Disponible en español: Eternamente Joven (vampiro, homoerotico) por Jeff Erno!

Eternamente Joven23Eternamente Joven
Autor: Jeff Erno
Género: Juvenil-M/M-Vampiros
Extensión: Novela
eISBN: 978-1-937796-79-2
MSRP: 7.99
Precio: 4.99

Enlaces de compra: Kindle Espana|Kindle Mexico|Kindle US|BN Nook|AllRomance Ebooks|Google Play|Kobo

En menos de un verano, el tímido e introvertido Robbie Myers pasa de tener dieciocho años y no haber sido besado nunca a la apasionada intensidad del primer amor que podría durar eternamente. Literalmente…

Robbie Myers de dieciocho años de edad tiene dificultades para hablar con la gente. No solo es tímido, sino que parece decir algo equivocado cada vez que abre la boca, sobre todo al apuesto desconocido y misterioso que se presenta en su trabajo del supermercado, lo defiende de un compañero agresivo y luego le pide una cita. No puede creer que un atractivo y mundano chico malo de diecisiete años de edad, Colt Abernathy esté realmente interesado. Sin embargo, no puede negar que el fervor ardiente en los ojos oscuros de Colt es solo por él. En cuestión de un instante, Robbie es apartado de su plan de asistir a un colegio comunitario mientras que vive en casa con su madre y ahorra para un coche, hasta la tierna y ya apasionada exploración de un intenso primer amor. Poco sabe Robbie…

Convertido durante el apogeo de la Guerra Civil, Colt ha quedado atrapado en el cuerpo de un solitario chico de diecisiete años de edad. Cuando ve al joven delgado, de pelo rubio, y ojos azules, empujando una fila de carros de la compra al otro lado de un aparcamiento, Colt sabe al instante que están destinados el uno para el otro. Solo hay un problema mayor: si sobrevive a la batalla inminente entre los vampiros y los Matarianos –un ejército de brutales cazadores de vampiros– va a vivir para siempre. Robbie no es…

Extracto:

Cuando Robbie salió, decidió esperar un par de minutos para ver lo que pasaba con Jerry. Si realmente fuera despedido, Robbie le vería salir. Se quedó junto a la entrada, donde seguía teniendo una visión clara de las cajas a través de la ventana. Unos tres minutos más tarde, vio a Jerry regresar a su zona de trabajo. Comenzó a correr de acá para allá, reponiendo las bolsas para los suministros en los pasillos de las cajas. Robbie se sintió aliviado. Al parecer, a Jerry no le habían echado. Probablemente solo hubiera sido sermoneado y advertido con severidad por Wandrie.

A la mayoría de los chicos que trabajaban en la tienda no les gustaba el Sr. Wandrie. Todos se burlaban de él a sus espaldas, posiblemente solo porque era el jefe. En opinión de Robbie, el Sr. Wandrie era un tipo bastante decente. Había días en los que el hombre parecía un poco gruñón, pero eso era así para todos.

Robbie se preguntó por un momento si el Sr. Wandrie había oído a Jerry llamarle maricón. Bueno, debió haberlo oído. Eso había avergonzado a Robbie, y esperaba que el Sr. Wandrie no se formara una idea equivocada sobre él. Así es como los tipos como Jerry llamaban a los demás, especialmente cuando estaban furiosos. En realidad no significaba nada. Era como cuando la gente decía que algo era “gay” solo porque no les gustaba. Era una forma de hablar o algo así.

Para ser sincero, había herido sus sentimientos. No entendía por qué Jerry había dicho algo como eso. Era tan obvio que era…

—¿Todavía estás aquí?

Robbie dio un salto, sorprendido por la voz detrás de él. Se volvió para enfrentar al chico que había visto antes, el que tenía la chaqueta de cuero.

—Oh Dios mío, me has asustado.

—Lo siento, tío. —El chico de la chaqueta de cuero se rio—. No fue mi intención acercarme a ti sigilosamente.

—Pensé que Jerry iba a ser despedido —dijo Robbie—. Le llamaron a la oficina del gerente.

El chico asintió con la cabeza.

—Bueno. Ya era hora.

—Oh. Um, yo no quiero que se meta en problemas ni nada de eso. Definitivamente no quiero que, ya sabes, pierda su trabajo.

—¿Por qué no? Es perezoso.

Robbie se encogió de hombros.

—Dijo que no se sentía bien.

El chico de la chaqueta de cuero se rio de nuevo.

—Eres una… cómo debería decirlo… persona muy confiada, ¿no?

—Uh, no lo sé. Supongo que sí.

—Bien, Robbie, creo que deberías tener cuidado. Algunas personas no son muy dignas de confianza.

Robbie le miró. Sus ojos eran más oscuros que antes, ahora eran casi negros. Tal vez fuera debido a la tenue iluminación.

—¿Cómo sabes mi nombre?

—Llevabas una tarjeta de identificación. La leí antes, cuando estabas aquí fuera empujando los carritos.

—Oh.

—Mi nombre es Colt, por cierto.

—¿En serio? —Sonrió Robbie, pero se dio cuenta al instante de lo grosero que debió sonar—. Lo siento, nunca he oído hablar de nadie que se llamara así.

—Abreviatura de Colton. Es un nombre de familia. Y no lo sientas, es bastante inusual.

—Oh, bueno, me gusta. —Cuando su nuevo amigo le miró a los ojos, Robbie sintió que se sonrojaba—. Uh, quiero decir… bueno, es un nombre genial.

Colt se acercó más a él, invadiendo su espacio personal.

—Así que ¿ya has terminado tu turno?

Robbie asintió.

—Sí —susurró.

—¿Estás esperando a que alguien te lleve o algo así?

—Nah. Vivo a un par de bloques de aquí, en el camping.

—Estupendo. —Sonrió Colton—. Te acompañaré a casa.

—¡No tienes que hacerlo! —espetó Robbie—. Uh, quiero decir, es muy amable de tu parte, pero…

—Sé que no tengo que hacerlo, pero ¿y si quiero hacerlo?

¿Por qué querría acompañarme a casa? Robbie no estaba muy seguro de qué pasaba con este chico, pero realmente le gustaba. Tal vez fuera lo sexy que parecía con esa chaqueta de cuero. Tal vez fueran sus ojos, tan oscuros y misteriosos, o la profunda resonancia de su voz.

—Está bien. Es cosa tuya.

Colt se agachó y recogió la mochila que Robbie había colocado a su lado en la acera.

—Muéstrame el camino.

Robbie se echó a reír.

—No tienes que llevarla, ¿sabes? Puedo arreglármelas.

—Quiero llevarla —dijo Colt, su voz firme y confiada—. Ya no me cabe duda, realmente eres una buena persona, alguien a quien me gustaría tener como amigo.

—Gracias. —Robbie no podía creer que este chico estuviera siendo tan agradable, tales atenciones le hacían sentirse un poco abrumado. Era sexy y encantador, casi demasiado bueno para ser verdad—. Pero en realidad no sabes nada de mí. Por lo que sabes, podría ser un asesino o algo parecido.

Colt se echó a reír con un poco más de entusiasmo del que Robbie esperaba.

—Esa sí que es buena. —Palmeó a Robbie en el hombro, y luego le dio un cariñoso apretón. Robbie sintió que sus mejillas ardían.

Caminaron juntos un trecho, con Robbie a la cabeza. Robbie no estaba seguro de qué decirle a su nuevo amigo, cómo seguir la conversación.

—Supongo que estás diciendo que no parezco muy peligroso.

—Bueno, tío, para ser sincero, no, no lo pareces. Tienes el aspecto de ser un hombre tan bueno que la gente se aprovecha de ti en ocasiones.

Colt estaba empezando a sonar igual que su madre.

—Tal vez —asintió—. Pero creo que prefiero que la gente me considere demasiado bueno y no demasiado mezquino.

—Es cierto. Pero tienes que tener cuidado. Ser bueno no es lo mismo que ser crédulo. Aun con todo, tienes que defenderte y no dejar que la gente te utilice.

—Como Jerry. —Robbie sabía que lo que Colt decía era verdad, pero simplemente no estaba en su naturaleza discutir con la gente.

—Sí, como ese idiota. Era evidente que no estaba enfermo. Solo estaba tratando de acosarte para que trabajaras un tiempo extra para así poder irse a casa.

Robbie asintió y bajó la cabeza.

—Oye, ¿cómo sabes que Jerry dijo que estaba enfermo?

—Me lo dijiste cuando estábamos en la tienda.

—¿Te lo dije? —Robbie no lo recordaba—. ¿Eres nuevo aquí? ¿Vives también en el camping?

—No, no vivo en el camping, pero soy nuevo en Boyne. Me mudé la semana pasada.

—Oh, guau. Así que ¿irás al instituto o estás en la universidad?

Colt negó con la cabeza.

—No voy al instituto, ni a la universidad. Ya me gradué.

—Oh, pensé que tenías mi edad. Me gradué el mes pasado.

—Estudié en casa —dijo Colt—. A mis padres no les gustaban las escuelas públicas. ¿Qué edad crees que aparento?

—No lo sé. —No quería responder por miedo a equivocarse—. Diecisiete tal vez.
Colt se echó a reír.

