Wow. Life has tossed Graham a lot of curveballs, but he never expected to hear those words. Then, just as Graham and his fated mate, Hyden, are getting used to that amazing news, someone from Grahamâs past returns and kidnaps him, threatening the very future they want to build. Turns out Graham is an Oletti, a bloodline of wolf shifters that seems to be part of an ancient prophecy, one that speaks of a hidden magical spring of water that can restore the earth and all that is in it. A power some would kill to possess. Except, in the wrong hands, it can also turn humans and shifters totally away from what, and who, they truly love, tearing families and even fated mates apart.
Unfortunately, Hyden has been forced to drink this water so no one is coming to rescue Graham. Itâs now up to him to not only save himself, his unborn child and his fated mate, but very possibly the world as they know it. But superhero capes are hard to come by and he never liked himself much in tights. Still, with the help of his Oletti powers, this should be something he can do, right? Oh, Great Wolf, let this be something I can do…
Review: An excellent addition to the series that delves further into the Oletti’s background as well as Graham being in danger from those that want him for a specific purpose. I loved this suspenseful yet danger packed story. With Alpha Hyden trying to clean up Tenway to Graham being kidnapped.
This story has it all. I was in awe with the Oletti’s background as well as the interesting characters throughout the story both good and bad. My heart broke for what had been done to the Oletti’s out of greed.
This was the best book in the series as it answered many questions that remained from the first two books.
Publisher: Black Dove Press, LLC (20th January 2020)
Heat Level: Nil
Heart Rating: đđđđđ 5 Hearts
Reviewer: Pixie
Blurb: Aleksei Drago never expected an easy life, but he never expected what he got. Growing up amongst the Ri-Vhan of Seil Wood, losing his mother and just as suddenly being torn from the forest folk, Aleksei had no choice but to make the best of the unpredictable path in life.
But what happens when the monsters and figures of fiction become horrifyingly real? Can Aleksei find the right path? When his life and the lives of his family and friends are at stake will he fight, reforging himself into the man Prophecy demands he become? In a world of magic and Magi, of Angels and Demons alike, how will a simple farm boy survive his own contorted destiny?
This is the story of a seemingly-simple world gone mad, and the reality that every action, no matter how apparently benign, can serve to unravel terrifying truths. This is the story of Aleksei Drago, farmer, Hunter, and so much more.
Review: Now Iâm a bit of a fantasy snob, sometimes the fantasy just isnât fantasy enough but this baby is allllllll fantasy and not just fantasy but EPIC FANTASY.
This is an amazing story that has twists and turns all the way through, it has misdirectionâs right from the start lulling you into a false sense of knowledge which is then shattered and it just gets more and more interesting.
Now this isnât a romance, yes thereâs gay characters but anything between them is kept in the background so you can fully get your teeth into the storyline⌠and oh my what a storyline it is. Danger, mystery, dirty deeds and epic fighting is just a bit of what you can enjoy in this well-crafted story. The world building is wonderful, the characters are fantastic and you really get dragged into the story.
Aleksei is one amazing man who discovers many things about himself; his counterpart is Jonas Belgi who also makes many discoveries as they both try their best to save their kingdom. This story is amazing and I really donât know how to explain how fantastic it is. And OMG itâs a ten book series *squee* I canât wait!!!
 I really really have no words to tell you more about this story without giving away the many surprises that unfold, all I can say is if you love epic fantasies and amazing battles then this story is for you.
Blurb: Jameson Havercamp, a psych from a conservative religious colony, has come to Oberonâunique among the Common Worldsâin search of a rare substance called pith. Heâs guided through the wilds on his quest by Xander Kinnson, a handsome, cocky skythane with a troubled past.
Neither knows that Oberon is facing imminent destruction. Even as the world starts to fall apart around them, they have no idea whatâs comingâor the bond that will develop between them as they race to avert a cataclysm.
Together, they will journey to uncover the secrets of this strange and singular world, even as it takes them beyond the bounds of reality itself to discover what truly binds them together..
Review: Two men taken to safety as children will come together twenty five years later to save the world.  Xander is a Skythane. He’s had a hard life. Abused at the hands of a diabolical manâs hands he is saved one day by Alix who cherishes and nurtures him until Alix disappears.
Jameson grew up in a religious home and became a psych. He helps people as is what he’s always wanted to do. The time comes when he is tasked to find out where a drug called Pith comes from. It will be a journey fraught with revelations and danger, spanning decades of memories.
The twists and turns and the buried memories were spellbinding to witness. This book had it all. Drama, mystery, suspense, a corrupt corporation, a world on the brink of destruction, characters that added insight to the ever growing mystery as to what it going on, and two men who discover who they truly are and what they are destined for. Simply put this was a fascinating story that grabs your attention from the start.Â
I absolutely loved, loved, loved this story. If I could rate it more than a five I would.
The Skythane people were described beautifully as well as the worlds themselves. It was so elaborate that I felt as though I was there every step of the way. It was an amazing story from start to finish.Â
Blurb: Their leap of faith could unleash magic — or plunge them into darkness.
Henry Thorn has worked at Larkin’s since graduating high school. He likes it — especially when he can use his secret skill of hiding inside shadows so his boss can’t find them. Without that talent, he would never had survived growing up different.
When a hire enters the store, Henry’s other latent talent kicks in. He can smell an emotional response even before he lays eyes on the redhead.
Jamey Currey came out, and his conservative parents promptly kicked him out. He, too, is different — he senses Henry’s attraction the moment they met. The first time they kiss, torrential rains fall from skies split by lightning.
Their kiss also awakens the Watchers, diabolical hunters who will stop at nothing — even extermination — to keep magic suppressed. With the help of a friendly coven of friendly witches, the boys embark on a quest to discover an ancient key to restoring magic to the world, and to understand mysteries of their own hearts.
The question is, will this quest cost them their lives?.
Review: An interesting story about two young men, Henry and Jamey. One is comfortable with who he is the other is not. I found Jamey lashing out at Henry at times to be irritable as Henry did not make him fall for him. But Henry was always there for him no mater what.
I did not like Jamey’s parents and found their motives questionable at times. Despite the obstacles and twists and turns Jamey and Henry were faced with throughout they persevered at the end.
I enjoyed the unique twist on the paranormal in this story and found the overall book riveting.
All in all an enjoyable book about two young men who find love, courage and themselves in a time when the world needs them the most.
Publisher: Painted Hearts Publishing (19th November 2020)
Heat Level: Moderate
Heart Rating: đđđđ 4 Hearts
Reviewer: Pixie
Blurb:A fortune shouldnât get you killed. A promise shouldnât break your heart.
Attorney Rafe Stanton knows making promises is a dangerous thing. Over and over he has failed to keep people under his protection safe. For years he watched his younger cousin Noah lose his battle with drugs and alcohol, which eventually led to a deadly car accident. When he finds out about Noahâs secret marriage to Logan Tate, Rafe has one last chance for redemption.
Inheriting a fortune should be a blessing, but for Logan life never works out that way. Heâs learned the hard way that dreams donât come trueâand if they do, well, there is usually a hefty price tag attached. All he really wants is a quiet life, but that isnât in the cards when his apartment gets broken into and a pretentious lawyer from Boston arrives thinking he can call the shots.
The two men donât see eye-to-eye about the inheritance, but with Noahâs powerful family coming after Logan, they find themselves reluctantly on the same side. A gunman, greedy in-laws, and meddling friends are not enough trouble; soon they also need to deal with the explosive chemistry between them.
But Rafe made a promise to the past and Logan doesnât trust easily, so a future together seems out of reach.
Review: When Noah dies Rafe is left feeling guilt over not doing more for his cousin, when he discovers Noahâs Will he realises that the promise Noah extracted from him the night of his death is going to bring him head to head with Noahâs family.
Logan is left reeling by his husbandâs death, Noah promised to look after him but now with Noahâs family setting their sights on Noahâs money Logan wonders if he can survive the battle, with Rafe on his side he might just be able to make it but the attraction they feel for each other just might blow up in their faces.
A.G. Meiers has written a story that pulls a lot of emotion from the characters; we have guilt, grief, anger, sorrow, fear, loss, and a dash of happiness. Both Rafe and Logan go through a lot emotionally as they find their way to each other with Noahâs wishes hanging between them as Logan just wants what Noah promised him and Rafe just wants to fulfil the promise he made to Noah.
Logan and Rafe both have secrets that affect how they feel. Rafe is tortured by guilt and feels he could have done more to protect people who relied on him, and Logan is bewildered by whatâs happening to him, their secrets play a large part in how each man interacts with others especially those close to them.
We are pulled into this story from the first pages and it doesnât let up as we are dragged along for the ride, itâs a rollercoaster of emotion as we follow the ups and downs of the story. Logan and Rafeâs relationship is fraught with emotional bombs, and they never know when an emotion bomb is about to go off. With the help of their friends they navigate the minefield of love and redemption and most of all forgiveness.
Thereâs some amazing secondary characters in this story, uncle Vicky, his niece Ria, Jase, Kane, Rafeâs dad and step-mom, they bring love, hope, kindness and acceptance into the story and an amazing support that both Rafe and Logan desperately need.
I really enjoyed this story and thought it was well written and for the most part well executed, there was one issue in particular I had with it and that was because of the actions of Noahâs family⌠was Noahâs death really an accident, not once after everything that came to light did anyone think that Noahâs death was a bit convenient, even though Noahâs death was an accident weâre human so of course the thought would flit through your mind after the truth is revealed about Noahâs family, but not once did any of the characters even wonder for a second before dismissing it. I mean Noahâs family are cold and ruthless I could so see them offing Noah to get their hands on his money.
I recommend this story to those who love a great storyline, love damaged main characters, who love family drama, who adore characters learning to forgive themselves and adore love stories where the love is hard fought.
A fortune shouldnât get you killed. a Promise shouldnât break your heart.
Attorney Rafe Stanton knows making promises is a dangerous thing. Over and over he has failed to keep people under his protection safe. For years he watched his younger cousin Noah lose his battle with drugs and alcohol, which eventually led to a deadly car accident. When he finds out about Noahâs secret marriage to Logan Tate, Rafe has one last chance for redemption.
Inheriting a fortune should be a blessing, but for Logan life never works out that way. Heâs learned the hard way that dreams donât come trueâand if they do, well, there is usually a hefty price tag attached. All he really wants is a quiet life, but that isnât in the cards when his apartment gets broken into and a pretentious lawyer from Boston arrives thinking he can call the shots.
