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Origin by AJ Sherwood & Jocelynn Drake: Exclusive Excerpt and New Release Review * 2

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Cameron wants to make it clear that he did not go into the festival to find a dragon mate.

Germany is supposed to be an escape. With a new mechanical engineering degree, a new job looming, and a whole life planned out that isn’t his, Germany seems like the best place to find himself.

So how does he end up discovering his lost magic heritage, running from bad guys with a secret agenda, and being adopted by the not-so-extinct Fire Dragon clan?

Cameron blames tall, dark, and sexy Alric, king of the Fire dragons. His fated mate. Because of course he is, and mates are meant to take the blame, right?

It may take a hot second, but as Cameron learns more about the scarred Alric and the life he’s landed in, Cameron realizes that perhaps this is where he’s meant to be, magic and mates and kidnapping and all.

Turns out coming to Germany wasn’t an escape but his awakening.

Title: Origin (Spells n’ Scales, Book 1)
Author: AJ Sherwood & Jocelynn Drake

Amazon – Kindle Unlimited

Goodreads

Alric’s body burned. Every seductive pass of Cameron’s amazing hands left Alric aching to pull Cameron closer. He wanted to claim his mouth in a deep, drugging kiss that would finally wipe away his knowing little smirk. The man massaging tense muscles was well aware of how he was driving Alric crazy. It was all Alric could do to hold back the moan rising in his throat.

He was fairly certain all the blood in his body had flooded south to his throbbing cock pressed against the front of his slacks, demanding to have a turn with Cameron’s magical hands and that wonderfully slick oil.

To have those long, nimble fingers wrap around him and—

No! No thinking about that.

Clenching his teeth, Alric fisted his right hand at his side, inwardly praying Cameron didn’t notice the fine trembling of his muscles as he struggled to get control of himself.

Of course, that wasn’t possible.

Cameron chuckled softly, his warm breath brushing against Alric’s bare neck. Goosebumps broke out across his flesh, and Alric sucked in a breath through his teeth.

“Relax,” Cameron murmured. “The point of the massage is to help you relax. Make you feel good.”

“Would you be able to relax if someone was doing this to you?” Alric asked, his voice little more than a harsh growl.

Cameron hummed as if he was giving it some thought. He bent, dipping his fingers into the oil again. Moving behind Alric, he cradled his neck on either side, gently massaging muscles there before sweeping down across his chest. Alric’s nipples hardened to painful points, and there was no stopping the quick breath he sharply sucked in. This wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t stop how his body reacted to each amazing caress. He could only control what he did about it. And right now, he was going to sit there and take it because it made Cameron happy.

Alright, fine, he might be enjoying it too. A little.

“Just anyone massaging me?” Cameron asked.

Rage scorched through Alric’s body, and he glared at the wall in front of him at the thought of anyone putting their hands on Cameron. No one should touch him. Just Alric. Only Alric. Scheiße, and that was his dragon flaring up with possessiveness. Alric shoved it back down mentally.

“Whoa! You just got really warm,” Cameron gasped, his hands leaving Alric for a moment. “Are you okay?”

Alric nearly groaned at himself. “Yes. Of course. Hot flash,” he muttered and then rolled his eyes at himself. A fucking hot flash? Wonderful. That was really sexy. Now he was a menopausal woman.

I’ve only read one other book that had dragon shifters and it definitely wasn’t my favorite. But since Jocelynn Drake is one of the authors (I’ve never read AJ Sherwood, so no opinion yet) I figured why not?

Looking at it from completely a fantasy aspect- it was a fun book. The world building was pretty excellent and I love how Dragon shifters and mages (doers of magic) need each other for different reasons. I also REALLY loved that the one main character is Asian. I don’t think Asian people get nearly enough representation in books. Not only is he a main character, he seems to be fairly powerful, is mated with the dragon king and his twin sister and grandmother are also mages. Pretty cool.

Two things really bugged me. First- dragon shifters need mages in order to procreate. Dragon shifters are all pansexual because they don’t know what gender their fated mate will be. Ok, so like in this story we have a male dragon king and a male mage that are fated mates. They talk about having a family together. HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN? Seems kind of integral to the story, in my opinion.

Next is the clan of mages that are out for revenge. Meaning kill all of the dragon shifters. Ok. But I thought they needed each other? Mages get the power for their magic from dragons. So how are they able to do powerful magic without dragons?

I know, I know, I should let these things go. Maybe they will be addressed in book 2. But seriously, Cameron, the mage fated to mate with Alric, king of the dragon shifters, should be questioning these things! He didn’t even know he was a mage. And then they are talking about having a family. And this formerly human gay guy doesn’t say “Whoa, whoa, whoa… who here is getting pregnant and how?” Because I would TOTALLY ask that question.

Other than those two fairly glaring things, the story as a whole was well done. The history, even the citizens having a dragon festival unbeknownst to them that dragons are real.

Ok, I do have more questions, but they are minor.

I do want to read book 2 as I am invested now in their story, having the dragons find more mages, how they are going to find and fight the evil mages, etc.

3.5 pieces of eye candy

I loved the excerpt I read on this so much that I had to read it, even though I hadn’t read anything on dragon shifters previously.

I absolutely loved the two MC’s. Cameron was fun, and lighthearted, yet so smart and willing to do whatever needed to be done in the moment. Meanwhile Alric was very old school, taking his responsibilities very much to heart, and guarding his heart due to his injuries. They complimented each other very well. The side characters were great as well. Loved Cameron’s sister and grandmother, and Ravi, of course.

I’m definitely with Erin on one of the things that I felt needed to be addressed further. There was talk throughout the book about how dragons needed mages in order to have children, but never HOW. Is it surrogate, does someone suddenly develop the parts to do that. And I feel like if they are going to talk about having children, which they did, right before their mating ritual, then it is kind of imperative to let the person who has no idea what the process is, know so that he can step back and maybe decide.

Overall, this is a fun start to the series. It made me laugh out loud several times, and tear up a little. And I’d definitely like to see more of the Fire Dragon Clan, as well as see how they deal with their enemies.

3.5 pieces of eye candy

AJ Sherwood believes in happily ever afters, magic, dragons, good men, and dark chocolate. She’s often dreams at night of delectable men doing sexy things with each other. In between writing multiple books (often at the same time) she pets her cats, plays with her dogs, and attempts insane things like aerial yoga.

She currently resides in Tennessee with aforementioned cats, dogs, and her editor/best friend/sister/partner in crime.

Connect with AJ: https://www.ajsherwood.com/

 

New York Times Bestselling author Jocelynn Drake loves a good story, whether she is reading it or writing one of her own. Over the years, her stories have allowed her to explore space, talk to dragons, dodge bullets with assassins, hang with vampires, and fall in love again and again.

