When you’re facing The End, it’s time to rewind to the beginning.
Blurb
At thirty-eight years old, Sandro Zanetti is quickly aging out of hockey. But the Trailblazers are chasing a history-making third consecutive championship this season, so until his knees fail him, he plans on giving his all to the sport.
What he doesn’t need is the documentary film crew following the team’s every move. Because the director? Is Bennett Jackson.
Former college sweetheart. Breaker of hearts. Still unbearably handsome.
But their relationship is also history and has been for fifteen years.
Bennett Jackson is one project away from the credits rolling on his career after his last film flopped. This behind-the-scenes look at the hottest team in the league is his last chance at redemption…and possibly his last chance at redeeming himself with the one man who’s always held his heart.
Neither of them planned for old jokes to resurface or on the inconvenient fact that their chemistry is very much alive.
But as the action heats up on and off the ice—and on and off camera—their reunion looks less like a rerun of heartbreak and more like a revival of that first chemistry.
And Sandro and Bennett may discover that some stories deserve a sequel.
Excerpt
“Got an umbrella?” Sandro asked.
“No. And if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you. What if I need it?”
“Asshole,” Sandro replied, laughing. “Give me your jacket at least. Yours has a hood.”
Bennett stared at him for a long moment. “No.”
“Man. Chivalry is dead, I tell you.”
“Here. I’ll get a little closer to your front door.” He eased the car forward a few inches, then put it in park. He jerked a thumb at his own chest. “Chivalrous.”
Sandro snorted a laugh and took off his jacket, ready to use it as a stand-in umbrella. “See ya. Thanks for the lift home, even if you won’t walk a boy to his door.”
There was more he wanted to say, but he couldn’t figure out where to start.
Go back to LA?
Never leave again?
Why are you really here?
But he needed time to get his thoughts in order, so he splashed out into the downpour.
To his surprise, Bennett met him on the sidewalk and, using his own jacket, held it over the both of them as they jogged up to the covered porch.
“You didn’t . . .” The words got stuck in Sandro’s throat as Bennett shook the rain off his jacket. Strands of blond hair had escaped his bun and hung loose around his face, beginning to go frizzy from the moisture in the air. Sandro curled his hands into fists in the material of his jacket, hanging wetly in front of him, to stop himself from reaching out and tucking one behind Bennett’s ear. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Tell me again how chivalry is dead?”
A laugh escaped him again, and his gaze snagged on Bennett’s.
There’d been times those eyes had squinted in annoyance or flashed with anger or heated in desire. Right now, as Bennett slowly lost his smile, they were none of those things.
Just vulnerable in their desperation.
Sandro’s chest squeezed tight, and with a sudden clarity, he knew he didn’t want to hear whatever Bennett wanted to tell him.
“Sandy—”
“Don’t. I don’t want to hear it.”
“San—”
“No.” Heart pounding, Sandro took a step back. “It’s ancient history. It doesn’t matter anymore. We need to move forward, not back.”
That vulnerable desperation turned to naked hope that broke something in Sandro.
Bennett swallowed audibly and said, “As friends?”
Obviously not, Sandro meant to say. There’s too much history between us. But what came out was, “Maybe.”
“Maybe,” Bennett repeated with a nod. “I can live with maybe.” He shrugged his jacket back on and looked out across the yard to his car at the curb. “Got an umbrella?”
Amusement crawled up the back of Sandro’s throat. “Fuck no.”
He went inside and closed the door on Bennett’s booming laugh.
About the Author
Amy’s lived with her head in the clouds since she first picked up a book as a child, and being fluent in two languages means she’s read a lot of books! She first picked up a pen on a rainy day in fourth grade when her class had to stay inside for recess. Tales of treasure hunts with her classmates eventually morphed into love stories between men, and she’s been writing ever since. She writes evenings and weekends—or whenever she isn’t at her full-time day job saving the planet at Canada’s largest environmental non-profit.
An unapologetic introvert, Amy reads too much and socializes too little, with no regrets. She loves connecting with readers. Join her Facebook Group to stay up-to-date on upcoming releases and for access to early teasers, find her on Instagram, or sign up for her infrequent newsletter.
