LGBTQ+ BOOK PROMOTIONS

Saturday, 25 July 2026

Out Now - Feral Hearts by A.J. Church

RECENT RELEASE

Book Title: Feral Hearts

Author: A.J. Church

Publisher: Nytshadow Publishing

Cover Artist: Gigi at G-Cat Designs

Release Date: July 17, 2026

Tense/POV: First person, dual POV

Genres: Contemporary MM Romance

Tropes: Enemies to lovers, slow burn, hurt/comfort, mutual obsession

Themes: Bisexual awakening, mental health

Length: 129,000 words/565 pages

It is the first book in a standalone series and does not end on a cliffhanger.

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

There’s nothing closer to love than a good hatred.

Blurb

Aubie

I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but I’ve never let that stand in the way of my two favorite past times–breaking hearts and disappointing my family. An ardent fan of the smooth line and shallow hookup, I excel at keeping things gliding on the surface. Feelings, when I have them, are reserved for the few I call friends. Until the night I walk into Club Eros and come face to face with Cutter Knight. Tall, dark, and mouthwateringly handsome, he’s also an uptight prick. Doesn’t stop me from wanting to toss all my rules out the window for just one taste.

Cutter

Once upon a time I was the golden boy of my family. Future planned out. Ducks all in a row. Then my idiot brother threw my world into a tailspin. Now I go out of my way to avoid his type, which is why I hate Aubie Gauthier. He’s a spoiled brat with an old money trust fund and a reputation for being a shameless slut. And for some reason he’s set his sights on me. I’m not gay, and even if I was, I wouldn’t be interested in someone like Aubie. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to matter to him.

Excerpt from Chapter 1

“FIRST TIME?”

I glance up at the tall hunk standing next to me and shake my head.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says with a smile. “You’ll do fine.”

“Oh, I’m not nervous.” More like excited.

I’ve spent two days working on my routine. The biggest part of that was selecting my outfit. I chose a charcoal gray velvet jacket, sheer black shirt, slinky black silk pants and dance slippers. I kept my makeup to just some eyeliner and a little shadow. I’m going for a debaucherous lord of the manor aesthetic. I picked out my music–Parked Outside by the Afghan Whigs–and threw it on a thumbdrive for the DJ, then loaded everything in a suit bag.

I stand when the stage manager calls my name and head through the short hallway to the front of the house. From the moment I stroll onto the stage and my music starts to play, I know I’m home. The mechanics of taking off my clothes are secondary to having all those eyes watching me undress, knowing that I’ll soon be naked in front of them. I nearly come before the first article of clothing hits the floor.

After dancing provocatively for half a minute, I unbutton the jacket and flash my chest under the sheer black shirt while sliding the fingers of one hand into my mouth and sucking each one dry. When I’ve got their attention, I start to lose clothing. Jacket first. One shoulder at a time. Once it’s gone, I run my fingers down the front of the shirt, unbuttoning as I go. I dance like that for a chorus with my best bedroom eyes, daring the audience to look away.

You don’t want to miss this.

My hand slides down inside my waistband, making a show of cupping my stiffening cock before pulling on the drawstring to untie my pants. I bite my lip and offer a naughty grin as I let go of the string. The silky fabric slides down my legs to pool at my feet.

I step out of them and strut over to the pole, arching my back and tangling my hands above my head as I start to writhe my back against it. The shirt slides off my shoulders and I let it drop to the floor, leaving me in nothing but the sheer thong. The flimsy garment barely contains my straining cock.

I caress myself while I dance, lost in the music.

Lost in the moment.

The sexual tension in the room is exquisite. Like a bow string being pulled taut. The music vibrates against me and I grind my hips to its beat, letting my mouth drop open to rim my lips with a teasing tongue. Come taste me, my eyes say.

I can feel it. They’re hungry for me.

For me.

Let’s give them what they want. I slide my hands down my chest to fondle my nipples, causing my cock to noticeably twitch. At this rate I’ll be making a mess on this stage. I move my hands down to my hips then turn away and rotate my hips, humping the air. Wishing I had a warm body to fuck right now. I can at least make them think I do.