This former Kentucky girl has moved up, down, and across the U.S. with her husband. Recently, they’ve settled near the Rockies.

When she is not hammering away at her keyboard or curled up with a book, she can be found cuddling her cat Demona, walking her dog Ace, or playing video games. She loves Bruce Wayne, Ezio Auditore, travel, tattoos, explosions, and fast cars.

She is the author of the urban fantasy series: The Dark Days series and the Asylum Tales. She has just completed a gay romantic suspense series called The Exit Strategy about two assassins falling in love and trying to create a life together. Her newest project returns to her vampire roots with a MM paranormal romance series Lords of Discord.

With Rinda Elliott, she is one half of the Drake & Elliott writing team and has produced such series as Unbreakable Bonds, Ward Security, Pineapple Grove, and Weavers Circle.

With AJ Sherwood, she is journeying into a new MM paranormal romance series called Spells n’ Scales that is set to launch in September 2020.

Connect with Jocelynn: https://jocelynndrake.com/

 

Skythane by J. Scott Coatsworth: Blog Tour, Exclusive Excerpt, New Release Review and Giveaway

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Jameson Havercamp, a psych from a conservative religious colony, has come to Oberon—unique among the Common Worlds—in search of a rare substance called pith. He’s 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 what’s coming—or 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.

Author Name: J. Scott Coatsworth

Publisher: Other Worlds Ink

Release Date: Saturday, October 10 2020

Genres: sci fi, wingfic, LGBTQ

LGBTQ+ Identities: gay, lesbian

Tropes: secret royalty, wingfic, portal fiction

Keywords/Categories: sci fi, science fiction, wingfic, aliens, gay, lesbian, trilogy, LGBTQ, portal, secret royalty, sci fi

Amazon-KindleUnlimited

Jameson held on for dear life as Quince steered her cycle off into the fields on the right side of the road. The bike raced along about five feet above the ground, the leaves of the plants whipping his arms and face as they rushed by. They were riding up the row between two tall stands of what looked like boxcorn, the plants heavy with square ears of the industrial vegetable.

He glanced back. Xander’s bike zoomed down the open road, racing off in an entirely different direction. “He’s a sitting duck on the road,” he said to Quince, shouting over the sound of the engine and the wind, jabbing his finger in Xander’s general direction. Though why that should bother him was beyond him. The man was a prick.

“He can take care of himself,” Quince shouted back. “Right now I have to worry about your ass.”

He looked down at the ground moving past—they weren’t going too fast yet. He could jump off the bike and run into the field. With any luck, he’d be able to lose himself among the corn plants and maybe find his way back to Oberon City, or maybe flag down the hoversport.

Behind them, one of those hoversports had risen off the ground and was following them doggedly. He prepared to jump, but then Quince poured on the speed, and his moment was gone.

He’d have to wait for a better chance. “And what about you?” he shouted. “Who’s watching your ass?” He glanced backward worriedly at the hoversport that was coming after them. It was quickly gaining ground.

“I’m not worried about me.”

As he watched the hoversport, it fired off a shot that burned away a half a dozen boxcorn plants to their left. “Holy crap. They’re trying to kill us.” He shuddered. There was no way he was bailing on the hoverbike now.

“Not if I can help it.” She turned halfway around, holding a pulse rifle, and got off a shot in the general direction of the hoversport. It evaded the blast easily.

The bike, however, veered slightly, sending a sickening shudder through Jameson’s stomach and taking a chunk out of the neat and even row of boxcorn.

“Give it to me.” He was not going to be killed in some stupid accident in a field in the middle of nowhere.

“Do you know how to use it?” The hoversport was almost on top of them now, and Jameson imagined he could see the pilot glaring at him from behind the dark plas window.

“Yes, I learned how to use one on my last posting on a mining colony. Sunday afternoon entertainment. Now give it to me.”

She nodded and handed the pulse rifle back to him. He grasped it and slipped his right hand around the grip.

With one hand around Quince’s waist, he turned and got off a quick shot. He winged the hoversport but it seemed to shrug off the blast.

“It’s shielded,” she said. “You have to hit it when the pulse laser fires.”

“Pulse laser?” He looked back at the approaching hoversport. Something that looked disturbingly like a gun turret was descending from the underside of the hoversport. “You’re kidding me.” He turned back to Quince. “They’re going to shoot us!”

“Hold on.”

He held on to her as best he could with his arm encumbered by the rifle. She veered through one of the rows of corn, the leaves slapping at them as if trying to pull them off the bike. There was a thunderous blast behind them as several of the corn plants seemed to spontaneously burst into flame.

“Hit ’em now!” Quince called back.

He turned and fired at the hoversport, but he was too slow. The pulse bounced off the shields harmlessly.

“They’re trying to kill us,” he said incredulously. “Oh my God, they’re trying to kill me.” He started shaking uncontrollably. “Why would they want to kill me?”

“Pull it together, Jameson,” Quince said. “I’d slap you if I could, but you’re going to have to do it yourself.”

Jameson’s gut twisted. No one had ever actively tried to kill him before. His parents were pacifist Christianists, so even his home life had been calm and quiet. Mostly.

“Hold on again, and get ready to fire.”

Jameson took a deep breath and steeled himself. There would be time enough to freak out later, if they got through this alive. He gripped Quince’s waist tightly with his left hand and turned just as the gun mount pulled back to deliver another laser pulse. He shot two blasts at the hoversport as Quince veered again, this time to the left. He glanced back to see one of them connect with the turret.

A blue lightning bolt spread out like a spiderweb, a hair-thin tracery spreading across the belly of the hoversport. Electricity raced around the top of the ship, sizzling in the afternoon air. Then it split the hoversport apart like an egg, the whole thing exploding and showering debris across the sky.

Little bits of burnt plas hit his back, and then the remnants of the hoversport were behind them as the cycle sped away.

“I did it.” He started to laugh, flushed with adrenaline. “I fucking did it!” He never cursed—well, hardly ever—but the force of the moment overrode his normal composure.

“Congratulations,” Quince said dryly.

Then the import of what he had done hit him. He’d taken a human life. Probably several. The sickness in his gut returned in force. “Stop the bike.”

“We should keep going,” Quince said. “There may be more of them coming.”

“Stop the goddamned bike!” He was going to lose it.

Quince braked to a halt, settling to the ground roughly and kicking up a cloud of dust.

He jumped off and fell to the ground, throwing up violently, expelling the contents of his stomach on the damp ground. It went on for what seemed like an eternity, and his world was reduced to the cramp in his gut and the vile taste in his mouth.