—Te equivocas.

—Lo siento, no soy bueno adivinando la edad de la gente.

—Tengo bastante más de diecisiete años —dijo Colt, sin dejar de sonreír—. Bastante más. ¿Me creerías si te dijera que tengo ciento sesenta y siete?

Robbie se echó a reír.

—Guau, tienes buen aspecto para tu edad. Debes tener una dieta fantástica y un gran régimen de ejercicios.

—Oh, sí. —Le guiñó un ojo y luego pasó un brazo sobre el hombro de Robbie—. Principalmente una dieta líquida.

Robbie se volvió hacia él, inhalando cuando lo hizo, y de inmediato se dio cuenta de cuán tentador era el olor de Colt. Llevaba algún tipo de perfume de sándalo. Paró de caminar y miró a los ojos de su amigo. Parecían mucho más oscuros que antes, pero tal vez se debiera a la luz tenue de las farolas a su alrededor.

—¿Cuántos años tienes realmente? —susurró Robbie.

—Tenía diecisiete la última vez que lo comprobé. —La voz de Colt era ahora más suave y sensual.

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Meant For Him by D.H. Starr is available!

Meant for Him23Meant For Him
Author: D.H. Starr
Genre: Gay romance; M/M romance
Previous book: Meant For Each Other
Imprint: Ai Press
Length: Super novel
eISBN: 978-1-937796-76-1

Trade paperback
ISBN13: 978-1-937796-77-8
Price: 12.99 USD

Buy from Ai Press|Amazon Kindle|BN Nook|AllRomance Ebooks|Google Play

Flame rating: 4 flames- Stories have frequent love scenes that are explicit and described using graphic and direct language.

Another hot guy from Greenwich Village is about to meet his match. That is, if he doesn’t mess things up…this time.

After the failure of his relationship with Jeremy, Andrew Jamieson threw himself into the routine of his high powered job on Wall Street. After two years, however, he is unable to quell the longing in his heart, a place Jeremy once filled. That is, until he meets Peter, the local bartender in Jeremy’s favorite watering hole. Peter is hot, sweet, sensitive and…masterful. He brings out a side of Andrew he never knew he had and he can’t get enough. However, when the same issues arise that caused his relationship to fail with Jeremy, Andrew fears he’s destined to ruin his chances with Peter. Will Andrew love Peter enough to let himself have the one guy in the world who could be meant for him?

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Andrew Jamieson pressed the handles of the weight machine away from his body, the strain on his muscles a welcome distraction from the day’s aggravation. Two promotions, managing an entire section of Goldman Sachs trading division, and paychecks to support the lifestyle of a king meant nothing. What good were they if none of them it could fill the void which settled in his heart after his split from Jeremy?

He’d spent two years pouring himself into work and into working out. Still, no amount of money and no extra definition to his already toned body could erase the fact he was alone. Well, maybe not alone since he had friends, but most definitely lonely. He’d taken his eight years with Jeremy for granted, pushing his own wants and needs on the man.

The truth they’d both been hiding from became too much to ignore when Craig, Jeremy’s childhood friend, came back into the picture. They’d wanted different things. At least Andrew kept telling himself they did. Otherwise he’d have to admit he’d fucked up the best thing in his life. And for what? A killer condo overlooking Central Park?

Counting out the final reps, Andrew focused on the muscle burn. It was easy enough to concentrate on the tremor in his bicep when he curled a weight or the creases of his stomach with each crunch, but having the arms of a Greek god was no use when there was no one to hold in his embrace. Washboard abs meant nothing if he couldn’t spoon a warm body against his skin.

He shut out the self-pitying thoughts, wiped down the seat of the weight machine and headed to the locker room. He made quick work of undressing and slipped an altogether too small towel around his waist. There were perhaps seven or eight guys changing and they made no effort to hide their sidelong glances at his powerful physique. Even the admiration of others, many of whom were impressively built, couldn’t lift his sense of isolation.

After a quick shower, he considered a long sit in the steam room and perhaps fifteen minutes in the sauna, areas renowned for locker room hook ups. He’d sworn off those after the first few months of being single. Instead of boosting his ego, the anonymous encounters only served to remind him what he’d had and lost.

Slipping into his regular clothing, Andrew ignored the several men assaulting him with their eyes, and worked his way out of the gym and to the street. The chill of late winter still carried on the air, but the promise of spring lingered beneath the vestiges of cold.

Birds chirped and the trees had begun to sprout buds. People had replaced woolen coats and scarves with lighter jackets. Several food vendors were set up along the sidewalks and the familiar smell of falafel and roasting franks wafted through the air. All signs of warmer weather and new beginnings.

But nothing seemed new. Trudging down Fifty-Ninth Street, the southern border of Central Park, toward his luxury apartment, he couldn’t help but resent the couples wandering along, hand in hand.

A young couple, about his age, stood at the entrance to the park holding one another in an embrace. The man leaned in and placed a tender kiss on the woman’s lips. When he’d initially found this place, he’d hoped he and Jeremy could take such strolls, simply enjoying each other’s company, or heading a few blocks West to Madison Avenue where they purchased a hi-def television or perhaps a Bluetooth surround system. Andrew found solitary use of the equipment far less enjoyable than he’d imagined.

To make matters worse, Jeremy finding everything he wanted in Craig only intensified Andrew’s sense of disconnectedness, a constant companion lately. As if reading his mind, his phone buzzed, Jeremy’s name emblazoned on the screen.

The typical responses of excitement and regret filled him each time Jeremy called, in that order. He pressed ‘Accept’ and brought the phone to his ear. “Hey you.” He mustered as much cheerfulness as he could and still sounded depressed.

“What’s wrong?” Jeremy’s concern was tangible. Yet he wasn’t there to sling an arm over Andrew’s shoulder or pull him into a comforting hug. No warmth, only the chill air of late winter.

“Nothing. Just worked out and I’m a little sore.” His lie probably fell on all too knowing ears, but he refused to wallow in his own misery.

“Oh. Okay.” Jeremy maintained a chipper bounce to his tone, although it didn’t fool Andrew. “We still on for dinner tonight?”

Shit. I totally forgot about that. He and Jeremy had managed to remain friends despite the circumstances breaking them apart. He liked Craig, but seeing the two of them together was still difficult. “Uh. I—”

“Don’t even! I’ve been slaving away in the kitchen for the past two hours.” The chastising tone helped to thaw some of the ice surrounding Andrew’s heart, even though the familiarity broke it just a bit more. “Besides, I haven’t seen you in two weeks.”

“Fine. Is there anything I can bring?”

“Just yourself.” A brief silence interrupted Jeremy’s usual talkative nature. The pause was long enough for the hairs on Andrew’s arms to stand on end. “We invited Pete over too.”

There it was. Another one of Jeremy’s dinners, code for hookup. Andrew dropped his head so his chin rested on his chest and he came to a dead halt in the middle of the sidewalk. “Jeremy. If you’re trying to—”

“I’m not trying to do anything, but you’ve been a working machine for the last two years. It’s not like you to cut yourself off from people. You deserve to find someone. I worry about you.”

Affection spread through Andrew like fingers of warmth comforting him from within. For eight years he’d come home to Jeremy’s nurturing. And for most of those years, they’d been happy. Until Andrew’s career took off. Once that happened, Andrew’d wanted more for the two of them. He’d pressured Jeremy about his choice of career and his complacency. He’d viewed Jeremy as unmotivated and thought it was his job to push the man to achieve his full potential. Yet Jeremy was still teaching, still making a pitiful salary, still living in the East Village in a small apartment, and still happier than Andrew had ever seen him.

“I’ll be there around six. Please don’t expect anything with Pete. When I’m ready, I’ll find someone.”

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En español: Señora de Dos Lairds por Sedonia Guillone

señoraLairdsLarge23Señora de Dos Lairds
Autor: Sedonia Guillone
Género: Menage a trois / histórico / Highlanders
Largo: Novela
eISBN: 978-1-937796-69-3
Precio: 5.49 USD

Calificación sensualidad: 4 llamas-Las historias tienen escenas de amor frecuentes que son explícitos y se describen utilizando el lenguaje gráfico y directo.

Compra e-book de: Ai Press|Amazon Kindle|AllRomance Ebooks

Arte de la cubierta: Les Byerley

Una mujer. Dos rudos y guapos highlanders. Ella los ama a los dos. Afortunadamente, ellos están dispuestos a compartirla…

Leda MacGregor ha albergado un amor secreto por el apuesto Laird Duncan desde que tenía dieciséis años. Cuando este la culpa de la muerte de su esposa, ella se vuelve hacia su hermano Ian para que este la consuele y encuentra que su corazón es capaz de amar a dos hombres.
Ian MacGregor sabe que su corazón pertenece a Leda, su amiga de la infancia. La desea con más fuerza que a cualquier otra mujer que ha conocido. Sin embargo, se debate entre el deseo de su corazón y el curso que su vida debe tomar. Cuando por fin es libre de amar a Leda, son separados por un cruel engaño.
Duncan MacGregor aprende cuan poderosa es fuerza del perdón de Leda y con el paso del tiempo, crece su amor y la desea de una manera que nunca creyó posible. Cuando su hermano le rompe el corazón, la toma para él. Entonces el destino trae a Ian de regreso, aún amando a Leda…
Una mujer. Dos rudos y guapos highlanders. Ella los ama a los dos. Afortunadamente, ellos están dispuestos a compartirla…

Excerpt:

La poderosa presencia de Duncan llenó la habitación. Lo sintió escabullirse tras de ella. Las manos fuertes del Laird se cerraron con suavidad pero con firmeza en sus caderas. El calor de sus manos quemaba por debajo del fino algodón de su camisa de dormir, presionando en su suave carne con fervor posesivo.

