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Losing My Religion by A.S. Tucker: Cover Reveal, Excerpt and Giveaway

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Title: Losing My Religion
Author: A.S. Tucker
Genre: M/M Romance
Release Date: July 27, 2017

Jaden Barker is a good boy.

For as long as he can remember, he’s been preparing for the day he’ll be called as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. He’s ready. He’s more than willing. And he can’t wait to spend the next two years serving the Lord and his church. But when a new proclamation from the church is announced, it leaves him questioning everything.

Quinn Owens is trouble with a capital T.

An aspiring actor living in the bowels of Los Angeles, he’s fought long and hard to get where he is, and he’s not willing to give it up for anything. Working for a homophobic boss presents quite a challenge when you’re a gay man, but Quinn knows losing this job means losing his dream. 

Jaden is lost and confused.

Quinn won’t let anything stand in his way.

But when Jaden finds himself living downstairs from the enticing Quinn, neither are prepared for what happens next.

Will Jaden be able to resist Quinn’s charms and remain a devoted Mormon missionary? Or will he fall, finding himself face to face with losing his religion?
 
Prologue
Our living room smells like a high school locker room. You know the smell I’m talking about. That oniony stink teen boys get when it’s been too long since they’ve showered, and they still haven’t quite discovered the magic of deodorant. 

It’s a smell I’m all-too familiar with, my high school career having only come to an end this past year. It’s going to take a lot longer than ten months to wipe the horrors I saw and smelled in the boys’ locker room out of my brain. 

Even as I sit on the barstool in the center of the room, visions of Roosevelt High come flashing to my mind, and I half-expect to see Jeff come strolling through the door, twisted wet towel in hand, just waiting for the perfect moment to snap it against an unsuspecting victim’s bare ass.

Butt. I mean, butt. 

Cussing was never allowed when I was growing up. But, now that this has arrived, I need to be more diligent about watching my language. 

Because cussing will not be tolerated where I’m going. 

I look down at the white envelope in my hands, my fingers trembling ever-so slightly, as I read over my name and address printed on the front.

Elder Jaden Barker.

Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Perfect missionary name. Exactly like my parents envisioned.

Flipping the envelope over, I gently finger the flap, watching the pristine paper slide against my skin. How ironic would it be if the one thing that’s supposed to be the biggest blessing in my life thus far sliced through my flesh, red drops of blood seeping through my pores and marring the lily-white paper beneath?

Wouldn’t be the first time the church cut you, a familiar voice in the back of my mind utters.

Yes, but they’ve always been there to stitch you back up. You just need to have faith, his ever-present counterpart retorts. 

I know what you’re thinking. This dude is crazy. I’m not. I don’t actually hear voices. They’re only little versions of my subconscious—punks who like to rear up and cause problems in my life at the most inopportune times. Ever since I turned in my mission papers, they seem to have taken permanent residence in my head—like those old cartoons I used to watch, the ones with an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. The church would refer to them as the Holy Ghost and Satan.

Or, as I like to call them, Jiminy and Jafar. Growing up, I had a thing for Disney.

Shrugging off their unwelcome intrusion, I turn my attention back to the task at hand, the all-too-familiar pang of nervousness welling deep within my gut. My stomach has been in knots all afternoon. 

My family has been expecting this any day now. As soon as I pulled it out of the mailbox and saw the distinct logo in the top-left corner, I was tempted to rip into it right there, near the gutter, needing the torment of where I’d be spending the next two years of my life to end. 

My mother, of course, had different plans. The moment she realized I’d received it, she plucked it from my fingers, whisking it away into the kitchen and telling me we had to wait for my father to get home from work. Then, like the good little housewife she is, she set about making a scrumptious chicken noodle soup. My grandmother’s recipe and her mother’s before that. Also, my favorite meal on the planet. 

That brings us to the reason I’m now sitting on a kitchen stool in the middle of the living room with three smiling faces shining back at me from the sofa, the normally delicious smell of the soup now making me nauseous and forcing me to think of sweaty teenagers. 

I’ve been preparing for this day for as long as I can remember. Since I was just a kid, I knew my life was leading to this very moment. And, after years of singing songs in primary and learning lesson after lesson in priesthood meetings, it’s finally here. 

I’m going to be a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

I’m ready for this. 

I’ve been groomed for this. 

I’m going to share the truth with the people of wherever this letter sends me. 