The two men donât see eye-to-eye about the inheritance, but with Noahâs powerful family coming after Logan, they find themselves reluctantly on the same side. A gunman, greedy in-laws, and meddling friends are not enough trouble; soon they also need to deal with the explosive chemistry between them.
But Rafe made a promise to the past and Logan doesnât trust easily, so a future together seems out of reach.
Rafe walked over the graveled driveway and took a narrow path along the side of the building. There was indeed a fourth door. Rafe knocked.
âWow, that was fast, Ria. I just got your message.â A voice floated through a cracked window and then the door was pulled open. A young man was standing in the frame. Logan Tate. Rafe recognized him from the picture Kane had sent him earlier.
Whoever Ria was, Tate obviously found it appropriate to welcome her without a shirt. He was wearing nothing but some ripped jeans hanging low on his hips. Miles of golden skin over well-defined muscles. In fact, Tate had a six pack, with a swirl of soft brown hair disappearing into those jeans. Fuck. Rafe forced his eyes up. A square face, chiseled jaw. Tateâs hair was still wet, he had it tucked behind his ears with a few strands escaping and falling into his face. His eyes were already huge, but now they were wide open in surprise. For a second Rafe felt like heâd been transported into an American Eagle catalog shoot.
Before Rafe could get a word out, the door was slammed shut in his face. âAll right, that went well,â he mumbled to himself. He stepped forward and knocked again. âCome on, Tate. Open the door.â
âIâve got a lawyer, and I wonât talk to anybody without him present,â came the muffled reply through the door.
âI think there is a misunderstanding. Iâm hereââ Rafeâs cell started ringing. Annoyed, he pulled it out to silence it, when the door was ripped open again. Tateâstill without a shirtâstared at him with his phone in his hand.
âYouâre Rafe Stanton? Shit, I should have recognized you.â Tate turned and disappeared into the house. Rafe took the open door as an invitation to follow. The room he walked into was dominated by a huge bay window overlooking the ocean and the rocky beach. It was filled with honey-colored pine wood furniture, which was typical for beach homes, but none of the usual lighthouse or seashell knick-knacks. Midday sun flooded every corner with light and warmth.
Tate pulled a shirt out of a laundry basket on the floor and quickly put it on. When he stretched up his arms, his pants dropped even lower and Rafeâs eyes roamed over his Vee peeking out over his waistband. A bolt of lust hit him. Logan Tate was sinfully gorgeous. Itâd been a long time that a manâs beauty had such an immediate impact on Rafe.
Still pulling his shirt down, Tate said, âYeah, I should have recognized you. Noah showed me pictures. He talked about you all the time. Man, he loved you like a brother.â
âExcuse me,â Rafe replied tersely. He wanted to add: How dare you talk about him?You used him like everybody else.
âFuck. I shouldnât have said that? I pissed you off. Iâm sorry.â Tate tugged on the bottom of his shirt and then waved to his small kitchen. âCoffee? I just made a fresh pot.â
Wrestling with his emotions, Rafe nodded, âYes, thank you. And maybe we can start with formal introduction. My name is Rafe Stanton and Iâm with Parker Law. Iâm Noahâs cousin, and Iâm also the executor of his last will and testament.â
Tate nodded and then walked over to the small, open kitchen and took two cups out of a glass cabinet and put them on the counter. âMilk? Sugar? Iâm sorry Iâve no cream.â
âNo, thank you. Black.â
âOf course,â Tate mumbled as he poured a cup and handed it over. Rafe only now noticed the dark purple bruise in his face and wondered what that was all about. âIâm Logan Tate. Please call me Logan. IâmâIâm Noahâs husband, but then you know that already.â
Yeah, Rafe knew, but he also hadnât missed the slight hesitation, so he said, âIâd still like to see some ID. Itâs just a formality, but maybe we can get it out of the way.â
âSure.â Tate walked over to the small kitchen table tucked into a corner. He picked up his wallet and pulled out his driverâs license.
Rafe took a quick look, even though heâd seen a copy already. He could see one of his business cards lying on the table as well. His personal cell phone number was added in the middle. âNoah asked you to call me?â
âYeah, he said to call you as soon as any lawyers from his family showed up. He said you would help me.â
Damn, Noah, how about a heads-up? Rafe took a sip, hummed in surprise and then took another. âWow, this is good coffee.â
Tate smiled. And for a split second Rafe felt like he was looking at the most beautiful human being heâd ever met. Brown eyesâLogan had deep, dark brown eyes. It was a deadly combination with his honey blond hair. Rafe had a thing for blonds. Kane gave him crap about it all the time. Unconsciously bias.
âItâs from a small coffee shop in town. They roast and blend their own. Glad you like it.â
âMr. Tate, Logan, can I ask you a few questions?â
âOf course, do you want to sit down?â
âSure.â They settled down on the kitchen table. Rafe took another sip of his coffee and watched Logan fiddle with his cup. When he realized what he was doing, he dropped his hands onto his lap and gave Rafe a nervous smile. âSo, what now?â
âHow long have you been living here? Itâs a nice place.â
Rafe could almost see the mental eye roll at his attempt at small talk, but Logan decided to appease him. âI moved here a little less than a year ago. Noah and I, we used to travel a lot, but then we started to look for something closer to his family in Boston.â
âHave you met his family?â
Logan blushed and lowered his gaze. âNo, no, I havenât. We kept our marriage quietââ
âWhy was that?â
âFuck, what is this?â Logan pushed his chair back and stood up. âYou know Iâve never met his family. Theyâd have taken one look at me and crushed both of us. Noah was scared shitless of his mother, thatâs why he kept our marriage a secret. Why are you asking these stupid questions?â He walked to the bay window and looked out.
âOkay, then letâs jump right in, what do you know about Noahâs will?â
Author Bio
Eighteen years ago, AG Meiers came to the United States for adventure, but stayed for love. Currently, she lives in New England with her husband and two awesome kids–balancing work, friends and family, and writing.
When she has some free time, her favorite thing to do is travel and visit new places. Her past trips have already brought her to a variety of countries on four continents. She never passes up an opportunity to experience different cultures, diverse people, and amazing locations.
Even though she has been dreaming up stories all her life, she has only recently started to write them down and share them with the world. As a writer, she loves to to put her characters through a lot of challenges, conflict, and heartbreak before she allows them to find their happy-ever-after.
QSFer Stephen M.A. has a new diverse military space opera out:
Tiny Planet Filled With Liars.
And there’s a giveaway!
An armada that never dies. A society on the verge.
Every 30 days, Fleet Eternal arrives to surround the planet and lay siege to a complacent populace. Its armaments are unbeatable, its numbers uncountable, but the terrifying assault has one fatal flaw: a mere .01% loss in combat strength triggers automatic retreat and reset.
For decades, the Unified Fiduciary Dominion has relied on the Board and its military contractors to defend the planet and maintain the knife’s edge of survival. Now, riven by greed and false confidence, those corporate lords have abandoned their duty in pursuit of political power.
The tactics of the Alpha Vector Defense Corps have served for generationsâso why are they suddenly faltering? And why do Board members seem increasingly unconcerned with the tenuous state of the system? Armed with the exclusive authority to investigate, one fussy ex-military reporter must partner with a generous Madame to chase down the story behind a string of failed battlesâand pray they find answers before the districts are turned to ash.
As casualties rise, The Interviewer faces deadly resistance … and discovers a disturbing conspiracy at the highest ranks.
The world’s security is careening toward disaster, and this whistleblower is running out of time. But when every answer seems to bring more questions, one reminder guides the way:
Don’t come here looking for truth. This is just a pack of lies and the end of the world.
A genre-busting dramedy & political satire thriller in military sci-fi clothing.
Who would you say your favorite character is? Iâm presuming you wonât be pretending not to have one.
(chuckles)
[Stephen M.A.]
No, of course not. But actually, I think it was more a matter of having a particular favorite character at a particular point in the story. I think in the end itâs probably pretty obvious which character is my âheroâ at any given section. The favorite.
[The Interviewer]
But never me.
[Stephen M.A.]
Well, no. Sorry.
[Int.]
I told you from the start youâd begin to hate me as soon as you let me start to get autobioâ
[SM.A.]
It is NOT autobiographicalâI mean, YOU are not autobiographical! You are NOT a stand-in for me! For crying outâ
[Int.]
Itâs Zhou, isnât it.
[SM.A.]
âŚ
(laughs)
Yes, it is. Of course itâs Zhou. She was the first, and the last. It could only ever have been her. Sheâs the only reason I turned this into an entire world.
[Int.]
Bless her mean and cranky heart.
[SM.A.]
Cheers.
[Int.]
We donât have a drink. Quarantine, remember.
[SM.A.]
(sighs)
Yeah, I know. Also I donât really drink.
[Int.]
(sighs)
Yeah, I know.
[SM.A.]
Can I be honest?
[Int.]
I donât see why youâd bother starting at this point in the game, but sure, go ahead, itâs your word count.
[SM.A.]
I came into this with a firm concept, and a firm emotion. Mine. Anger. You know all the reasons.
[Int.]
Yes.
[SM.A.]
But the only reason this is likely to become a series now is because Zhou is the story. Iâll be writing the next two books for her.
[Int.]
Aw, thatâs sweet.
[SM.A.]
Is it?
[Int.]
Youâll take a sandal to the throat if you say that to her face, though.
[SM.A.]
Well luckily youâre in there with her and Iâm out here ⌠uh ⌠with you ⌠you know what, letâs just wrap this up.
[Int.]
Probably for the best. Thanks so much to MM Good Book Reviews for having us! Grab Tiny Planet Filled With Liars on Kindle Unlimited today!
[SM.A.]
Goodbye.
[Int.]
Goodbye!
Excerpt
2
Bartimus Caldwell
Onyx Hoteliers LTD., Suite 7382, Courtesy Level Omega Plus Royale
[Interviewer]
First, let me say welcome to the suite.
[Bartimus Caldwell]
Uh. Thank you.
[Interviewer]
Itâs courtesy level Omega Plus Royale, you know.
[Bartimus Caldwell]
Okay.
âŚ
Uh, I mean, thatâs great. Very impressive.
[Int.]
Thank you. You need to purchase 2,000 units of Class A shares just to get the invitation to apply for a reservation.
