About the Author

Roderick Rowe studied writing in college for several years, working as assistant editor and then editor for his school’s literary magazine. He also spent a term as copy editor for the campus newspaper. He is a gay man and uses this “affliction” to build characters and situations in his fictional work. Rowe has published several short stories and an occasional poem. After ending a twenty-year career unexpectedly in 2015, Rowe decided to write his first novel. “Jamari and the Manhood Rites, Part I” was completed in two months, then he settled in to conduct editing – complete new landscape design with a new Koi pond, a new library built into the spare room in his home, the cleanest his house had ever been – but the editing eventually got completed.

 

Social Media Links

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RELEASE BLITZ: “The Scars of Life” by David Blyth

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: The Scars of
Life

Author and Publisher: David
Blyth

Cover Artist: David
Blyth

Release Date: June 1,
2023

Genre: Contemporary Romance/Literary Fiction,
mystery/suspense

Tropes: Sexual identity, bisexuality, forbidden love

Themes: Psychological twist, mystery, family drama

Trigger Warning:
Supplementary themes involve sexual identity and a teenage incestuous occurrence: neither
are covered in detail, or described graphically, as they were ‘incidents’ rather than
relationships, though they have an impact on the development of the narrative.

Heat Rating: 2 – 3 flames

Length: 95 000 words/362
pages

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

It has a HEA of sorts – it fits
vaguely into the romance genre with a lot of psychological suspense and mystery
interwoven.

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available in Kindle
Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

Paperback also available from
Barnes and Noble

A troubled mind, a
dysfunctional love story, a psychological twist….

Blurb

Paul
Somerfield, a young journalist for Planet Earth magazine, shares a brief
friendship with the enigmatic Mike Stokes during an assignment in Devon. It leads to a
disruptive fascination and a reluctant complicity in events that evolve from Mike’s tragic
past.

On a journey
where emotions influence his brittle control, Paul pursues the truth. But the truth has many
disguises which disrupt his relationships, his rationality and his life.

A reminder of how fragile the stability of love and trust can
be: a journey that follows fear and doubt as they steer lives into a downward spiral of
destruction.

Excerpt

(To place in context: Paul (the main character) has just taken a trip over the moors
(Dartmoor, Devon, UK) with Mike (the mysterious second character) who he met just a few
days ago and befriended).

After a few minutes, with the sun transferring energy to
untanned skin, Paul plunged forward to swim towards the opposite bank. Standing up in the
shallow water, his gaze rested on his friend still stretched out below him. Mike’s eyes
remained closed, the gentle rise and fall of breath the only movement in his body. He could
almost have been asleep, but Paul knew he was not, and equally certain of Mike’s awareness
of a close observer, perhaps another gift to them both from the custodian of the paradise
who chose to share it. Paul was neither embarrassed nor aroused by the hedonic posture,
which perfectly balanced the equilibrium, complimenting the setting. He only felt
gratitude.

Time slowed to allow appreciation of the scene. Eventually,
with reluctance lest the spell be broken, Paul spoke again, “You need another cold dip,
mate.” The words were an intrusion. He strained to speak at all. An atmosphere of
expectancy subdued his responses.

Mike remained silent. As he turned his head, his eyes filled
with a remote but compelling vision. Paul was a prisoner to that gaze. The surroundings
drifted out of focus as the man held out a hand in an undeniable gesture of
reception.

The sensual element formed a command. With water
lapping knees, he leaned as fingers enclosed one arm in a soft grip. Mike’s eyes held a silent
appeal. It defied refusal. Legs felt weak, folded, he fell forward, his free hand placed near
Mike’s shoulder.

“Mike….” Words came like sobs from his lips, “I … I don’t … I
can’t….” He took shattered breaths, which formed around, “I’m sorry….”

Steady hands cradled his bowed head in a gentle caress.
Wet hair supplemented the tears that unmanned him. The softest touches of Mike’s fingers
smoothed them from his cheeks.

“Get out of the water, Paul.” Words almost whispered, close
to his ear, with barely disguised authority.

Paul responded, unconsciously, climbing onto the
stone.