Doran Ó Seanáin, former miner and leader of the Black Lung Gang, and his best friend, Lien, are almost at a breaking point in their ongoing conflict with the city of Arajon’s tyrannical ruler. Just as things are spiralling out of control, Doran crosses paths with Nathaniel Morgenstern, an apotheker with a mysterious past. As their relationship develops against the backdrop of the ongoing social turmoil, the secrets Nathaniel is keeping might threaten to destroy them all…
BOOK DETAILS
BOOK 1
Book Title: Heart of Dust
Length: 59 000 words
Release Date: 2019
Tense/POV: Third person, past tense, single POV
Tropes: Stabbing leading to meet-cute, yearning, slow burn romance
Themes: Bisexual romance, dark pasts including alcoholism, drug addiction, atonement, forgiveness, worker’s rights
Heat Rating: 2 flames
It does not end on a cliffhanger, but leaves plot threads unresolved that are resolved in the next 3 books.
Doran had a problem, and it wasn’t that he’d been stabbed.
Blurb
Iole City is in turmoil.
Doran Ó Seanáin, leader of the Black Lung Gang, is determined to challenge the Archon, Arajon’s tyrannical ruler, for his brutal treatment of the miners. But Doran has more to deal with than getting stabbed and a city-wide lockdown that’s seeing his gang of ex-miners slowly starved out of their base. His daughter Grace has turned against him, and the death of his wife haunts them both.
Although he finds reprieve in Nathaniel Morgenstern, the apotheker with a mysterious past to whom he owes his life, the clock is ticking. The fate of the mines hangs in the balance and the Archon is closing in.
Doran’s plan to break the cycle may very well be his last.
BOOK 2
Book Title: Soul of Ash
Length: 86 000 words
Release Date: September 2020
Tense/POV: Third person, past tense, two POVs (alternating)
Tropes: Yearning, former assassin, slow burn romance
Themes: Bisexual romance, dark pasts including alcoholism, drug addiction, atonement, forgiveness, worker’s rights
Heat Rating: 1 flame
It does not end on a cliffhanger, but some plot elements are unresolved (resolved in books 3 and 4)
Half a year after the events of Heart of Dust, Doran Ó Seanáin now finds himself trapped between two worlds while belonging to neither: held in contempt by the Bronze for the turmoil he caused during Archon Bryson’s reign, and resented by the miners for selling out. Leonora Darkwater’s pursuit to own the mines may be the answer to all of his problems, but the offer is far more complicated than it appears, and the only person Doran trusts is the same man who threw his life into chaos.
Haunted by his past, hostage to a debt that cannot be repaid, and a slave to the poison that keeps him alive, atonement has never felt further out of reach for Nathaniel Morgenstern. Though the damage between him and Doran is too devastating to begin to mend, they have no choice but to face each other as their lives collide once more.
There is a rot in Iole City. The mines aren’t finished with Doran, and the sand in Nathaniel’s hourglass is running out.
BOOK 3
Book Title: Throne of Lies
Length: 63 000 words
Release Date: December 2024
Pairing: MM with hints of developing into MMF (slow burn)
Tense/POV: Third person, past tense, three POVs (alternating)
Trope/s: Political intrigue, forbidden romance, former assassin turned apotheker/healer
Themes: Bisexual romance, dark pasts including alcoholism, drug addiction, atonement, forgiveness, worker’s rights, political intrigue, coup.
There are vipers in Arajon, from the Valley to the Bronze.
Blurb
Grace Harrington, the Dowager Archon of Arajon, is approaching her first anniversary on the throne she claimed following the death of her husband, slain at her own hands.
But her position is so precarious that even the unwelcome presence of the former assassin Nathaniel Morgenstern, watching over her at her father’s behest, cannot protect her from her enemies. The city’s press has turned against her, the Bronze is rallying behind Odessa White, and her last hope of support from the Druids has gone up in smoke.
The lies are adding up. A coup is coming for Grace, and she is running out of people in the city to trust…
BOOK 4
Book Title: Valley of Secrets
Length: 123 000 words
Release Date: January 2025
Pairing: MM that develops into MMF (polyam), and a separate FF fast-burn relationship (femme/butch)
Tense/POV: Third person, past tense, four POVs (alternating)
Trope/s: Political intrigue, resistance against military coup, forbidden romance, former assassin turned apotheker/healer
Themes: Lesbian romance, polyam romance, dark pasts including alcoholism, drug addiction, atonement, forgiveness, worker’s rights, political intrigue, coup.
Heat Rating: 3 flames
Most plot threads are wrapped up. Two further books are planned in the series but the series can also be finished here.
Deposed, her father presumed dead, her friends slaughtered and the cavern in chaos, Grace Harrington is on the run and entirely alone. The only ally she has left is the man she hates most in the world: Nathaniel Morgenstern, the assassin who murdered her mother and seduced her father.
Grace’s only hope of reclaiming the throne and saving her people is to seek the aid of Éamon Tadhg, the High Druid of Arajon. But she needs to survive the hostile streets of Iole City before she can even think about fleeing to the Violet Valley.
Nathaniel made a vow to Doran to protect Grace, but he could never have imagined how quickly and horrifically their lives would fall apart.
Grieving the dual losses of the man he loved and his new friend Tsa Lien, Nathaniel devotes himself to the service of the overthrown Lady Archon who despises him – even if it costs him everything he is.
Excerpt from THRONE OF LIES (Book #3 of Death’s Embrace)
“I’m sorry. I, uh… I guess you probably want me to –”
Nathaniel braced his hand against the frame, using his arm to pause Doran’s advancement towards the door.
“Stay,” he said quietly.
He did not suggest it to continue what had been derailed by Leonora’s presence; neither he nor Doran seemed to be much in the mood for it any longer.
But Doran must have needed Nathaniel’s request, for instead of shaking his head and leaving, he closed his eyes and sighed.
“This wasn’t how I imagined the evening going,” Doran said.
Nathaniel laid a hand upon Doran’s chest. “Rest here tonight,” he said, and started to gesture to the main room where the couch was. “I can –”
Doran shook his head, opening his eyes again. “I’m not going to throw you out of your own room,” he said, a small smile finally returning to ease his features.
Nathaniel became sharply aware of the bed behind him, the darkness outside the windows, Doran’s hands that moved to rest upon his waist. The room was dim, illuminated only by a small oil lamp set upon the desk under the window that overlooked Arkadia Lane. Under the faint glow of the light, he held his breath while Doran moved his hands up his body then down his arms, urging his jacket off. It fell to the floor with a soft thump.
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “I have a wardrobe, you know,” he murmured.
“Maybe I want to see your clothes on the floor,” Doran replied.
The sudden rush of desire that gripped Nathaniel’s body rendered him speechless. Doran smirked, then kissed him.
It was deep and tender, slow and heated; milk and honey on Nathaniel’s tongue after years wandering the desert, finally stepping foot in the promised land he had denied himself. In that moment, Nathaniel felt there was nothing between them – neither pasts nor crimes, neither guilt nor regret; just them, their souls laid bare, and a barrier of clothes of which Doran was stripping away with barely restrained desperation.
He relished the gentle scrape of Doran’s evening stubble across his chin, groaned when Doran moved along his jawline and kissed his neck, urging him to tilt his head back and bare his throat, which Doran used to break for air and run his hand up Nathaniel’s chest. Then, with the flickering lamplight reflected in Doran’s eyes, his fingers began working the buttons of Nathaniel’s shirt undone one by one. He slid his hands inside under the fabric and around to Nathaniel’s back, up his shoulder blades, his fingers tracing the scars that latticed his skin.
Nathaniel allowed Doran to undress him, stripping his shirt to the floor beside his jacket, and moved backwards when Doran guided him until the backs of his legs collided with the edge of the bed.
“Sit,” Doran ordered.
Nathaniel sank down upon the mattress, his mouth dry as Doran knelt before him and began to unfasten the straps of his boots. He pulled off Nathaniel’s left boot first, then the right, leaving them askew on the floor – then Nathaniel’s hands clenched on the bedcovers and he groaned as Doran ran his hands up Nathaniel’s legs, curving around his calves, then over his knees, and all the way up his thighs and the strained fabric of his pants to reach for the buckle of the belt.
Hoarsely, Nathaniel said, “You don’t have to –”
“But I want to,” Doran interrupted, his voice low and heated. He rose to his feet now and stood between Nathaniel’s legs, gazing down at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Do you?”
It had been years since Nathaniel’s last intimate encounter; longer still that it had been with someone for whom he had feelings that were not muted by the fog of Embrace. Such a thing was lost to him during his time with the Nameless. The physicality of sex had been heightened, certainly, while he himself was rendered as numb to the act as someone was used to the basic function of washing their hands. With a clear mind, he recalled of himself that some deep part not lost to the drug and his lifestyle must have found the experience undesirable, for he could count the number of unions he had engaged in during his adulthood on one hand.
Doran’s touch was more potent, more electric, than anything Nathaniel had ever experienced under the thrall of Embrace. He felt he would die if he went one more night without knowing how Doran’s body felt against his.
“God, yes,” Nathaniel rasped, and Doran closed the distance between them.
About the Author
A. L. Moore (she/they) is the author of the Death’s Embrace fantasy series and the Tales from the Jovian Empiresci-fi novella series.