[B.C.]
I see.
[Int.]
Mm-hmm.
[B.C.]
Iâll ⌠uh ⌠Iâll look into it, for sure, though I donât know what Iâd do with a room this fancy on my own.
[Int.]
You are Bartimus Caldwell.
[B.C.]
Yes, sir.
[Int.]
Donât call me that. Iâve been discharged for years.
[B.C.]
Iâm sorry, siâI mean, Iâm sorry. I wonât.
[Int.]
State your position, rank, and assignment.
[B.C.]
Yeoman Sensor Scry, Grade III, Alpha Vector Defense of the Unified Fiduciary Dominion.
[Int.]
State your duties, in the most simple and clear terms you are able to.
[B.C.]
Uh ⌠I coordinate the intake and regressive analysis of real-time sensor data to monitor the mid-threat-time development of incursions in the Alpha Vector, when under the command of UFD Central Board Oversight.
[Int.]
âŚ
Youâre a watchman and analyst.
[B.C.]
Uh ⌠correct, sir.
[Int.]
How long have you been enlisted?
[B.C.]
I ⌠was assigned commission four years ago.
[Int.]
Youâre not volunteer enlisted?
[B.C.]
âŚ
No, sir.
[Int.]
Why are you even allowed in the Operations Center, in that case? Or have those regulations been changed?
[B.C.]
I donâtâuh ⌠I was not given such information, sir. Just the assignment.
âŚ
Iâve been told my predecessor retired out of her indenture due to debilitating stress. Uh ⌠several predecessors, actually. For the same reason.
[Int.]
I see.
[B.C.]
Yes.
[Int.]
Are you stressed, Bartimus?
[B.C.]
Yes, sir.
[Int.]
Bartimus.
[B.C.]
Yes, sir.
[Int.]
Stop calling me sir.
3
Bartimus Caldwell
Alpha Vector Operations Center
DURING incursions Bartimus Caldwell often feels chained to his desk.
Though incursion has initiated in the late afternoon (within a Unified Time Stamp of plus or minus 30 seconds) for the last twenty-six-and-one-half years, all personnel Grades V and below are still required to take stations no later than 0600 on the morning of.
Bartimus hates waking up so early, which may be why he avoided commission for so many years. It is to his great misfortune that heâs a whiz kid with sensor analysis, and inevitably discovered that Central Board Oversight had been made aware of his talents when he was abruptly recruited (then indentured) for a 20-year service stint four years ago, precisely two weeks after his 31st birthday. At the time he was gainfully (and happily) employed in the remote sexual screening industry, but thatâs not relevant to this portion of his story.
Bartimus Caldwellâs desk, which binds him so readily, is located on the upper balcony of the Alpha Vector Operations Center, when under the command of Central Board Oversight.
This room represents the most exclusive and highly classified product catalogs of no less than three dozen military contractors. However, those whoâve bothered to learn as much know that in reality only two conglomerates perch atop the corporate meta-structure which hides its many tendrils behind each of those contractors.
In some professions, as you know, acknowledging this easily verifiable duopoly is quite literally illegal. For instance, service personnel are forbidden to acknowledge or discuss, in any capacity, any information that might insinuate that the dozens of military contractors working with Central Board Oversight are not in fact plucky small businesses that have been rightfully rewarded with thick and hefty revenue streams by virtue of patriotism and good old-fashioned UFD entrepreneurship.
Bartimus Caldwell adheres to this policy with unerring slavishness and would never even think of speaking ill toward the contractors. I know this because he has assured me of it several times.
When Alpha Vector Defense is not under the command of Central Board Oversight, Bartimus Caldwellâs desk is in the auxiliary hangar, packed in alongside the other 382 service members in the unit. In that venue, each such member enjoys no less than two square meters of personal space in which to perform their duties, of which their auxiliary desk takes up no more than one-point-two-five square meters.
Bartimus Caldwell bubbles with gratitude toward the military for providing this generously outfitted working space to its service members. I know this because he has assured me of it several times.
However, this was an incursion week, which meant that Board members would be in attendance for their usual round of post-contact media conferences and photo opportunities, which meant Bartimus Caldwell and his unit were stationed in the Alpha Vector Operations Center, showcasing the finest product catalogs of the military contractors owned by said members of the Board.
From his desk in the front ring on the upper balcony of the Alpha Vector Operations Center, Bartimus enjoys an unobstructed view of the entire room. Behind him on the octagonal balcony, which encircles the entire outer wall of the Operations Center, two more layers of desks and control consoles are laid out, fully staffed with unit members of Grades II and I.
The bidding wars to manufacture the desks used on the balcony have been quite fierce in recent years, and a new contract seems to be assigned every other month. Bartimus has grown quite used to arriving for OC duty and discovering a brand new desk in front of his seat, though thankfully, after one long stretch of genuine UX insanity, a regulatory design decree was issued that now ensures the general layout and functionality of each new desk model is largely the same as the last.
Author Bio
Stephen M.A. is an ex-film student, Great Recession survivor, and first-generation tribal descendant originating from a reservation in big sky country. He now lives and writes in the northeastern United States.
Warren Rochelle has a new collection of gay fairy tales out:
“The Wicked Stepbrother and Other Stories.”
And there’s a giveaway!
Fairy tales. We all know the traditional stories, right? Prince Charming, the hero, fights evil, wins the princess, happily ever after. Three sons, three wishes, witches, dragons, a quest, and happily ever after.
These stories are part of our cultural fabric. We retell them, over and over, and the stories change in the retellings, to reflect contemporary culture, such as Princess Charming, heroes and heroines as people of color. It has been only relatively recently that queer folk have found their way into the retellings, as they have here, in this collection of stories, stories that grew out of questions:
What if the prince falls in love with Cinderellaâs gay stepbrother?
What if Rumpelstiltskin doesnât really want the Queenâs child? He wants his old boyfriend back, the King.
What if Beauty and the Beast were two men?
As fairy tales do, these stories explore the human condition, human experience, through the metaphors of magic and the magical, exploring what it means to be human. After all, all fairy tales are true. But this time, with a gay perspective.
In these tales, retellings and original ones, readers are asked to consider what price must be paid for happily ever afterâwhich is not guaranteed. Love, on the other hand, without a doubt. These tales are love stories.
âYou want to make the ugly orange-haired brother feel better? Ease your conscience for being the favored one? You feel sorry for me?â
âCalum. I didnât mean it that wayâI only meantâI meanâIâm sorry.â
âGo away.â
She never tried to be friendly to me again. Father slapped me for my rudeness at the dinner table that night, of course in front of everyone. Conor tried to stop him but that only earned Conor a verbal slap. I just stared at him, the print of his hand on my face a bright red. Elena said nothing; her mother just looked smug.
The dark plague came to Colomendy two weeks later.
It was the night of the midsummer ball and Father, or so I had heard, was going to announce Conorâs engagement to Elena. Andâaccording to what my footman bedfellow whispered to meâI was to be denounced as illegitimate because Mother had used her magic to seduce him and the marriage was null and void. A horse, a bag of gold, a cage of his doves, and the bastard would be sent on his way to start a new story somewhere else.
Father would wait, of course, to send me off. The engagement party was not to be spoiled. I was ready, thanks to Mary Grace. One drop from the vial in my pocket into the after-dinner tea and they would all die in a lot of pain, writhing, screaming, their bodies contorting as their skin turned black. Neither Elena nor her mother would be so beautiful then.
But a messenger from the king arrivedâa human one. That meant the message was of extreme importance. The man was shown in before the engagement announcement was made, as the beautiful couple spun around the inlaid star in the center of the ballroom with Father smiling. I stood by the long white-lace-covered table, decked out with all kinds of desserts and sweets.
Father, compelled by law to immediately read a sovereignâs message, waved his hand for silence. The dark plague. The first cases, already in the capital. The greenwitches and healer witches were desperately seeking a cure, a vaccine. We were to stay calm, to carry on. The engagement announcement was postponed. I closed my fist around my vial and said nothing.
A week later a scullery maid took sick. She died gasping for breath, the sight in one eye already gone. Colomendy lost fully half of the house servants, and a third of the estate staff. Then, Conor got sick. Elena. Her mother. Father.
Her mother died first. By then, Mary Grace was working day and night to come up with anything that would help and I was beseeching all the gods for Conor. I loved him and I knew if he died that Iâd lose one of the few people who loved me back. Mary Grace called me to her herbarium the day after Elenaâs mother died to hand me another vial, with one dose of a long-sought-for cure. It was like a vaccine, too, she said. The sick would get better and those not sick would stay well.
I told myself I would have given Father a dose if there had been enough. I knew that wasnât true. So did Father, who called me to his room the next day. I could barely hear him speak. I knew he could barely see me.
âSo, the ugly man-loving bastard wins. You will be Lord Culver, ninth Baron of Colomendy.â
âIâm not a bastard, Father. You just wanted to make me one.â
âYou killed your mother. Having you killed her,â he gasped and with what energy he had left, he pushed back against the head board, and lifted his right hand to scrawl a warding sign in the air.
âYou should be afraid of me,â I hissed, and he was gone. I was the new Baron. I was eighteen-going-on-nineteen.
Mary Grace was among the last to die. She had raised me. She had shown me my silver blood; she had helped me learn how powerful I could be. She had taught me magic, despite the magic control laws.
I still grieve for her.
~~~~
Whatâs next?
Right now, I am working on completing Fletcher and Samâs story. Fletcher is in Faerie, now he has to find Sam and bring him back. This task will test Fletcher. I think their story could a novella, but I am not sure. I keep thinking of more things, of more story. The other project, which might be a novella, or at least along story, is a sequel to my first novel, The Wild Boy, and takes place two hundred years later, as humanity is recovering from the Long Nightmare of the Lindauzi conquest. When can you expect these novellas? Next year, I hope. I also want to revisit a novel I have rewritten a few times, The Golden Boy, set in alternate history, in the world of the Columbian Empire.
Author Bio
Warren Rochelle lives in Charlottesville, Virginia, and has just retired from teaching English at the University of Mary Washington.
His short fiction and poetry have been published in such journals and anthologies as Icarus, North Carolina Literary Review, Forbidden Lines, Aboriginal Science Fiction, Collective Fallout, Queer Fish 2, Empty Oaks, Quantum Fairy Tales, Migration, The Silver Gryphon, Jaelle Her Book, Colonnades, and Graffiti, as well as the Asheville Poetry Review, GW Magazine, Crucible, The Charlotte Poetry Review, and Romance and Beyond.