I slide my fingers under the thin straps of the thong and bend over to slowly roll it down my legs, baring my hole. I look over my shoulder to get their response.

Now this is addictive. All those eyes, all this bare flesh. How could they possibly not want me?

I turn to face my admirers, finally free to prowl the stage completely naked.

And prowl I do, vacillating between bold, come hither looks and coy smiles with just enough of my inner slut to make my moves seductively feline. I know I hit the sweet spot when people start squirming in their seats. One man in the front row yells, “Oh honey, let me help you with that,” when I slide my finger over the head of my cock and bring it to my nose. I take a deep whiff before plunging the finger between my lips and moaning.

Damn, I’m turning myself on.

About the Author

Growing up a military brat meant I was always the new kid in school, so my friends were often the characters I found in the books I read and later wrote. I love dreaming up bad boys and the trouble they can get into, and lucky for them, I’m a sucker for a well-earned happily ever after. Or at least a happily for now.

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Saturday, 11 July 2026

The Dark Before Dawn by Thom Collins

NEW RELEASE

Book Title: The Dark Before Dawn

Author: Thom Collins

Publisher: Entwined Publishing

Cover Artist: Kelly Martin

Release Date: July 7, 2026

Tense/POV: Third person

Genres: Contemporary MM Romance, Mystery/suspense/thriller

Tropes: Friends to lovers, cop, stalker

Length: 68 500 words

Heat Rating: 4 flames

It is a standalone story that is part of a wider series

(book four in the Basic Instincts series)

and does not end on a cliffhanger.

Universal Link | First For Romance

Buy Links

A brutal killer. An unwitting witness. A cop caught in the middle of a deadly pursuit.

Blurb

A brutal killer. An unwitting witness. A cop caught in the middle of a deadly pursuit.

Jude Kalvert is glad to be back in his home city and playing gigs around his favourite bars. Blyham is a dangerous place, and things seem only to have got worse in the time he’s been away. It’s not safe to be out alone at night, but when Jude runs into an old school friend after one of his shows, things don’t appear so bad after all.

Danyal Nadir has changed a lot since they knew each other. He’s a cop for one thing, newly appointed to act as liaison between the police and the LGBTQ+ community. And he’s come a long way from the shy, bullied kid Jude remembers from school. The adult Danyal is strong, confident and very attractive. Both men jump at the chance to get reacquainted.

But that first night is not as safe as it appears. Jude discovers that he’s one of the last people to have seen a murder victim alive. Soon the killer has Jude and Danyal in his sights. On the run and desperate, there’s no limit to what he’ll do. As their friendship turns to passion, their new beginning could be the end of them.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence, gore and murder, as well as homophobia and racial slurs.

Excerpt

The police officer was incredibly good looking. He appeared mixed race, maybe of South Asian heritage with a strong, stubbled jaw and cleft chin. The body beneath the dark uniform was finely shaped. He could almost be a stripper in a cop costume rather than the real thing.

But Jude knew better than to be distracted by a hot guy and maintained his guard.

The cops’ eyes narrowed as he came nearer.

“Jude?” he asked. “Jude Kalvert?” His accent was a blend of light Scottish with a strong inflection of North East England. “Jude Kalvert? It is you, right?”

There was something familiar that Jude couldn't quite place. Maybe they had met on a cruise sometime. He saw hundreds of new faces each week, and it wasn't always easy to remember them.

“Yes,” he said. The man seemed friendly enough, but he was still wary of the uniform.

The serious cop face was transformed by a beautiful smile. “I thought I recognised you. It's Danyal Nadir. I don't know if you remember me. We were at school together.”

Jude had hated school. As the only openly gay kid in his year, the school years had been a misery of bullying, slurs and abuse. He hadn't kept in touch with a single pupil from those days. Whenever anyone reached out to him on social media, he rejected the friend request. Twelve years since he last sat in a classroom, the trauma was still too raw.

Danyal Nadir. That name did ring a bell though.