Lines of sweat blurred his eyes. The atmosphere, heavy
with anticipation, directed his senses, regulated his responses. Or, a will projected from a
powerful force far below him, buried in the rock beneath. The body below him appeared
able to harness that power without the need for physical participation. Paul, aware of the
reaction of his own body to so sensual a situation, was powerless to subdue it. His skin
absorbed the life below with every touch. Nerves ignited with every caress. His senses
stimulated by conduction from another’s, as the strained form below him ascended the
pinnacles of climactic rapture. Salt tears and sweat, sun warmed skin against his lips, shared
breaths of confined desire; the noise of life pounding at his ear, the considerate grip of
passion embracing him with a bond of impregnability. All volition was gone.

Suddenly, as though perpetrated by a violent act upon the
man below him, the body became still. Only Mike’s relaxed breathing convinced Paul he was
innocent of such a deed. Time was striving to catch up with its unnatural stagnancy. A stale
memory of desire stained his mind like a contamination of his thoughts; the fruit of an
unguarded crop of passion, which left behind the bitterest aftertaste.

Paul stared at the slope they walked down earlier. Then he
stood, turned, and dived back into the water. He held no immediate aspiration to emerge
from that tranquil medium, doing so only when the pain in his chest forced him to return to
reality. Thrusting his feet towards the bed of the stream, he launched to the surface, gasping
for air. The vision that met his eyes when his violent breaths had calmed was of a dream
shattered. The picture was not as it appeared earlier. The sky painted a tormented brown.
The breathtaking scene, transformed to a bleak and forlorn landscape. Air and water around
him, tainted with pollution.

Turning his eyes across the water, he saw Mike walking up
the slope wearing his shorts, boots held by their laces in one hand, his T-shirt trailing from
the other and dragged along the grass. Swimming to the bank, reaching his clothes, he
fought jeans over a wet body and slipped on his shoes. Grasping his shirt and camera bag, he
stumbled up the slope in his haste. “Mike! Wait!” he called in a weak voice, breathing hard.
The man did not respond to his cry. Catching up as they entered the trees, he reached out to
the man’s shoulder, halting his progress.

Mike turned, a hard, almost pitiless stare, as he looked
deep into Paul’s eyes.

For a moment, Paul was unable to speak. So intense a
visage, it took away what little breath he had left. “You bastard! Don’t walk away from me as
though your dignity’s been bruised.” He dropped his shirt and bag to his feet, and braced
both hands on his knees. Breathing heavily, he waited for some reaction.

“Don’t lecture me about dignity.” The man answered,
sharply.

He felt a consuming fury growing within. Standing again,
Paul received a harsh look of accusation. As anger conquered instincts, he swung a clenched
fist towards the man’s head. The punch found its target, striking a heavy blow to the jaw.
Mike made no attempt to avoid the impact; blood soon appeared between his lips, trailing
down the side of his chin. He stood motionless, looking into the eyes of his assailant. Paul
remained poised, as though prepared to deliver another attack. Yet, in reality, he’d been
stunned by the recognition of his actions. Mike’s eyes never flinched as he reached towards
the fist, then enclosed it in a strong grip. Paul stood, mentally helpless and physically
defeated, as the man lowered the arm back to his side.

“Paul, let’s go home.” The expression on his face softened
before he turned to walk ahead.

About the Author

David Blyth was born in
Staffordshire, in the UK. He graduated from Nottingham and Wolverhampton
Universities.

He lived for many years in
South Africa, where he witnessed the political and social transformation during and after
apartheid.

His interests, apart from
writing, include anything that helps him to stay relatively sane.

The Scars of
Life was written during a two-year overland
exploration of southern, central and east Africa; much was achieved sitting under the shade
of a huge mango tree on the shores of Lake Malawi, always with a beer near at
hand.

Separate
Development, which is in fact his second novel,
though published first, was written at his home in the English Midlands.

He is currently working on his
third.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website | Facebook Profile | Facebook Author Page

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BLOG TOUR: “Enchanted Ink” by Robin Lynn.

BLOG TOUR

Book Title: Enchanted Ink

Author: Robin
Lynn

Cover Artist: Art by Gio
Guimaraes, Design by Katie Marlin

Release Date: June 1,
2023

Genres: LGBTQ Fiction, Contemporary Romance, Fantasy

Tropes: Fantasy/Magic/World-building, Tattoo artists, Hurt/Comfort,
Meet-Cute, Secret Identities, Celebrities, HEA, Queer romance

Themes: Self-acceptance, trauma recovery, transformation, Demisexual
representation.