His short story, âThe Golden Boy,â was a finalist for the 2004 Spectrum Award for Short Fiction. His short story âMirrors,â was just published in Under A Green Rose, a queering romance anthology, from Cuil Press. âThe Latest Thing,â a flash fiction story, is in the Queer Sci Fi anthology, Innovation.
Rochelle is also the author of four novels: The Wild Boy (2001), Harvest of Changelings (2007), and The Called (2010), all published by Golden Gryphon Press, and The Werewolf and His Boy, published by Samhain Publishing in September 2016. The Werewolf and His Boy was re-released from JMS Books in August 2020. The Wicked Stepbrother and Other Stories is forthcoming from JMS Books in late September 2020.
Beryll and Osiris Brackhaus have a new sci fi/space opera book out, Virasana Empire: Dr. Laurent Book 1: “The PV-3 Mutagen.”
As a history scholar and courier for the secretive Circle of Thales, Rene Laurent is a man of many talents – none of them lending themselves much to a life of adventure.
But when a chance meeting with a young, idealistic Belligra priest drags him into a wild quest to keep a dangerous mutagen off the streets of Floor, his curiosity gets the better of him. Between monsters both human and man-made, he realises that maybe fieldwork is more of his game than he had ever thought possible…
Written by Rainbow-Award-winning authors Beryll and Osiris Brackhaus, ‘The PV-3 Mutagen’ is a colourful non-romance sci-fi adventure set in the wildly diverse ‘Virasana Empire’, and the first novel of the ‘Doctor Laurent’ series.
Warnings: Not a romance. Harsh setting, but hopeful.
The monofilament weaponry shop was located at one of the posher malls in the quadrant. One Rene had never visited before since it specialised in all sorts of combat equipment. That the shop ran holo ads at other malls pointed to them having a good marketing budget which in turn meant they must be profitable.
The security guards at this mall didn’t so much as blink at the Belligra coming in. After all, he had good reason to be here. When they walked in, the first thing they saw was a shiny, hulking hovertank on display in the ground floor foyer, setting the mood for the whole place.
Amusingly, the holo ads here were a whole lot less obnoxious, mostly confined to displays right outside the shop windows rather than following the customers around. It probably wasn’t a good idea to annoy people who were interested in buying weapons, heavily armed and aggressive as they were wont to be.
Rene nearly lost Riccardo while studying the floor plan for the monofil shop. He found the Belligra at a nearby store, longingly gazing at what was advertised as the latest model of personal energy shields. The ones on display were in the form of various types of belt buckles and ornamental brooches. Riccardo was watching the holo display showing the shields in action with rapt attention.
Rene took one look at the price tags and dismissed the notion of getting one for his Belligra friend. There was a reason the store was located in the prime spot, right at the entrance. It wasn’t meant for priests, or normal commoners. This was the turf of company bosses and minor nobles. Looking inside, Rene found a stylishly uniformed shop clerk glaring at him. He wasn’t making shooing gestures, after all, a Belligra was not someone to be trifled with, but he very much wanted them gone.
âCome on,â he told Riccardo and tried to gently herd him away, âthe ‘Cutting Edge’ is on the third floor.â
That got Riccardo’s attention. âCutting Edge? Seriously? They couldn’t come up with a more cliche name?â
Rene shrugged. âYou have to give them that you know exactly what they are dealing in.â
Riccardo cast one last longing glance at the energy shield display but obediently followed Rene to the escalators. There were plenty of other distractions for someone interested in combat. On their ride up, they had a good view of the great variety of shops selling all manner of killing tools devised by humanity and as many to make sure you didn’t get killed by them. Riccardo kept craning his neck to take it all in. It was the first time Rene had seen him truly fascinated by the abundance of commerce Floor was famous for. So, the austere, disciplined Belligra had a weakness when it came to weaponry and armour. Rene was curious to see if he would be overwhelmed by it, but he kept his own weakness of curiosity in check and led Riccardo straight to the monofil store.
It was located between a dingy-looking ammunition shop, which advertised bulk sales, and a small workshop offering armour repair services. The Cutting Edge very much dominated the scene with a sleek, white and silver interior, looking very high-tech in a most pleasing, confidence-inspiring way. The displays in the windows showed only a handful, equally sleek weapons, with special lighting illuminating the edges in different colours.
Next to Rene, Riccardo made a small sound of joy. While before he had looked like a kid in a candy shop, he now seemed more like someone admiring a piece of art. Rene looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. In reaction, Riccardo managed to look embarrassed and righteous at the same time.
âWhat? They’re pretty. Can’t I appreciate that?â
Rene smiled at him. âAppreciate away. It’s nice to finally see you find something you like on Floor.â
âHmm. Let’s call it reason number one why I don’t have to leave the planet as soon as possible, shall we?â
âLet’s.â Rene entered the store and was announced by a soft tinkling as he stepped through the door.
He half expected to be treated as unwelcome rabble here as well, so he was pleasantly surprised when, instead, a clerk dressed casually in cargo pants and a white t-shirt with the Cutting Edge logo approached them with a bright smile. No older than in his mid-twenties, his bright blue, spiky hair sparkled the same colour as some of the weaponsâ edges.
âWelcome, gentlemen,â he greeted them, âI’m Gino. What can I do for you today?â
Polite customer service was what sold wares, and this franchise was well aware.
âWe’ve seen an ad for your monofilament grenades,â Rene replied. âWe have a bit of a vermin problem, and we think that your grenades are the way to go to get rid of it.â
âThat must be some seriously bad vermin,â Gino joked.
Rene held out his hand at waist height. âThis tall and armed with teeth and claws.â
âOh.â Suddenly, the joke wasn’t that funny anymore and Gino switched gears with admirable speed. âThen I think you are in the right place. Our grenades were specifically designed for exactly these kinds of problems. If you will come with me, I can show you the options we offer.â
Author Bio
We are Beryll and Osiris Brackhaus, a couple currently living our happily ever after in the very heart of Germany, under the stern but loving surveillance of our cat.
Both of us are voracious but picky readers, we love telling stories and drinking tea, good food and the occasional violent movie. Together, we write novels of adventure and romance, hoping to share a little of our happiness with our readers.
An artist by heart, Beryll was writing stories even before she knew what letters were. As easily inspired as she is frustrated, her own work is never good enough (in her eyes). A perfectionist in the best and worst sense of the word at the same time and the driving creative force of our duo.
An entertainer and craftsman in his approach to writing, Osiris is the down-to-earth, practical part of our duo. Broadly interested in almost every subject and skill, with a sunny mood and caring personality, he strives to bring the human nature into focus of each of his stories.
Hi guys! We have Liz Faraim stopping by today with the tour for her new release Canopy, we have a brilliant interview, a great excerpt and a fantastic $20 Amazon GC giveaway so check out the post and enter the giveaway! â¤ď¸ ~Pixie~
Canopy
(Vivian Chastain 01)
by
Liz Faraim
Vivian Chastain is an adrenaline addicted veteran, transitioning to civilian life in Sacramento, California. She settles into a new routine while she finishes up college and works as a bartender, covering up her intense anxiety with fake bravado and swagger. All Vivian wants is peace and quiet, but her whole trajectory changes when she stumbles upon a heinous crime in progress and has to fight for her life to get away.
While recovering from the fight, she falls in love with someone who is tall in stature but short on emotional intelligence, and this toxic union provides Vivian the relationship that she thinks she needs. Given Vivianâs insecurities and traumatic past, she clings to the relationship even while it destroys her.
Vivianâs relationships are strained to their breaking points as she continues to seek balance. She turns to her best friend for support, only to be left empty handed and alone until she finds comradery and care from the last person she would have thought.
Nicholas McIntire has a new queer fantasy book out,
The Archanium Codex book 1:
The Hunter’s Gambit.
Aleksei Drago never expected an easy life, but he never expected what he got. Growing up amongst the Ri-Vhan of Seil Wood, losing his mother and just as suddenly being torn from the forest folk, Aleksei had no choice but to make the best of the unpredictable path in life.
But what happens when the monsters and figures of fiction become horrifyingly real? Can Aleksei find the right path? When his life and the lives of his family and friends are at stake will he fight, reforging himself into the man Prophecy demands he become? In a world of magic and Magi, of Angels and Demons alike, how will a simple farm boy survive his own contorted destiny?
This is the story of a seemingly-simple world gone mad, and the reality that every action, no matter how apparently benign, can serve to unravel terrifying truths. This is the story of Aleksei Drago, farmer, Hunter, and so much more.
Henry spent the rest of the day watching his son closely. Something was undeniably troubling him, but until Aleksei decided to open up to him there was nothing he could do.
âHeâll tell you in his own time, Henry.â he muttered under his breath.
So he waited. Every now and then he would engage his son in conversation, but every time he thought Aleksei might be on the brink of telling him something, the conversation fled to some superficial topic. Did he think it would rain by Market Day? Who did he think would bring the biggest pig to the Harvest Festival? Did he think Mother Margareta would come to bless their fields before the first frost?
Henry answered each question as though it was the direction he meant to steer the conversation, and refused to allow his frustration to surface. But by the end of the evening, he was no closer to understanding his sonâs troubles than heâd been that morning.
Finally Aleksei rose from his seat before the fire, put his book away, and went to bed. Henry watched him go, more troubled than ever. The boy had never gone to bed without a word before. He always had some last comment to make, even if it was just to wonder at the next dayâs activities.
Henry sat before the dying embers of the fire well into the night, thinking. He didnât remember falling asleep, so when the voice woke him his eyes started open.
Hello, Henry.
He looked around, trying to get his bearings.
Gone was the heat of the hearth, the comfort of his chair. Instead he stood in an enveloping fog of shimmering gold.
He could see no one.
âWhere am I?â Henry demanded.
A dream, Henry. This is merely an illusion. I apologize that I cannot offer you more comfortable surroundings at the moment.
âWho are you?â Henry called, feeling a touch foolish, shouting at phantoms.
His question went unanswered.
Henry, Iâve come to ask a favor.
âWho are you?â Henry repeated flatly.
There was a moment of hesitation before the voice responded. A man much like yourself, Henry Drago. One who only wants whatâs best for your son.