He felt soiled, dirty. Reduced to an animal state.

Eventually there was nothing left to come out, and he lay on his side, his breaths heaving in and out of his chest.

Quince put a hand on his back. “First time?”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet for fear he would kick off another bout of vomiting. His mouth tasted foul.

His back chose that moment to start itching, and such a mundane reaction made him laugh harshly. He sat up and took a deep breath.

Quince knelt beside him. “I remember my first time too. Hardest thing I ever did, even if the bastard deserved it.”

Jameson looked up at her, searching her eyes. “You killed someone?”

She nodded. “It was shortly after I arrived in Oberon City. I was walking through the Slander—I didn’t know any better back then. A man assaulted me, probably wanted to swipe my crits. I would’ve let him, if I’d had any, but then he wanted more. I was all alone, but I wasn’t helpless.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “I broke his neck.”

He looked up at her with newfound respect. “It didn’t bother you?”

She snorted. “I was sick to my stomach, like you were. Then I went home and cried about it for three days.”

“But you got over it?” He’d counseled people before with difficult issues, and he had always told them that it took time to heal their wounds. Now he was starting to wonder if he had been a total idiot. This didn’t feel like something that would just go away, no matter how much time passed.

Quince thought about it. “Mostly. I hope to, one day.” She stood. “It’s good that it hurts, though. It means you’re still human.” She offered her hand.

“I guess that’s something.” He took her hand and stood up, wiping off his mouth with the back of his arm. “Let’s go.”

“Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’m going to get.” How did OberCorp track us down?

He hopped back on the cycle behind her, and they took off toward the line of trees in the distance.

The first thing to say about this book was that the author clearly has a talent for sci-fi fantasy world building. The world, the magic, and the explanation about how the planet is divided is very well done.

The characters were a little confusing. Two men and their guardian who had been a nanny to one of them when he was a baby, plus a huge ensemble of secondary characters typical in a high fantasy book that would have worked if it had been about 30,000 words longer.

As it was the personal relationships were hurried, confusing, and never really meshed. A lot of page time was given to the guardian/nanny character including her own point of view which would have been okay in a longer book, but took time away from developing the main characters in this. Ultimately neither of the two men get enough emotional development even if this isn’t a romance they still need fleshing out as whole characters.

I never felt I truly knew either of them.

And be warned there is a relationship cliffhanger at the end.

3 stars

Scott lives with his husband Mark in a yellow bungalow in Sacramento. He was indoctrinated into fantasy and sci fi by his mother at the tender age of nine. He devoured her library, but as he grew up, he wondered where all the people like him were.

He decided that if there weren’t queer characters in his favorite genres, he would remake them to his own ends.

A Rainbow Award winning author, he runs Queer Sci Fi, QueeRomance Ink, and Other Worlds Ink with Mark, sites that celebrate fiction reflecting queer reality, and is a full member member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA).

Author Website: https://www.jscottcoatsworth.com

Author Facebook (Personal): https://www.facebook.com/jscottcoatsworth

Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/jscottcoatsworthauthor/

Author Twitter: https://www.jscottcoatsworth.com/jscoatsworth

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Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8392709.J_Scott_Coatsworth?from_search=true

Author QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/j-scott-coatsworth/

Author Liminal Fiction (LimFic.com): https://www.limfic.com/mbm-book-author/j-scott-coatsworth/

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/J.-Scott-Coatsworth/e/B011AFO4OQ

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Bully King: An MM Bully Romance by Andi Jaxon: Excerpt, New Release Review and Giveaway

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I’m the pastor’s son.
He’s the star quarterback for a small Kentucky high school.
While the town worships him, I pray for God to take my life.
He makes my life a living hell by making me his victim.
This perverse game we play could end us both.
How can something that feels so right be so wrong?
The price if the truth is discovered is death, but I can’t stop.
Neither can he.
No one can know.
Can I risk it?
Is Roman King worth dying for?

*This story is an m/m bully romance including dubious consent, assault, talk of suicide and is intended for readers 18+. Please proceed with caution.*

Title: Bully King

Author: Andi Jaxon

Release: October 15, 2020

Genre: M/M Bully Romance

Goodreads

Amazon – Kindle Unlimited

“Jonah.” My name is growled.

Roman grabs my shirt when I spin around and pulls me into a classroom with no lights on. Did he not hear the sermon? We can’t be caught together. Expecting to hit the wall, I stumble into the gloomy room with Roman shutting the door behind me.

“What are you doing in here?”

He doesn’t answer me, just grips my shirt again and pushes me against the wall where we won’t be seen by anyone walking past the door and he’s pressed against me. His lips are harsh and demanding against mine. He’s pissed off, but I’m too hurt by my father’s words to be angry yet. It’ll come, but right now, my heart is heavy and broken.

Gripping his face, I kiss him back just as hard, frantic for his touch. My tongue duels with his and my teeth latch onto his lip. He growls, the rumble of it vibrating my chest. He’s pressed against me, mouth to thigh, and hard as steel. Blood pumps through my veins, filling my cock at his closeness.

He reaches for my pants, and I break our kiss.

“Roman,” I pant, my hands reaching for his wrists.

“Why do you come here?”

His question catches me off-guard. He’s still crowding me against the wall, his deep blue eyes searching my face for something, but it’s hard to think with him this close to me.

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m a son of God.”

Confusion leaves me open for his next assault. Roman’s lips crush mine, taking no prisoners. This kiss is hard, demanding, brutal. It’s exactly what I need. The pain, the desperation.

I kiss him back just as hard, biting at his lips, sucking on his tongue, ravaging his mouth. My dick aches in my pants, hard, desperate for attention. Roman’s body moves against me, his dick just as hard behind his zipper.

Reaching down, he grabs my leg and pulls it around his hip to get a better angle. His thick cock sliding against mine has my eyes rolling back into my head and he swallows my moan.

My hands grip his shirt, pushing him away from me, forcing him to let go of my lips. We stand there for a long minute, panting, not saying anything.

“We can’t do this here.” I’m finally able to get the words out.

Roman smirks that damn look that says, “I can do whatever the fuck I want.” His hands cup my ass, forcing me to grind against him. My eyes close and a groan rumbles from my throat.

“Stop,” I pant. “We can’t do this here. Not in the House of God. It’s sacrosanct. It’s wrong.”

“Does it feel good, Jonah?” Roman lips brush against my ear. “My dick against yours?”

“Yes,” I hiss through clenched teeth, pleasure overriding the common sense part of my brain.

“Does it feel right? Me touching you like this?” His teeth nip at the skin of my neck. “Huh? Does this feel perverted? Does this feel like something you can just stop wanting?”

