Housesitter – Renfield Concierge Services by TA Moore

RECENT RELEASE

Book Title: Housesitter – Renfield Concierge Services

Author and Cover Artist: TA Moore

Publisher: Rogue Firebird Press

Release Date: September 10, 2026

Pairing: MM

Tense/POV: Third person, alternating POV, past tense

Genres: Paranormal Romance, Romantic Comedy

Tropes: Forbidden love, Lust at First Sight, Pants on Fire, Dark Past 

Themes: Sometimes lying is a form of the truth.

Heat Rating:  4 flames    

Length: 50 000 words

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

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 A full-time Igor? In THIS economy?

Blurb

Shepherd’s life was supposed to be simple, and short. Very short.

Then the FBI raided the cult compound he was raised in and suddenly there was no one left to sacrifice him to his demonic spouse.

So much for destiny.

Luckily even the damned and the dead still need errands run, curses managed, and carnivorous plants pruned. These days Shepherd works for Renfield Concierge Services as a jack-of-all trades.

His latest gig is house-sitting The Murder House, a necromancer’s delight in Connecticut. All he has to do is keep out nosy teens, feed the books, and stop the coyotes, or next door’s poodle, from digging up the “vegetable” garden. Easy enough.

Until the necromancer’s “son” shows up with a death certificate, a notarized will, and a suspicious lack of knowledge about the supernatural world.

Now Shepherd has to honor his signed-in-blood contract without attracting the attention of any legal—or infernal—authorities who might still be interested in his cult-related past. Because Hell loves a notarised document.

Excerpt 

Marble Falls, Connecticut, boasted a picture-postcard-perfect harbor, more antique shops than seemed feasible for a town with under 4000 residents, and a colony of elephant seals. They also had one coffee shop.

Shepherd pulled into the curb outside the Seal of Approval, behind a small, bottle-green scooter with the shop logo displayed on the panniers, and parked. He got out of the minivan, pushed his sunglasses up onto the top of his head, and squinted at the shop. Today’s special was a Lavender Mocha with a ham and provolone cinnamon bagel for fifteen dollars.

So it was bougie. That was promising.

Shepherd had been to places where the only coffee dealer in town had been Betty in the local diner, with a greasy carafe of whatever had been on sale at Target. It was never freshly brewed either. No matter what time of the day you went in, it tasted like it had been thinking about what it had done for at least 24 hours.

It wasn’t for Shepherd. Bad coffee and celibacy had been two of the three main reasons he’d run away from the cult he’d grown up in. 

Shepherd absently reached up to rub his throat, the clot of raised scar tissue over his collarbone slick and itchy under his fingertips. 

The fact his ‘family’ was about to sacrifice him to the Lady of the Furrow before they were interrupted by the FBI’s raid on the property did have a strong lead on first place. 

Still, the coffee and celibacy had been hard pills to swallow too.

These days he avoided both when he could. 

Shepherd locked the minivan and stuck the keys in the pocket of his shorts and headed into the shop.

The bells over the door rang as he pushed it open. A barista was in the middle of the shop, bucket between her feet, as she swilled away at footprints on the tiles. She looked up and gave Shepherd a quick once-over, one eyebrow quirked with interest by the time she got to his face.

“Hi,” she said and plunked the mop into the bucket with a wet squelch. “I haven’t seen you around here before. Tourist?”

Shepherd blinked at her for a moment. He missed New York already. Nobody there cared where he was from or why he was there. Most of the time they didn’t even notice him. That was how he liked it. It was one reason he didn’t like taking jobs out of the city. Unfortunately, his wallet didn’t much care what he liked, and travel contracts paid better.

“Not exactly,” he said. “I’m here for a couple of weeks.”

The bucket was on wheels. It squeaked over the floor as the barista dragged it with her to the counter. She propped it against the wall and left it there as she grabbed a clean apron to pull on.

“Airbnb?”

Shepherd fished his wallet out of his pocket and wrinkled his nose as he considered the answer. “Kinda?”

The barista—Emily, from her name tag stitched onto the apron—leaned one hand on the bar. She cocked her head to the side and raised her eyebrows.

“That’s the sort of thing you should really be sure of,” she said lightly. “What would you like? Today’s special—”

“I saw,” Shepherd interrupted her. “No. Thanks. Just a vanilla latte. To go.”

She nodded, grabbed a cardboard coffee cup from beside the till, and turned her back to get to work on his order. Once she had the grounds slotted into the espresso machine, she looked back over her shoulder at Shepherd.

“The soup of the day is Bloody Mary and Pumpernickel,” she said, pointing to the big, silver tureen being warmed over gas on the counter. “If you’re hungry.”

About the Author

TA Moore is a Northern Irish writer of romantic suspense, urban fantasy, and contemporary romance novels. A childhood in a rural, seaside town fostered in her a suspicious nature, a love of mystery, and a streak of black humour a mile wide.

Coffee, Doc Marten boots, and good friends are the essential things in life. Spiders, mayo, and heels are to be avoided.

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Wonder Boy: Owned by Calan Mercer

NEW RELEASE

Book Title: Wonder Boy: Owned

Author: Calan Mercer

Publisher: Valleyburn Press

Cover Artist: Neslihan Yardimli for BookCoverZone

NEW Release Date: OCTOBER 6, 2026

Tense/POV: third person, past tense, three alternating POV 

Genres: Contemporary MM Dark/Erotic Romance, BDSM

Tropes: Forbidden love, workplace, boss/employee, age gap, power exchange, possessive mmc, insta-obsession (touch him and die), psychological, hurt/comfort, aftercare heavy

Themes: Identity, Belonging, Complicity, Power as intimacy, Self-destruction, Legacy and ownership, Survival

Length: approx. 129 000 words

It is book one in a trilogy. It ends as an HFN where it is clear there is more to resolve.