âSpeak then.â
When the favor was uttered, Henry blinked in confusion. A thousand questions bubbled to the surface, yet he found that he only possessed the strength to ask one.
âWhy?â he choked, surprised by the weakness in his own voice.
The air before his face shimmered and distorted, as though he were looking through intense heat. Slowly, images formed. Images of Aleksei. An Aleksei he didn’t recognize.
âWhy are you showing me this?â Henry managed.
Because I want you to see what your son could become. The man he could be, if youâd only let him. If you just do as I say.
âI donât trust you.â Henry barked back. âI canât even see your face.â
Another image shimmered into being. A man, though Henry saw nothing remarkable about him. The man leaned forward and whispered in his ear, and Henry heard the unmistakable ring of truth.
In that moment he thought he might have preferred a dagger to the heart. It would have been far less painful to simply die at the end of a highwaymanâs blade than to agree to this. Either way, he would lose the most precious thing he had.
âBargain struck.â Henry whispered bitterly, a tear winding its way down his cheek.
Youâre doing your son a great service, Henry Drago.
The man even sounded earnest.
Henry started to say something, but even as he opened his mouth, darkness swirled around him. He slipped back into the empty chasms of sleep.
#
Morning greeted Aleksei gently, rousing him from a dreamless oblivion. It had taken him hours to finally find some rest, and his relief was immeasurable when he woke without encountering the specter of the green-eyed man. His wish had been granted. The man was gone.
He made his way down the narrow stairway and walked into the kitchen, frowning at what greeted him. Their rough wooden table was laid out with provisions for what Aleksei could only guess was a journey.
But a journey where? His father hadnât said anything about travel. There was still wood to chop and hay to store. The first snow might be weeks away, but there was no telling when the winds would usher in the chill of Northern air. Working outside in the cold was not something he, nor any farmer, relished.
âI see youâre up.â Henry said from behind. Aleksei jumped.
He turned, âDa, where are we going? I thought we were going to finish the hay this morning.â
His father shook his head and smiled, though Aleksei caught the deep sadness in Henryâs eyes. âWe arenât going anywhere, Son. You are.â
Aleksei frowned, âMe? But I thoughtââ
His father tried to hold the smile, but it was forced, âYouâre needed, Son. In the North.â
Aleksei thought his heart would stop. He forgot to breathe. He could hardly process what his father had just said.
You know the truth he speaks, Aleksei.
Aleksei fought back a sob of frustration. He thought heâd freed himself of the damned voice, but now he knew the truth. He would never be free from it. It would hound him until the end of his days, or until it drove him mad, whichever came first.
Or until you simply do as I ask.
âWhy?â he finally managed.
His father looked out the kitchen window, and Aleksei followed his gaze. Dash waited patiently outside, a saddle fitted snugly about his muscular frame.
âBecause youâre needed, Son. Itâs the only answer I can give you.â
âIâm not needed here, Da? Donât you need me?â
Henry bit back the pain in his voice, âYou are more of a help than I can say, Aleksei, and I love you dearly. But no, I donât need you. Not like this. If you stayed here, youâd be wasting somethingâŚextraordinary. And honestly, I think youâd know it too. They need you in the North, Son. And their need is much more important than mine.â
Aleksei stood there, stunned by what his father was saying to him. And then the questions came pouring forth. What did Henry mean by âextraordinaryâ? What had his father learned? What was still being kept from him?
âAnd Iâm sorry I canât give you the answers you want, Son. But I think you know who can. Find him.â
âBut how can IâŚ.â Aleksei began, fighting back the tears springing into his eyes.
âYouâre strong, Aleksei. Youâve always been strong. That wonât fail you now.â
Henry swallowed back his own tears and tried to smile again, âNow youâd better get on the road. The sooner you get beyond the Southern Plain, the better. You donât want to be riding under the Harvest sun too long if you can help it.â
âBut where am I going?â Aleksei cried, his voice breaking. It was happening too fast. His life was slipping through his fingers moment by moment and there was nothing he could do about it.
âNorth, Son. North. Youâll know where youâre headed as you get closer. Thatâs all I know to tell you.â
Aleksei looked into his fatherâs eyes and saw the sadness, the regret that burned within him. His father wanted to know just as badly as he, to know just what sort of place he was so blindly sending his son.
Finally, after a long silence, Aleksei nodded. âAlright, Da. If you want me to go, then Iâll go.â
âIâll never want you to go, Son.â Henry whispered, his face contorting with pain. He had already lost his wife, and now he was losing his son, too. Aleksei would still be alive, but he would be so far away.
âBut promise me something, Aleksei.â
Aleksei nodded, âAnything, Da.”
âIf you find this place and if itâs not what you want, what you need, promise me youâll come back. Even if this isnât what you want either, at least we can figure that out together.â
Aleksei finally allowed a tear to wind its way down his cheek, âI promise, Da.â
Henry stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around his son, hugging him as close as he could, as though any moment Aleksei might turn to mist and vanish forever. Henry stepped back and managed a sardonic smile. Aleksei might remain solid as stone, but surely enough he was about to vanish.
#
Henry didnât watch his son ride away. In truth, he couldnât bear it. As long as heâd never seen Aleksei leave he could always pretend the boy was out in the barn, or by the pond heâd swum in as a child. It was a good hour before Henry allowed himself to sit down in his chair and sob.
Author Bio
Critically-acclaimed author Nicholas McIntire has been writing fantasy since he was 8 years old. The bones of the Archanium Codex were first created when he was 16, and in the past 20 years, he has taken that initially simple idea and crafted it into a fully realized world, finished the sequel, earned three degrees (one in Russian, Eastern European Studies, two in Nursing), and lived life to its fullest. Now writing full-time, Nicholas is ready for share is vision of the Archanium Codex, a 10 book series. The first book of the series being The Hunter’s Gambit.
Nicholas, lives in Fort Worth, Texas, but writes in both Fort Worth and Fort Davis, TX, where his family has a small place situated at 5200 feet in the Davis Mountains – and, yes, Texas does have mountains.
Publisher: Black Dove Press, LLC (20th January 2020)
Heat Level: Nil
Heart Rating: đđđđđ 5 Hearts
Reviewer: Pixie
Blurb: Aleksei Drago never expected an easy life, but he never expected what he got. Growing up amongst the Ri-Vhan of Seil Wood, losing his mother and just as suddenly being torn from the forest folk, Aleksei had no choice but to make the best of the unpredictable path in life.
But what happens when the monsters and figures of fiction become horrifyingly real? Can Aleksei find the right path? When his life and the lives of his family and friends are at stake will he fight, reforging himself into the man Prophecy demands he become? In a world of magic and Magi, of Angels and Demons alike, how will a simple farm boy survive his own contorted destiny?
This is the story of a seemingly-simple world gone mad, and the reality that every action, no matter how apparently benign, can serve to unravel terrifying truths. This is the story of Aleksei Drago, farmer, Hunter, and so much more.
Review: Now Iâm a bit of a fantasy snob, sometimes the fantasy just isnât fantasy enough but this baby is allllllll fantasy and not just fantasy but EPIC FANTASY.
This is an amazing story that has twists and turns all the way through, it has misdirectionâs right from the start lulling you into a false sense of knowledge which is then shattered and it just gets more and more interesting.
Now this isnât a romance, yes thereâs gay characters but anything between them is kept in the background so you can fully get your teeth into the storyline⌠and oh my what a storyline it is. Danger, mystery, dirty deeds and epic fighting is just a bit of what you can enjoy in this well-crafted story. The world building is wonderful, the characters are fantastic and you really get dragged into the story.
Aleksei is one amazing man who discovers many things about himself; his counterpart is Jonas Belgi who also makes many discoveries as they both try their best to save their kingdom. This story is amazing and I really donât know how to explain how fantastic it is. And OMG itâs a ten book series *squee* I canât wait!!!
 I really really have no words to tell you more about this story without giving away the many surprises that unfold, all I can say is if you love epic fantasies and amazing battles then this story is for you.
Disgraced FBI agent Nick Truman failed to save his sister, who was held hostage by a drug cartel until he could give them Alex Crow, who eluded him. His epic downfall lands him in witness protection, where he plays by the rules and keeps to himself. But the murder of his neighbor brings danger to his door. He unexpectedly finds himself the champion of innocents and helplessly attracted to the homicide detective in charge of the case. Nick knows it wonât end well.
Homicide Detective Hank Axelrod is good at digging out secrets, maybe because he hides a big one of his own. He also suspects his husband has one foot out of the door of their marriage and the specter of single life looms unpleasantly on the horizon.
A murder resembling a previous one brings Nick into his world, a man who claims to be a mystery writer looking for a real-life resource. Hankâs instincts say heâs more than that, and heâs rarely wrong.
Torn between the errant soon-to-be-ex husband and the distracting, sexy stranger, Hank needs to focus all his attention on his murder case before he becomes the next victim.
Excerpt
His Dark reflection, Heloise West Š 2020, All Rights Reserved
Hank rattled the keys in a one-handed grip to shake loose the house key from the rest. No lights on in the house and beyond late for dinnerâstarving and sleep deprived too. In his other hand, he held a thick file of case notes because the night wasnât over for him yet. At least Len had left the porch light on.
After letting himself into the house, he placed the file on the end table, keys on top, and toed off his shoes. The windbreaker he shrugged out of hadnât done much to keep the spring cold off.
The rocking chair in the living room creaked. Hank spun around, hand going to his holster.
âEasy, cowboy.â Len yawned. He snapped on the table lamp beside him. âI fell asleep. What time is it?â
âJesus, Len. Itâs two in the damn morning. Let me put this away.â At the bottom of the closet, the gun safe sat on a shelf. He knelt, spun the dial, and tucked the gun away. When he turned, Len stood, arms across his chest, brown hair tousled. Another yawn stretched his mouth wide. Hank, tired to the marrow, pulled Len into a bone-crunching hug, and Len laughed against his shoulder.
Relief tickled through him. On the drive home from the station, heâd feared the house would be empty. He inhaled the scent of Lenâs pricey shampooâvanilla and sweet tobacco with a hint of whiskey. His heart twisted with anxiety.