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length: 60 000
words

It is a standalone book and
does not end on a cliffhanger

Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

When it comes to
transformation, magic only fixes what’s skin deep…

Blurb

In a world where an artist’s magic brings tattoos to life, ink
gone wrong can spell lasting heartache for those unlucky enough to experience it. Jaded and
cynical on both life and love, tattoo artist Ashton is about to find out that even the most
deeply-etched scars can be transformed into something beautiful when the right person is
holding the pen.

“Enchanted Ink” is a ground-breaking romance that
showcases how, with a bit of ink, some love, and a whole lot of trust, even the ugliest scars
can be transformed into something impossibly beautiful.

Using the art of tattooing as a metaphor for life,
“Enchanted Ink” makes it a mission to show even the most cynical and scarred of us that it’s
possible to heal, to find love, and that it’s never too late to start all over again.


Excerpt
The twelfth annual “Enchanted Ink” Tattoo Convention has been in full swing for hours,
but Ashton has yet to venture inside. It’s not as if he doesn’t know what he’ll find there: a
fairly standard convention space, divided using equally standard black curtains hanging from
predictable portable frames creating both booths and stations offering displays that are
anything but ordinary. Various tattoo artists and their work, in the flesh—the best of the
best, by both fact and opinion.

In addition to the booths, there are always several centralized
showcase stands, right in the middle of all the hustle and bustle. Elevated platforms where
human works of art strip down to their underwear and pose, proudly displaying full-body
and wildly colorful tattoos boasting some of the most intricate and beautiful imagery that
probably exists in the entire inked world.

This particular convention admits artists by invitation only, and
while Ashton isn’t technically here to work this year, it’s an event he’s enjoyed immensely in
the past. It’s bittersweet—perhaps a touch heavy on the bitter—hovering on the
outskirts, wondering whether he’ll ever find himself behind a booth and promoting his work
again. While that remains to be seen, there’s plenty here to worry about in the
meantime.

The thought of Whitaker working somewhere inside the
building behind him crosses Ashton’s mind and makes him grimace. He can practically feel
the tentative nerve he’s so painstakingly gathered, the courage to finally wander
through the front door, trickling away like water through a sieve.

Again.

Good thing it’s a nice day out, today. Sixty-eight degrees and
sunny, not a cloud in the sky, and Ashton brought a book. He can wait. The courage to go
inside will come.

Probably.

Sighing, Ashton rubs the sleeve of his too-dressy collared shirt
across the backs of his eyelids. The button on the cuff pokes his eye, and it feels like a call-
out. He’s too dressed up, he looks out of place. Too covered, if nothing else. Which isn’t to
say that tattooed folks can’t be modest—naturally, that’s false and would be a terribly
judgemental view to hold. Either way, the whole point of a tattoo convention is to show off
one’s body and as much art decorating skin as possible. It’s supposed to be a positive,
empowering experience.

That’s definitely the point, and his body is aesthetically
pleasant to look at, both sculpted and toned—yet here Ashton is, buttoned up solidly from
head to toe. Acting like he cares more about looking the part of a corporate stooge rather
than flaunting the walking canvas he is. Lame. So lame.

Lame, but necessary, he reminds himself.

About the Author

Robin Lynn is a 36-year-old
queer, autistic mother of two, an unabashed fangirl sometimes known as “Wings,” and a
disabled former firefighter, paramedic, and registered nurse. She writes for queer audiences
with the goal of reflecting and centering the lgbtqia2s+ community in more media, because
everyone deserves to see relatable, imperfect main characters who mirror themselves
simply existing and getting their happy endings.

Find out more and follow Robin for additional content and future
projects

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BLOG TOUR: “Serafino Da Ferrara” by Paolo g. Grossi.

BLOG TOUR

Book Title: Serafino da Ferrara

Author: Paolo G. Grossi

Publisher: The Conrad Press

Cover Artist: Charlotte Mouncey – Bookstyle

Release Date: February 28, 2023

Genres: LGBTQ+ / Historical Fiction

Themes: Coming of age / Talent and Arts

Length: 79 270 words/333 pages

Heat Rating: 3 flames

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

Goodreads

 

Buy Links

Available at Amazon, Waterstones,

The Conrad Press and all major retailers.