El momento había estado anhelando durante años había llegado.

“Phyllida.” El aliento de Duncan acarició un lado de su cuello, haciendo que sus párpados cerrados revolotearan. Se puso de espaldas contra él, deslizando sus manos por sus caderas, a través de la suave redondez, femenina de su vientre. Sus manos se posaron en su pecho, los dedos índices de cada mano rozaban peligrosamente cerca de la parte inferior de sus senos.
Leda se permitió descansar contra él. Se deleitó con la dura protección masculina de su cuerpo presionado su espalda. Duncan la hacía sentir tan segura y cálida. Sus ojos se abrieron cuando la dureza de su erección empujó en la hendidura entre sus nalgas. Su respiración profunda y poso sus manos sobre él, permitiendo que sus dedos exploraran el calor de piel, las venas, y su oscuro cabello rizado de sus fuertes manos. Su aliento, ahora ronco y desigual, latía en sus oídos, convirtiéndose en promesas eróticas. “Duncan, te he fallado. Lo siento mucho.” Ella comenzó a llorar.

“Calla ahora”, le dijo.

En silencio, miró por la ventana abierta a los árboles y al césped. A lo lejos, colinas verdes bajaban por el lago Garmond en los confines de la cañada.

“Mi hermosa Leda”, susurró Duncan. “Te perdono.” El tenor de su ronca voz, más potente que el mejor whisky, envió acaloradas emociones a través de sus pechos, y su corazón le dolía con la liberación de su culpabilidad. Su perdón fue más dulce, más curativo que un bálsamo. Poco a poco, tentativamente, deslizó su palma hacia arriba, por su pecho, a las suaves ondas de sus pechos…

Leda se sentó de golpe, su pecho jadeaba. Hundió la palma de su mano en la frente, recuperándose. Había tenido sueños similares sobre Duncan en los últimos cinco años, y siempre la sacudían. Pero ninguno tan intenso como este.

La húmeda brisa del verano, flotaba por la ventana abierta, levantando suavemente las cortinas de gasa blanca. El temprano rosa de la salida del sol se mostraba por encima de las distantes colinas.

Su sexo seguía pulsándole con la locura del sueño y sus pezones hormigueaban en contra de su camisón. Las sensaciones la llenaban de culpa. A causa de su incompetencia, Duncan había enterrado a su amada Caitlynn y a su hijo muerto el día de hoy, y ella, Phyllida, ni siquiera tenía la decencia de parar sus románticos deseos— no, su lujuria— para el miembro del clan que había amado en secreto durante años. Especialmente cuando fue por su culpa que Caitlynn murió.

Leda exhaló y volvió a caer sobre las almohadas, con el corazón encogido dolorosamente. Empuñó sus manos para que dejaran de temblar. Por enésima vez, repaso todas las posibilidades en su mente, viéndose a sí misma detener el flujo de sangre que había escurrido la vida de Caitlynn. Había empleado hasta la última gota de los conocimientos de partera y de enfermería que su madre le enseñó. Sin embargo, la horrible sensación que podía haber hecho más la atormentaba, como una piedra bajo su piel.

Acomodándose más profundamente en la cama, se quedó mirando la salida del sol. La finca ya se sentía más oscura y sombría, sin Caitlynn, la hermosa mujer que había traído la luz y la risa al sobrecargado laird, lleno de responsabilidades. Cait fue un fuerte contraste a su marido, quien llevaba el peso de sus responsabilidades con un aire pesado. Duncan sorprendió a todos los que conocía durante su corto matrimonio, porque él había pasado esos cinco años llenos de las risas que ahora había perdido.

Ahora Caitlynn se había ido, y Leda tendría que vivir el resto de sus días sabiendo que la había matado.

De repente, Leda recordó que Ian, el hermano menor de Duncan, estaría en casa esa mañana para el funeral. Ella e Ian tenían la misma edad y habían crecido casi toda su vida juntos. La idea de verlo, a su compañero de juegos infantiles y su mejor amigo, fue lo que la hizo sobreponerse y forzarse a sí misma a levantarse de las profundidades de su suave colchón. Calzó sus zapatillas y cruzó la habitación a su guardarropa. Abriendo bien las puertas, pensando en que ponerse. No era que tuviera mucha elección. Había preferido siempre el uniforme de todos los días que era una blusa, pantalón, suéter, y botas, a las faldas y vestidos.

A pesar de su tristeza, Leda sonrió espontáneamente ante los recuerdos que le vinieron a la mente. Caitlynn, que había sido la encarnación de la feminidad, había intentado una y mil veces, sin éxito, romper con su atuendo masculino. A pesar de que Leda se había sentido siempre como una boba junto a la esposa de Duncan, la ropa masculina la había protegido, manteniéndola invisibles a los ojos de los hombres, especialmente de Duncan. Si no la notaba, era mucho más fácil ignorar el hecho de que nunca podría devolver el cariño que guardaba a su tutor. Además, nadie podía montar a caballo, escalar montañas y árboles, y explorar las orillas de un lago en un vestido de té.

Audrey asomó la cabeza por la puerta. “¿Necesita una mano, Señorita Leda?”

Leda sonrió a la mujer, de mediana edad, y que si se preocupa de la condición social. Antes de que su padre se perdiera en el mar, en su barco de pesca, Leda había pasado los primeros años de su vida en una cabaña rústica en las Orkneys, y nunca había sido una criada. Nunca creció acostumbrada realmente a ser atendida. “No lo creo, Audrey. Gracias.”

Audrey frunció el ceño e irrumpió en el cuarto de todos modos. “Yo no le creo, Señorita.” En un soplo de faldas almidonadas, se dirigió a una cómoda y sacó un corsé y medias de color oscuro de un cajón.

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Now Available: The Case of the Choirboy Killer (A Mark Julian, Vampire P.I. Mystery)

The Case of the Choirboy KillerFD23The Case of the Choirboy Killer (A Mark Julian, Vampire P.I. Mystery)
Author: L.G. Fabbo-Gonnella
Series: Mark Julian, Vampire P.I. Book One
Genre: Paranormal, M/M, Gay Romance, Gay Fiction, Mystery and Detective, Dark Urban Fantasy
Imprint: Ai Press
Length: Novel
eISBN: 978-1-937796-68-6

Flame rating: 2 flames- Stories will have some love scenes. These will be more sensual then graphic and will mostly rely on euphemism.

Buy from: Amazon Kindle Available to download for Kindle Unlimited subscribers!

Cover design: Les Byerley
Cover photo courtesy of Christian Campbell
Cover model: Jacopo Rampini

Mark Julian is New York’s only private eye for the supernatural. He has a job to do, one that includes not getting romantically involved with humans. Until a feeding frenzy on gay men crosses his path with irresistible Detective Vincent Pasquale of the NYPD. The paranormal world is about to collide with the human world, in more ways than one…

The city is being hit by a wave of killings where the victims share two things in common: 1) they are gay and, 2) they have been drained of blood. The press is having a field day using a witness’ description to label him as “the choirboy killer” and the gay community is up in arms. Worse the local vampire council is convinced the killer one of their own who has gone rogue and is intentionally committing these activities as an affront the entire undead community. “I mean we just don’t act this way here,” sniffed the head of the council, “I mean this is New York City after all!”

The council goes to the only person from their community who they think can find the killer and end his reign. Mark Julian, a vampire like themselves and New York’s only private eye for the supernatural world. With the help of his secretary Jaime, an incubus-succubus changeling sex demon he begins the hunt. His only major problem is that one of New York’s finest is also on the trail of the fiend who is dispatching the city’s citizens. When hunky detective Vincent Pasquale and Julian cross paths the gay detective finds the well-built handsome law officer is not only impeding his quiet search but also, for the first time in centuries, getting him heated up as well. Will they join forces or will one of them fall victim to the sensational choirboy killer?

Bonus Feature: The Curious Case of the Runaway Incubus

Excerpt:

“He looked like a damned choirboy,” Detective Vincenzo Pasquale swore as he reviewed his notes. “All I get from my only witness is that he looked like a choirboy!” The detective ran one of his hands through the dark hairs on his head in frustration. He needed more useful information, and he needed it fast. He thought about the murder. It had received extensive press coverage with it being pride week and, even more critically, with a gay victim! The media and the gay community were already screaming bias crime. It was clear the murderer had picked up his victim at a gay club. Now many, without any foundation, were insisting that the killer had to have been a straight man that had merely “posed” as gay to lure in his target. Worse yet, someone in the department, or more likely the mayor’s office, had leaked the suspect’s description to members of New York’s overheated press. Always ready to stir the pot to increase their circulation in an ever-diminishing market of print readers, the media had jumped in with both feet. The press’s headlines quickly dubbed him the choirboy killer. “That is just what this sicko needs, a freaking name that will stroke his ego,” the good-looking detective grumbled to himself.