âIâm sorry. Iââ
âYou got caught up, I know. âSokay.â Len yawned again. âBut Iâm beat. She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed wants me in bright and early tomorrow, soâŚâ He stepped away from Hankâs embrace. Hank let him go with reluctance. âThereâs lasagna and meatballs in the fridge. Or maybe youâre ready for bacon and eggs?â
âNeither. Both. Iâll figure dinner out while I read the case notes again. I need to make sure this guy doesnât walk.â
Len turned around. âHon? I know. Youâll be great. You always are. Night.â
âNight,â Hank responded as he picked up the paperwork. He sat in the rocker Len had vacated with the file in his lap and fell asleep with the first page between his fingers.
He awoke with a snort, thinking heâd heard Lenâs muffled laughter and smiled. When he glanced at his watch, twenty minutes had passed since heâd first sat down. Heâd sleep in tomorrow, but he still wouldnât have caught up on all the sleep heâd lost over this one. Hank stood and stretched his aching muscles, contemplating a shower, but his deepening desire for bed and maybe sex to relax him led him into the bedroom and not the kitchen. Lenâs nightstand lamp glowed, and his side of the bed rumpled but empty. Lenâs soft giggle came from the other side of the bathroom door.
Hank rapped his knuckles against the oak. âHey, babe?â
The toilet flushed. âIâm washing up! Be right there.â
A cold weight settled into Hankâs belly at his husbandâs rushed, edge of guilty tone, slithery and with pointed scales brushing against his tender insidesâa too-familiar feeling tilting the world on its axis. The bathroom door opened, and Len came out wreathed in the scent of mouthwash and minty toothpaste. âAll yours.â He smiled but wouldnât meet Hankâs eyes, making it all the harder for Hank to dislodge the sick feeling in his stomach.
âWho were you talking to?â
Len turned away from Hank. âOne of the new interns drunk-dialed me. Sheâs a hoot, so we talked. Come to bed, Hank. You must be wiped out.â He slid between the sheets and pulled on the covers on Hankâs side.
Liar, the serpent in his belly whispered.
âI fell asleep in the rocker, so yeah, I guess I am.â Too tired to fight, he gathered up pajama bottoms and a T-shirt and headed into the bathroom. When he came out, Len lay facing away from Hank, his breathing even. Maybe asleep. Hank doubted it as he climbed into bed turned away from Len, his eyes wide in the darkness.
*
Hank slept later than usual, exhaustion stealing any memory of dreams he might have had. When he awoke, Len had already gone to work. What had Hank been so afraid of last night?
He went into the kitchen and started up the coffee. Not the first time one of Lenâs friends had called drunk or upset. Len had a lot of friends. They helped him through Hankâs late nights. Although their marriage went to hell last spring, in the end, love forced them to work things out. Hank believed in Len, still believed the tearful, heartfelt promises of renewed fidelity.
He shoved a bagel into the toaster oven. Butâhe plopped down on a kitchen chair as if his bones had untied themselvesâwhy did he have such a weird feeling last night? A couple of weird feelings, actually.
Heâd believed Len when he returned to him and promised fidelity. Yet, he spent too much time with liars, thieves, cheats, and murderers, so maybe the distrust had rubbed off on him?
Or should he stick with his gut feeling Len had more to hide? It wouldnât be the first timeâŚbut heâd hoped theyâd done with the past. Ugh, second-guessing himself again. He couldnât afford the drain on his confidence today.
The toaster oven tinged. With a fork, he dragged out the bagel. He loaded it with butter and the homemade strawberry jam his mother had made.
He didnât trust much of humanity, long before heâd become a cop. Hank didnât want the scum bleeding into their relationship. Distrust bred more distrust. He often found it tough to leave the hard-guy persona behind at the office, to let his softer side out around Len. Itâd been difficult when they first met, but Len had been patient. Well, Hank would be patient too. What if a family issue had set off Hankâs alarms, a secret Len didnât want to share yet?
Heâd demolished the bagel as the wheels turned in his head. Sucking on his sticky-sweet fingers of one hand, he opened the fridge with the other for a second bagel. Last nightâs dinner sat wrapped in cellophane on the shelf.
He had to talk to Len. But first, where did he leave the damn file?
Heloise West, when not hunched over the keyboard plotting love and mayhem, dreams about moving to a villa in Tuscany. She loves history, mysteries, and romance. She travels and gardens with her partner of fifteen years, and their home overflows with books, cats, art, and red wine.
Dr. Aristotle Campbell is a desperate man. His twin brother has been abducted, and Ari will do anything to find him. Forced out of the comfortable solitude of his laboratory, Ari must leave their home world of Britannia and search the farthest reaches of space for his other half. He hastily equips himself with a flawlessly tied cravat, a handful of clues, and his small science vessel. Now, all he needs is a pilot to get him across the Verge, a barrier separating the civilized world from ungoverned space.
Pilot Orin Stone is a desperate man. No ship, no pay, no prospects. He spends his days barely scraping by in the rough colonies lining the Verge interior. When he gets an offer from a frantic, upper-crust professor in need of a pilot, he has no choice but to take the job. He just canât believe it when the professor turns out to be the most gorgeous man heâs ever seen and that his offer includes a ship of Orinâs own. If Orin can keep his heart (and other portions of his anatomy) from leaping every time sweet, innocent Dr. Campbell looks at him, this should be his easiest job yet.
Rugged Orin and aristocratic Ari work together to navigate the lawless areas of space beyond the Verge, soon discovering that they work well together in all areas. Their immediate and intense attraction to one another is an obstacle to their plans that neither saw coming. More than sparks will fly when they break through the force field and enter restricted space, all alone together for the perilous journey, leaving barriers to their growing attachment far behind.
In their search across the stars, can two desperate men find their home in one another?
Excerpt
Restricted, A.C. Thomas Š 2020. All Rights Reserved
Chapter One âYou want me to do what?â
Ari straightened his shoulders, hands folded together on the table between them, suppressing a wince as his skin stuck unpleasantly to a thick smear of residue best left uninvestigated.
Somewhere behind him the sound of glass breaking was followed by a bowel-shaking roar, a meaty impact, scuffling sounds, and hearty guffaws.
Definitively best left uninvestigated.
He sniffed quietly, regretting the action as the odor of stale beer and unwashed bodies assaulted his senses. Forcing himself to meet his companionâs bored regard, he cleared his throat before speaking in as firm a tone as he could manage.
âIn the interest of saving both of our time, Iâll cut to the chase. I require a pilot capable of navigating uncharted areas with immediate availability and a willingness to negotiate a flexible pay schedule.â
Mr. âCall me Orin, honeyâ Stone slumped back in his seat with careless, sprawling grace, the edge of one enormous scuffed leather boot sliding across the floor to rest a millimeter away from the polished black toes of Ariâs spats.
âSo, just so weâre clearâ Youâre asking me to find you a pilot ready to jump right across the Verge into the deepest, slimiest dark, forâand this is the bit that really sticks in my throat, pumpkinâ You want me to find you some sap willing to do all that for, apparently, no pay.â
Keen bourbon eyes swept Ari from head to toe, that restless boot finally edging just close enough to touch.
âYouâre cute, sugar. But youâre off your rocker.â
Ariâs chair scraped against the floor as he jolted forward in his seat, one hand closing around the fraying cuff of Orinâs greatcoat.
âThis is a matter of utmost urgency. My brother isââ He paused to clear his throat after an embarrassing crack in his voice. âMy brother is missing; he has been abducted by an Outlier fiend, and I am utilizing every resource at my disposal to ensure his safe return. My inquiries led me to you, with the assurance you could facilitate a jump with immediate effect. Now I demand that you either provide said assistance, or you cease wasting my time.â
Orin fixated on the white-knuckled grip holding his sleeve. The coiled strength of his thick forearm underscored Ariâs awareness that he could break free at a momentâs notice with very little energy expended.
âWhat kind of resources are we talking, here?â Orinâs eyes narrowed under a heavy brow, the sweep of space-black lashes unexpectedly elegant against his brutish visage.
Ari drew a long breath, attempting to steady his resolve.
âI possess a three-year-old Xalanthe Explorer model 953V. It is in exemplary condition, and I am prepared to offer it as payment upon my brotherâs safe return to our home on Britannia.â
Before he finished speaking, Orin sat up in his chair, the full extent of his imposing size suddenly evident even while seated. He turned his hand in Ariâs grip, long fingers wrapping easily around his thin wrist.
âYouâre trading your ship. A brand-new ship. To any asshole willing to fly it? Just to finish a little game of hide-and-seek with your brother whoâno offense, Redâsounds like he ran off with a bit of strange?â
Aristotle bristled, slim shoulders rising to his ears as the heat of an angry flush spread from the unfortunate ginger of his precisely parted hairline down to the white of his starched collar points.
âHe did not ârun offâ! He was abducted. I have no more time to waste with your nonsense, sir. Are you able to assist in my endeavor, or shall I continue pursuing a pilot on my own?â
A lopsided grin spread across his companionâs face, revealing a hint of prominent canine and a surprisingly charming set of dimples. Orin gave another insolent sweep of his gaze, ticking to the length of Ariâs throat rising above his cravat. The rumble of his voice dropped low enough that Ari had to strain to hear him above the surrounding chaos.
âHmm, that depends, Red. That blush go all the way down?â
The clatter of the cheap aluminum chair against the cracking concrete floor was lost in the cacophony of raucous laughter, clinking glasses, and blaring synth music that characterized drinking establishments on the rough ring of colonies lining the Verge. Ari wrenched his arm away as he stood, breaking free.
He turned his back, adjusting his waistcoat with trembling fingers as he wracked his brain for alternative solutions. He had only taken a half step away from the table when a firm grip on his coattails wrenched him backward. He swung around, fists in a pugilistâs stance, raised to the smiling face of Mr. Stone.
âWhoa now, slow up there, professor. If youâre wanting to trade a whole damn ship for the temporary services of some sleazy sack of shit with a pilotâs license, I got just the guy you need.â
Knees weak with relief, Ari nearly attempted to sit before remembering he had overturned his chair, which was now likely glued to the filthy floor of the saloon.
âExcellent. Where can I find this person?â
That lopsided grin opened up into a full-blown smile, revealing rows of white, uneven teeth. âYouâre looking at him, sweetheart.â
Ari twitched at the endearment, unaccustomed to the way they seemed to drip from the pilotâs every phrase like butter melting off the plate.
He turned fully to face him, coattails twining around his narrow hips as Orin maintained his grip, tugging once with a waggle of thick brows at Ariâs resulting unintentional pelvic thrust before releasing him with a flourish.