My fingers tremble as I tear into the envelope, my family sitting across from me on the edge of the couch. My mother’s hand flies to her mouth as she watches the stark white paper slide from its temporary shelter. I know, within a week, it will be framed and hanging proudly in the hallway, right next to my brother, Taylor’s, mission call. 

“Dear Brother Barker,” I read aloud, my voice shaky as my heart hammers against my chest. 

My dad leans forward, wringing his hands in anticipation, while my mother leans her face into his shoulder as she stifles a sob. To an outsider, it might appear my parents are nervous, as if the thought of sending their nineteen-year-old son out into the world with minimal contact for two years were a terrifying idea they weren’t entirely on board with. 

Unfortunately, that isn’t the case at all. My parents are waiting with bated breath, their anticipation for me to leave eclipsed only by the joy they feel about me going in the first place. Not because they don’t love me, but because doing the Lord’s work is far more important. 

“You are hereby called to serve as a missionary at…” My words trail off, my eyes scanning the page until the bold words leap out at me. “California Los Angeles Mission.”

I must have said the words aloud because, within seconds I’m enveloped in my mother’s arms. My dad moves to join her, his broad arms circling the two of us as he whispers how happy he is for me. My little sister, Jenny, clears her throat behind me, and my mother swings her arm wide to pull her into the hug with us. 

“I’m so, so proud of you, Jaden. You’re going to receive so many blessings because of this. And you’ll bless so many people in return,” my mother says as she squeezes me tight. 

Her arms drop suddenly, and she pulls away from me, her eyes shining, as she says, “I need to go call Taylor. He was so sad he couldn’t be here today. Poor little Maddy has another ear infection, and they didn’t want to ruin your special day with a crying infant. But he made me promise to call as soon as we knew where you were going. So, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few phone calls to make.”

She practically dances out of the room, my dad close on her heels as he reminds her of a few other people who need to hear the good news. 

Left alone with only my little sister, I glance down at Jenny, her ten-year-old face beaming up at me. 

“I can’t wait until I’m old enough to go on a mission! Are you excited?” Her squeaky voice breaks on the last word. 

I smile at her, nodding my head in the most self-assured way I can manage. 

This should be the most exciting day of my life. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, and every detail of this day has gone exactly according to plan. My mom’s happy tears, my dad’s joyous words. Heck, I don’t even have to learn another language at the training center. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of.

So, why does it feel like I’m living a lie?
A military brat growing up, A.S. Tucker now resides in Utah with her loving husband. When not writing, you’ll find her reading, binge watching Netflix, or drinking wine. Her three favorite things are animals, coffee, and Harry Potter, not necessarily in that order. She is the author of three other novels, published under a different pen name. She loves hearing from her readers, so please drop her a line! 

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Lying Eyes by Robert Winter: Cover Reveal and Excerpt

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Title:  Lying Eyes

Author: Robert Winter

Publisher:  Robert Winter Books (self-published)

Release Date: July 7, 2017

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 84300

Genre: Romance, Mystery, BDSM

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This bartender’s art lies in more than mixing drinks …

Randy Vaughan is a six-foot-three mass of mysteries to his customers and his friends. Why does a former Secret Service agent now own Mata Hari, a successful piano bar? Where did a muscle daddy get his passion for collecting fine art? If he’s as much a loner as his friends believe, why does he crave weekly sessions at an exclusive leather club?

Randy’s carefully private life unravels when Jack Fraser, a handsome art historian from England, walks into his bar, anxious to get his hands on a painting Randy owns. The desperation Randy glimpses in whiskey-colored eyes draws him in, as does the desire to submit that he senses beneath Jack’s elegant, driven exterior.

While wrestling with his attraction to Jack, Randy has to deal with a homeless teenager, a break-in at Mata Hari, and Jack’s relentless pursuit of the painting called Sunrise. It becomes clear someone’s lying to Randy. Unless he can figure out who and why, he may miss his chance at the love he’s dreamed about in the hidden places of his heart.

Note: Lying Eyes is a standalone gay romance novel with consensual bondage and a strong happy ending. It contains potential spoilers for Robert Winter’s prior novel, Every Breath You Take.

 

Saturday rolled around, and Randy headed to town early to make sure everything was ready for Mata Hari’s busiest evening of the week. Although the bar officially opened at five-thirty, it was rare for anyone to wander in much before seven o’clock. Randy was surprised when the front door opened at six to admit a good-looking man.