“Damn,” he sighed as he shifted his toned and muscled body in his chair. At thirty years of age, the muscular, six foot one inch law officer was the very opposite of the stereotypical detective. In the minds of the public, detectives were a bunch of sedentary and overfed middle-aged cops who dressed in suits while getting fat sitting at their desks reading reports. In John Q. Public’s eyes they all were merely waiting for their pensions to fill out sufficiently, then retire.

Vinnie glanced at the picture of his fiancé that sat on his cluttered desk, looking for comfort from the image of the perky, fair-haired girl whom he had recently proposed to. Terry and Vinnie had met while he was a student at the John Jay College of Criminal Justice in Manhattan. She was a first year schoolteacher at the local high school that was just up the street from the college. One day after his classes he had literally bumped into her as he raced to answer a call from his precinct. They had dated off and on, but things had gotten serious between them in the last year. Vincenzo, known as Vinnie to everyone but his mother on Staten Island, had finally asked Terry to marry him. He had done so prompted not only by his mother but also by the fact he had now entered his thirties. As his mother kept telling him, it was that time of life when a man ought to settle down and bring a flock of new Pasquales into the world. Terry, being a Lutheran of Swedish descent and also three years older than Mrs. Pasquale’s “beloved Vincenzo,” had not initially endeared herself to Vinnie’s traditionally minded Roman Catholic, Italian mother. Over time, however, Terry had been accepted not only into the vast clan Vinnie referred to jokingly as la mia famiglia but also by his mother. Her future mother-in-law had instantly warmed up to their engagement when Terry confessed that secretly she wanted at least four and possibly five children. So things now were comfortably set for him. If Terry never inspired a grand passion in Vinnie, at least, as he figured it, they got along well.

Vinnie looked at his notes then sighed in disgust. He reached across his cluttered desk to pick up his phone. Grimacing, he held the phone, dreading Terry’s reaction when he cancelled yet again another dinner at her apartment. Though Terry tried to understand Vinnie’s job and its time demands, recently her frustration levels seemed to have grown. Vinnie, who was now considered one of the best in the squad, increasingly found himself being assigned the department’s most complex or sensitive cases. Finally he heard Terry pick up the phone.

“Don’t tell me you have to work,” Terry said without waiting for Vinnie to say anything first. “Again, right?” She continued using a tone of voice that reflected a mixture of both annoyance and dissatisfaction.

“How did you know it was me?” Vinnie asked in a casual tone, hoping to deflect the coming storm for just a minute more. Vinnie hated these scenes that seemed to be happening more often between them as the scope of his job assignments grew. Even their times together were affected by this tension over his long hours. As for the effects on his love life, sex with Terry had always been perfunctory, rather uninspired, and usually without any real heat.

“Caller ID, Vinnie. What else and why else would you call if not to cancel…yet again?” she answered sharply.

“Look, honey, I’m stuck on this new case, and the press guys are on my ass or soon will be. Plus…” he heard the clicking sound on the phone line and the familiar dial tone coming from his receiver. Terry had not only cut him off in mid-sentence, but her reaction spoke volumes on how “understanding” she had become about his current job predicament. “Son of a…” Vinnie groaned as he picked up the official autopsy report, hoping to discover something he’d missed that might provide a lead. Like all reports, this one blandly recited the bare facts of the “opening” (as autopsies were sometimes called by jokers in the law community). Labeling them in this way had the effect of dehumanizing someone who had once been a living human being. It gave the detectives the emotional distance to effectively do their work and, more importantly, to do it objectively. Like all autopsy reports, it’s facts, while valuable, were simply laid out in a terse manner.

Victim is a well-nourished white male, approximately late twenties to early thirties. The body had has bruising in each of the wrist areas, probably as a result of being bound tightly such as to render the victim incapable of using the limbs of his upper body. The impression marks on the surface skin would at first indicate that it was another pair of hands that held the victim’s wrists, but the depth of the underlying tissue damage in those areas was is massive. Injuries of this nature indicates immense pressure which is not consistent with human hands since they are not capable of such directed, powerful, and sustained restraints.

The victim’s back has a large, irregular bruise across the upper shoulder area that points to his being thrust up against some flat surface. It is impossible to ascertain what said surface was at this time.

Tearing around the carotid artery in the neck makes it certain that the victim died of exsanguination. The crime scene, however, showed no blood other than some residue stains consisting of droplets. It is therefore probable that another place may have been the location of the homicide. As a final observation, it should be noted that the body was expertly drained of blood in a manner impossible to determine at the present time.

“Sick bastard,” Vinnie thought as the phone rang on his desk. He picked it up hoping it was Terry but instead he heard the voice of his supervising lieutenant.

“Vinnie, it just came in on the radio. There was another homicide using the same M.O. as our choirboy killer. This time we have two, possibly three, victims done at the same place,” his gruff voice barked.

Posted in Available Books, L.G. Fabbo-Gonnella, Mystery/Romantic Suspense, Novel length, Vampire | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Now available: Deathly Embrace (M/F, Paranormal Romance) by Cassandra Hawke

Deathly Embrace23Deathly Embrace
Author: Cassandra Hawke
Genre: Paranormal romance, Ghost, M/F; erotic romance
Imprint: Ai Press
Length: Novel
eISBN: 978-1-937796-67-9
MSRP: 7.99
You Pay: 4.49

Flame rating: 3 flames- Stories will have sensual, yet more explicit love scenes, and the language used to describe them may be more graphic and direct

Available from Amazon Kindle and read free for Kindle Unlimited subscribers!

Cover art: Les Byerley

The ghost of Annie Dunsford is beautiful, passionate and deadly. Revenge is her goal. Sex is her weapon. Logan is her victim. Unless Paige and the unexpected passion he has found with her can save him…

A surprise joint inheritance requires Logan and Paige to live together in the old haunted house for a year. It all seems simple enough. But it is not simple at all.

The ghost of a murdered ancestor haunts the place. Out for revenge, the beautiful but deadly Annie Dunsford seduces Logan and their steamy passionate sexual encounters suck the life out of him leaving him sexually frustrated, drained and afraid to sleep alone.

Logan’s vulnerability sparks something deep in Paige’s soul, and the sexual attraction simmering between them explodes into molten hot sex. The ghost is furious at the emotions developing between Logan and Paige, and they find themselves fighting for their lives. Their joint struggle to survive the ghost’s fury and demands for justice brings them closer together and sparks an unexpected passionate new love. But is that love strong enough to save their lives from a spirit who wants only their deaths?

Publisher’s note: This book has been previously published. It was edited for re-release with Ai Press.

Excerpt:

She stuffed the letter in her handbag and climbed out of the car. Her life was in turmoil with a broken relationship, a shock redundancy, and the sudden unexpected sale of the house she had occupied for the last five years. She was not in the mood to be arbitrarily summoned to the Adelaide offices of Ashley, Crane, and Atkins—Solicitors with no explanation. It was just over a month since she had been here to attend the funeral of Sarah Hamilton, and she was sure if her elderly cousin, several generations removed, had left her a small bequest, the executor could have just sent it to her.

Her five-inch stiletto heels clicked with a staccato ferociousness on the tiled floor of the foyer as she hurried to catch the lift. It left without her, as the only occupant made no attempt to hold the doors open. She sighed as she jabbed the call button. After what seemed like an eternity, the lift returned and carried her up to the plush, well-appointed offices of Ashley, Crane, and Atkins. She knew she was late and felt flustered, hot, and bothered, as the receptionist showed her into Mr. Atkins’s office.

“Ah, Ms Reed, glad you could join us. I am Martin Atkins, the solicitor handling Sarah Hamilton’s estate.”

She took the proffered hand and was subject to a damp, loose handclasp that ended quickly.

“May I introduce Mr. Logan Dunsford-Hamilton, your co-beneficiary?” Martin said in a formal tone.

She studied the man with interest as he rose with the lithe grace of a big cat out of the leather chair beside her. He had changed a lot but her rage toward him had not, she discovered, when a disconcerting flash of fury sliced through her. He towered over Paige’s five foot nine, was well built, and ruggedly handsome. He held out his hand. She took it. His hand was cool and the grip firm.

“Ms Reed and I know each other already. Paige and I were childhood playmates many years ago.”

Paige made an effort to smile civilly. “Of course, Logan. We used to play together at Cousin Sarah’s house.”

He grinned. “And you were always leading me into wild adventures, getting us both into danger and trouble.”

‘Really, Logan. I think you might be exaggerating just a little.”

Logan shook his head. “Oh, I don’t think so, Paige.”

She pulled her hand from his grasp.

“You were the elder, so I suspect you were the ring leader but liked to put the blame on me, the baby. Perhaps you thought I wouldn’t get punished as harshly as you.” A small shudder slipped over her. She didn’t remember any specific incident—only the anger, cruelty, and heartache of that last day.

He cocked his head slightly to one side. “You really don’t remember?”

“I really don’t remember, Logan. I suspect I was too young.”