He dug into his memory. Yes. A skinny kid who had transferred into his class when he had been around ten years old. They had never been friends but had bonded in a strange way because they were tormented by many of the same bullies. Jude for his odd looks, interest in theatre and later for his open sexuality. Danyal, for his mixed heritage- his mother was white-Scottish and his father Indian- and what was considered a strange accent.

Jesus, that school was a fucking cesspit. He prickled at the memory.

“Oh my God,” Jude said. He had to work hard to see anything of that timid kid in this strapping policeman. And yet it was there. In his eyes. And in the rare time he'd seen Danyal smile at school – the smile was the same. “You've changed so much.”

And you’re gorgeous.

A shy chuckle and Danyal’s eyes looked Jude over too, taking him all in. “So have you, but somehow I recognised you. When I saw you get out of the car, I was almost certain it was you.”

Jude felt a warmth spread over his face. Danyal was making him nervous. Not in the intimidating cop way he'd initially expected, but in the hot and bothered want-to-get-into-his-pants way. But no chance. This was Danyal Nadir. The wee kid from Blyham High.

“I didn't know you became a police officer.” Stupid comment. There was no reason he would. They hadn't seen each other in years.

“It's been a decade now. How about you? What are you up to?”

“I'm a singer. Just finished a gig tonight. I'm about to get some food before heading home.” Old acquaintance or not, he was not about to admit to his plan of visiting The Viaduct.

Danyal checked his watch. “Mind if I join you for ten minutes? I'm due a break and I'm parched.”

It was Jude's turn to smile widely. “I'd love it. I'm just heading around the corner.”

About the Author

Thom Collins is the author of the Jagged Shores series and the Anthem Trilogy as well as numerous standalone novels and novellas.

His latest series Basic Instincts launched in spring 2025 with the novel Now Comes the Dark.

Thom has lived in the North East of England his whole life. He grew up in Northumberland and now lives in County Durham with his husband and two cats. He loves all kinds of genre fiction, especially bonk-busters, thrillers, romance and horror. He is also a cookery book addict with far too many titles cluttering his shelves. When not writing he can be found in the kitchen trying out new recipes. He’s a keen traveler but with a fear of flying that gets worse with age, but in 2013 he realized cruising is the best way to see the world.

Check out his website for news updates and a free ebook The Night.

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Tuesday, 30 June 2026

Johnny Ultra by Kristoffer Gair

NEW RELEASE

Author and Publisher: Kristoffer Gair

Cover Artist: Ed Murphy

Release Date: June 26, 2026

Tense/POV: Third person

Genres: Young Adult, Superhero, Comedy

Tropes: Reluctant Hero

Themes: Friendship

Heat Rating: No sexual content

Length: 84 000 words/ Approx 270 pages

It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger. There is the promise of possibly continuing.

Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

Not all heroes are adults.

Blurb

Not all heroes are adults.

Tragedy struck Gabriel Fletcher at the age of eight. Losing his parents felt catastrophic enough, but to be sent to live with his aunt and uncle who didn’t want him? Life couldn’t get much worse.

Sho Tashiro only ever wanted a best friend—someone to share adventures and play video games with—and who wouldn’t make fun of his heritage or treat him like a sidekick.

Little did they know their meeting and years of friendship that followed might be more than fate. What if every world in every universe had a Gabriel and a Sho? And what would happen if Earth was invaded by a creature that threatened to annihilate everything they loved?

One trained in martial arts + one with self-proclaimed superior Asian genetics = a friendship and adventure that feels like they jumped right out of their favorite science fiction TV shows and movies they watched as children!

The fate of the world is in the hands of two fifteen-year-old boys. What could go wrong?

Excerpt

“So”—Mike interrupted what might quickly turn into an even more awkward conversation—“are you and Sho—”

“No.” Gabriel realized why someone might think he and Sho were together. They certainly bickered like an old married couple.

“By Hachiman, the Shinto god of war, no.” Sho folded his arms. “The clueless Caucasian child here should be so lucky.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “If that’s what you call lucky.” They’d kill each other. Absolutely kill each other.

They continued toward B House at a leisurely pace.

“I am his type, though,” Sho continued.

Mike peered at Gabriel. “You have a type?”

