Fantasy

LGBTQ+ Storytelling and a thriller from Patrick R. Field #Paranormal #Fantasy #LGBTQ+

On the fifteenth of every month I write a column on LGBTQ+ romance at the Sweet ‘n Sexy Divas blog. Today my guest is Patrick R. Field, with his latest release, Servant.

Here’s what readers are saying about this book:

“Finally, a story where a gay couple’s biggest issue ISN’T being gay.”

“It’s really gratifying to see a gay couple as the lead characters in a book who just ‘happen to be gay, and not a main plot point. Refreshing and a welcome addition to the gay fiction genre.”

I hope for a future in which what is true for this book can be true for all of us – that variations in sexual orientation are normal, unremarkable, and valued.

Head on over to his post to find out more:

https://sweetnsexydivas.blogspot.com/2023/12/lgbtq-storytelling-servant-by-patrick-r.html

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New Release! The Endless Sea Between Us, by Lucy Mason. #LGBTQ #Fantasy #Witch #Mermaid #F/F

Title: The Endless Sea Between Us

Author: Lucy Mason

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/31/2023

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 66600

Genre: Fantasy, Romance, family-drama, witch, mermaid, magic, prince, quest, body swap

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Description

Five years ago, Faeryn Moss lost her family and home to a plague that swept her village. As the sole survivor, she was rumored to be a witch—a rumor she never denied because it was the truth. Ostracized and cast out in fear, she now lives a quiet life in a cave on the beach, alone with her magic and the only thing that never let her down, the only thing she loves: the sea. But when she sings up a storm borne from her grief in order to collect a net full of the sea’s treasure, she gets more than she bargained for. There’s a mermaid tangled within it.

Zale, washed into the net by the storm, is full of questions about humanity. Banished from her society for rescuing a drowning human, all she wants is a chance on land to start over. Seeing an opportunity for both of them to get what they want, Faeryn creates a transmutation rune—but as they go from reluctant allies to something else and Zale thaws Faeryn’s frosty heart, they struggle with what’s more important…their chance at a new beginning or their budding romance.

Everything changes when the kingdom’s witch-hunting prince decides to take Zale as a member of the royal court and the potential future queen against her will. Faeryn must follow her across the sea so their transmutation rune can be completed by the next full moon or risk losing her love and her life to the very magic she cherishes.

Excerpt

The Endless Sea Between Us
Lucy Mason © 2023
All Rights Reserved

Faeryn

The seaside village of Acantha was convinced the only way a girl could be the sole survivor in a house struck down by plague was if she was either a witch or was cursed. Little did they know, the village stopped thriving not because I had survived but because my mother hadn’t. Not all witches wove spells of bad intention; she blessed the town all her life, ensuring good fortune, plentiful crops, and favorable weather. She spent my first thirteen years murmuring words of protection, resilience, and well-being over me before kissing my forehead and telling me good night. It was the only thing that saved me—I had no proof, but I knew it as sure as I knew her blood, witch’s blood, ran in my veins.

The village had burned my house—and several others—to the ground to keep the plague from spreading, though I had saved and hidden my mother’s references and spell books. Where she had closely guarded her secret, I never denied their assertions about my magic, even as the threat of witch-hunts spread outward from the capital like a deadly ripple. I had been encouraged to move along to another town. I had not-so-respectfully declined and went about my business, because if Acantha was going to hate and fear me, I was going to give them a reason to do so. If they wanted a villain, a pariah, I’d give them one.

I rebuilt my life in a cave off the beach, only venturing to town for Wednesday market to buy goods I couldn’t procure myself and sell the gifts the sea brought me. I hoarded my blessings and spells; I used them to keep myself dry and warm, to carve runes in the stone to conceal the entrance and entice fish to swim into the small pool that filled every time the tide rose and trapped them when it fell.

I occasionally used magic for less scrupulous things—but only when I had to. The sea gladly turned over its riches to me, and I didn’t care to take advantage of it, but sometimes money was a necessity. So, on the afternoon of my eighteenth birthday, I whispered words of dryness and care, dipping my fingertips into the small dish of ground seashells and the ash of burned driftwood and running them over the fabric of my dress and up and down the leather of my boots. I marched down to the beach clutching my net, a giant thing I’d made myself, hours and hours spent weaving golden thread—bounty, vitality, security—into the hundreds of knots holding the ropes together.

I waded into the water, to my knees, then my hips, then my chest. The waves washed in and out, and I felt the current—but remained dry. I swam out and tied the net to a buoy I had anchored there, then attached the other end to a buoy farther down the beach. I ducked under, my eyes stinging, and traced a symbol like a bow, for closure, capture, finality. It glowed briefly then faded, pulsing very dimly in the murky depths. There wasn’t much I could do below the surface; runes were always more effective when they were imbued with the intention of spoken words.