The stranger was probably about five foot nine or ten, and wore a three-piece suit that seemed tailored to accentuate a lean build. His dark hair was cut stylishly short on the sides but thick and swept back on the top, and his mustache and full beard were closely trimmed. A brightly colored necktie contrasted with the somber gray of his suit. Randy had trouble assessing the man’s age, but he would go with thirty. European, though—Randy would stake the bar on that guess.

The newcomer contemplated the walls of Mata Hari, passing almost dismissively over the art on display. He studied each piece for no more than a second before moving to the next, but Randy had a distinct impression the man sought something in particular. As he completed his survey, he kept turning and eventually met Randy’s eyes across the bar.

Immediately desire flared in the man’s face as his hungry gaze drifted over Randy’s tight white shirt and up to his face, lingering on his mouth. Shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly as he drew himself to his full height, yet Randy recognized a softening of hard edges. He lazily ran his own eyes to the stranger’s luxurious beard, and he imagined stroking the softness there. He sensed something accommodating. Something potentially submissive, yet more subtle than the wanton displays of obedience and posing he was used to on Mondays at his private club.

Something he would enjoy channeling and rewarding, in the right circumstance.

The man started toward the bar. As he moved, Randy had the odd sense that the suit he wore was ill-fitting, even though it seemed perfectly tailored. A step away from the bar, his face just—closed. That was the only word for it. One instant he was cruising Randy; the next he was stone.

Randy sighed to himself. The guy was probably a closet case on his first night at a gay bar. That usually meant an unsatisfying encounter, even if the newbie didn’t rabbit. In any case, it wasn’t Randy’s thing. He’d had plenty of virgin ass over the years, and preferred his men experienced.

Fine. Nothing for me here. He waited at the bar, vaguely disappointed.

“Sir, good evening.” The man’s accent was English, his words precise and elegant like his hair and his clothes and his beard. Probably from London. Up close, Randy could see his eyes were a deep shade of brown graced with streaks of gold around the pupils that caught the lights over the bar. “I’m looking for a Mr. Randall Vaughan.”

Despite forswearing his immediate attraction to the stranger, that honeyed voice caused Randy to smile slowly and show his teeth. He registered the slight widening of the eyes behind the stranger’s mask as he focused on Randy’s mouth.

“I’m Randy Vaughan. And you are…?”

The man blinked in surprise. “Oh. The Mr. Vaughan I was seeking is an art collector.”

Shit. Just another jerkwad, making assumptions right away. Randy was a big man so he couldn’t possibly be knowledgeable about art, could he? Well, fuck that noise. One more chance.

“I wouldn’t use the term collector, but…” Randy gestured at the walls.

“Quite so,” the man said distantly, and turned to sweep his gaze over the works on the nearest wall. “Neither would I.”

Randy’s back stiffened immediately. The stranger—no, the asshole—turned his attention back to Randy and held out a hand. He seemed oblivious to the fact that he’d just royally pissed Randy off. “My name is Jack Fraser. I’m from the Kensington Museum in London.” Fraser paused as if waiting for Randy to be impressed. “I sent you a letter recently.”

Randy willed himself not to think further about Fraser’s whiskey-colored eyes or the luxuriousness of his beard, and he didn’t take the offered hand. Instead, he wiped a small spill on the counter before him. “You did,” he agreed in a bored tone.

Fraser dropped his hand. “Ah, yes.” A pause. “My secretary didn’t hear from you to set up an appointment.”

“Which was my answer to your request,” Randy said, letting some snarl appear as he met Fraser’s eyes. They were still guarded and closed off, but Randy could see embers burning deep inside. In the right setting, and with proper motivation, he could imagine making those embers flare and ignite in the slender man before him. For the moment, though, the eyes just narrowed in calculation.

Before Fraser could say anything, Randy turned away. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

“May I buy a pint?” Fraser asked, desperation shading his smooth accent.

Randy considered calling Malcolm over to deal with it, but stopped in front of the beer taps. He was annoyed at his lingering attraction, and he decided to push back on this prick a bit. “Fine. What’s your pleasure?”

“Guinness. If you have it.”