Roman’s hand moves to the front of my pants once again, his palm pushing and stroking against my dick through my pants. My hips buck against him on instinct, wanting more.

His lips drop to mine again, shutting down all logical thought. My hands move to his hair, pulling on the gold locks he wears so proudly.

Okay… I hope you’re ready for this…

Page 1, I’m flat out, ugly crying, like….body-wracking, soul shattering sobs. Think Farrah from Teen Mom, but like… worse, cuz I’m not on camera but in my room, feeling this kids’ words to God like I’d heard them before. Wanna know why? Because I have. This story hit me in ways that I was not prepared for and I want to tell you all the reasons, but I’ll spare you the pages of sob story for me and just tell you how I related to this so hardcore.

First, I was raised in a Pentecostal church with these very same rules and all the hate that accompanies them. My mom, though not as crazy as Jonah’s dad, were so similar. My heart broke for him and his home life because imagine…. Imagine that life. A kid, scared in his own home, pretending to be something he’s not and warring with himself because he wants so badly to change. To be normal. How heartbreaking, right? Then, starting highschool in a new town, the Bible Belt, where I live, he’s got to hide from everyone there as well, on top of being targeted by the most popular, untouchable highschool bully… The harassing that goes on here, is disgusting, and it made me sick a time or two at what he went through at the hands of them. Especially, Roman, the beautiful one that makes it all worse and better at the same time.

In the beginning… I did not believe that there was a single thing that Roman could do to redeem himself and all the ways in which he tormented Jonah. He wasn’t just a bully, he was downright criminal about it more than once. I hated him. I hated him so much!

And don’t get me wrong, I understand that a tough home life is kind of a staple for bullies, right? It doesn’t give you a free pass to be so angry that you assault people. Torture people… and I hated the way that he treated Jonah, and I hated the way Jonah took it because he felt like he deserved it in some way. He also really liked it, but that’s just an aside lol There were lots of reasons to hate Roman King.

Fortuntately, and I don’t even know when it started happening because nothing really changed in the way that Roman treated Jonah, but something changed in Roman. There is a triggering part in a locker room and I wish someone would’ve warned me about that, not that I get triggered by much at all, but I almost found it unforgivable. I’m still kind of warring with that. I don’t think it’ll be something I forget for a while.

So, living in a small southern town with the Lord on your back, I can understand how scary it was for these kids an I hurt for them. Also relatable because my own kid came out just a couple of years ago with the very same fears about the rest of his family. Those same prayers, asking to be struck down if he couldn’t be made normal… for God to change him or change his family that would cast him out. As he cried to me the night he was outed in middle school, begging me to let him leave at 13. Over my dead body, right? I said that I’d take the brunt of whatever fallout and I’d keep his secret and tell anyone whenever he was ready. When he was, I laid out our conditions and we were set to cut out any and all who had a negative word to say about my boy or his “situation”…. Even one word. I almost dared it.

That’s the way a parent is supposed to react when their baby has a secret that feels like it’s weighing down their soul. You take that burden because that’s literally what you signed on for. It’s your job.

I also hated all the parents… Jonah and Roman’s moms for being so weak that they couldn’t/didn’t put their babies first. What kind of mother does that make you? No mother at all, I’ll say it right now. Their dads, both of them, garbage. I won’t give either of them another word. I’m glad at least one of them got the karmic justice they deserved.

What I loved though, was Jonah’s little sister and biggest champion, Mary. I loved best friend Taylor and his mom Krystal. (I hope we see more of Taylor in what I hope will be future stories of not only these two, but also him)… I loved the school friend, Anna, and despite the emotional roller coaster that was this story, I absolutely fell in love with Roman and his possessiveness , though I still think he borders criminal and definitely needs some couseling for his need to hurt people to feel in control…. You can’t help but love him though, because he loves Jonah in the only way that he knows how, and he loves him in a way that’s kinda skewed, but that’s honest and raw and sometimes hurts… and to me, that’s the best kind. I don’t think that anyone could love Jonah more than Roman, and I think the same is true for Roman.

What a crazy, angsty, tear-jerking, terrible, yet amazing read. I really, really, really hope this isn’t it for them. It feels like their story is just beginning. 4 stars from me! I need more!

4 pieces of eye candy


This is a new to me author. I chose to read this, honestly, because of the grief the author got by using the same title as another (MF traditional romance) book. It just wasn’t cool.

Well…uhm…ya. This book was not for me. It starts off with a really long prayer by one of the main characters, Jonah. His father is a preacher and they just moved to Kentucky from Washington state. At first it doesn’t seem like his father is one of the “fire and brimstone” kind of preachers. He started off pretty normal I thought. Until the Sunday sermon about GAYS and their inherent evil. EEK!

He is also being bullied at school by the football team. Total cliche. The head bully is the golden boy football quarterback. And once we got to know Roman more, you see why he is the way he is. Alcoholic, abusive father who used to be in the NFL. Bullied at home, so he bullies at school. But he is drawn to Jonah, which is confusing for him. Or not. He has bedded most of the girls in his high school apparently, so when Jonah and his sister arrive, he immediately goes for her. But there’s still Jonah.

As expected, they start hooking up. But Roman is horrible to Jonah. Treats him like utter crap. He is all about appearances at school so he “has” to treat him like crap there. But he revels in causing Jonah pain. Sorry, 17/18 years old is a bit too young to be messing around with S/M especially since neither of them ackowledge it as such. And Jonah doesn’t like it. But he is so desperate for acceptance, that he takes it. And rough sex like that between teenagers was a little cringy.

Roman says it is because of the town’s history with gays and how they are treated. So when Roman’s best friend is caught kissing a boy, he helps him get out of the immediate situation, but then beats the shit out of him the next day in front of the school.

It was all too much. Roman was never redeemed, in my opinion. Jonah never stood up for himself. I honestly understand that these things still happen in 2020 in the US and elsewhere. But the main characters should have some sort of public redemption. He beats up his best friend and nothing?

I hated Roman. I disliked Jonah. Their parents are all awful in different ways. The only likable character was Jonah’s sister, Mary

Sarcastic and snarky, I love to laugh and read dark fucked up shit. I write about tortured pasts and hot sex, a happily ever after that has to be worked for. My stories tend to be a little dark but with some comic relief, typically in the form of sarcasm.

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Prince Ivan, A. Wolfe & A Firebird by Eric Alan Westfall: Blog Tour, Exclusive Excerpt, and Giveaway

by

Dear Reader,

What do you get when you combine a greedy Great Tsar, his two cheating, bullying older sons, his youngest esser (shh! no saying that aloud) son, stolen gold apples, a Firebird quest, A. Wolfe who has the power t’assume a pleasing shape, a magickal sandstorm, as well as two bands and a full Symphony of Gipsumies?