Orin pushed off from the table, broad shoulders rising up and up to just above Ariâs line of sight. Ari swallowed an obvious comment on the pilotâs intimidating height, realizing how much heâd underestimated the manâs size.
Ari stared straight ahead at the hollow of Mr. Stoneâs throat, bronze skin left exposed by the open vee of his collarless shirt. A few dark, curling hairs peeked out of the opening, inches from Aristotleâs nose. A strange fluttering sensation swept through his abdomen at the sight.
Recognizing the sensation as inappropriate at best and disastrous at worst, Ari turned on stiff legs and led the way out of the saloon, doing his utmost to avoid brushing up against the rough clientele. Heads swiveled to follow Ari even as they ignored the much larger figure of Mr. Stone following close behind his every step.
Ari ducked his head as they emerged into the daylight, squinting against the intrusive brightness before heading off toward the nearest dry dock, zeroing in on his ship after a few minutesâ walk. Mr. Stone was a silent shadow at his back, footsteps shockingly light for a man of his size.
The small exploratory vessel stood out among the busted-up freighters and speeders cluttering the dock. Clean panels of riveted steel shaped the subtle curves framing the centerpieceâa large frontal view screen. The only unnecessary ornament was that of the exaggerated dorsal fin, the sight of which had caused Aristotleâs brother to laugh out loud when they first purchased the ship.
Ariâs back stiffened at a low whistle, two familiar notes usually directed with prurient interest.
Mr. Orin Stone was circling his ship, one hand, large and square as a shovel head, trailing long fingers over the surface with surprising reverence.
âWhatâs your name, beautiful?â
He directed his inquiry to the ship but turned to Aristotle as though expecting an answer.
Ari cleared his throat. âAs I have previously mentioned, it is a Xalantheââ
Orin cut him off with a rude sound pushed between full lips. âShe.â
Ari opened his mouth to reply, mistaking a brief pause for the conclusion of the pilotâs statements.
âShipâs a she. And sheâs a pretty little thing, deserves a name. If you donât have one for her yet, I can think of something fancy to call her. Something with a bit of glitter to it. Little lady like this one deserves to shine.â
His eyes in turn glittered at Ari, sparkling with amusement and apparent satisfaction upon viewing the small science vessel.
Without looking away, he spat into one rough palm before holding it out to Aristotle as if to shake.
âYouâve got yourself a deal, Red.â
Ari recoiled from the offered hand, curling his own into protective fists at the notion of sealing a verbal contract with an exchange of bodily fluids.
âThat is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen.â
Orinâs throaty laughter rang out against the polished metal panels of the ship exterior, echoing across the shipyard.
âIs it now? Well, stick with me, sugar; I could really expand your horizons.â
A.C. Thomas left the glamorous world of teaching preschool for the even more glamorous world of staying home with her toddler. Between the diaper changes and tea parties, she escapes into fantastical worlds, reading every romance available and even writing a few herself.
She devours books of every flavorâscience fiction, historical, fantasyâbut always with a touch of romance because she believes there is nothing more fantastical than the transformative power of love.
The Braided Crop Ranch is looking for stable hands. But this is no ordinary horse ranch. They cater to men with a certain interest. An interest involving harnesses, tails, and trainers.
Managed and expertly run by registered psychologist, Adam Marsland, the Ranch is a safe place for the expression of sex positive and kink positive needs and fantasies.
Jensen Moriarty is desperate for a job. He can handle horses. In fact, heâs a pro at it. Too bad the BCR doesnât deal with real horses. But they do have âponiesâ.
If Jensen can wrap his head around what the BCR actually stands for, he may have the opportunity to expand his resumĂŠ and experience something completely unexpected in the process.
Excerpt
Stable Hand, AE Lister Š 2020, All Rights Reserved
Horses. They were what I knew. What Iâd grown up knowing, riding, grooming, tacking in the small Alberta town where Iâd lived.
I missed small-town life. Ottawa wasnât a huge city, but it was big enough, crowded enough, it made me crave the peace and quiet of a smaller life.
My friend Mitchell hadnât told me much about the Braided Crop Ranch except to say the place was secluded deep in the heart of the Muskokas in Northern Ontario, which turned out to be an understatement.
From my calculations I was only about twenty minutes away, but the brush had thickened, and the GPS wasnât making sense. There wasnât even a proper road. Out of desperation, I pulled my car over to the gravel on the side of the dirt track. I left the car on, air conditioner blasting, while I looked up the name of the man whoâd interviewed me over the phone: a Mr. Adam Marsland. I found the number quickly in my contacts and hit call.
âBCR, Connor speaking,â a chipper male voice announced after a few rings.
The voice didnât belong to Mr. Marsland.
âUh,â I hesitated. âHi. Iâm trying to reach Adam Marsland?â
âWhoâs calling, please?â
I cleared my throat, feeling like an idiot. Nothing like starting a new job and not being able to find the place. âThis is Jensen Moriarty. Iâm supposed to be there at noon, but Iââ
âOh, hi, Jensen. Iâm Mr. Marslandâs personal assistant. Would you like me to get him for you?â
âI just need directions. My GPS isnât making sense.â
Connor laughed. âHe should have told you not to rely on the GPS. You should be using the map from the email.â
Email? âWhat email?â
There was a pause. âYou didnât get the welcome email? The one outlining our policies and practices? Iâm sure I sent the form to you a few days agoâŚâ
I wracked my brain but didnât remember seeing an email. Unless the message had gone into my spam folder. âNo, I didnât get it. A map would beâŚhelpful.â
âSure, yeah, let me text the map to you. Hold on a second.â
âYou might as well text me the other info as well.â
Connor cleared his throat. âYes, well, Iâll let Mr. Marsland explain everything when you get here.â
I heard a notification and saw the map had come through. I opened the file quickly and had a look.
âLooks like Iâm not too far.â
âOkay, come to the main building when you get here. Youâll see the BCR sign on the wall.â
âBCR?â I asked, wiping a crushed mosquito off the dash.
âThe Braided Crop Ranch. That is where youâre trying to get to, right?â
âYes. I justâ Yes, thatâs where Iâm headed.â God, could I make a worse first impression?
âIâll make sure Adam is here to greet you.â
âThanks,â I said.
As Iâd suspected, I wasnât far out. If I followed this dirt road and turned onto another called Rattlerâs Revenge in about three miles, Iâd be there.
Would they put me to work right away, cleaning stalls and looking after the horses? Mr. Marsland hadnât described my exact duties during our phone interview, but Mitchell had said they were looking for a stable hand.
Marsland had seemed like a nice guy. Heâd appeared more interested in the kind of person I was rather than in any experience Iâd had. Iâd explained I needed a job that would give me some direction along with a decent salary so I could pay off my student loans.
The business degree had been a waste of money, no matter what my parents said. Turned out I hated accounting. Yeah, I was good with numbers, but working with them all day and night was too much to ask.
I needed to be outside. I needed to be interacting with other beings, human or animal. I needed hard work and adventure.
Now I had no idea what I wanted to do. Except for horses. I wanted to work with horses. Living on a ranch with a bunch of other cowboys wouldnât be so bad either. Even if they didnât share my orientation, the eye candy would be heavenly.
Iâd been surprised when Adam told me the salary Iâd be earning. The level was high for a stable hand. Heâd also mentioned something about the special stock at the BCR so maybe they only housed Arabians or something. That would be a treat. Iâd never seen a full-blood Arabian horse up close.
After following the serpentine curve of Rattlerâs Revenge for about fifteen minutes, the brush thinned, and I emerged into a large clearing with the impressive outline of the ranch spread before me. The path took me to a set of steel black gates with BCR in big iron letters affixed to the bars.
A black intercom box perched on the stone wall to the left of the gates. I pulled in close, lowered my window, and pressed the button.
There was a crackle and then Connorâs voice. âName please.â
âJensen Moriarty. We spoke on the phone.â
âAwesome. Iâll buzz you in.â
An electrical humming noise sounded as the gates unlocked and slowly swung open.
âWelcome to the BCR, Jensen,â Connor said.
I drove forward and rolled up the window to keep the heat out.
An array of bright red and brown buildings crowded the far distance. In front of me stood an imposing clapboarded farmhouse with these words, painted in black, spanning the wall:
THE BRAIDED CROP RANCH STABLES
~ Pony shows every month ~
Pony shows every month, huh? Looked like Iâd have my work cut out for me.
I parked in the small lot to the left of the front door and turned the car off. I wondered if driving all the way out here had been the right thing to do. At any rate, the job provided a new beginning and somewhere to spend the summer. If I enjoyed the work and found the people to be friendly and helpful, maybe Iâd stay for a while.
AE Lister/Elizabeth Lister is a Canadian non-binary author with a vivid imagination and a head full of unique and interesting characters. They have published many other books, one of which (Beyond the Edge) received an Honorable Mention from the National Leather AssociationâInternational for excellence in SM/Leather/Fetish writing.
Stripped of his magick and exiled to Earth, Solin Felwing vows to redeem himself. He committed a lot of bad for âthe greater goodâ and the only way to make up for it is to give back to those he stole from. Incognito, of course, to avoid being brought to justice by humankind.
Solin volunteers at a soup kitchen, but his redemption is thrown into disarray when his best friend Jemier arrives to profess his love. Sam, Solinâs one-man support group and only human friend, thinks Solin deserves better.
When old enemies resurface, Solin fears his attempt to change is over for good. He could easily wipe his foes from existenceâif he had his magick. Saving his friendsâand himselfâmeans compromising in new ways, but the temptation to sin remains. Everything could change in a flicker.
Excerpt
Flicker, Elizabeth Tybush Š 2020, All Rights Reserved
Chapter One 2017
Polaris, New York, Gaia
I stole the sunglasses with ease, unseen by any whoâd dare report it. The large-lensed mask reflected the busy downtown of a city I neither knew nor understood but was nonetheless stranded in. I hid my eyes and features behind those lenses and continued my prowl.
I headed for the sidewalk patio of a bistro where a man with attentions diverted elsewhere would soon lose the hooded sweatshirt draped over the back of his folding chair.
âYou gonna pay for those?â
I stopped. Had I not been caught entirely unaware, I wouldâve fled, albeit into unknown territory with mere morning shadows and dubious dumpsters as my cover. I turned to face the source of the familiar voice, knowing I could not flee from them in my state or else I would be hunted.
