Unveiled – Paranormal Shifter Romance – Monarch of Magic by Susan Mac Nicol

BOOK BLAST - RECENT RELEASE

Book Title: Unveiled – Paranormal Shifter Romance – Monarchs of Magic Book 1

Author: Susan Mac Nicol

Publisher: Boroughs Publishing Group

Cover Artist: Boroughs Publishing Group Creative Designer

Release Date: September 22, 2026

Tense/POV: third person, past tense

Genres: MM Paranormal Shifter Romance, Fantasy/Urban Fantasy

Tropes: Forced proximity

Themes: Found family, Fated mates

Heat Rating: 2 flames   

Length: 88 000 words/334 pages

This is the first book in the series. It does not end on a cliffhanger. HFN

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Scotland keeps its own secrets – and some walk on four paws

Blurb

In the mist-shrouded Scottish Highlands, a centuries-old legend stirs to life when a mysterious town appears during a fierce storm.

Through the Mists of Time

Like a place in fables and fairytales, the town of Glengaill is filled with secrets and enchantments.

This remote area of the Highlands is home to two enigmatic wolf shifters. Connor, who rules his clan with primal strength and fierce loyalty, and Julien, whose compassion and humor shines through to keep the clans balanced.

Kings of their packs, Connor and Julien are bound by a destiny entwined with Glengaill's fate. This mysterious, magical village that appears during a fierce storm, is more than it seems, and danger lurks at its edges.

As the fog of time slowly lifts, the town's hidden beauty is revealed, and a powerful bond between the shifters and the town's lore is rekindled.

But Glengaill is bound and captive to a council who is determined to keep the townspeople and their magic for themselves.

Caught between their duty to their packs and the call of destiny, Connor and Julien must protect Glengaill from forces that threaten to exploit its magic while grappling with their unexpected and conflicted feelings.

As the battle begins, both kings fight for Glengaill, and for each other, so all will not be lost in the mists of time.

Excerpt 

The next morning, on his way to meet Xiathen, Connor remained in no mood for any more riddles or secrets. He’d already planned a solo shift for tonight to get rid of the pent-up frustrations he was carrying. He’d barely made it down the main street—if you could call a single ribbon of cobbles stitched between slate-roofed cottages and low stone walls a street— before people began to notice them. Not in a gawping, touristy way. More like the way an animal notices a change in wind direction. 

Adrian stood in front of the Inn, waving at the children playing in the street, doffing an imaginary hat at people standing outside the market and the village shops. Connor felt as if every step was a negotiation with the ground, to be taken at one step at a time. “Don’t encourage them,” Connor muttered as he drew near. “We’ve enough on our plate, and don’t need anyone else sharing bloody mysterious prophecies or delivering dire ditties of destiny.” 

“Such alliteration,” Adrian commented with a grin. “Quite impressive.” His mouth twitched. “And I’m not encouraging anyone.” 

“You are.”

 “I’m looking at the buildings and being sociable.” 

Connor shot him a look. “You’re dying to visit every damned shop in the village and make new friends.” Adrian didn’t deny it. As peoples’ faces appeared in windows and doorways, he greeted them. Connor had to admit it felt right. No phones. No whispering. Just a quiet, collective assessment. It should’ve felt hostile. Instead, it felt like being recognised. 

They passed a shop with a sign painted in gold leaf: Morrigan & Thread. The window display was a riot of felt and velvet, feathers and braided cords, hats perched on stands like small, proud creatures. A top hat with a band of dark green. A flat cap stitched with silver thread. A wide-brimmed thing that looked like it had been made from midnight. Adrian slowed. Connor didn’t. 

He took two more steps before realising Adrian wasn’t beside him and turned back, irritated. “What?” 

Adrian nodded at the window. “It’s a hat shop.” He looked like a child at Christmas. Connor huffed. “It’s a bloody hat shop, so what?” 