A rollicking, roisterous Russian Fairy Tale, with vigorous esser activities in tents, halls, bedrooms and alcoves, with and without the assistance of PSTs. Plus princely parades, a duel over Gus, new lyrics to an old drinking song, and the possibility of bits of blood, gobs of gore or moments of mayhem. As required by CORA (the Code of RFT Authors), should these occur, your author will give you timely warning.

Ah. Still not ready to part with your kopek-equivalent? Consider the fun you’ll have reading chapters like:

“To Kvetch, Or Not To Kvetch? A Reader’s Choice”

“Ivan Has A Close Encounter Of The F-Word Kind”

“Second Direction Questers vs. The Caliph’s Sayer Of Sooths”

“Will Sasha Succeed In Seducing Prince Ivan?”

“Bad Prince Ivan! No Touch Cage!”

“A Travel Pause For Gratuitous Sex In The Tent—Which Does Not Advance The Plot—At The Insistence Of The Characters”

“A Necessary Interlude To Consider The Age-Old Questing Question: What The [Expletive Of Your Choice, Dear Reader] Do We Do Next?”

If you buy it and try it, you’ll like it, or so says your most talen…er…humble author.

p.s. If Karrie Jax and I have covered you and blurbed you to buy, look for “Dear Reader, Along The Way, Did You Happen To See The Allusion To Olivier?” in the TOC. It’s a spot-the-allusions chance at gift cards of $25, $15, or $10.

166,000 words of story fun and frolic, plus a 2160-word teaser from another MM fairytale: The Tinderbox

Author Name: Eric Alan Westfall

Publisher: Eric Alan Westfall

Release Date: Monday, September 7 2020

Cover Artist: Karrie Jax

Genres: fairy tale, fantasy, MM(M), Russian fairy tale

LGBTQ+ Identities: Gay

Keywords/Categories: Russian fairy tale, fantasy, magic, magick, shifter, fairy tale, gay, queer, LGBTQ, fairy tale, new release, announcement, giveaway

Amazon

Smashwords

Soldiers Watching, Watching, All Through The Night

The finest soldiers in the Imperial Army—or at least, the finest of those in and about Moscow and unfortunately readily available by nightfall—stood guard around the tree. The first-finest stood shoulder-to-shoulder around the outside edge of the grass circle, facing the tree. The second-finest were facing outward, shoulder to shoulder, and butt to butt with the inner group. No thief would get through their lines. The apples were safe.

The soldiers stayed awake the whole night, those on the inward side of the circle watching the tree, those on the outward side watching…everything outward.

Very well, if the truth must be told, and it should be, when one advertises a tale as a true tale, not every soldier stayed awake. There were a surprising number whose years of service had led to the development of the skill of sleeping while standing up. A lesser number within that group could sleep with their eyes wide open. Soldiers with those skills were envied, and deserved emulation, rather than being poked and prodded into wakefulness—which only annoyed them and made them vengeful at a later date, time and place of their selection.

The others employed a variety of methods for staying awake, including several piss-challenges, the primary one being, for those who have never engaged in them—whether from a physical inability or other reason for not—hauling out your prick and seeing if you could piss farther, or perhaps further, than your competing comrades in pissery. The grammatical distinction was not something Imperial soldiers were ever taught. While the stars and a sliver of moon produced enough light to decide the piss-distance winner, or leave room for reasonable wrangling over who’d won, there wasn’t enough light for reading any piss-writing.

One particularly creative group of soldiers, carefully on the side of the circle opposite the side leading in the direction of the Palace, had another use for their pricks while staying awake. They pulled them out, stroked them hard or fast or slow, with a variety of twists, and swirls, and knob or slit thumbing, bringing themselves off in various challenging ways, such as greatest and least volume, greatest and least distance of the furthermost spurt—or fartherest, as the strokers weren’t any better educated than their pissing colleagues in another part of the circle—greatest and least length and girth, et cetera.

Both pissers and strokers were confident the traditional morning dew would, if not wash away, at least obscure the offerings they gave to the grass.

With the exceptions noted above, the circled soldiers were reasonably alert, fairly wakeful and watching as well as they could. Not one of them noted the brief, bright flash of red-gold-white above the branches and then in the branches, nor heard any fluttering or flapping.

Being the astute reader you are, especially with the stonking great clue in the title, you’ve already figured out who the apple-thief is. For the sake of readers less erudite than yourself, when leaving a review, or telling your friends what a great read you just had, do as audiences did when being fortunate enough to see that brilliant play, The Persecution’s Witness. The Tsarevich who penned the play commanded, more than suggested, in the playbills and large signs in the lobby: “On penalty of possible participation in a spectacle, don’t disclose the ending.” Or, as here, the identity of the thief.

Just a thought. A simple expression of authorial concern for reader health, safety, and heads-on well-being.

The rings of finest and second-finest soldiers were justifiably proud of themselves. They’d stood there, absolutely still, not budging—well, for the most part—until dawn crept over what would have been a window sill if they’d been back in the barracks. The apples were safe.

Except…when the Great Tsar and a gaggle of Greater and Lesser Generals made their way to the tree as dawn did its creeping thing, and the circles of the finest (inner) and next finest (outer) soldiers opened to let the Great Tsar, his magickal platform, and the generals through, the count disclosed another apple was gone.

True, only a golden apple. But still…[see above].

The soldiers, frightened by their failure, faced the Great Tsar’s renewed fury with something less than equanimity, as visions of Axemen comething all over the place danced in their heads. The Great Tsar was ready, willing, and might well have reverted to a faithful, down to the last stroke, swish and fall, imitation of his ancestress, the famous—no one quite dared to put the “in” in the front of the word—Red Tsarina, known throughout All The Russias, et cetera, for her famous phrase, having the same word issue—“Off with his head!”

But a more mathematical head prevailed, allowing the soldiers to keep theirs. Well-acquainted with the Great Tsar’s skills at both counting apples and calculating value for both varieties, Lesser General Andrei Levovich Tolstoy pushed his superiors aside, not quite begging a pardon per push, and asked the Great Tsar to assist him with a mathematical problem. An apple-related mathematical problem. One which could not wait until later for resolution.

The Great Tsar could not resist the lure of numbers, especially numbers closely connected to past and possible future apple losses.

General Tolstoy pointed out the tree numbers. The magnificent tree, the largest apple tree of all the apple trees in all the, et cetera, et cetera, with its forty-foot height and crown diameter. The twenty-foot width of the glorious green sward circling the tree. An eighty-foot diameter. A circumference of three thousand sixteen inches.