Sam smirked. Sunglasses concealed his brown eyes, and he wore the same style of casual garb I wore although he had more of a decision in it than I did. His tailored clothing came from finer cloth and perfectly fit his slender form. He gave me a dramatic once-over and smirked again. His brown hair had taken on some salt since weâd last met, and his sun-kissed peach skin glowed.
âSo, what brings you back here?â he asked in singsong. I waited for him to call for local or regional law enforcement. I couldnât be sure he wasnât here by their command. âCouldnât have just had the hankering for some light shoplifting. Donât they have stores where youâre from?â
I glared at him, calculating the many ways to escape his clutches. Sam and I shared similar builds, although he stood slightly shorter than me and had thinner limbs. My training alone would overpower him if I needed it to. If only my body were bereft of the aches that naturally came from sleeping on dubious hard surfaces for several cool summer nights in a row.
I said nothing but regretted hiding the heat of my glare behind my disguise.
âOf course they do.â He reached. I dodged. He held up his hands in peace and nodded a silent invitation to walk alongside him.
He studied me with the same expression he had when weâd first met. This was Sam. This would always be Sam. With one glance heâd understood me, treated me as an equal, and never underestimated me. A good quality in an ally as well as a friend, but for us, neither applied.
I took his invitation only to keep myself from staying still too long in a crowd Iâd stolen from. When Iâd first met Sam, heâd offered me a drink. I only hoped this offer had the same hospitable intent.
âSeriously though, are you gonna pay for those? Because I can buy you new clothes, Solin.â
âNo, I am not going to pay for them, and I donât want your charity.â My stomach disagreed. Food had only come my way during brief moments of opportunity.
âYeah, about thatâŚoh, here we are.â
âThis is your vehicle?â I examined the nondescript, aging hatchback and its peeling, off-silver paint. âPart of your disguise, no doubt.â
âIâm rich, not famous. This is more for your benefit. Get in.â
âIâd rather not.â
âIâm not going to kill you.â
âYou couldnât.â
âHave you seen yourself lately? I totally could.â
Had he seen me lately? How long had he been watching me? Of course he hadnât just stumbled upon me, which meant he had been observing me for a while without me detecting him.
âBut Iâm not going to.â Sam opened the passenger-side door. âTrust me?â
I got in.
âYou should put your seat belt on.â
âIâm aware.â I struggled to find comfort in the cramped passenger seat.
âThe thingy under the seat, on the side there.â
I clicked into a more comfortable place. âIâm not thanking you.â
He flipped down the visor above my head. âAnd you have a little something on your chin.â
I grumbled and looked through at least three layers of dust and two more layers of grime on the cracked mirror above. A light-brown blob surrounded by a black blob looked back at me with its dark blobby eyes. No little something detected in my warped reflection. I flipped the visor up, then wiped my chin of the grease smudge using the slightly cleaner rearview mirror, albeit when Sam turned his gaze away.
The car revved to life, and we sat in silence for a few blocks. Passersby were too invested in their mobile devices to notice usâperhaps utilizing the very technology that had made Sam his wealthâsometimes at great detriment to their own health. He drove beyond the territory Iâd explored since arriving in this place into areas slightly cleaner, slightly brighter, and slightly less bumpy. On these roads, the dreadful pine-scented ornament dangling from the rearview mirror no longer danced annoyingly in my peripheral vision.
âRadioâs busted, sorry,â he said. We slowed to a stop at a traffic light. âThey donât know youâre here.â
âNonsense. You know Iâm here.â
âBecause Iâm awesome, but thatâs not the point. The point is, I mightâve done something slightly illegal to make sure what I saw, no one else saw.â
I considered unbuckling and jumping out the door. âFor vengeance, no doubt.â
âNah, seems like someone beat me to it. Besides, the best revenge isâŚsomething about being the better person? Living a good life? Whatever. Weâre here.â
He parked the car next to an empty alley wedged between buildings of varying heights, though none over ten stories. The alleyâs putrid odor smelled worse than the dumpsters that had served as shelter last night, but the rodents didnât seem to mind.
âI taste garbage, Sam.â
âKeep walking,â he said. âWeâre good.â
As we ventured through the maze of alleys, I understood he told the truth. I could trust him, for this moment. He clearly hadnât told his friends about my arrival, and he didnât move as a killer moved. The farther we walked from the car, the safer I felt.
The alleys smelled nicer too. We arrived at the back entrance of a shorter building where he punched a number into a keypad before opening the door and holding it for me.
âAfter you.â
His kindness alarmed me more than comforted me, but for however little I trusted him, I did trust my own assessment of the facts I had. I walked not to death, nor to barred walls. A keypad could mean anything. It did not mean Sam was luring me into a trap.
I entered after a moment of pensive reluctance and followed him up the stairwell of warm whites and polished woods.
Signs of humanity were everywhere. In the sole set of crisp boot prints on the vinyl-covered steps. In the recycling bins we passed at every floorâs exit, sitting below signs advising residents not to leave their recycling bins in the stairwell for safety reasons. In the leftover clear tape adhered to each floorâs door, ghosts of former safety signs. In the chewed gum beneath the handrail to the fifth and final floor before the roof.
âThis way.â Sam nodded at the door.
Sunlight spilled from rooftop windows into the long hallway, reminding me briefly of home. Our steps echoed off the wooden floor as we passed doors with Welcome signs and decorative mats. At the very end of the hallway, Sam pulled out keys, unlocked the door, and opened it with a grand gesture.
âHome sweet home.â
The scent of fresh latex paint greeted us. Before us lay a furnished yet oddly empty apartment, save the bright morning light beaming from the windows and the gently frosted skylight. Beautiful but impractical. A man of such wealth put himself in grave danger with such windows. I had a hard time imagining a man of Samâs status living in a home withâŚapparently no walls between rooms.
âThis isnât your home,â I said.
âNope.â He dangled the keys. âItâs yours. The apartment, not the building. Forged your name on the lease and paid ahead for a year, so the landlady might not recognize you when you finally need to payââ
I swept away his hand and headed for a window, forcing myself to squint through the intense light of morning. âI need nothing from you.â
âOkay, so maybe stop thinking Iâm doing this as a favor to you, and maybe think about this as me having to do this for myself.â
âWhy? I left you on a rooftop to die.â
âOh, so you remember that? I blamed you so long for that, forgetting completely that it wasâyou know what, just take the damn keys, Solin.â
âYou donât know what my father would do if he discovered I cheated my way through exile.â
âExile? Shit, did you try to take over your home planet too?â
âThatâs not what I did here, and itâs complicated,â I said. âLet me wallow in my reckoning alone. My path doesnât include charity.â
âMaybe it can. My charity. Take it. I guarantee you that being human is suffering enough.â
Powerless. He knew just how powerless I was. I faced him and paced the room, circling him. I had to reclaim some of my power, and I tired of being idle. My boots clicked along the glossy hardwood, which groaned whenever I neared the kitchen island.
âThis is your last warning, Gardyner. My redemption will not include you. I will make my own way, and I wonât have you or anyone else meddling in things they donât understand.â
âMy last warning? You think I care about your warnings?â Now Sam paced, and I stopped, ceding power in the dialogue to him. Iâd relied on fear to impress a message, and that didnât work with Sam. He knew I had nothing to flex. âListen, Solin, your redemption, if thatâs even what youâre doing here, does include me. I was affected by that stunt you pulled. People died because of that bomb.â
âYou know that wasnât meââ
âBut you enabled it. You trusted that asshole with power, and look what happened. And donât forget, you did leave me to die. After I helped you. So yeah, Iâm part of your redemption now. And youâre going to take this apartment and that credit card on the counter, and youâre going to be clothed and fed and sheltered while you walk this path.â
âI donât want your money.â
âItâs not mine. Itâs yours. I figured you mightâve been amassing some wealth here when you tried to conquer Earth five years ago.â
âNot conquer. Invite you to join our Federation.â
âThatâs not what the internet said.â
âYou know thatâs not what I was here to do. You were there, Sam. Things didnât go according to plan.â
âYeah, I was there for the worst part of it. Anyway, you needed money to âinvite us to join your Federation,â especially if you wanted to establish a base of operations for thousands of years to come.â
âI had no plans for a base and no ill intentions for humanity. Besides, my account was drained. You watched it happen.â
âI found some leftovers. Moved them without a hitch. Donât worry. The Shadowfall Alliance didnât see a thing. Theyâre still pretty young, and their tech is weaker than they think. Plus, they arenât as brilliant as I am.â
âBut just as narcissistic,â I returned.
He grinned. âWhat you call narcissism, I call being realistic.â
âAnd what, youâll let me live here and spend all of this money without supervision?â
âDo you need to be supervised?â
I said nothing.
âDo you want to be supervised?â
âNo. Did we not just establish that?â
âMaybe âprotectedâ is a better word.â
âGet over yourself, Gardyner. You canât protect me from anyone. Not your people in the Alliance and certainly not my own.â
âI found you, didnât I?â
âOnly because I dropped my guard.â
âRight,â he said incredulously. âHow about thisâIâll keep an eye on things too. You know, for my sake. Not yours. Because you can do that all by your lonesome.â
âFine.â
âFine.â He turned to leave, but when he made it to the door, hand on the knob, he stopped. âIâm not kidding. Iâm doing this for myself.â
âOf course you are.â
âSometimes it pays to understand what, or whom, you hate. Makes some of the pain go away.â He tossed the keys at me. I caught them. âOne for the lobby, one for your mailbox downstairs, and one for each lock on that door. Code is 8152. Oh, and thereâs an ID card for you too. And a checkbook. But no one uses those anymore. Your name is Jonathan now. Probably best that you donât share a name with Earthâs Most Wanted.â
I squeezed the sharp ridges of the keys with my fingertips, hoping the distraction would serve as a mask for my emotions since I no longer possessed any of the deceptive powers I once relied on.
âThank you, Sam.â
He nodded at a device on the coffee table. âCall me if you need anything.â
Liz plays way too much Minecraft and dreams about producing a television series. She loves an old-fashioned film noir and, unlike her character Solin, takes her coffee with a healthy dose of milk. Recent accomplishments include a 2019 fellowship at the Storytellersâ Institute and the book youâre about to read.
Flicker is her debut novel with NineStar Press. To learn more about The Fire of Felwing series and other upcoming stories, visit Liz at elizabethtybush.com.