“Of course you’d drink Guinness.” A little scorn curled Randy’s lip. “Well, the closest beer I have is a stout from Flying Dog.” He let his sneer turn feral. “It’s called Pearl Necklace.” He dropped his eyes to Fraser’s necktie, as if he could picture that very thing replacing the colorful silk.

Fraser blinked nervously. Probably he could picture it too. Maybe he even imagined Randy’s hot jizz splattering his chest and neck as his reward. Well, he shouldn’t have been a condescending shit out of the gate then. Randy waited, one hand on the tap, the other idly scratching his ear to make his bicep flex under his white shirt. Fraser focused on his arm and swallowed audibly.

“That’ll be fine,” he said. “A, uh, Flying Dog then.” Randy drew the pint to set before Fraser on a coaster. He didn’t wait for the man to take a sip or comment, but headed to the other end of the bar to check inventory.

He stayed busy but somehow noticed that Fraser lingered at the bar for several minutes, apparently hoping Randy would come back and let him ask again about the piece Randy had purchased from the Gates Gallery. When Randy deliberately kept his distance, Fraser took his beer (which, Randy was pleased to note, was more than half gone) and wandered around the room to examine more carefully each painting displayed. Sometimes he moved on quickly to the next piece of art. Other times, he gave a slight shake of his head.

Randy’s ears burned, and he considered throwing the guy out. Since he’d opened Mata Hari no one had given him grief about his collection. To be honest, no one had studied it the way Fraser did, but still. Each piece had been acquired because Randy connected to something in it. To have this handsome English stuffed shirt look down his nose offended Randy in a way he couldn’t even articulate. He seethed inside the longer Fraser spent on his dismissive tour of the room.

When Fraser reached a landscape that was hung over a small settee, he gave a distinct snort. He set his empty beer glass on a nearby table and Randy swooped over to pick it up, ostentatiously swiping the wood as if it had left a ring. “Another Pearl Necklace?” he snarled.

“Ah, no. Thank you.” Fraser seemed surprised to find Randy standing so close, though his eyes remained closed off and stony. “But it was a quite nice stout after all. Thank you for the recommendation.”

Randy gestured at the landscape with his chin. “Is that painting offensive to you for some reason? You’re practically laughing at it.”

“What? Oh no, it’s…fine. Competent. It’s the presentation, the arrangement of the art, that I find amusing.”

Randy ran his gaze over the pieces arranged on that wall of the bar. He’d decided where to hang each and every work over a long stretch of time as he’d readied Mata Hari for opening. He revisited the collection frequently and rotated different pieces in and out of prominent positions. Most of his customers were oblivious but Randy took great satisfaction in presenting something unique in the atmosphere of his bar.

“What’s amusing about it?”

“Well, there’s no story, is there?” Fraser answered him.

“What do you mean?”

“Individually each piece is presentable. A few are even intriguing. But see here,” he gestured at the landscape, “this is a nicely executed pastoral, yet it’s positioned between a Japanese scroll and a watercolor of a monarch butterfly. The pieces say nothing about each other, and have no intrinsic relationship.

“But over there,” he indicated the wall opposite, “is a modern landscape. Change the frames to something complementary, place them side by side, and the two landscapes together suggest a conversation in, oh, quite a lot actually. Painting techniques, the subject and tonal changes in works separated by two artistic traditions. You see?”

Randy did see, but he’d be damned if he’d admit it. “Two landscapes here wouldn’t fit,” he said stubbornly.

“Ah. Art as furniture. Of course,” Fraser said with a smirk, and that did it.

“No charge for the Pearl Necklace,” Randy barked. “Since you made the trip for nothing.”

 

Robert Winter lives and writes in Provincetown. He is a recovering lawyer who prefers writing about hot men in love much more than drafting a legal brief. He left behind the (allegedly) glamorous world of an international law firm to sit in his home office and dream up ways to torment his characters until they realize they are perfect for each other.

When he isn’t writing, Robert likes to cook Indian food and explore new restaurants. He splits his attention between Andy, his partner of sixteen years, and Ling the Adventure Cat, who likes to fly in airplanes and explore the backyard jungle as long as the temperature and humidity are just right.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | eMail

 

 

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Who We Truly Are by Victoria Sue: EXCLUSIVE Cover Reveal, Excerpt and 2 Giveaways

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**We are so excited to bring you the Exclusive Cover Reveal of Who We Truly Are by the amazing Victoria Sue!!!! When you get to read the book next month (release date is 7/14), you will see how much this cover reflects the story. Check out the extended excerpt, and TWO giveaways. Thank you to Victoria Sue for stopping by for some fun with us!