The General pointed out the soldier numbers. The Imperial Army’s finest (available) soldiers, with the best muscles and broadest shoulders in All The…et cetera, had an average shoulder width of sixteen inches. It had taken one hundred eighty-eight soldiers rubbing against one another—in a most manly, soldierly, shoulderly manner—to form the inner circle. Using six inches as the average soldier’s depth, from the back of his butt to the front of whatever might protrude the most (not considering prick-protrusions in the calculations), added another foot to the diameter. It took one hundred ninety-one soldiers to form the outer butt-to-butt ring.

Three hundred seventy-nine of the Imperial Army’s finest/second-finest soldiers gone, if the Great Tsar in his infinite wisdom and fairness—and he was more infinitely wise and fair than any other ruler in All The…et cetera—should decide to have a gloriously bloody Axeman Cometh spectacle.

Consider the cost of cleaning up all that blood, all those bodies. Consider the cost—all that gold gone from the Imperial Treasury—for replacing them.

It was a dilemma.

Eric is an American Midwesterner, and as Lady Glenhaven might say, “He’s old enough to have sailed with Noah.” In the real world he writes for a living, with those who would claim what he writes is fiction. His partner of thirty years—who died unexpectedly in 1995—enthusiastically encouraged him to try to get his writing published (mostly poetry back then, plus some short stories), but he didn’t have the guts to do so until 2013. At this point he’s not sure which was officially first, The Song, or Like a Mountain, Waiting.

Starting then, he’s published 13 novels and novellas, 1 poetry collection, 2 short story collections, and 3 short stories. God willin’ and the crick don’t rise, 2020 will also see The Tinderbox out and about. But since real life is, as we all know, a pain in the (anatomical site of your choice)…no guarantees.

Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/Eric-Alan-Westfall-1045476662268838/

Author Twitter: https://twitter.com/eawestfall43

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Hide to Seek (London Lies 2) by C F White: RDB, Excerpt, New Release Review and Giveaway

by

Jackson Young has gone into hiding. Fighting to get his name cleared and his truth heard, he’s followed Fletcher Doherty to Ireland for a safe haven from those who want to silence his story.

As they work on Jackson’s biography, their growing attraction gets harder resist. Fletcher’s made it clear though—their professional boundary isn’t to be crossed, especially with so many loose threads from each of their pasts left hanging.

But as he learns more about the once coveted celebrity’s rise to fame, and the manipulation and control that came with it, Fletcher finds it increasingly difficult to distance himself from their intimate moments. Lust fuelled attraction is easy to ignore, but an emotional connection is harder to deny.

Surrounded by Fletcher’s meddling family, and ex boyfriends who still harbour feelings of being jilted, Jackson has to play the part of his lifetime. Can he prove that he does have talent and win Fletcher’s heart as well as his trust?

And can he do it all before their idyllic hideaway is compromised?

Hide to Seek is the second book in the London Lies trilogy and is a slow burn, hurt/comfort, romantic suspense series.

Book Title: Hide to Seek (London Lies 2)

Author and Publisher: C F White

Cover Artist: Ethereal Designs

Release Date: September 30, 2020

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romantic Suspense

Trope/s: Enemies to lovers, slow burn

Themes: Hurt/Comfort

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 76 000 words/ 318 pages

It is not a standalone story.

Goodreads 

Amazon US – Kindle Unlimited

Amazon UK – Kindle Unlimited

Jackson joined him at the edge of the boat as the land disappeared into the murky water that sloshed up against the stern. He didn’t say anything. Neither did Fletcher. Their silence wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t comfortable either. It was a shared moment of reflection. Of knowing this could be the only peace they might have in a long while. A three-hour ferry ride from Holyhead to Dublin on international waters meant they couldn’t be found yet. They’d managed to get through ID control without any real problems. For how many times Fletcher had done this journey, he knew the ferry border control wasn’t as meticulous in checking details as the airlines would be. It was why across water was the only way. And they needed to breathe in this sanctuary while they still could. Fletcher wasn’t sure what awaited them in Ireland. He had apprehensions about going home, about bringing Jackson Young and all that came with him, to his family. But where else could they go?

So they shared a silent agreement to just stand, stare and be.

Until Jackson broke it with an intrepid inhale and a twist of his body to face him. “We should talk,” he said through the gust of howling wind.

“Should we?” Fletcher kept his gaze forward. Or backward as it were.

“This thing.” Jackson flapped a hand between them, his fingertips brushing Fletcher’s arm. “Us. We should probably acknowledge it.”

Fletcher breathed in, his chest rising, and slapped the railing to stand straighter. He closed his eyes, then opened them but kept his gaze on the distant horizon and not on the man beside him who was conjuring up feelings he didn’t want to concede to. Not then. Not when there was so much else left to learn between them.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Jackson slid his hand onto Fletcher’s cheek, demanding he look at him. A hand that stayed there a moment too long, with blue eyes delving into his soul and a soft thumb brushing along his yearning lips.

“You do, do ye?”

Jackson removed his hand and Fletcher’s cheek tinged with the heat left behind, but the flecks of ice cold seawater carried up by fierce winds slapped his skin and soon wiped the warmth away.

“You think this is too complicated to deal with now. That we need to focus on the book. On ourselves. On hiding. That’s why you left me down there, isn’t it? You can’t face me.”

“What did you think? This would be a romantic mini break?”

“I think we need to acknowledge there’s something going on. We can’t ignore it. I spent my life ignoring what was in front of me and look what happened.” Jackson threw his hands in the air, indicating their current situation.

“I’m not ignoring you, Jax. There’s no time for us. You want this truth out, then we’re gonna have to prioritise.”

Jackson hung his head, the disappointment and hurt seeping off his deflating body. But Fletcher couldn’t do this. He couldn’t rebound so quickly again. Time after time he’d done that, and each time had hurt worse than before to the point he couldn’t trust his feelings anymore. Nor could he trust that Jackson wasn’t clinging onto anything that would save him. How could this be real? How could either of them think that this could be something?

“I can be friends.” Fletcher made a concerted effort to keep his voice low, neutral, soothing. “Neither of us are ready for romance.”

Jackson breathed through a smile. “Are you an old romantic, Mr Doherty?”

“Aye. I am.” Fletcher wrapped his jacket around him, arms folding. It was to stave off the blustering wind chill but also, maybe, to act as the physical barrier to coincide with the one he built up with every wretched word he spoke. “I don’t jump into bed at the first sign of attraction. So when I said, let’s see what happens, I meant it.” He sniffed as the ferry dipped and swayed, aiming for the open arms of Dublin port. “But first things first, we have to get you off this ferry as Cameron Dale.”