“Don’t even think about it, Sho.”

“Myself?” Of course Sho would find a way to inject a bit of himself into his explanation. “I prefer blondes because gentlemen prefer blondes... or at least that’s a movie title I heard someone from the drama club mention. I like blonde girls, if you need me to be more specific. I like a little yin with my yang, a little light with my striking, dashing, and sophisticated dark.” The explanation was getting a bit thick, even for Sho. “Gabe here likes ‘ese’.”

Mike arched an eyebrow. “‘ese’?”

“Stop.” Gabriel knew what was coming, and that it was payback for mentioning Sho’s attempt at handling a sword.

“Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese—”

Gabriel cringed. “This is how rumors get started.”

“—Taiwanese, Burmese—”

“Please use your internal voice,” Gabriel pleaded and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.

“Shall I mention the Japanese actor on Kamen Rider Den-O who started you on your way through that minefield in a boy’s life known as puberty?” Sho asked matter-of-factly.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Or the Chinese assistant instructor in that class you take after school you don’t like anybody knowing about?”

“What about him?”

Sho grinned. “You said one look in his eyes and he restored your faith in an afterlife and the concept of reincarnation.”

Gabriel desperately tried to think of a reason that sounded remotely plausible. “He brought out the deeper thoughts in my life.”

“Then there was his Vietnamese friend—”

“Sho—”

“—who you said made you experience multiple sarcasms while trying to show off how amusing you think you are every time he spoke to you. I’d be remiss, of course, if I didn’t remind you about the Taiwanese exchange student we had last year.”

“Quit exaggerating!” Gabriel wiped his forehead again before sweat dripped into his eyes.

“Procter & Gamble actually sent you a personalized Christmas card for single-handedly keeping the demand for Puffs Super Soft Tissues alive during those months.”

“I hate you.” Gabriel’s face raged like an inferno. “Don’t let Sho talking about being a samurai fool you, Mike, or any of the other words that fly out of his mouth because he wasn’t born with a filter. Sho’s actually one of the most down-to-earth people I know, and the smartest. I have to struggle to get decent grades, and they come easy to him. Sho doesn’t brag about his grades, but he does frequently use his powers for evil, usually when he’s giving me a hard time, like now.”

Mike laughed. “So, Sho isn’t one of those Asian stereotypes who plays the violin or piano, or takes karate lessons?”

They reached the stairs and headed up.

“No. Not at all. He has a phenomenal talent for drawing, though. You should see all the scrapbooks he keeps his sketches and ideas in. They’re amazing!”

“And don’t let Gabe here fool you either.” Sho added his two cents. “I may tease him from now until eternity, but he’s the one who took piano lessons—”

“Free lessons from a community center, thank you.” Gabriel rolled his eyes. The lessons hadn’t been anything fancy or above his means. Someone somewhere at the community center knew he was an orphan, the secretary there had called him with the offer, and he’d decided to give it a try. It got him out of an empty house.

“—and while he may let the bullies pick on him, he’s actually got a second degree—”

“Sho!” Gabriel snapped.

About the Author

Kristoffer Gair grew up in Fraser, MI and is a graduate of Grand Valley State University. He currently lives in a suburb of Detroit.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

Monday, 22 June 2026

Digging Up Bones Series by TA Moore

SERIES TOUR with NEW RELEASE

Digging Up Bones Series

Author: TA Moore

Publisher: Rogue Firebird Press

Cover Artist: Tammy Moore

Book 1: Bone to Pick

Book 2: Skin and Bone

Book 3: Down to the Bone - Releases June 22, 2026

Book 4: SWIPE (a standalone story)

Deputy Cloister Witte has a dark past and a cute dog. He’s happy to talk about the dog.

Genres: Contemporary MM Romantic Suspense/Police Procedural

Tropes: Enemies to lovers, workplace romance, black cat/golden retriever, grumpy/sunshine, best dog in the world

Themes: Coming to terms with your past, dealing with trauma, accepting other people’s acceptance.

The stories are best read in order.