The door opened before either of them touched it. A man stood in the doorway, tall and narrow as a lamppost, his hair a storm of grey curls held back with—Connor blinked—what looked like a hatpin shaped like a tiny sword. He wore a waistcoat the colour of old wine and a measuring tape draped around his neck like a priest’s stole. His eyes were sharp and amused. 

“Connor,” he said, as if they’d had tea last week. Then his gaze slid to Adrian. “And Adrian. Come in. You’re letting the draught in.” Connor froze. “How do you—” “Names?” The man waved a hand as if batting away a fly. “Everyone knows names. It’s the shape of you that’s interesting.”

About the Author 

Susan Mac Nicol is a British novelist dedicated to the power of LGBTQ+ romance, fantasy, and paranormal fiction. With over forty published titles spanning contemporary emotion and dark fantasy, her stories centre on complex characters who discover strength in connection. She's also an award winning scriptwriter with ten awards for the script Sight Unseen, written with actor Nicholas Downs.

From the gritty streets of the Men of London series to the sensual underground of Fetish Alley and the enchanted realms of Monarchs of Magic, Susan weaves high-stakes drama with emotional intimacy.

When she’s not lost in fictional worlds, Susan actively connects with fellow romance enthusiasts, mentoring upcoming writers and celebrating diverse queer voices across global literature.

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No Man’s Territory by Duncan Gaye

NEW RELEASE

Book Title: No Man’s Territory

Author and Publisher: Duncan Gaye

Cover Artist: Antonio Nardello

Release Date: October 15, 2026

Tense/POV: Third person/past tense

Genres: Historical Fiction, Literary Fiction, MM Romance, Military Fiction

Tropes: Hurt/Comfort, Forced Proximity, Gentle Giant, Size Difference, Caretaking, Language Barrier, Forbidden Love, Survival Against the Odds

Themes: Survival, Love, Trust, Vulnerability, Queer Identity, Masculinity, Caregiving,  Self-Acceptance, Sacrifice, Human Connection, Truth, Hope

Heat Rating: 2 flames   

Length: 44 500 words/ 150 pages

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

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When Lieutenant Alistair Harrow is buried alive in a trench collapse, a massive Polish soldier named Tomasz Nowak must carry him through no-man’s-land, enemy patrols, and a river crossing before infection, exposure, and war break them both.

Blurb

Lieutenant Alistair Harrow knows the rules of survival during wartime: stay alert, maintain control, and never let the men see you crack. Then, his world explodes. An artillery attack leaves him broken and half-buried beneath the wreckage of a collapsed trench; certain he will die alone.

Until a giant Polish volunteer rescues him.

Tomasz Nowak says little, but everything about him is deliberate: the way he lifts Alistair, the way he hides them from patrols, the way he binds his wounds with whatever he can find. In barns, churches, and rain-soaked fields, the two men build a fragile refuge out of firelight, shared silence, and the simple fact of refusing to let each other go.

Alistair has no choice but to surrender his control and trust Tomasz with his life. Tomasz discovers that being needed is not the same thing as being wanted. And somewhere along their arduous journey through no-man’s land, dependence becomes intimacy, and intimacy becomes desire.

“He would rather die in truth than live in the lies that were handed to him.”

FOR FANS OF:

• In Memoriam — queer intimacy amid the First World War
• 1917 (film) — an intimate survival journey across the Western Front
• Regeneration — war, masculinity, and repression

No Man’s Territory is a historical M/M love story with a hopeful, unconventional ending. While the romantic relationship is central to the story, it offers a different kind of happily ever after—one rooted in survival, hope, and the enduring impact of love.

Excerpt 

His sergeant appeared through the predawn gloom, his strapping figure seeming to coalesce from the murk like a thought taking shape. Sergeant Wickham was a capable and methodical man, but he had a nervous habit of often glancing at the wire, as if expecting the Germans to strike at any moment. When he spoke, he kept his voice low, barely above a whisper.