This is a new to me author. Book 2 was up for review, but they sent book 1 as well because it is absolutely necessary. It is a continuing story.

Book 1, Fade to Blank, sets up the relationshp between Jackson and Fletcher.

Jackson, Jax to his fans, was half of a super popular celebrity personality couple. Not a couple as in love, a couple like Regis and Kelly. Until his live in girlfriend is murdered and he is in jail awaiting trial.

Fletcher is a celebrity gossip columnist. He doesn’t particularly like his job, he wants to be a real writer, but this helps pay the bills. He did review opening night of a play that Jackson was in- and totally panned it. Jackson never forgot.

Jackson is released after 6 months because the prosecutor can’t come up with enough evidence. He wants to clear his name, so he tracks down Fletcher to do it. To do what, exactly? Write Jackson’s autobiography.

One of many head scratching moments.

Jackson is in hiding though because he is hated. People think he killed his girlfriend. It LOOKS like he killed his girlfriend. And no one is standing by his side. Especially not his former co-star.

Book 1 is spent with Jackson hiding, Fletcher trailing behind him trying to keep up while carrying his laptop waiting for Jackson to start telling his story. Which he keeps putting off. Or avoiding things. Uh, if you want your biography written, perhaps you should start telling the story?

There is also a bit of a side story with Fletcher and his live in, older, actor boyfriend. Seems to me that Fletcher is obviously arm candy, but he doesn’t get it.

Book 2: Hide to Seek

Jackson and Fletcher flee to Fletcher’s family’s farm in Ireland. Having been found out, it seemed the safest place to hide. So we have some new players- Fletcher’s parents, sisters, a brother in law and nephews and most importantly, Fletcher’s childhood best friend and teenage lover.

So besides still trying to drag Jackson’s story out of him (I still don’t see the purpose of this), he is also dealing with his family’s financial issues, a former flame who wants him back and powerful people looking for Jackson. Because now there is speculation of a human/child trafficking ring. WHAT???

More than once Fletcher says “forget it, I am not doing this book”. But sticks around. Apparently sparks were flying between them. I didn’t see it. Because they have ZERO chemistry. Both Jackson and Fletcher are wet noodles. And my god Fletcher says “feck” a lot.

Book 3 is out in December to conclude this story. I honestly don’t know if I will read it. Maybe if my schedule isn’t too full. I just don’t care about them. The human trafficking thing is completely convoluted, who really killed Jackson’s girlfriend is kind of on the backburner and now they are sleeping together and nearly in love? Sorry, nah.

3 pieces of eye candy

Brought up in a relatively small town in Hertfordshire, C F White managed to do what most other residents try to do and fail—leave.

Studying at a West London university, she realised there was a whole city out there waiting to be discovered, so, much like Dick Whittington before her, she never made it back home and still endlessly search for the streets paved with gold, slowly coming to the realisation they’re mostly paved with chewing gum. And the odd bit of graffiti. And those little circles of yellow spray paint where the council point out the pot holes to someone who is supposedly meant to fix them instead of staring at them vacantly whilst holding a polystyrene cup of watered-down coffee.

She eventually moved West to East along that vast District Line and settled for pie and mash, cockles and winkles and a bit of Knees Up Mother Brown to live in the East End of London; securing a job and creating a life, a home and a family.

After her second son was born with a rare disability, C F White’s life changed and brought pen back to paper having written stories as a child but never the confidence to show them to the world. Now, having embarked on this writing journey, she can’t stop. So strap in, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

 

Follow C F White

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Cat’s Got Your Heart by Jem Zero: RDB, Excerpt and Giveaway

by

A Fluffy Feline Isn’t the Only Thing They’re Fighting For

Adopting a cat doesn’t sound hard. Then Jericho Adams meets Harinder Mangal, the surly pet store employee who loves animals and hates customers. Their first encounter inspires more than simple loathing—it puts the ball in motion for an absurd game of deceit that boasts a fluffy cat named Dumpling as the prize.

Harinder hates Jericho’s attitude, especially when it comes to owning a pet. He attempts to chase the other man from his store and is shocked when Jericho overcomes every obstacle, no matter how bizarre. Not only that, but he generates some of his own wild inconveniences that leave Harinder seething in his ugly sweater and mom jeans.

Before either man can get the other to crack, Harinder finds himself unexpectedly homeless. Despite their mutual antagonism, Jericho invites Harinder to crash at his place. The increased proximity makes it difficult for Harinder and Jericho to maintain their respective ruses, not to mention stopping themselves from actually caring about their pet-parenting rival.

Title:  Cat’s Got Your Heart

Author: Jem Zero

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: October 5, 2020

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 75100

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, contemporary, gay, trans, new adult, enemies-to-lovers, interracial, pet store, pets, snark, nerds, bullying, grief/grieving, hurt-comfort, romantic comedy/comedy of errors

Goodreads

Amazon

NineStar Press

Jericho Is Not Prepared

There’s a Petco another half hour down the bus line, but it’s snowing and Jericho doesn’t have that kind of time. Well, he does. But his phone is only at thirty-seven percent battery, and he’s not patient enough to go that long without entertainment. Fortunately, there’s a small hole-in-the-wall ten minutes from his apartment.

Aquariums & More doesn’t have a website, but according to Yelp, the “more” includes live pets. Half the Yelp reviews complain about hostile and unwelcoming employees, but that’s none of his business.

The pet store looks even shittier in person than it did in the picture. Multiple neon signs have been added since the pixelated, overexposed image was captured—probably somewhere in the early 1800s. Combined, they shine so brightly they distract from the puke-green awning, torn from years of weather, with faded navy font that looks like it’s trying to be Comic Sans but isn’t quite.

The visual assault is such that Jericho briefly overlooks the grime on the windows and how there seems to be something alive inside the trash can.

Any animal bought from this place is guaranteed to have three kinds of rabies and possibly congestive heart failure in addition to being intellectually dishonest and a kleptomaniac. It’s perfect for his sister, Shiloh, so Jericho spits a wad of tasteless gum into the cigarette disposal (he isn’t going near that trash can) and steps inside.

The bell on the door jingles merrily, but upon passing the threshold, there’s no one in sight: no customers, no pimply teenage employees, not even a grizzled old man to regale him with stories of putting live mice in freezers.

Alrighty then.

Along the entire front wall is what must be a six-foot-long, gargantuan tank full of…sand and wood? Jericho looks closer, blinking when he sees some small things skittering through the thick foliage. Oh, hermit crabs.

“They’re not for sale,” a rough voice says behind him.

He startles, but not enough to make a fool out of himself. Instead of swinging around to face whoever came up behind him, Jericho casually rolls his back. See? He isn’t bothered in the least.