Overall Heat Rating for the series: 3.5 flames

POV/Tense: third person POV/past tense

BOOK DETAILS

BOOK 1

Book Title: Bone to Pick

Length: 261 pages

Release Date: Second Edition 2024 (originally 2017)

Buy Links

Cloister Witte has a cute dog and a dark past. He’ll talk about one.

Blurb

Cloister Witte is a man with a dark past and a cute dog. He’s happy to talk about the dog all day, but after growing up in the shadow of a missing brother, a deadbeat dad, and a criminal stepfather, he’d rather leave the past back in Montana. These days he’s a K-9 officer in the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department and pays a tithe to his ghosts by doing what no one was able to do for his brother—find the missing and bring them home. He’s good at solving difficult mysteries. The dog is even better.

This time the missing person is a ten-year-old boy who walked into the desert in the middle of the night and didn’t come back. With the antagonistic help of distractingly handsome FBI agent Javi Merlo, it quickly becomes clear that Drew Hartley didn’t run away. He was taken, and the evidence implies he’s not the kidnapper’s first victim. As the search intensifies, old grudges and tragedies are pulled into the light of day. But with each clue they uncover, it looks less and less likely that Drew will be found alive.

BOOK 2

Book Title: Skin and Bone

Length: 251 Pages

Release Date: Second Edition 2024 (originally 2019)

Buy Links

Cloister Witte has a cute dog and a dark past. He’ll talk about one.

Blurb

Janet Morrow, a young trans woman, lies in a coma after wandering away from her car during a storm. But just because Cloister found the young tourist doesn’t mean she’s home. What brought her to Plenty, California… and who didn’t want her to leave?

With the help of Special Agent Javi Merlo, who continues to deny his growing feelings for the rough-edged deputy, Cloister unearths a ten year-old conspiracy of silence that taps into Plenty’s history of corruption.

Janet Morrow’s old secrets aren’t the only ones coming to light. Javi has tried to put his past behind him, but some people seem determined to pull his skeletons out of the closet. His dark history with a senior agent in Phoenix complicates not just the investigation but his relationship with Cloister.

BOOK 3 - NEW RELEASE

Book Title: Down to the Bone

Length: 90 000 words

Release Date: June 22, 2026

Buy Links

Cloister Witte has a cute dog and a dark past. He’ll talk about one.

Blurb

Deputy Cloister Witte has a dark past, a cute dog, and an FBI agent. It turns out that all of them are going to cause him problems.

When Cloister Witte disclosed that he was dating FBI Agent Javi Merlo he’d expected it to cause some complications. Dating in the workplace always did. He’d just expected it to be red tape, conflicts of interest, and the occasional asshole who thought his sex life gave them a remit to be funny. A concerted campaign by SSA Everett Kincaid, the new head of the LA office of the FBI, to get Cloister fired hadn’t made the list.

Yet here he is, with his case history and his childhood trauma both under review.

The problem is that Cloister is good at his job, and his K9 Bourneville is even better. So when an employee from the Plenty sub-office of the FBI goes missing, Larkin can’t afford to sideline them anymore. As they get to work Cloister starts to suspect that Larkin’s conviction his organized crime task force is the real target is as off-target as his suspicions about Cloister.

Meanwhile, for Javi Merlo the case is an opportunity to redeem himself. All he has to do is turn a blind eye to how Larkin bends the rules. If he goes along with it he could bring down a major criminal organization, and restart his stalled career…or he destroy his relationship with Cloister and the legacy of his dead mentor.

As rumors of corruption spread, Javi must choose between ambition and the man he loves.

BOOK 4

Book Title: SWIPE ( a standalone story)

Length: 215 pages

Release Date: Second Edition 2024 (originally 2019)

Tropes: Lust at First Sight, Secret Identity, Motorcycle Club, Bad Ideas, Secrets and Lies

Ii is a standalone story and does end on a cliffhanger.

Buy Links

Plenty’s a hotbed of crime, but the men are even hotter.

Blurb

A Novel of Plenty, California

As one of the top trauma surgeons in Plenty’s ER, Dr. Taggart Hayes knows how to fix broken things—fractured legs, ruptured spleens, allergies, and traumatic brain injuries. He can put them back together good as new.