“Ah, but surely you do remember your invisible friend, the ghost,” he asked.

Another shudder, more defined this time, washed through her.

“Of course, I remember the ghost. She was still wafting up and down the passages of the old place the last time I was there,” she said, all the time wishing he hadn’t brought the subject up.

“Are you sure you don’t remember my broken leg?”

“No, Logan. I do not,” she snapped. A sudden undercurrent of uneasiness swirled through her. She struggled to keep her bitterness towards this man in check as he persisted in reliving a past she had quashed.

He bowed slightly. “Sorry, Paige. I did not mean to disparage you. I was sure you would remember, but then, you were probably only about three–and-a-half or four, maybe. Never mind. It was a long time ago. So, I assume you are as in the dark about this bequest as I am?”

Paige nodded. “I was not expecting anything from Cousin Sarah’s estate, and I am keen to find out what this is all about.” She turned to Martin Atkins. “Perhaps we should get on with the business.”

Martin Atkins nodded as he indicated the tub chair to the left of his desk. She tucked her tight, pencil-straight skirt around her backside and sank as gracefully as she could into the spare chair. It was low and deep, and as she tucked her ankles together, she wished she had worn lower heels.

“Mr. Atkins?” she prompted, as he fiddled with the papers in front of him.

“Yes, well…” He shuffled the papers some more and adjusted his glasses. “I’ve asked you both to attend today because I have the privilege of bestowing a joint bequest on you…”

Logan stirred in his seat. “I don’t understand… Sarah Hamilton was a distant relative, somehow, of my biological parents and I’ve had no contact since I was about seven.”

“Give me a moment, Mr. Dunsford-Hamilton, and I will explain.”

Paige looked at Logan Dunsford-Hamilton and met the direct, appraising stare from his steely grey eyes with an openly curious one of her own. He made no attempt to hide the fact he had been studying her as a woman, as well as a co-beneficiary. Her face warmed from the neck up as she read the clearly spelt out attraction in his expression. She turned away. She was used to men staring at her like that, but this man’s stare, she resented deeply.

Martin Atkins leaned forward. “Logan and Paige, your bequest comes from the late Sarah Hamilton, a relative of both of you—although I am not sure how you are related, Logan. Sarah Hamilton was, of course, Paige’s cousin several generations removed on her mother’s side.”

“Yes, my mother and I visited and corresponded with Sarah on an ad hoc basis. I came for the funeral.” Paige looked at the man beside her, interested in his reply.

He merely shrugged his shoulders. “My adoptive parents and Sarah Hamilton had a falling out when I was about seven. We never went to the house again, and it was too hard for me, as a kid, to keep up with my dead parents’ relatives.”

Paige was piqued at his off-hand manner. She dredged her memory. She had always known he was a distant relative but could not remember how he fit into the family tree.

“Oh, there is no question of your familial ties. Miss Hamilton was ninety-nine when she passed, and she was as mentally bright as most people half her age. She had traced the family tree and had been keeping tabs on you both—all of your lives.”

Paige shivered as though something had brushed her skin with a feather light touch. It was a bit disconcerting to think someone had been keeping track all these years without revealing her interest.

“Now, the bequest consists of the family property located in the hills. It includes twenty acres of mixed native vegetation, cleared land and an eight-room dwelling. The dwelling is livable, but currently in need of considerable restoration and repair. It is the family home, built around eighteen forty, for The Honorable Anne—she was known as Annie to most—Forbes and Captain William Dunsford on the occasion of their marriage. It was built and tied up in trust for Annie’s direct descendants by her guardian and uncle, Captain Harrington Forbes. Apparently, he did not like Annie’s choice of husband.”

Paige gasped. “The house!” Of all the ironic things, she was to share a house with Logan—the man she had deeply resented all her life. “Why would she leave the two of us the house? What about other relatives?”

“All other relatives have been taken care of, Paige. Sarah Hamilton was a very wealthy woman.”

“But she lived in such poor circumstances—genteel poverty, my mother used to say.”

Logan cleared his throat with a slight cough. “Are you saying Paige and I are to share ownership of Sarah Hamilton’s old family home?”

“Yes, Logan,” Martin Atkins confirmed with a touch of impatience.

Logan sounded disgruntled. “Sharing an asset is complicated. Besides, I have no use for a rundown house. What would it bring on the current market?” he asked.

Fury sparked in Paige at his arbitrary manner. “Hang on a minute. Don’t I have a say in this?” she protested.

“You want that house?” Logan asked.

Paige sat as upright as she could in the leather chair. She glared at Logan. “You didn’t give me a chance to decide. I might just want it.”

Posted in Available Books, Cassandra Hawke, Novel length | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Now Available: A Wizard in Waikiki by A.J. Llewellyn!

200x300_Wizard
Author: A.J. Llewellyn
Series: A Wizard in Waikiki
Genre: Gay Romance, M/M Romance, Paranormal
Imprint: Ai Press
Length: Novella
eISBN: 978-1-937796-65-5

Flame rating: 3 Flames

Cover art: Sid Love

Buy from: Amazon Kindle|AllRomance Ebooks|BN Nook|Google Play

Summoned from the past, Konu rises naked from the sea to reclaim his power for the freedom to live—and love. If the forces of evil don’t get to him first!

On a hot day in Waikiki, beachgoers are stunned when a tall, handsome man rises from the ocean. Striding naked to a small, ringed enclosure containing four huge stones most tourists never even notice, he becomes visibly upset. These are Wizard Stones, positioned between the beach and the foot traffic on Kalakaua Avenue. Konu, the naked man, is agitated by a young Asian girl draping her beach towel over the stones. He’s come a long way, from Tahiti, and is one of the ancient wizards whose power was infused into these sacred stones four hundred years ago.

With the invisible battle between good and evil raging, Konu has been dispatched to help balance the power. Landing in modern-day Waikiki, he’s stunned by the changes – and to find he is alone. A cop tries to arrest him for indecent exposure but the young girl’s grandfather – who thinks Konu’s a homeless lunatic offers him refuge. Will the ancient forces of evil beat this wizard in Waikiki? Or can Konu find his power again, and perhaps…even love?

Publisher’s note: This book was previously published. It has been edited and re-released with Ai Press.

Excerpt:

He rose from the cold, dark depths of the ocean, pain and fear eating at him as his human form slowly molded and emerged, begging for air. Precious, sweet air. He needed to breathe. As he stumbled onto the hot sand at last, the heat seared his feet, but the pain in his body vanished as he took deep, gulping breaths. His human form was so astonishing, it struck him as being perfect, even though his feet hurt.

It wasn’t ego. He had been forbidden to enjoy his physical, earthly body for five hundred years.
I am alive. I am human. I am here!

He longed to stand and just… be, to absorb the moment he’d waited for, but Konu sensed the stares of people at the beach. His long, wet black hair clung to his face and shoulders as his gaze took in the mass of bodies… the colorful strips of fabric they wore. He had come a long way. Under cover of darkness, using only the stars for guidance, Konu arrived at the place they called Waikiki. Now, in the late afternoon light, his strength sapped, he’d been forced to leave the sanctity of the sea. He’d tried to wait for night, but he was tired… so tired.

For five hundred years, his soul and those of the four sorcerers he’d worked with, watched and waited.

In the distance, at the edges of the sand, he saw the flash of large beasts… loud sounds, flickering tiki torches, the flashes of smiles. He heard laughter and the jarring sound of a dozen different languages. Then he saw them. All of the sights and sounds stilled. His heart gave a lurch at the sight of the stones.

His stones.

Konu flushed with anger as a woman draped a thick, brightly colored towel over the iron gate and onto one of the four boulders representing the sacred mana of the ancient, fifteenth century wizards—Kapaemahu, Kahaloa, Kapuni and… Kinohi, Konu’s grandfather. Konu had been the fifth wizard, the sacred protector of the stones… until he’d been banished.

“Hey!” the woman shouted as he pulled her wet towel from the iron gate surrounding the stones and tossed it onto the ground.

The word Aloha flashed up at him from the pooled fabric.

Konu narrowed his eyes as his gaze shifted to the woman. Was she the sign he’d been seeking?

He reached in through the bars to touch the boulders. It wasn’t easy. The gate kept a distance between the stones and prying human hands. He glanced at the white pigeons sitting vigil on the rocks. The tiny bird heads turned in his direction. These miniature keepers of the fire looked as exhausted as he felt. They were dirty, unkempt, very sick birds. Konu read their energies. His mind flashed on mass, migratory deaths. These were the survivors. They had flocked to the stones as creatures in trouble always had. They needed his help.

The gate had a small lock that in his normal strength, he could have removed, but he was weakened by the journey. He was relieved that the four wizard stones seemed intact. His heart almost broke at the sight of one very scrawny bird that looked near death as it lay on his grandfather’s rock. The bird kept pecking at itself, biting at a raw wound in its wing. Konu held his hand near the bird, unable to reach it. The bird scuttled a little closer. It tucked its head under its wing and Konu worked his magic. He tried to sense if the bird wanted to live or die, but people were jostling him now, and he had to work fast.