“There’s a sign right there.” He points down at the far corner of the tank where Hermit Crabs $5 per ea. is written in Sharpie on an off-white piece of cardstock. It’s placed away from the reach of the fluorescent tank lighting as if someone doesn’t want it to be noticed.

A dark hand reaches into his line of sight and unceremoniously rips the sign off the tank. “That was a prank,” the other person says. “Feel free to ignore it.”

“Okay,” Jericho says—because sure, whatever—and turns toward the speaker. The voice made him expect someone at least moderately intimidating, but the fluffy hair, round cheeks, and full lips are suspiciously cherubic despite the rather genuine scowl. Also, this guy is, like, five feet tall, give or take a few inches. “Do you work here?” He’s dubious about whether or not this is customer service or an attempt at stealing his lunch money.

The guy rolls his eyes—which makes Jericho think the answer is no, and he’s about to be held at gunpoint in a pet store—and then he grabs the front of his mustard-yellow sweater and tugs the wrinkles straight to reveal a worn laminated tag that reads: Hello, my name is Harinder. The first thing Jericho notices is that his nails are painted black, although heavily chipped. The second thing he notices is the bottom of the nametag where the phrase How may I assist you? has been cut off at the bottom and heavily frayed.

Harinder drops the sweater and reaches up to brush his overgrown bangs out of his eyes, then folds his arms over his chest. It turns him into a puffball of rumpled wool and flyaway hair, which Jericho fails to find either professional or impressive. A hissing alley cat, at best.

Speaking of. “Do you have any kittens?”

If Harinder’s face looked offended before, now it looks straight-up murderous. “If you want a kitten, I invite you to look into one of the mills of inbred, abused, unloved, soon-to-be-abandoned, backyard-bred animals. Might I suggest Craigslist, or some cushy chain pet shop balanced on the rusty, beloved seesaw of quality photography and appalling ethics? There’re at least three of them downtown.

“If you want to pay five hundred dollars for an animal you’ll only care about until it stops being small and inoffensive, be my guest, but I’m afraid I can’t fff— I can’t help you.”

Jericho blinks very, very slowly. He didn’t miss that aborted f-bomb, but as with the Yelp reviews, that isn’t Jericho’s problem. He tries again. “Do you have any…cats?”

Hunching his shoulders around his ears, Harinder jabs a thumb at the wall behind him. “Cat kennels are through that door.”

“Thanks.”

There are, in fact, no kittens. However, the eight kennels filling in one side of the room give him enough to choose from. The moment he catches the attention of the room’s inhabitants, there’s a chorus of noise as all the cats come to the doors of their steel prisons to bat fluffy paws through the bars in a sordid appeal for pets.

Jericho obliges the nearest one, threading his fingers through a gap and allowing the animal to smash its head into them, purring enticingly. He wiggles his hand as best he can to facilitate a more effective petting motion. This one is a skinny tabby, and the note on the front of its—his—cage says he’s two years old and calls him Princeton.

It’s such an obnoxious yuppy name that Jericho can’t help but snort. What a terrible name for a cat. He shakes his head and moves to inspect the next prisoner.

In total, there are nine cats. Two green-eyed, gray longhairs inhabit one of the lower cages. They remain curled around each other, staring dispassionately at Jericho from the back of the kennel.

“Fuck y’all too,” Jericho comments, leaving both “Lacey” and “Casey” to their own shitty devices.

A ten-year-old Abyssinian boy going by the name of Sir Charles immediately becomes his favorite. Jericho loses about five minutes trying to cram his whole hand through the tight bars so he can stroke his sleek honey-colored fur.

He doesn’t think giving Shiloh a pet that might die soon is the best idea, and he isn’t prepared to take on his own cat, so he moves on.

He ends up two cages to the left, shoulder pressed against the wall, studying a creamy Siamese point. She has a shaggy medium-length coat, faint textured stripes, and piercing blue eyes, with which she regards him coolly before padding over to give his extended fingers an inquisitive sniff.

Her body is long and lanky. Regal, Jericho thinks for all of thirty seconds before he looks at her infocard and discovers that her name is Dumpling.

A short, surprised laugh bursts from his chest; Dumpling’s ears flick backward in disapproval. She’s perfect. At a solid four years, she’s old enough to know how to use a litter box and, hopefully, a scratching post, but isn’t quite aged enough that he has to worry about being strong-armed into frequent vet-related errands.

The adoption fee is sixty-five dollars. A little steep, but manageable. Before he can do anything about it, the door to the kennel room bursts open and Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony Performed Entirely by Cats nearly deafens him.

Harinder snarls. “What the f—” His teeth settle for a moment on his bottom lip. “—are you doing?”

“Just looking,” Jericho says, pulling his hand away from the cages and shoving it in his pocket as if he was doing something wrong, although he’s pretty damn sure petting cats in a pet shop is not actually illegal.

“I’ve heard people use their eyes to do that,” is the surly reply. Of course this jackass would go there.

“Gonna call the cops?” he asks, rolling his eyes. Jericho is used to threats of police intervention in his simple existence. No innocence when you’re Black. Even being albino doesn’t change that.

Harinder’s face clouds. “I wouldn’t.” Then he wraps his whole fist around a cable lying against the room’s back wall and gives it an unnecessarily forceful yank. A thick brown curtain rolls up to the ceiling, exposing a greasy window. Harinder doesn’t say anything more, but the message of “I can see you and will rain unholy hellfire down on anything that displeases me about your conduct” is clear.

Jericho doesn’t respond. He only finds his voice when Harinder turns toward the exit. “Hey, wait. I want to buy a cat.”

Harinder stops dead, spine stiffening. Again, Jericho imagines some kind of small, furry creature raising its hackles in a misinformed attempt to look threatening.

“We don’t sell cats,” Harinder says, voice gravelly.

“Uh, what?”

He turns around, jaw clearly set. “I. Said. We don’t sell cats, you—” He clamps his mouth shut.

“What are these here for, then?”

Harinder’s eyes flick to the kennels, then back to Jericho. “They’re up for adoption.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Jericho rolls his eyes again. “Fine. How do I ‘adopt’ a cat?”

Jem Zero is a disabled lesbian who lives in a house built by zir great-grandfather with zir family and two rescue greyhounds. Zir work is unapologetically queer and strives to communicate the frustration of being limited by one’s meatsack & brainjuice.

While arguing zir way through an Accounting Certificate, Jem makes a living as a portrait artist and, similar to most tortured creators, is attempting to establish zirself in creative writing.

Website | Facebook | Twitter

http://www.jemzero.com/

https://www.facebook.com/jemzero.art

http://twitter.com/jem_zero

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