A broken heart, though? That’s a bit trickier. Especially when it’s his own.

When Tag swipes on the photo of the hot man in the dating app, he just wants a distraction from the wreck that used to be his life. A one- night stand with a safely inappropriate stranger, no names, no feelings, and no complications.

But the headless photo on the app belongs to a man who isn’t so easy to forget the next day... or the next week. And it becomes increasingly clear that Bass is neither safe nor uncomplicated. Drawn into the dark, criminal underworld his lover inhabits, Tag has to decide if the cure for his broken heart is worse than the disease.

Excerpt

EVERY COP had their own bible of superstitions.

Down in vice, cockeyed Jimmy Daley swore that every time he pulled in one particular red-haired hooker, the week went to hell. Lieutenant Frome would never admit it out loud, but whenever he hit red at the Mendes and Third intersection, he brought a black mood to work with him. When Deputy Kelly Tancredi was pregnant last year, her biggest complaint was that her lucky bra was uncomfortable.

Cloister knew it was going to be a bad night when the devil winds came rolling in from the desert. It was a given that Southern California was always hot, but the winds parched it dry as well. You couldn’t even sweat without it turning to salt, and where it wasn’t salty, it was sandy.

It was more than just batterers and brawlers pushed over the edges of their own worse natures, though. The winds blew in the sort of bad shit that stuck in your nightmares—little corpses, bruised thighs, questions that never got answered.

Worst thing was, there was no calling in superstitious in the Plenty Sheriff’s Department. You knew everything was going to go to hell, but all you could do was turn up for work and wait for the shit to hit the fan.

Three hours into the midnight shift, and Cloister was still waiting. Maybe he was wrong, but the drunk-and-disorderly collar of a barefoot meth head didn’t weigh on his conscience that much.

Ignoring the yelled orders to “Get down!” and “Put your hands where I can see them!” the weathered, desert-dried-out man had scrambled out of a broken window and run across the parking lot. He ran like an Olympic athlete in the weeds, with his arms pumping and his head thrown back so the tendons in his neck strained under his faded blue tats. It wasn’t going to do him any good, but he put his all into it.

“Why do they always run when it’s hot as hell?” Cloister asked. Nothing ran like a guilty conscience, whatever the weather. Besides, his partner wasn’t one for much chat. Cloister stooped and unclipped her collar in one smooth, practiced motion. She perked up, and her shoulders tensed under her thick ruff of tan-and-black hair, but she held herself back. Cloister put the command snap in his voice. “Fuss!”

She went.

Cloister had worked with a lot of dogs over the years, from his stepdad’s hunting pack to an idiot-savant spaniel in Iraq—it ate rocks but could find explosive residue after five days—but none of them had a prey drive like Bourneville. The black shepherd went off the blocks like a greyhound and cleared the window in a long, clean leap—low enough to make Cloister wince as the shards of broken glass in the frame brushed through her fawn stomach fur. She hit the ground running.

He flicked the leash, wrapped the heavy nylon around his wrist, and took his turn through the window. He felt the constriction of the bulletproof vest as he ducked, and the glass caught in the heavy canvas fabric of his trousers as he folded his six-foot-two length through the dry-rotted wooden square.

Across the parking lot, the meth head scrambled up and over the chain link fence. The barbed wire at the top caught his shirt and ripped it off, leaving a flapping, bloodied rag dangling. He kept running and dodged behind a row of houses.

Bourneville didn’t lose a step as she jumped onto the hood of a parked truck, not even stopping to measure the distance. She stumbled over her paws on landing, nearly cracked her chin, and then was up and off again.

The fence rattled as Cloister hit it, and it swayed as he scrambled up and over. He caught his hand on the wire, and a spur dug into the meat under his thumb. The jab of pain made him grimace, but he didn’t slow down.

He dropped onto the other side and followed the wolf brush of Bourneville’s tail down the back of the houses. The shout and scuffle of the raid at the drug house faded behind him. The habit of risk assessment made him drop his hand to his gun, and his fingers found their familiar spots in the molded plastic grip.