 

Talon’s deadly abilities are spiraling out of control. Desperate to keep Finn safe, Talon struggles to protect the man he loves with all his heart, and not become the greatest risk to Finn’s life.

Finn has no choice but to offer himself as bait for the evil forces kidnapping enhanced children, facing danger he is untrained and unprepared for, and he is having to do it alone.

Does Talon have one last fight in him? Will he slay everyone who wants to destroy Finn and the team, or will he finally discover that to defeat their enemy and the ultimate threat, the biggest battle he has to face is one with himself?

Dreamspinner Press

 

Release Date: July 14, 2017

And until Who We Truly Are comes out, Five Minutes Longer is only $2.99 (begins 6/13)!!!!! So grab it here, now!

 

 

 

 

 

 

An extended excerpt from Who We Truly Are:

“Absolutely no fucking way.” Talon nearly overturned the desk he sat behind in his hurry to get to his feet.

Here we go…. Finn ignored Gael’s and Vance’s smirks at Talon’s reaction to the news Gregory had just delivered, and tried to concentrate, since he’d been too distracted by the real possibility he would starve to death.

“Talon—” Gregory started.

“He’s been here two fucking months—and half of that time, in the damn hospital. He’s just successfully demonstrated the perp would have to be fucking standing still for him to get a shot off—”

Finn closed his eyes and slid down his chair, desperately willing the heat he could feel climbing up his neck not to reach his cheeks. The hospital had been a complete exaggeration. Two weeks in total, tops. Well, okay, twice he’d been in for concussions. And there had been the black eye when Vance got a little enthusiastic on the mats, and then there was the broken nose last week when the perp had swung at him and Finn hadn’t gotten out of the way in time, but he hadn’t been admitted for either of those.

This morning was the first time he’d had to try for a moving target. He practiced at the outside shooting facility they called “the Farm” most days, and he thought he was getting quite good. Then they’d set the fake hostage situation up, expecting Finn to do better, and it had gone worse than the target practice.

Fucking enhanced. They thought they were so damned perfect.

“He’s perfect,” Gregory yelled back at Talon, and Finn started, shocked his boss agreed with him. He wasn’t about to miss any compliments. “He can absolutely pass for seventeen,” Gregory added, and Finn gaped in horror.

Seventeen? What had he missed?

“I-I’m twenty-four,” he stuttered out, wondering how he’d managed to lose the entire thread of the conversation.

“And you’re still the only one on the team who can go undercover in one of the new group homes.”

Finn’s jaw dropped as he stared at his boss. He was going undercover? Like real, honest to God… undercover? Finn’s gaze dropped to the floor, and he breathed out slowly. He didn’t think he would earn any respect by jumping to his feet, fist pumping and shouting his excitement, which he desperately wanted to do. This was his chance to be an active member of the team and earn some respect. He glanced cautiously at Talon, who was still arguing with Gregory.

“You obviously won’t be going to Glynco tomorrow, but I will rearrange that when this op is done,” Gregory continued, ignoring the outburst from Talon.

His team leader—his boyfriend—wasn’t exactly showing a lot of faith in his abilities, and as the only regular human on the team, he had a lot to prove. Finn half smiled at his own words. Regular. An ordinary human being, unlike the rest of his teammates, who were all enhanced. Humans who had changed suddenly around adolescence and got kickass abilities, such as speaking every known language without ever having to learn them like Gael, or setting things on fire just because he thought about it like Eli.

“And there is one obvious problem,” Sawyer piped up.

Oh good, Finn thought. Only one?

“He doesn’t have a mark?” Gregory guessed correctly, and Sawyer shrugged.

Finn stared at Gregory and gave Sawyer grudging points for stating the obvious. The US had originally panicked when the first kids were born with superabilities because, while some of the abilities were quite cool, like the Superman strength Vance had, a lot of them were downright deadly, like Talon’s. The public had calmed down mainly because the enhanced were so easily identifiable. They all had the mark Gregory mentioned, and despite various attempts, none of them could get rid of it.

“We know that marks cannot be covered successfully for more than a matter of minutes, but we can very easily add one.”

“Add one?” Finn blurted out. “I didn’t know that.” He ignored the dark look Talon sent him.