Universal Link | Amazon US | Amazon UK

 

Blurb

Ferrara, 1505 AD.

Talented Serafino is apprenticed to Mastro Filargiro, one of the city’s leading artists.

Serafino finds love, but his mastery takes him on a perilous journey across Italy’s feuding city-states, unaware that his virtuosity is a threat to the pre-eminence of the hitherto unchallenged masters of the Renaissance.

His life must take a dramatic new turn in the hope of escaping their enmity.

 

Washington DC, 2008.

Parker’s first year at Georgetown High is coming to an end.

His father is appointed Consul General in Florence. Parker enthusiastically embraces his new life and befriends handsome Beppe.

But almost everyone around him has been keeping secrets. And the fifteenth-century palazzo where his family now lives unexpectedly reveals its long-buried mysteries.

 

Separated by five hundred years, yet united by their talent, Serafino and Parker embark on similar journeys of discovery while fellow artists, assassins, princes and envious classmates rage and scheme around them.

 

Excerpt

He hears the final bell. The school erupts, classroom doors slam open barely holding on to their hinges, the metallic noise of lockers being opened and shut again is deafening.

Summer break is here. A torrent of students regurgitates into the street causing an almighty traffic jam. SUVs with mothers or nannies at the wheel vie for space, right of way, and ultimately a not-too-subtle parade of the best four wheels in Georgetown.

This is no cheap suburbia, most of their husbands or employers are toiling at some desk or chairing important meetings at Foggy Bottom, on Capitol Hill or the White House. Most often all three.

Parker walks out of the front door with his hands in the tight pockets of his slacks and his rucksack on his shoulders. A few hugs with the girls and some high-fives with fellow boys ensue. His older brother is already waiting at the bike stand. When he gets there the high-five is followed by a manly hug.

‘Dude, summer break and birthday tomorrow. Lucky little bro.’

‘Bet you know what the old folks have got me.’

‘Sure I do.’

They start cycling. When Parker reached the age of fourteen, their parents went out and bought a cheap bike for his growing frame. The Hendersons’ pristine drive sports the standard two SUVs parked neatly by each other, yet their mother wasn’t fond of school runs. In their opinion he was still a bit too young to cycle all the way to school by himself but the city had finally built some decent bike lanes and Tommy was now seventeen so they made them promise to stick together on the journey.

Tommy, who finds cycling by himself rather dull – he’s not much of a loner, any activity has to involve other people – had gone out of his way to promise to look out for his little brother at traffic junctions.

They had also promised never to set off without their helmets, though Tommy had swiftly pointed out to Parker that “setting off” with them was not the same as “wearing them”. Parker, the more academic of the pair, had found the distinction clever though he had laughed while retorting that it was still cheating.

So when they are a couple of blocks away from home they stop, unlock their helmets from their rucksacks’ straps and don them before reaching the driveway. A few times Parker had remarked that one day they might get caught by their mother driving by.

He walks to the garage door to open it but he’s shouted down by Tommy who parades himself in front of it.

‘Off-limits until tomorrow, bro.’

A smiling Parker leaves his bike with his brother and heads for the kitchen door. Tommy has just narrowed down his guesses for his present. One doesn’t need a garage to hide a watch or a pair of trainers.

To his surprise he finds them both at home, sat at the kitchen table with two mugs of coffee in their hands. After kissing his mother on the cheek (Tommy is starting to cringe at that, but Parker still likes it. Tomorrow’s birthday might change that), he meets his father’s closed fist with his; they have gradually stopped hugging.

‘Why are you home?’ Parker’s face frowns in suspicion. ‘You’ve got the day off tomorrow, haven’t you, Dad?’

‘‘No worries. All free tomorrow. Left office early, not much to do at the moment. There might be a few changes in my career; new President, new direction.’

 

About the Author

Paolo G. Grossi was born and raised in Milan. Thirty years ago he spent a weekend in London and decided to stay. Like most Italians, opera and the visual arts are his main passions. When not writing, you will surely find him attending a performance, visiting a museum and, of course, spending some time cycling in Berlin or around the Wannsee. He lives in London with his partner David.

Also by Paolo G. Grossi: The Tiergarten Tales

Author Links

Website

 

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Continue ReadingBLOG TOUR: “Serafino Da Ferrara” by Paolo g. Grossi.