The Heights wasn’t a bad area of town. It was just poor. Unlike some of the other deputies, Cloister had grown up in a place where it was important to know the difference. Poor still meant closed curtains and minding your own business because the sheriff’s gratitude didn’t have the half-life of the local gangs’ resentment.

Couldn’t really blame them. They had to live there, raise their kids there. The last thing they wanted was trouble.

So Cloister kept his hand on his gun, but the gun stayed on his hip.

At the end of the alley, the meth head grabbed a recycling bin and spun it around to shove behind him. It tipped over and spilled bundles of cans and crumpled plastic bottles onto the ground. The obstacle gave him a second’s head start on Bourneville as the dog scrabbled briefly to dodge the skidding box. He gained a few more when Cloister had to kick it out of the way.

It was enough for Cloister to lose sight of Bourneville for a second as she skidded around the corner while he skidded on a piece of greasy plastic wrap. He swore under his breath, put on a burst of speed, and nearly tripped over Bourneville as he raced around the corner to find her just standing still.

Her head was cocked to the side, and she watched the meth head with a confused look. Cloister couldn’t blame her. The scrawny man—all bone and muscle under shrink-wrapped skin—had grabbed a little girl’s bike from the garden. It was pink and still had training wheels on, but the guy was trying to ride it to freedom. His bare feet balanced on the narrow pedals, his skinny ass was in the air, and his knees pumped furiously. All that effort didn’t do him much good. There was more side-to-side motion than forward, but he seemed committed.

“Jesus,” Cloister muttered.

He glanced down at Bourneville, and she looked up at him with the “what now?” tilt to her head that meant her training had briefly been derailed. Her head went to one side and then the other, and her fuzzy black ears flopped.

“Yeah, I’m with you, girl. This is going to be fun to write up.”

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.

Author Links

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Saturday, 20 June 2026

Out Now ! Inescapable Fate (D’Vaire, Book 46) by Jessamyn Kingley

NEW RELEASE

Book Title: Inescapable Fate (D’Vaire, Book 46)

Author and Publisher: Jessamyn Kingley

Cover Artist: LJ Anderson, Mayhem Cover Creations

Release Date: June 18, 2026

Tense/POV: third person/alternating POV

Genres: M/M Urban Fantasy/PNR

Tropes: Friends to lovers

Themes: Forgiveness

Length: 81 575 words

Heat Rating: 3 flames

It is not a standalone story, but does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads Series Link

Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

After six years without a word, a once tight friendship is in tatters. But they are mates. They cannot avoid each other forever.

Blurb

Pyxlevir Valzadari is a lucky elf. Loving family, wealth, and beauty are among his advantages. Although young, he is determined to have a successful career working for his father’s company. The other thing Pyxlevir wants is a mate. But he dares not dream about his best friend, Gramlithyn, in that role.

As a hybrid, Gramlithyn Verdanyth stands out in his tribe despite his mother’s insistence that he follow every elven tradition to the letter. Gramlithyn adores his parents and does what he’s told. All his energy goes into telling anyone who’ll listen that he doesn’t want a mate. It’s a lie. Gramlithyn wants Pyxlevir, but his closet pal is too busy fantasizing about a future with anyone but an elf-zebra like him.

Gramlithyn and Pyxlevir met at six years old, and it was an instant connection. For twelve years, they had an incredible friendship. Then Fate intervened and connected their souls. Pyxlevir is shocked, and Gramlithyn is crushed. So, Gramlithyn does the only thing he can think of. He runs from everything and everyone.

Now they’re twenty-four and their worlds have collided again, but is it too late to salvage their matebond?

Excerpt

The soft, earthy scent of carrots wafted toward Pyxlevir, but the man who walked up behind his friend was a stranger.

This wasn’t a hybrid who adhered to elven traditions; Gramlithyn had hacked off his long hair. The longest portion of his fringe didn’t even hit his eyebrows. Tiny silver hoops glittered in his earlobes. A black button-down shirt suited his pale green complexion, and the sleeves were rolled up to expose tattoos on both forearms.