He gave the creature life and with a flap of his hand, produced a few worms on top of the rock face. The bird gobbled quickly. The stone’s supernatural power would restore the bird’s fire-core. Konu grappled to touch the rock. He saw now that people had brought offerings. Purple orchid leis dangled along the gateposts. Somebody had left a shell lei, too. He gingerly stroked it. A recent addition.

Two bronze plaques stood before them. He scanned the writing. He recognized it as English. He had to retrain his mind to read the words.

The voices around him grew loud again as his hand crackled like lightning against the sensing power of the stones. Ah, magic still dwells here. He felt the separate, yet unified, energies of each wizard infused inside the stones. He took a deep breath as his hand came to the last stone, which represented his grandfather. Konu, long exiled from his family, yearned for this sincere connection with Kinohi. His hand neared the stone, but fell on a yellow lei. Ilima, flower of the gods.

He bent his head and wept.

They haven’t forgotten us.

So long he’d waited and now he was here, his emotions had gotten the better of him. He gripped the iron bars for a moment, blinking away the hot tears on his face. He reached out once again, this time touching his grandfather’s stone. A dim stirring from within. The mana was still there. Polluted, but it was there. Sleeping. The stone had sought to protect itself. He understood now why his family had sent him here.

The bird he’d healed stood on wobbly legs. Konu saw that one of them was broken. With another flick of his wrist, he restored the injured foot. The bird glanced at him with one beady eye, hopped to the tallest rock, and settled down to watch him.

“Fly,” Konu said, but the bird remained with its companions.

“He threw my towel down!” the woman beside him shouted. “Somebody get the police. This guy is lolo…he’s crazy!”

Posted in AJ Llewellyn, Available Books | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Forever Fearless (Forever Vampire Book 2) by Jeff Erno!

ForeverFearless23Forever Fearless
Author: Jeff Erno
Series: Forever Vampire Book 2
Previous book: Forever Young
Genre: Gay Romance, YA, Young Adult, Paranormal Romance, Vampire
Length: Novel
eISBN: 978-1-937796-61-7
Flame Rating: 3 Flames

Cover art: Les Byerley

Buy from: Amazon Kindle|AllRomance Ebooks|BN Nook|Google Play

The Forever Vampire saga continues…

In the aftermath of unspeakable slaughter, Robbie and Colt have escaped to the wilds of Alaska to face their immortal future. Things aren’t so certain for their sworn enemies, Dylan and Issa, Matarian soldiers sworn to hunt them down and slaughter them.

Dylan is poised to begin his first vampire hunt and wants Issa as his partner, but Issa is far more concerned with finding his brother and tracking down the blond boy who nearly died on the battlefield. The entire cast from book one reunites in this thrilling continuation of their story, joined by a host of new faces–friends and foes–whose lives somehow weave together as they cross paths in their efforts to battle evil and attain their own happiness. Humans, Shifters, Daywalkers, and Purebloods confront each other with the guidance of three enigmatic sisters–one a Maenad, one a necromancer, and the other a human witch. Plot twists and surprises mark the paths of these diverse characters, forever fearless in their quest to cling to all they hold dear.

Excerpt:

Chapter One

He woke up screaming, as he’d done nearly every time he tried to sleep. The vivid images played in his head like a movie reel. Relentless, graphic nightmares, or more accurately, flashbacks. The doctor said he was suffering from post-traumatic stress, but she didn’t know the half of it.

Local media had covered the story, labeling it a bizarre wolf attack in which eighteen campers had been killed and another two dozen injured. Issa knew the truth. They all knew, all of the witnesses. There’d been a wolf attack, all right, but those were not ordinary wolves. And in the wake of the confrontation, they’d left carnage unlike anything Issa could have imagined. Body parts strewn everywhere, so badly that many of the victims were not even recognizable.

Worse than these gruesome images were Issa’s memories of the vampire slayings. He thought he’d been prepared. He’d learned all his lessons, completed hours of target practice, and had even watched graphic videos. Sure, he knew it would be bloody, and he knew that ripping a vampire’s heart from its chest was no job for the squeamish. Yet, there was nothing that could have prepared him for seeing it all in living color.

If he knew anything with certainty, it was the fact that he wasn’t cut out for the job. He had no desire to ever again see what he’d witnessed that night, and he definitely was no vampire slayer.
Shockwaves had rippled through the Matarian community as word of the tragedy quickly spread. An emergency meeting had been called to assess the losses and to discuss an appropriate response. The devastation affected every Matarian family, but most significantly those who’d lost a young loved one.

Issa knew all of the victims. They’d been his classmates. His sixteen year old classmates. Boot camp was a Matarian rite of passage, one every Matarian child looked forward to. This pivotal juncture provided transition from youthful fantasies of vampire slaying to the reality of actual field work. Completion of boot camp culminated with a graduation ceremony followed by the assignments of the cadets’ first hunts.

But there’d been no ceremony this year. Instead, the entire community gathered for a massive memorial service. Even the successful vampire slayings, normally a cause for great celebration, hadn’t offset the tragic losses.

“It’s a war,” Issa’s father calmly stated, “and people die in wars.”

“Children, Ibrahim. They were but children,” his mother pointed out.

Sadly, Issa knew many in the community shared his father’s sentiments. Rather than giving them pause and leading them to contemplate the senseless killings, the tragedy had enraged them and made them even more bloodthirsty. Talk of revenge already ran rampant, and now a new enemy had been added to the list. Matarians not only fought the vampires, but also the werewolves.

The deaths of Issa’s brethren lay heavy on his heart, yet he did not yearn for revenge. In fact, he didn’t blame the vampires or the wolves. He knew why they’d come. They were on a rescue mission, there to free the prisoners the Matarians were heartlessly torturing. When stormed by an army of battle-ready cadets, they responded, and many lives were lost.

And the tragedy had cut both ways. At least four from the other side had been mortally wounded, a wolf, two vampires, and a human. Issa had heard the jubilant cheers from his fellow Matarian warriors as the vampires were felled, and the memory sickened him. Brendan and Richard were a couple, and they’d loved each other very much. They’d been together for years—at least decades, if not centuries.

To Issa, their relationship didn’t seem so different than what he shared with Dylan. According to the Matarian teachings, vampires were bloodsucking monsters, not even human, and most people didn’t think they were really even capable of love. Driven solely by their hunger, personal relationships were secondary to them. In most instances, they were solitary creatures who existed only for the purpose of feeding. Killing machines, and nothing more.

But Issa knew otherwise. He knew from his conversation with Brendan. He knew because he’d seen how Richard had reacted when reunited with his lover. And he’d witnessed a similar connection between the young-looking vampire and the human—the little blond kid. Christ, he didn’t look any older than the cadets. Robbie, was it?

The vampire was in love with the boy. Issa could only speculate as to what had become of them. Perhaps they’d made it to safety in time, but if so, that would imply Robbie had been converted. Surely, he wouldn’t have survived an arrow through his heart.

Issa didn’t want to know. He couldn’t bear the possibility that the kid, so obviously in love, had sacrificed himself for his lover. And even if he had somehow been saved, he didn’t want to think about what that would mean. They’d be targets. Sitting ducks. The Matarian army was already planning an all-out war, a massive and sweeping retaliatory strike. They were intent upon eradicating all vampires worldwide, once and for all.

But the elders didn’t even know the whole story. Only Dylan and Issa were aware of all that had transpired that night. They were the only Matarians to witness Raoul and Shadi.

“You can’t tell,” Issa had pleaded. “If they find out, they’ll hunt them down and kill my brother.”

“Issa, he’s no longer your brother.” Dylan tried to reason with him. “He’s a Pureblood vampire. He isn’t even human, and he has no loyalty to you or your family.”

“What if it were your brother?”

Dylan took a step back, then slowly nodded. Issa knew how close Dylan was to his brother Taylor. He’d never turn his back on his own flesh and blood, no matter the circumstances. Finally, he sighed. “All right, I won’t tell. But it has to end here. From this point forward, Shadi no longer exists. As far as we’re concerned, he’s gone forever.”

Issa nodded his agreement, but didn’t verbalize a response. He could never make such a promise, not even to Dylan. Shadi was his brother, and Issa couldn’t just pretend he was dead. Though it might not immediately be possible, one day he’d find his brother and they’d have their reunion. In the meantime, he had to find a way to forgive himself for all that had happened. He had to somehow make the nightmares stop so he could go on with his life, so he could concentrate on his future with Dylan.

As he lay alone in his dark room, he thought on these things and stared up at the ceiling. “I’ll find you again, Shadi,” he whispered.

Posted in Available Books, Jeff Erno, Novel length, Vampire, Young Adult | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Now available: Men of Tokyo: Sudden Bliss

MenofTokyo Desires23Men of Tokyo: Sudden Bliss
Author: Sedonia Guillone
Series: White Tigers – Book 1
Previous book: Men of Tokyo: Forbidden Cravings (Prequel)
Genre: Gay romance; Yaoi; M/M
Length: Novel
eISBN: 978-1-937796-57-0

Print ISBN: 978-1-937796-58-7

Buy from: Amazon and read free for Kindle Subscribers!