“It’s only something that’s just occurred to us that might be useful,” Gregory admitted.

“Yeah,” drawled Eli, “because who the fuck would want one of these?”

Finn didn’t know what to be more shocked at: that he was getting the chance to contribute, or that the normally silent Eli had spoken.

“We have a makeup artist who has been working with us,” Gregory said, “and Finn is the only one on the team who can do this.”

Finn nodded eagerly. He was desperate for the chance to actually do some work. “What would I be doing?”

“Not a damn thing,” Talon snapped.

“Sit down, Talon, and let me explain,” Gregory huffed out. Talon glowered at Finn as if daring him to reply, and Finn pointedly focused on Agent Gregory. “Let me go back a little. There are still no genetic markers that tell us if kids are likely to transform.”

Finn knew this. If ever an older sibling transformed and the families agreed, the younger ones would be subject to a barrage of tests until after adolescence. There had been a few cases where a younger brother had transformed, but so far there was still no scientific reason for it.

“We actually know very few definites,” Gregory said. “All enhanced children ever born are male, and the incidents are restricted to the US.”

“And there’s never going to be any baby Gaels running around,” Gael interrupted, his scarred face twisting as the skin pulled awkwardly in humor.

“So there are benefits, then.” Vance chuckled as Gael flipped him off, though he smiled at the teasing.

All enhanced were sterile, something the papers had made a meal of about fifteen years ago when the news headlined. Many people thought the knowledge that the enhanced couldn’t reproduce made the rest of the population breathe a little easier because they weren’t suddenly going to be outnumbered.

Gregory had made them go talk at a couple of high schools since they’d become celebrities after Gael saved a judge from being shot. Of all of them, Gael had been the most enthusiastic about going to the schools. It had to hurt that he would never have kids of his own.

Gael had been all over the news because he’d put his life on the line to protect a guy who was vocal in his dislike of the enhanced and thought they were a threat. The papers had loved it and eaten it up. Finn hadn’t been to either school visits, since the first time he had been in the emergency room when Vance nearly flattened him, and the second had been because of his nose.

He winced. Maybe Talon had a point. His timing sucked anyway.

“What about Drew?” Talon asked.

Finn gaped. Drew? Talon thought Drew would do a better job than him? The knowledge settled heavily in his gut.

“Drew would never pass for seventeen,” Gregory argued.

“That’s true, boss,” Vance agreed. Talon glowered. “How many other recruits get sent undercover after being given eight weeks training?”

Gregory sighed. “Do you remember one of the foster kids who disappeared last year—Dale Smith?”

Sawyer frowned. “Yes. We’ve never been able to find any trace. He has an older brother who turned eighteen in December and aged out of the system, but he hasn’t had any contact either.”

Gregory opened a file on his desk and passed around some photographs. Finn paled when he saw what they were. Tattered clothes lay in shreds on top of a skeleton. “The remains of what has been identified as Dale Smith’s body were found last month buried in a shallow grave on the Westside Trail on the Atlanta BeltLine when they were clearing old tracks. We have been unable to identify a cause of death as of yet. This has been brought to our attention finally because yesterday police were called to a boarded-up house in old Port Tampa. The house was empty and showed no sign of being lived in, with the exception of the storeroom. That’s where they found the body of another enhanced.”

“Did we know him?” Talon asked.

Gregory shook his head. “We haven’t been able to identify him. ME says a young adult and showed signs of physical abuse. He was emaciated, and the ME says he was basically starved to death. None of the previously registered occupants of the house are alive.” He paused. “The cops have found signs of access, but the whole place is derelict. This is where we come in and how it may be related to Dale Smith.” Gregory passed another photograph around.

Finn stared at the picture. It was Dale Smith, taken before he developed the mark, likely a school photograph.

“If you remember, Dale Smith was being attacked and beaten by his stepfather when the cops were called. His mom was a crack addict, and the so-called stepfather her pimp. Dale was removed for his own safety, but the car the cops were driving crashed. Both cops were knocked unconscious and Dale ran off. The cops had no memory of anything after leaving the house. No one has been able to locate Dale Smith.”

“And apart from their enhanced status, how are they related?” Gael asked.

“Because the photograph of Dale was found in the storeroom with the other dead male.”

Everyone was silent.