            "Watch rotation, sir. I've put Cawthorne on the northern post, Matthews and Cross on the listening post at the wire. The lads in the reserve trench are standing to." Wickham paused, and his gaze, involuntarily, flicked toward no-man's-land. "All quiet up to now, sir. Too quiet, perhaps."

            Alistair nodded in agreement, but he did not answer immediately. He was listening, concerned now that others had noticed the quality of silence pressing down upon them.

Alistair survived three years of war precisely because he had learned to listen for the unspoken. The earth was still. No distant rumble of German artillery. No crackle of small-arms fire from the forward positions. No whine of wind through the shattered trees beyond the wire. It was the kind of silence that came before catastrophe, the silence a man's nervous system recognized as a prelude to something terrible.

            "Acknowledged," he said, finally. "Keep the men alert but not tense. The strain shows. Have them maintain position, no unnecessary movement."

            "Yes, sir."

            “And sergeant—yesterday, one of your privates looked like he was half asleep up there. I will not stand for such idleness in my unit. Make sure your men are ready for action. We are soldiers for Christ’s sake, not gadabouts! That’s an order!”

            Wickham withdrew, and Alistair returned to the ladder. The rungs were slick beneath his palms. He climbed carefully, each movement precise, and pressed the binoculars back to his eyes. The world beyond the wire remained unchanged. Gray upon gray, the suggestion of depth without revelation. The absence of detail was almost worse than the detail itself would have been. At least if they could see the enemy, a wisp of smoke, any type of movement or disruption, there would be something to measure against. This absolute stillness, this refusal of the world to give up its secrets, was something else entirely.

            An hour passed. Or perhaps it was only thirty minutes. Time had become unreliable in recent weeks. The dawn gradually stole across the fields, bringing with it a wan gray light that revealed extraordinarily little and suggested everything. His eyes, pressed to the binoculars, began to water from the strain. Somewhere beneath the trench, rats chittered to one another in a language of survival. Yet he did not move.

Above, in the space between the fire step and the parapet, a bird—a sparrow or some other common creature—alighted on the wire as if the war were a mere interruption in the natural order of things.

            The order of things. Lieutenant Harrow knew he did not need to keep watch like this. He appreciated the risks. Any time he poked his head above the ledge, Fritz could blow his brains out the back of his skull. He had even seen it happen with his own eyes. He knew he had every right to order someone else to take his place on the ladder, Wickham, or any of the corporals.

Part of the reason was noble, to protect the men under his charge, naturally. The deeper truth, however, was that he could not trust a soul on either side of the wire. He could not take anyone’s word for anything. He needed to be up here, to experience the veracity of the danger, to see it for himself, to make it real. He would rather die in truth than live in the lies that were handed to him.

            Alistair's hand trembled. Just slightly. Just enough so he noticed it, there, at the edge of his consciousness. He clenched his fist, then released it. The tremor subsided. Control. Control was the only thing that separated the officer from the animal. Control was what allowed a man to stand on a ladder in the pre-dawn dark and look out at the landscape that might kill him. He knew, with absolute certainty, that whatever came would find him standing.

About the Author 

Duncan Gaye lives in River Forest, Illinois. He believes magic can be found anywhere, even the suburbs. He writes the kind of love stories that sneak up on you—queer, tender, and just a little strange. His books are full of burly big-hearted men, tall tales, impossible odds, and the kind of endings that leave you wanting more.

When not writing, he likes to read, travel and relax with his adorable senior dogs, Spotty and French Fry.

The Long Shadow Series by Duncan Gaye is a thematic anthology series of stand-alone LGBTQ+ novellas and novels that tell love stories shaped by the extraordinary. Blending elements of speculative fiction, magical realism, tall tales, and literary drama, these are stories where intimacy and identity meet epic strength and emotional vulnerability.

From the mythical to the mundane, each book explores larger-than-life characters—strongmen, bodyguards, super soldiers, and other giants. For fans of emotional intensity, queer desire, and stories that stretch the boundaries of realism, this series offers a new kind of legend.

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