Cover art: Les Byerley

In a world where passion and spirit find union, there is no in between…

Desperately in need of a vacation, Koji spends the most deliciously erotic week of his life at the White Tiger, a luxurious love-hotel for gay men. Naoto, his personal attendant, is everything Koji has ever fantasised about: muscular, long-haired, ruggedly handsome, gentle yet commanding. Naoto is a White Tiger, after all, trained in the erotic arts, knowledgeable in every way to bring a man to bliss.

Naoto’s appreciative eye sees the honourable and sexy man Koji-san is under the work-driven shell. Little by little, his massages and more coax the real man, the passionate, artistic, sex-loving Koji, to the surface. Yet, the more time Naoto spends with Koji, the more he finds his own soul craving a partner again, the one thing he thought he’d never find after his lover was killed three years ago. He’s not sure he’s ready to get that close again. And even if he were ready, it doesn’t mean that Koji wants the same thing. In fact, Koji once mentioned that he was supposed to get married. Yet, when an agonising secret from Naoto’s past is revealed to him, Naoto wants only to turn to Koji.

When Naoto comes to him for help, Koji is suddenly faced with a harrowing decision: remain in his work-driven, soul-killing world or follow the path his body and heart have really chosen for him? And he must choose – for in a world where passion and spirit find union, there is no in between.

Excerpt:

“This is your time to relax, Watanabe-san.” Naoto kept his voice a soft murmur as he let his protective desire to nurture another man in distress come out. That was one of the things he was good at. Otherwise, Kiku wouldn’t have given him what was appearing to be a hard case. “Everything you could want or need is here while you’re our guest. Everything.” With the last word, Naoto let his hand rest briefly on the other man’s chest.

Koji Watanabe didn’t answer but Naoto could see that his eyes, for the first time seemed to focus for more than a couple of seconds.

It was then that Naoto had a glimpse of what Watanabe might look like if he hadn’t been so haggard. Large dark eyes with thick lashes drew his gaze. He followed the straight bridge of his nose to the nostrils, which widened slightly at the end. The high cheekbones that looked a bit too sharp now would probably give him a kind of star quality when he’d put on a few pounds, as would the light gold of his complexion when less sallow.

The one thing that stood out, untarnished by stress, was his lips. Firm yet full, a dusky pink and beautifully shaped, like a slightly pulled back bow, there was one word for Koji Watanabe’s lips—kissable. Well, maybe lickable and suckable too. Naoto caught himself staring a moment longer than was appropriate.

Oh, and Watanabe’s hair, cut in a typically conventional office-guy style, short around the sides and barely longer on top, was also really beautiful. Just long enough to sift one’s fingers through, if given a chance.

Naoto’s heartbeat had kicked up a notch. He had always been a close observer and admirer of the male face and form, and it was clear this man was better looking than most of the men he serviced. Of course, there were good-looking guys that came in, but only once in a while did one have a certain something that gave him that…feeling…

Firmly putting his attention back on the task at hand, he dared to work open the top button at Watanabe’s collar. A small expanse of pale gold skin peeked through, making Naoto suddenly itch to see more. To see what the rest of Koji Watanabe looked like. “Is that better, Watanabe-san?”

Now he caught the other man looking directly into his eyes. Watanabe’s lips had parted slightly and his breathing sounded shallow. “You have long hair,” he said, then shook himself as if starting from a trance. “I—I’m sorry, I meant please, call me Koji.” Then he covered his face with both hands and slumped over. “I don’t know what I meant.”

Naoto stared at the top of Koji-san’s head, at the beautifully-shaped fingers peeking out from where they were buried in his hair. How he yearned to pull the man to him. But he held back, sensing Koji-san might not be ready. “You have no need to apologise. If you prefer a man with short hair we can—”

Koji-san’s head shot up, eyes wide. “No! I’m sorry. It wasn’t a complaint.” His breath started to come in short bursts and his pale face grew even paler.

Anxiety. Naoto recognised the signs. If Koji-san was as work-ridden as he appeared, he was probably in withdrawal. It wasn’t uncommon among the guests who came here, especially the Japanese men. “Koji-san,” he said, keeping his tone soothing. His hands came up and he rubbed the other man’s shoulders. Through the thin white shirt, Koji-san’s muscles were wiry, though also a bit too thin. “There is nothing to apologise for.”

“This was so wrong. So wrong. I should be there.” The words tumbled from Koji-san’s lips and his eyes were wide with that haunted look.

“It’s all right, Koji-san.” Without thinking, Naoto rose higher on his knees and embraced the slimmer man. Koji-san was trembling as if he’d been outside in snow without any clothing on and his breathing had that choked sound Naoto had heard men make in terrible circumstances…like when they actually were dying…from gunshot wounds.

He rubbed the man’s back in gentle circles and tilted his head aside so Koji-san’s forehead could rest on his shoulder, all the while trying to erase the image of his lover’s gunshot wound. “It’ll be all right. You’ll see, Koji-san. I know it will.” He kept rubbing, feeling the wiry muscles of the other man’s back flex as his body trembled and shook. The poor guy was a basket case. It was going to take much more than a massage with a happy ending to help him unwind.

Naoto held the other man for what seemed a long time, rubbing his back and just simply letting his anxiety attack run its course. Venturing one hand upward, he massaged the nape of Koji-san’s neck. The man had a gracefully curved neck. Naoto had noticed it when unbuttoning his collar, and the skin there was warm and smooth. Not only that, but he smelled good, like clean laundry and soap with just a hint of male musk.

Posted in Available Books, Novel length, Sedonia Guillone, Tokyo Beat (Yaoi) | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Now Available: The Sex Ring by AJ Llewellyn!

The sexRing23The Sex Ring
Author: AJ Llewellyn
Genre: Gay romance; M/M; Paranormal, Ghost
Length: Novella
eISBN: 978-1-937796-56-3
MSRP: 5.99
You pay: 2.99

Cover art: Les Byerley

amazon
nook
allrom
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Publisher’s note: The Sex Ring was previously published. It has been re-edited for release with Ai Press.

Edan doesn’t believe in ghosts…so why does he feel compelled to believe the second he’s in possession of THE SEX RING?

Struggling filmmaker Kristofer Edan accepts a cash pay day to model the leather ensembles owned by recently deceased, celebrated artist Rafael Ortiz at an auction. Kristofer soon finds himself coveting one jacket in particular that has an unusual addition: a sex ring dangling from its epaulette.

When Kristofer wins the jacket in a second-chance bid, he’s in for a big surprise…the sex ring seems to have an intense energy, that when in use, conjures up sexual dreams and powers that Kristofer never had before. He soon becomes obsessed with the ring and the dead artist…painting huge canvasses that people say resemble those of Ortiz himself. Kristofer starts to feel the dead man’s presence and senses that Rafael is just as obsessed with him….or…is Kristofer possessed by him?

Excerpt:

Chapter One

I stared at my computer screen. I still couldn’t believe I’d sat around all day hoping to nab a copywriting assignment. And what did I get? The crappiest one yet.

How to Book Train Travel to Estonia.

I did a mental eye roll and accepted the assignment. Now I had to come up with sixteen pages of stuff…about Estonia. Where the hell was the place? I Googled it. Yep, just as I thought. Eastern Europe. I read the Wikipedia notes. Allegedly, it was the hub of social activity in medieval times. Groovy.

Holy crap. It sure didn’t have much going for it now. Including train travel. Ninety percent of travel through Estonia is done by road, although many highways are still being rebuilt since being demolished in World War II.

World War II?

I could feel a giant headache coming on, and it had Estonia written all over it. I cursed my luck. Some of my co-workers had nabbed the plum assignments. It was supposed to be a first come, first serve deal, but how come the same guys got the best gigs week after week?

I swallowed down some cold coffee and eyed the assignments. How to Book Train Travel to France, Italy, Spain…but not me. Nope. No siree. I got me Estonia.

Many Estonians choose bicycles over cars.

I wondered briefly about the suicide rate in Estonia as I picked up my new sexual wonder toy, my Tenga. My Tenga could cure all my anxieties, all my stresses. I’d never had sex like it, on my own or with another human being.

My part-time job as a copywriter for a major ehow website was damned stressful. I needed that Tenga. People like me sit in our homes and bid on jobs online. We then grab them and put our best, most creative feet forward creating how to articles. Trust me to get a how to guide for train travel in a country that had none. It was a tricky assignment, and not one I could toss back to the sea. I kept reading as I stuck my finger in the Tenga’s cock port. The message mechanism pulled gently on my fingertip. Man, my cock was getting hard.

Concentrate, Kristofer.

Okay, you could get in and out of the country by train, but despite its new prominence as the spa capital of the world for canny Finnish and Russian travelers, Estonia was still a backwards country. Only in the last couple of years had restoration been made to the Tallinn-Tartu, its major highway and pride and joy. And, oops, fifty-six people had already died in reckless car crashes on it.

That was not a selling point. Heck, maybe it was.

Since my assignment was being paid for by Eurail, I had to emphasize train travel. I also had to make good use of the keywords that had to pop up at least twelve times each in your report. In fact, the company I worked for had a terrific program that counted down the keywords and removed them from your target list each time you used them.

I’d snatched the assignment after weeks of painful insurance and medical how to guides. There isn’t anything I don’t know about chemotherapy, and I hope I never have to use this information. My attention strayed out the window.