“Our focus right now is on the foster home and the missing kids. The past murders are being investigated separately. I want you to make sure no other kids vanish. You have complete access to any and all information on both victims, and you will be kept up-to-date with any new information.” Finn risked a look at Talon, who had stopped objecting when Gregory passed the photographs around.

“You should know that the powers that be, who wanted the enhanced children taken away from their parents for the parents’ safety, are now talking about removing the kids for their own safety.”

“Very clever,” Gael said sardonically.

“And as of this morning, we have another problem,” Gregory said. “Two more kids have disappeared.”

The room was silent again.

“Where from?” Talon ground out.

Gregory looked pointedly at Finn, and suddenly Finn didn’t need telling. The home. They had disappeared from the foster home. Finn swallowed. It was shit, complete shit. One of the things they were all hoping for was that kids with the mark didn’t get treated like baggage. They were only removed from the parents if the parents couldn’t cope. And that was why they were all here. It wasn’t as simple as just a specialized crime-fighting team. It was all about perception. The school visits were all about hope. Hope that the enhanced kids would be accepted and that they had a future.

Finn remembered Vance telling him about the day he’d woken up with the mark. “And just like that, my life was over.”

Except it wasn’t, and for all the kids, it was up to their team to make sure of that.

 

And now for the Cover Reveal….

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Leave a comment; congratulate Victoria Sue on her cover reveal, let her know what you think about the excerpt, or just say hi and you could win a copy of any of Victoria’s backlist. 🙂

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Patron by C.B. Lewis: Exclusive Cover Reveal, Excerpt and Giveaway

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I’m C.B. Lewis and I’m delighted to be revealing the cover of my forthcoming novella, Patron.

I’ve always been a bit of a history geek and Patron was the first time I’ve really  had the chance to play so extensively with a couple of my favourite eras: Ancient Greece and Victorian England. As you can see, Blake did an amazing job with the cover, intertwining the eras in question.

If you have a hankering for Victorian Philhellenes (yay Greek-geeks) or a hint of the supernatural or a bit of both, this may be the book you’re looking for.

Theodore Wentworth, who possesses little more than a sharp and well-educated mind, is trying to solicit a sponsor for his studies of Greek antiquity by performing recitations at gatherings of collectors. Desperate for luck and better skills in oratory, in jest, he places a coin at the feet of a statue of Hermes. It seems like coincidence when his fortune turns and a gentleman calling himself Alexander becomes his benefactor. Despite his friend John teasing him about it, Theodore continues to offer tokens to Hermes and sinks himself into his study of the classics.

Alexander encourages Theodore’s interest, prompting Theodore to face desires he tried to put aside years before. As Theodore embraces the knowledge, he must also resist his attraction to Alexander—knowing his feelings are a serious crime in Victorian England.

But the secret Alexander keeps will change everything in a love story for the ages, steeped in taboo, temptation, history, and myth.

 

TCO Side Note: I LOVE this cover!!!!!

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Dreamspinner Press

 

The lamps were burning, thin coils of smoke winding toward the corniced ceiling. The soft glow illuminated the blank faces of masks and statues in their cases, the shadows stretching and shifting eerily around them.

One could almost imagine they were alive and watching.

Theodore squeezed the shilling in his hand. Making an offering to a statue was superstitious nonsense. He wasn’t in some pillared temple in Athens, and the gods certainly weren’t listening. It was all old-fashioned hokum, yet in the silence of the grand display room of Sir Thomas Drake’s London townhouse, it felt like something else.

One of the statues had his full attention.

Perhaps it had eyes once. Now the fall of the light left only darkness over a curved smile that seemed part threat, part promise. It should have been inconsequential, a slight youth who looked younger than Theodore himself. The figure held a staff in one hand, its other hand upraised, beckoning. Wings sprouted from its heels.

Hermes, the messenger, among many other titles.

Theodore glanced toward the doors. They would come for him soon, and, Lord, if he was intent on this nonsense—and outright blasphemy, if the Good Book was to be believed—then he had best make a start of it before it was too late.

The shilling gleamed in his palm, and he swallowed hard. What was the worst that could happen? Save being struck by the wrath of God—who didn’t like it much when his good English gentlemen toddled off to throw in their lot with the Greek pantheon—he supposed the worst was that Drake and his fellows would find out and he would be a laughingstock.

He set his jaw, then reached down among the statues and laid the coin at the feet of Hermes.