Heat Rating: 5 flames

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Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US   |  Amazon UK 

He came for the job. He left owned.

Blurb 

Alex Mercer was supposed to be untouchable: the golden heir to his family's powerful law firm in Los Angeles, two years of associate experience under his belt, dispatched to Las Vegas to bring the chaotic Global Combat League to heel.

Instead, he met Jack Doyle.

Compact. Battle-hardened. Close-cropped dark hair just beginning to gray. The cold, calculating stare of a man who built an empire from nothing and never learned how to lose. One command from across the desk and Alex's perfectly tailored world began to unravel — jacket, tie, shirt — every step an exit offered and refused, every refusal a choice Alex made with open eyes.

What started as an interview ended with Alex stripped bare on Jack's desk, claimed so thoroughly he could still feel it weeks later. What started as a contract became something neither of them had a name for. And what started in Las Vegas wasn't going to stay there.

Some men break you. Jack owned him. And the worst part? Alex let him.

A dark MM romance about power, possession, and the cost of being chosen by a man who doesn't share what he claims.

Excerpt 

“Kid,” Jack said. “You any good at not fucking up?”

Alex registered the question for what it was, not the interview he had prepared for, but the one underneath it, the one that wanted to know whether he was going to give a law school answer or an honest one. He had prepared the law school answer on the flight. He looked at Jack and set it aside.

“Depends on the definition,” Alex said. Then he looked at Jack and reconsidered. “Yes, sir.”

Jack’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Sir. I like that. Most of these Ivy League pricks walk in here calling me Jack like we’re old pals.” He held the look. “What does ‘yes’ mean to you?”

“It means you tell me what’s coming before it arrives, I keep it from becoming a problem. You call me after it’s already a problem, I make it go away.” He held Jack’s eyes. “Either way works. I’d rather the first.”

Jack regarded him for a moment. Then he set down what he was reading and leaned back.

“Marco says you’re good,” he said. “That means something, coming from him. I know your father. I know his firm. They’ve been handling my contracts for three years.” He picked up his mug and took a drink. “If you’re even half the lawyer Richard is, you’re worth the conversation.”

“I’m not my father,” Alex said. There was no edge to it. He was stating a fact. “But I can do the job.”

Jack looked at him with the full quality of attention he would come to understand was Jack’s primary mode: complete, unhurried, costing the subject of it nothing and requiring everything. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Alex said.

Jack almost smiled. He set the mug down and leaned forward, elbows on the desk.

“Alexander Mercer. Thirty. Top of your class at USC Law. You know why you’re here?”

“My father said you needed a personal attorney. Available at all hours. Fighter issues, sponsorship conflicts, anything that doesn’t go through the league office.”

“That’s the version that goes on paper.” Jack tapped the desk once with two fingers. “Off paper it’s simpler. You work for me. The league, the fighters, your old man — none of them own you. I do. I snap my fingers at three in the morning because some idiot heavyweight punched a casino bouncer, you’re already in a car. I need an NDA before breakfast because one of my champions knocked up a ring-girl, you’re already writing it. You breathe when I say breathe. You eat when I say eat. You exist for the GCL. The GCL is me. I need someone I can trust completely to have my back. Not the league’s back. Mine.” He let that land. “You want this job, Mercer?”

Alex had known, somewhere on the flight over, that he wanted it. Not only the money, though the money was real. It was the room he was sitting in. The building below, with its blood smell and its training cages. The man across the desk, who had not yet said a single thing that was anything other than exactly what he meant. Alex had spent two years in an environment that prided itself on precision and had not yet been in a room where precision was this unconcerned with its own appearance.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “I want the job.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed, dark and unreadable. He let the words hang in the air for a long ten seconds, the air conditioner droning in the background. Then he smiled, slow and predatory, a smile that had closed million-dollar deals and ended careers in the same breath.

“Good,” Jack said. “Then you’re going to prove it.”

The shift in the room was immediate, like the temperature had dropped ten degrees. Alex’s mouth went dry. He’d expected a hard interview. Maybe some locker-room hazing. Not… this. Whatever this was.

Jack stood up. He came around the desk, without announcement, without the excess of motion that would have signaled awareness of being watched. He stopped three feet away and crossed his arms and looked at Alex the way he had been looking at him since Alex walked in, which was completely and without apology.

“Take off your jacket.”

Alex blinked. Once. His heart slammed against his ribs like it wanted out. Not standard. A line. A test. The kind powerful men drew in the sand to see who’d cross it and who’d run.

Jack’s voice stayed even, almost conversational, but there was steel underneath. “You heard me. Jacket. Off. Or you can stand up right now, walk out that door, tell your Daddy I’m a crazy prick, and we’ll both pretend this meeting never happened. Your call, kid. Last chance to keep your suit clean and your dignity intact.”

About the Author

Calan Mercer writes dark, character-driven romance about powerful men and the things they can't control. A nine-year Army veteran with deployments to Iraq and Kosovo, he earned his MFA in creative writing from San Diego State University and has spent years ringside, drawn to the brutal intimacy of combat sports and the speed of the ice.

Wonder Boy: Owned is his debut and the first book in the Global Combat League series. He lives in San Diego with his husband and four very opinionated cats.

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