My IM pinged on the computer. My editor congratulated me on finally catching an assignment. This one at least was a little more interesting than the last one. How to open a stuck jar. Seriously. I had to compose sixteen pages of step-by-step instructions on how to open a bloody jar. I wondered if they had jars in Estonia or if they ate stones.

Well la-di-fucking dah. How the hell was I supposed to come up with sixteen pages on non-existent train travel to and through Estonia?

My Tenga felt nice and warm in my hands. It wanted me. I could feel it. The space-age looking rectangular box with three speeds and an interior the average hooker would die for was a lot more interesting than train travel. Or jars.

There was a knock at my door and I hastily stashed my Tenga under my desk.

My brother Kiel crashed into the room.

“Thank God you’re home.” He shook his head. “What am I saying? You’re always home. Listen, I need you.”

“Me? What for?”

“I need you to model for me.”

“Model for you?”

“Are you having a case of stupiditis? Why are you repeating everything I’m saying? Yes, model. I want you to come tonight to my big, fancy AIDS benefit and model some groovy clothes.”

“At the risk of pissing you off, why do you want me of all people to model for you?”

“You’re skinny.”

“Oookay.”

“Seriously. These clothes used to belong to Rafael Ortiz. You know, Joshua’s former lover.”

“The artist? But he died…what? Twenty years ago?”

“C’mon, Kris. Do it for me. Do it for our people.”

The waves crashed outside my bedroom window and all I wanted to do was write, listen to some music and contemplate the ocean. Modeling a dead artist’s clothing? Joshua, my brother’s boyfriend had been good to me. Both of them had. But I just didn’t want to do it.

“I really, really, really don’t want to. I have so much work to do. I just got a big assignment.”

“That is such crap, Kris. I know exactly what you were doing. You were playing with your Tenga. That thing’ll break off your wiener. How many times have you used it, anyway? It’s only good for fifty loads, you know.”

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Now Available: A Kiss For Judas (Big Deal Prequel)

Big Deal A kiss for Judas front cover23A Kiss For Judas
Author: Katsura
Artist: Yuramei
Series: Big Deal
Genre: Yaoi, M/M; Black comedy
Length: Novel
eISBN13: 978-1-937796-45-7
MSRP: 8.49
You pay: 5.49

Coming soon: Print ISBN13: 978-1-937796-46-4

Cover art: Yuramei

Buy from Amazon Kindle|BN Nook|AllRomance Ebooks

Violence, lust and passion, all served with a dollop of British comedy, A Kiss For Judas is another beautifully illustrated, gripping, prose novel from bestselling Yaoi creators, Katsura and Yuramei. Based on the Big Deal series, this story follows the exploits of bisexual, sex addict, Judas and the men who grow to love and hate him.

Judas MacGregor, a small town boy with little going for him but his looks, receives a further kick in the teeth from fate when his mother, the woman who lumbered him with the handle from hell, dies. With no one in the world to guide or goad him, he throws himself into the pursuit of satisfaction—and straight into the clutches of petty crime.

A hopeless future is an apparent certainty, then a chance encounter in prison presents him with an opportunity to change his life forever…

Recruited as a dogsbody for the notoriously violent Campbell gang, the young delinquent has never had it so good. He forms an unlikely friendship with Fergus Campbell, the privileged son of the boss, and everything seems to be looking up…until a robbery goes disastrously wrong.
Was Judas’s mother prophetic in her choice of name for him, after all?

Through the gritty world of organised crime, in the forgotten backwaters of Scotland, we chart Judas’s progress from a poverty stricken nobody, to a fully-fledged hood and hitman.

Excerpt:

“You coming then?” Clearly uninterested in the stranger’s departure, Sandy headed for the stairs again.

Judas followed him, tugging at the tie he wore. These fucking things were so uncomfortable. Who would choose to wear one for any reason other than the big sham that was a funeral?
Once they were both inside the bedroom, Sandy closed the door. He faced Judas, the two of them standing close to foot of the bed. “Well?” He seemed to be studying Judas’s face closely, taking in his appearance with obvious scrutiny, but Judas’s lips appeared to attract his attention most. “Do I get my suit back?”

Being blessed in the looks department, Judas was used to being stared at, but certainly no guy had ever eyeballed his mouth for such a prolonged period of time. He’d the sudden urge to crouch and say, “Hey, I’m up here.” Like a girl had once said to him while he goggled at her breasts. The lack of eye contact, however, made him feel that anything he was about to say was irrelevant.

“I can’t go home in wet clothes.” He attempted his obvious response, not surprised when Sandy appeared to ignore it. Mere inches now separated them. Finally, Sandy’s stare did leave Judas’s mouth, only to fixate on his eyes instead.

“You’re a good looking guy, Judas. That’s your real name, isn’t it? I always thought people called you that for a joke.” He smiled and Judas immediately smelled the alcohol on his breath. So he hadn’t been unique in finding the booze the only decent thing about the commiseration spread.

“Jude.” Judas nodded. “Like the song, you know?” The lyrics of The Beatles classic had become something like a comfort to Judas. Someone out there actually gave a toss about this Jude, whoever he was, and the unloved loner embraced the chorus, stole the name, and made it all personal to him.

“Hey, Jude…” There was no tune to the way Sandy spoke, so thankfully, he wasn’t about to give a rendition. Instead, he reached out and gently stroked Judas’s cheek. “Can’t be easy for you, losing your ma like that, yeah? Being left alone?”

Aside from Sandy’s mother, no one had ever shown Judas any real care before, so he wasn’t used to the etiquette of it all. He shrugged in response to the touch and leaned his head back a fraction. “I’ll get by. We weren’t that close.”

Again, it seemed that Sandy hadn’t listened at all to the reply and had once more become fascinated by Judas’s mouth. He leaned a closer and whispered in such a way that Judas felt the words land on his own lips. “Hey, Jude…” Sandy slid the hand that had once caressed Judas’s cheek and tangled it through the waves of his hair instead. “Can I kiss you?”

“Kiss me?” Judas almost spluttered. “W-what would you want to do that for?”

There’d been no younger women in attendance at the do. Forty was about the youngest of the black-clad gathering of females and although the honour of being that age went to the reasonably good looking wife of the butcher, Judas hadn’t considered kissing her. But if Sandy was desperate for some lip action, there was bound to be some lonely woman about who’d let him console himself in her arms. Were funerals also places to grab a chance for some sex? He’d never thought about it before, but perhaps the faking of uncontrollable grief was a good prequel to a sly fuck.

If this was the case, is that what Sandy expected to gain? His strange behaviour before now seemed like an obvious come on. Why hadn’t Judas realised? Guys don’t normally compliment each other on how good-looking they are unless they’re queer. So Sandy was gay. How did that go down in such a small village?

These random revelations tumbled around in Judas’s head while he felt the soft stroking of Sandy’s fingers against his neck. Slowly, Sandy traced his index finger along Judas’s jaw. “Take a chance, Jude. You might like it.”

“I won’t.” Judas swallowed hard. He began to feel dizzy, probably due to taking in too much information at once. What if he threw up? He’d nothing against queers. He doubted that he’d ever met any, but what harm were they doing? Their choice to fuck each other left more snatch for the likes of him. And of course lesbians were hot as Hell. To heave down the front of Sandy’s suit in response to the advances would no doubt create the wrong impression. Carve him out as a homophobe, which he really wasn’t.

“Just one kiss.” Sandy’s words came out like a sigh. “If you don’t like it, we can stop.”
Up close, little details about Sandy’s physical appearance became more noticeable. His eyelashes were very full and long for a guy. The natural creases on his lips, no doubt left there from years of pouting, were really not that unappealing. Judas had already surmised that to find a male attractive made another male gay. He now felt drawn to the notion of this one kiss. Perhaps he could call it the ultimate act of defiance. He’d get off with a guy at his mother’s funeral. People already thought him despicable. Would that make him worse?

Someone had put music on downstairs. Nothing appropriate for the occasion. So to the surreal strains of Adam Faith crooning out “Daddy, What’ll Happen to Me,” Sandy gently pressed their mouths together. He boldly slid his lips with such insistence that Judas felt he had little choice but to part his own. The flavour of beer tingled on his taste buds when Sandy’s tongue brushed briefly into his mouth, and rather than reject the advance, Judas felt the urge to embrace it. As well as the smell of alcohol, the slightly lavender scent Sandy wore, which was the same as the stuff that he’d put in the bath, seemed to cover him. As Sandy deepened the kiss, now holding Judas’s head tightly in both of his hands, Judas found himself reaching out and holding the guy’s waist. He closed his eyes.

Raw strength enhanced the skilful movements of Sandy’s tongue as he explored Judas’s mouth. When men kissed each other, was there no need for tenderness? Girls rarely appreciated being pounced on and manhandled. Well not the ones Judas had encountered. He was no expert in seduction, but even he started slowly when engaged in the pursuit of teenage kicks. Being just as horny as each other, did guys simply go for it? If they did, they had it fucking made. No chit chat. No need for inane smiling at each other.

We both know the score—wallop.

Posted in Available Books, Katsura and Yuramei, Tokyo Beat (Yaoi) | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment