Pinedale High—where every shade of love stands a ghost of a chance.
Blurb
Holden and Peyton don't expect much from senior year. He probably won't manage to date any guys. She'll still pine over Juliette, the beautiful and unattainable cheerleader. But when they step between class bullies and Oliver, a super-hot transfer student, their year starts to go off the rails.
As a star football player, Oliver hadn't anticipated trouble. Turns out Pinedale High not only comes with bullies, but with new friends, plus the ghost of a Civil War soldier, and a shy naked guy in the library. Between the living and the dead, senior year is about to get interesting.
About the Author
USA Today Bestselling author Gabbi Grey lives in beautiful British Columbia where her fur baby chin-poo keeps her safe from the nasty neighborhood squirrels. Working for the government by day, she spends her early mornings writing contemporary, gay, sweet, and dark erotic BDSM romances. While she firmly believes in happy endings, she also believes in making her characters suffer before finding their true love. She also writes m/f romances as Gabbi Black and Gabbi Powell.
“Please donate generously to Mrs. Roosevelt’s charity. Every penny raised from this series of concerts along the eastern coast of the United States will help with the resettlement and care of child refugees from war-torn continental Europe.”
Over dinner with J Edgar Hoover in Washington, Tommy Haupner is shocked to learn that his forgotten and empty Swiss bank account has been topped up regularly with staggering sums of money … deposits that originate in Nazi Germany. Could this bank account have something to do with anonymous letters posted to him at home in London, their contents a single blank slip of paper on which are written two words: NAZI GOLD?
When he returns to Britain, he soon discovers that not only is his own life in danger but also those of his nearest and dearest who become pawns in a savage game of revenge.
Excerpt
I knew he’d tell me if he knew anything; we’d pledged never to keep secrets after our first foray behind enemy lines in early 1941.
“All right, I’m listening,” I said.
“I’ve been told not to bring anything. No personal items and no documents, not even a toothbrush.”
“Uh-oh,” I said. That sort of deployment, where clothes, right down to underwear, toiletries and everything else would be supplied, indicated that whatever the mission was going to be, it wouldn’t be a local training course. “How long will you be away? Any idea?”
“Minimum three weeks, maybe more. That’s all I know.”
“I know duty calls, but what a shame. I was looking forward to having dinner with you again at Xavier’s. And your parents will be very disappointed; I know they were excited about travelling to Washington for the presentation of your Silver Star.”
“Yeah, I know, babe. Me too. I’ve just finished writing a letter. Will you give it to them?”
He must have seen the sudden change in my face, because he laughed softly then pulled me down on to his lap.
“No, it’s not one of those sorts of letters, Tommy. I just want to let them know how sorry I am not to be able to catch up this trip, but I’m sure there’ll be another opportunity. Who knows: maybe this secret mission might be in the USA.”
We both knew that that was hardly likely to be the case. Reporting for deployment with absolutely no personal items except the clothes you were wearing indicated a place, or a situation, where the threat of capture was a reality. My mind ran quickly through the possibilities: occupied France or Italy were top of my list.
“What about your niece’s birthday party?” I asked. “I know she had something special planned that included both of us.”
“Helene will cope. I’ll put five dollars for her in the letter to Mom and Pop.”
“Money isn’t the same as a present. I’ll see if I can find something from us both when I get there.”
“Tommy …”
“Yes?”
“We knew a day like this would come. I’m not being dramatic or anything, but we’ve been so lucky so far. We’ve talked about what it’s like for everyone else: husbands and wives and lovers separated by the war, families bereft of their sons, wondering where they might be. It’s the life we’re all faced with now and I have to go; I simply don’t have a choice. You understand that, don’t you? And I promise I’m coming back.”
“You’d better, soldier,” I said, willing myself to believe it. Although I was trying to sound calm and collected, inside I felt more than a little anxious. Yes, we’d known a day like this would come, but I’d wished with all my might that it never would. I had no qualms about being sent away myself, but Shorty … well, that was a different thing altogether.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“Well, the family’s out having dinner with your uncle Otto, so …”
“So what?” I asked.
“I brought ham, cheese and a loaf of fresh white bread home from the embassy—even a slab of butter, believe it or not. Fancy a sandwich, naked, in the dark, mister?”
It was a crazy thing to do, but our relationship had been filled with small madnesses. Wearing just our garters and socks, we sat on the kitchen table eating ham and cheese sandwiches, washing it down with glasses of milk, also purloined from the embassy kitchen. He’d brought home enough for everyone else too, including a spare large bottle of the almost-impossible-to-obtain white stuff.
With a soft burp he wiped the milk moustache from his upper lip; I was about to do the same but he stopped me. “Let me, Tommy,” he whispered low in his throat, and wiped it away with the flat of his tongue.
I knew the family wouldn’t return unexpectedly and catch us in the kitchen, so I pushed him on to his back on the kitchen table. Not wanting to waste our last evening together for another month, I got to work on him, promising my man a good hour at least of looking after him.
“An hour, Tommy?” he said, laughing into my mouth.
“Who says it only has to be once?” I replied as I kissed my way down his body.
About the Author
From the outback to the opera.
After a thirty-year career as a professional opera singer, performing as a soloist in opera houses and in concert halls all over the world, I took up a position as lecturer in music in Australia in 1999, at the Central Queensland Conservatorium of Music, which is now part of CQ University.
Brought up in Australia, between the bush and the beaches of the Eastern suburbs, I retired in 2015 and now live in the tropics, writing, gardening, and finally finding time to enjoy life and to re-establish a connection with who I am after a very busy career on the stage and as an academic.
A sci-fi novella about Vincent van Gogh’s queer clone.
Blurb
1888: A young prostitute opens a gift from a painter and discovers van Gogh’s bloody ear.
2042: The inventor of gene-tweaking buys a desiccated ear which he believes holds the key to bottling human genius.
Vinny lives on an isolated island and paints. Scientists watch him, waiting to see if his artistic genius or his latent schizophrenia will manifest first. He’s been cloned to be an artist; he’s surrounded only by things that stimulate his art. Until he discovers rock and roll…
The island is full of secrets. Vinny is hiding a guitar cut out of paper. His surrogate parents are hiding their anger and shame. And in an underground lab lurks a far more dangerous secret, a warped, wrathful angel that longs for freedom.
As these secrets explode into the public eye, Vinny must discover what it means to be true to himself when he’s been born to be someone else.
Excerpt
The painting van Gogh was working on depicted a group of prisoners walking in a circle around an oppressive prison yard. In the center of the painting was a convict that resembled van Gogh himself, and Peyron figured that the artist was expressing his own feelings of claustrophobia inside the asylum. The work was dominated by depressing tones of blue and green with splashes of red on some of the bricks that enclosed the prisoners.
Peyron cleared his throat. “Monsieur van Gogh.”
The artist jumped a little at the noise, but then kept painting. “You almost made me misplace a line, Doc.”
“I apologize. Were you not able to sleep?”
Van Gogh shook his head. “Not before finishing.”
“Does painting help you?”
Van Gogh turned around slowly and smiled. “It does.”
“How does it help?”
The artist scratched his red beard with a paint-speckled hand. “When I don’t paint, I worry about delusional things. But when I paint, I worry about the next drop of color. In this way my mind is occupied with logic when I paint.”
Peyron nodded. “Thank you for putting it so well.”
“Why are you awake, Doc?”
“I dreamed something that upset me.”
Van Gogh took a sip of water from a metal cup, spilling some of it onto his chest. He was wearing an open shirt and the droplets ran down across his belly, dampening the top of his pants. The painter had put on a little weight since coming to the asylum. A sign of increased health. Peyron also noticed himself getting aroused. Not a good sign under these circumstances.
“I, um… I should go back upstairs,” the doc stammered.
“No. Stay.” Van Gogh scratched himself just above his left nipple. “I’m a bit lonely.”
The doc’s eyes lit up. He had been waiting for a sign from the painter and here was a sign. Peyron swallowed hard and then took a step forward. Van Gogh mirrored him and also stepped closer. The doc lifted his right hand and placed it on the painter’s chest. Van Gogh took the hand in his and their fingers entwined. Then the painter pulled Peyron towards him and the men kissed. Peyron could feel van Gogh’s stubble against his own clean-shaven face.
Suddenly the painter pulled away. “No. I… I can’t do this.”
“But… why?”
“I’m not a pervert.”
“Neither am I.”
“Other people, all of them, they don’t understand.”
Peyron remembered the crowd at the dock in Marseille. “I know.” He turned and walked away.
About the Author
Andy Siege born as Andreas Madjid Siege in Kenya in 1985 is an award-winning film director and writer. His debut feature film “Beti and Amare” which he wrote and directed was nominated for multiple high-profile international film awards. He has a BA in Creative Writing and an MA in Political Science. Andy Siege is also neurologically divergent and a member of the LGBTQ community.
Can Simon and Vic end the deaths and disappearances, or have they finally found a foe too powerful to stop?
Blurb
Simon and Vic are home from their honeymoon, just in time for a brand new case!
Mysterious missing person reports, a cursed motorcycle club, and an ancient entity add up to trouble. A bad bargain to stop a long-ago gang war requires a yearly sacrifice from a tightly-knit group of riders, and even their coven of witches hasn’t been able to stop the deaths.
Then the granddaughter of a former lighthouse keeper comes to Simon for help. When the lighthouses were automated, they lost their live-in guardians, who worked protective spells to shield the coast from killer storms and a murderous creature. Those protections are fading, and an old evil has gained power, growing stronger with every life it claims.
Can Simon and Vic end the deaths and disappearances, or have they finally found a foe too powerful to stop?
Thunder Road is an action-packed MM paranormal romance chock full of old magic, protective guardians, found family, an ancient monster, brave motorcyclists, helpful ghosts, loyal friends, psychic visions, hurt/comfort, supernatural suspense, and an evolving, established romantic relationship with all the feels.
Excerpt
“For the amount of time we spent naked, we sure have a lot of dirty laundry,” Simon observed, looking at the overflowing basket. “How did that happen?”
“It was too chilly to go out without clothing, and we didn’t want to get arrested.” Vic tossed another pair of socks into the pile.
“Have you heard from Ross? Did the department survive without you? No crime sprees?”
Vic rolled his eyes. “Myrtle Beach isn’t exactly known for its crime waves, but apparently, things stayed pretty quiet. Ross hasn’t given me a lot of details—said he’d fill me in when I went to the station. I think he’s doing his best to help me extend that honeymoon feeling as long as possible.”
“Yeah, Pete keeps telling me that nothing much happened with the store.” Simon closed his empty suitcase and zipped it shut. “I mostly believe him, and I appreciate that he handled everything well on his own. But I guess we had to return to the real world sooner or later.”
As much as Simon had relished the time away with Vic, he also liked running Grand Strand Ghost Tours and enjoyed helping people—living and dead—with his psychic abilities. He knew the value of being able to provide answers and closure, and his insights had brought killers to justice and solved long-cold murder cases.
“Of course, we’re getting back just in time for the craziness that happens in the fall.” Vic set his empty suitcase aside. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that, but it is what it is. Motorcycle season is starting. That’s always busy—for good reasons and bad.”
Myrtle Beach had been a favorite destination for motorcyclists and cycle clubs practically since the bikes were invented. Road rallies ended in town with celebrations on the Boardwalk. Cycle clubs held fall gatherings once the beaches weren’t quite as crowded and the temperatures more leather-friendly. Local cops cracked down on cars and cyclists cruising Ocean Boulevard, but people managed to make several passes before being shooed away and then returned.
Bikes and bikers were a subject of conversation. Businesses appreciated the influx of visitors in the shoulder season—the months when the weather was warm, but most of the tourists had gone home. It picked up some of the slack from the exodus of beachgoers. Locals grumbled about traffic and noise, and some held outdated impressions that raised questions about crime or violence.
As Vic frequently pointed out, thanks to how expensive good bikes had become, the average bike owner was forty-seven. Which was at odds with the perception of young toughs from fifties-era movies.
Not that carousing didn’t happen, but the average rider was also married and much more likely to be an accountant or a doctor than a drifter.
“It’s usually not the bikers causing the problems,” Vic said. “It’s the people who come to the bars to hang out and pretend. They’ve seen Roadhouse a few too many times and want to live the dream.” That usually meant they woke up hungover and needing bail.
About the Author
Morgan Brice is the romance pen name of bestselling author Gail Z. Martin. Morgan writes urban fantasy MM paranormal romance, with plenty of action, adventure and supernatural thrills to go with the happily ever after. Gail writes epic and urban fantasy, with less romance, more explosions.
All of the modern-day Morgan Brice and Gail Z. Martin series crossover, so characters from one series appear in cameos and on page in important secondary roles in books from other series. Each book can be read as a standalone, but the more you read the more the expanded universe of friendships and connections becomes clear.
Morgan and Gail believe that paranormal elements make any story even better, and her worlds are full of ghosts, psychics, shifters, creatures, vampires, monster hunters, and magic.
She's also a huge fan of the TV show Supernatural. (Chibi art by Kamidiox)
The odds are against them, but they refuse to allow anything to get in their way.
Blurb
Victor Antonov-Daray is a lucky man. Thanks to his impetuous decision to apply for a job he didn’t qualify for, his life changed forever. In the decades since, Victor has gained experience, poise, and a found family. The Darays anchor his world.
Every twelve months, new fallen knights are resurrected. Keegan Hayes considers himself fortunate to be among them. As a recruit, he is eager to train and study. Shortly after classes begin, Keegan discovers there is a shifter sentinel struggling to adjust to his resurrection. Keegan insists on meeting him.
No sentinel likes to stick out, but Phillip Osdraconis has no choice. His dragon will not allow him to rest. It takes sorcery to force the beast into submission. His precarious start means he is not ready for the courses necessary to prepare him for his future duties.
Phillip refuses to accept his fate idly. He is determined to forge a bond with his dragon, read his textbooks, and spar with his brethren. To his surprise, visitors arrive at his dorm door to greet him. One of them is his mate, Keegan.
Although they are pleased to be paired, their relationship is awkward. That is, until Phillip and Keegan are invited to dine with the Darays and they meet the missing part of their soul, Victor.
Now the three men must navigate the perilous road of a triple matebond. They do it willingly and with complete determination. Victor, Keegan, and Phillip soon learn everything is easier with love.
Excerpt
Preoccupied with ensuring drinks were being dispensed and that he’d forgotten nothing, Victor barely noted the shift in the air as a teleportation circle brought six men into the condo. That was until his dick grew hard and the scents of sunflowers and spicy cinnamon overwhelmed his senses. His head whipped to the side. A black-haired sentinel with wide, dark gray eyes stared at him. At his side was a redhead with pretty waves and a stunning brown gaze. The fallen knight’s mouth hung open, but it made him no less handsome.
Mates.
Somehow, Fate had brought Victor the other half—strike that, the other pieces—of his soul. Victor had two mates. He trembled and sweat dripped down his back. Thankfully, due to their large audience, his erection was wilting, but the scents of his mates had barely receded. Their expressions hadn’t changed either. They continued to gawk at him.
To call the moment awkward was an understatement of titanic proportions.
“Victor,” Chander said, moving close to him and laying a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Blinking heavily and nearly smiling at the way his cat purred and pranced through his mind, Victor managed a shake of his head.
“What is going on?” Alaric asked.
The sentinel with the messy dark hair briefly flicked his gaze from Victor to Alaric. “I believe Keegan and I have found a missing piece of ourselves.”
Keegan’s mouth snapped shut, and he glanced at Phillip. “You’re right. This must be at least one of the reasons we’re so weird around each other. We needed a cat shifter.”
Neither Victor nor his Russian Blue liked hearing about any struggle his mates were enduring, and he was sadly reminded that the only reason he was meeting Phillip and Keegan was because the Darays wanted to ease the troubles Phillip had faced since his resurrection.
“Cat shifter?” Baxter asked. “What does that mean?”
Victor raised his hand slightly. “Me. I’m the cat shifter they’re talking about.”
“What do you guys want with Victor?” Baxter demanded.
Knowing that the overprotective men in his family would soon swarm the newcomers with questioning and accusatory stares, Victor pulled himself together and approached the pair he hoped would be part of his future. His concern first went to Phillip.
Victor ignored everyone but his mates.
“Hi, I’m Victor,” he told Phillip and Keegan with a small smile. At five-foot-five, Victor had to glance up. Keegan was probably a handful of inches taller than Victor, and Phillip had a few inches on the fallen knight. “How’s your dragon doing, Phillip?”
“My dragon is handling everything well thus far. I believe he is like me and relieved to know Keegan and I have found you. At my resurrection, the first smell I registered was of coffee. It soothed me. That is what you smell like to me.”
“Same,” Keegan said, a grin lighting up his big brown eyes. “It’s a comforting scent to me too, and I basically can’t live without at least a few cups of it a day. What do we smell like, Victor? Wait, did I say how wonderful it is to meet you?”
“Neither of us did, I am afraid,” Phillip lamented. “This is such a momentous day; words are failing me.”
“That’s okay, my mind is reeling too,” Victor assured them both. With closer proximity and his senses returning somewhat to normal, Victor was finally able to differentiate between the scents of the two men. Phillip smelled like cinnamon, while the floral scent of sunflowers clung to Keegan, which he explained.
“He is a floral scent to me too, but I could not place the flower,” Phillip remarked.
“Will someone please explain to me what is going on right now?” Baxter exclaimed.
“Dude, seriously,” Dra’Kaedan drawled. “They’re mates. How did you not figure that out?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t randomly have conversations about scents,” Baxter retorted. “It didn’t click in mind…wait! Mates. A triple matebond? Another sentinel with two mates? This is incredible.”
“This is, of course, wonderful news,” Alaric stated.
Wondering at the flatness of Alaric’s voice, Victor glanced at him, but his face was an expressionless mask. At his side, Chander’s pewter gaze was filled with wonder. Even the tiny goblins Chander had summoned for Alaric—Rogue and Pizza—were oddly solemn.
Victor bowed his head briefly as he immediately understood the lack of joy. Not only was Phillip currently locked in a struggle with an unruly dragon, but statistically triple matebonds had a less than fifty percent chance of succeeding. That should have frightened Victor or given him pause, but confidence radiated through him. His cat believed in their success.
Victor’s beast was drawn toward Keegan and Phillip equally. It was up to Victor to do his part to honor the bonds Fate had granted him. He wasn’t sure why, but Victor refused to accept a smidgen of doubt. They would succeed. He was sure of it.
About the Author
Jessamyn Kingley has published over thirty titles and refuses to pick a favorite among them. With an extraordinary passion for her characters, she enthusiastically adds tales to her D’Vaire series and avidly re-reads them whenever her schedule allows. After decades living in the Washington, DC area, she now resides in Nevada with her husband and their three spoiled cats. When she is not writing or adding new ideas to her beloved notebooks, she is gaming with family and friends.