A book-lover from infancy, C.B. has been writing and telling stories for as long as she can remember. Based in Edinburgh, she has diverse tastes and will quite happily attempt to write any genre, but always come back to history, fantasy, and sci-fi like an old friend. C. B. Lewis is small and Scottish and can often be spotted perched around historical monuments with her notepad and pen.

She has been writing and telling tales for almost as long as she can remember, and has a brain that constantly fizzes with an abundance of ideas. If she’s not working on half a dozen things at once, it should be considered a slow day. She loves to travel and just has one continent left to complete her travel bingo card. A lot of the travel has also been research-based, and if pointed at any historical event, she will research it vociferously, just because she can.

Normally, she is based in Edinburgh, where she tends toward the hermit-lifestyle, needing nothing but a kettle, a constant supply of tea, and – of course – the internet. There are no cats, no puppies, no significant others, only a lot of ideas, and an awful lot of typing. And occasionally, cake. Never forget the cake.


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Ties That Bind by S. Davidson: Cover Reveal and Excerpt

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Title: The Ties that Bind
Author: S. Davidson
Genre: M/M Fiction
Release Date: June 1, 2017
Cover Art: Rue Volley
Editor: EAL Editing Service
Publisher: Encompass Ink Publishing


Flashback 1990’s – Rollerblades, bungee jumping, the laptop, cellular phones the size of bricks, and AIDS – the gay men’s cancer

This is a story about love, friendship, and family. It is a story about growing up, about trying to change the past and the realization that no matter how fast, or how far we run, that The Ties That Bind us as children, many times come back to haunt us as adults.

We become part of the life of a young counselor, Morgan, who specializes working with homeless, male hustlers. He seems like an angel from heaven to many. He cares deeply for every one of his boys and would literally die to save them from harm. He deprives himself of life’s basic needs in order to reach just one more, but why?

Morgan has his own agenda to work out, his own demons to exorcise. While avoiding his own past, he meets a particular young man, Greg, who is able to see through this well-crafted, public image. Greg sees Morgan’s pain and denial. It is in this discovery, this role reversal that Greg, a life-long hustler begins to heal himself. He helps Morgan come to terms with his own violent past. Greg becomes his strength, the knife to cut the rope and release the guilt Morgan has denied for years. Just as they both begin to heal, Greg discovers the truth.

The Ties That Bind can sometimes be very restricting but many times we find that The Ties That Bind can also provide our strength.

The Ties That Bind are necessary for the sustenance of life.

“I do have something else to tell you about. Don’t yell at me, okay? He, um, turned nineteen a few weeks ago,” Brice said quickly.

 

“Nineteen!” Morgan blew, swerving to avoid hitting the car in front of him. “Nineteen? What are you trying to do to me, Brice? Put me out of business? First, you tell me he needs to be watched. Then you tell me he is going to stay with you, in your one-bedroom apartment. Then you tell me he’s at least two years older than any of the kids we take! If I didn’t know better, I would think you wanted a playmate! These kids are hustlers, Brice. They have one thing on their minds! If this kid is even left in a room alone with any of the other boys, I’ve got to deal with a ‘contributing to the delinquency of a minor’ charge or he’s hit with a statutory rape charge! When it involves two boys under my roof, I’m out of work and in jail as fast as City Hall can do it. Don’t you realize they are always looking for a way to shut me down as it is? I bet you made a promise to Carol that I would take him, too! What in the hell were you thinking about, Brice?”

 

“I read your file on him.” Brice remained perfectly calm. “Morgan, you taught me to never give up on a kid, no matter how hard it was. You’ve got pages written on him. Your last entry was over six months ago. Morgan, its Gregory Wescott,” Brice said.

 

Shelly always had a goal to get a book in print. Well, that goal has been met. Another coming June 1, 2017, and one more still in the works. Always finding writing to be a way to escape into another world, M/M fiction is her passion and causing her beautiful boys a bit of agony is just what she does. None of her characters are flawless and most are pretty damn messed up! But they always persist, always try to be the best men they can be and hopefully find a kindred spirit along the way.

Shelly is a mother, grandmother, and has a Bachelor’s in Social Services. Come on over to her Facebook page for current and upcoming release info. While she doesn’t post about what she’s having for dinner or what movie she’s watching, she will give you info on her writing when there is news to share. Just remember, no matter who you are or what beliefs you practice, love is love and we all deserve to love.

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