His right arm sported a serpentine dragon, and on the left was a winding vine with leaves and dainty flowers. Whoever had inked him was incredibly skilled, and the black-and-gray images were gorgeous, but tattoos were taboo to every elf. Faded jeans covered his legs, and a pair of worn combat-style boots in the same raven as his top completed the look.

For some inexplicable reason, a sensuous wave of arousal nearly as intense as—or was it perhaps better than—the moment Pyxlevir had discovered Gramlithyn was his mate flowed through him, and he shivered. He dearly hoped the length of his tunic covered his dick’s interest in his other half.

As Pyxlevir stood mute, drinking in the luscious sight of a twenty-four-year-old Gramlithyn and quickly updating his mental image of the teenager who’d abandoned him, the hybrid shooed his best friend out of the doorway.

“Do you want to come in so we can talk?” Gramlithyn asked. Again, he didn’t greet Pyxlevir, nor did he allow any emotion to cross his face. Too much time had passed for Pyxlevir to guess any of the feelings in his dark brown gaze.

Thankfully, the flatness of his question helped Pyxlevir quell his visceral reaction to Gramlithyn. Determined to be aloof, Pyxlevir lifted his chin.

“Of course,” Pyxlevir responded. Gramlithyn turned, and Pyxlevir curled his fingers into fists. The way the light denim clung to Gramlithyn’s ass was a sight now seared into Pyxlevir’s mind. But he dug his nails into his flesh to ensure that he wasn’t distracted by hormones.

It was weird to have sexuality again. As the years passed, Pyxlevir thought less often about the few seconds of arousal he’d experienced on his eighteenth birthday. It turned out that as an elf with an absent mate, the desire to stroke himself to completion had quickly faded.

“Would you like to have a seat?” Gramlithyn asked.

Without a word, Pyxlevir chose the only chair in the room so his reckless body would focus on something besides getting off. He didn’t want to be mired in his emotions, but he also refused to lose himself in some sexual fantasy either.

Gramlithyn settled on the edge of the bed farthest from where Pyxlevir sat. For a heartbeat, they stared at each other without a word. The scent of carrots faded thanks to the distance between them, which helped Pyxlevir drag his mind fully from the gutter. Now all he could feel was sadness that he had no clue what Gramlithyn was thinking.

The last time they’d been in the same room, Pyxlevir would’ve been able to assess Gramlithyn’s emotions with a glance and probably been able to guess exactly what was happening in his head.

Those days were long gone.

“I have a proposal that I hope you’ll take into consideration despite the elven traditions it breaks,” Gramlithyn stated. “Some things are forever…others, not so much. I’d like to suggest that you, me, and our closest friends move in together for a year. They can act as witnesses so that at the end of those twelve months, we can request separation papers and start the process of having our matebond dissolved with a demonic spell.”

Pyxlevir swallowed thickly and wished he’d shown more caution when he received Gramlithyn’s text. But he supposed nothing could have prepared him for six years of silence broken by Gramlithyn’s request that they allow someone of demonic blood to permanently destroy the bond Fate had granted them.

A deep, festering pain started in Pyxlevir’s soul and clutched at his heart. Somehow, it was worse being rejected again. Gramlithyn wasn’t reacting like a scared teenager. The stranger staring at him was a grown man with plenty of time to think about his future. One he preferred Pyxlevir not to have a role in.

He’d already recast someone else as his best friend. It appeared Gramlithyn wanted Pyxlevir firmly in the column of buried history, and it stung. Despite the warm temperature of the hotel, a frigid chill froze Pyxlevir in place, but he refused to allow anything to show outwardly.

The one thing Pyxlevir would not do was let Gramlithyn see or understand how much his words hurt. Tears were already desperate to fall, but Gramlithyn wasn’t privy to that. Not anymore.

About the Author

Jessamyn Kingley has published over forty titles and refuses to pick a favorite among them. With an extraordinary passion for her characters, Jessamyn eagerly crafts new tales and avidly re-reads them whenever her schedule allows. Jessamyn shares a home in Nevada with her husband and their three spoiled cats. When she is not writing or adding new ideas to her thick stack of beloved notebooks, she is gaming with family and friends.

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