My waterproofing charm was wearing off—drips of water collected in my boots and my skirts clung to my legs, not wet yet but just faintly damp. The first five or six times I’d done this, I had come out looking like a drowned sailor, my hair in dripping snarls and my boots so heavy with water I could hardly walk. Practice, time, and patience had improved me—I stood on the beach and lifted my arms and whispered. The little droplets of water clinging to me and dampening my dress evaporated.

If I was the heedless nightmare they feared, I would do the next step without warning the villagers. Instead, I made the quarter hour’s walk into town. Well, I say town—it was really nothing more than a small cluster of houses, a blacksmith, a tavern, a butcher, and a cobblestone square for the market to set up in while vendors passed through. The children, towheaded and wide-eyed, dared each other to get close to me. They huddled together and whispered, “It’s the sea witch! She’ll turn you into an eel!” as I walked past them. I kept my eyes straight ahead on my way to the blacksmith’s shop, barely able to resist the urge to lunge and hiss and make them scream in terror. My mother would be disappointed to know I had done it before; my father would have been delighted. I’d inherited my temperament and inability to suffer superstitious fools from him.

Someone had started the rumor that if children misbehaved, I’d drag them down to my seaside cave and turn them into a fish—or worse, eat them. It was meant to make little ones behave, to come inside when their mothers called them, but I had never exactly refuted the outrageous claim. Sometimes fear was a powerful tool. It was the only thing keeping them from attacking me—the only thing keeping them quiet.

The tall, gawky apprentice at the blacksmith’s was bent over the forge, his dark hair stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat. He was one of the few who didn’t find me frightening; he facilitated most of my communication with Acantha at large. His family had been my family’s neighbors until the sickness took my mother and father, when they had retreated to the far end of Acantha to escape contamination. We had played together as children. He still had the friendly, cheerful manner and sweet disposition of a boy who hadn’t lost everything, though, and the loss of my parents hung like a veil between us. A veil he couldn’t see or feel, but one I was always painfully aware of.

“Owen.”

He didn’t startle or turn to look at me, a gentle clink from the fire as he withdrew a piece of metal glowing cherry red. Once he quenched it in a barrel of water, clouds of steam billowing around us, he coughed, clearing the air with his hand. Through the haze I could see his hopeful grin.

“Faeryn! What can I do for you today?”

“There’ll be a squall tonight.”

His face fell, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes fading with his smile. “Oh. Okay. Natural, or…?”

“Unnatural. Only rain will touch the town. I can keep the winds confined to the beach. Spread the word. Don’t let anyone wander down there, and don’t let any boats near the water.”

Owen tossed his thick, sturdy gloves onto his workbench. “Thank you for the warning. I’ll let everyone know. You don’t have to go just yet. Would you like some tea?”

His master wouldn’t be wild about the idea of a witch in his workshop. Eckhart disliked me as much, if not more, than most other villagers. Owen was his at-will employee; catching him in my company could be the end of his promising career. So I shook my head, because it was a lonely life, but I wouldn’t let him take the fall. The village had turned its back on me when I’d been orphaned, and if I’d made it this long on my own, I wouldn’t let a boy pity me for it.

“If you change your mind, I always have a pot brewing.”

“I’m afraid Eckhart wouldn’t be terribly pleased to find me here…or that you’d shared his tea with me. The answer is still no.” Every time he asked, and every time I refused. The days of playing together were long gone; too much grief had gone under the bridge since then.

He frowned, a little wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. “Someday I’ll be a proper blacksmith, not just an apprentice, and you can come in whenever you like. Eckhart doesn’t have any say in what I do after work, though. Tea later?”

I backed away, exasperated. “I said no. Good day, Owen.”

“Goodbye, Faeryn! I’ll see you later!” he called after me, and I ran for the beach, away from him and the people who had turned their backs on me and my family, my boots kicking up small clouds of dust on the path. It was easier to cling to the bitterness that kept me afloat than drown in the sorrow.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Lucy lives in rural southern Illinois with a frankly ridiculous amount of yarn and books. During the day she works in adult education and by night she’s a writer and dabbler in yarncrafts. She knits, loves video games and podcasts, and cries over fictional characters regularly.

Website | Twitter

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Guest Post – Character Interview with The Shadowdancer @Libraryoferana #Fantasycharacter #darkfantasy #Fantasy #Meetacharacter

INTERVIEW

CHARACTER NAME: You can call me The Shadowdancer

  • Tell us a little about yourself.

How do you know I’ll tell you the truth? In fact how do you know what is the truth? It’s such a fluidic term.

I am the shadows, they obey me. I am he who walks unseen, unheard. I am he who brings swift death and then is gone. I am he who serves none but the Oncoming Storm.

  • Tell us why you’re embarking on this adventure?

My master the Oncoming Storm wishes it and so I wish it to be so.

We help those who cannot help themselves, we bring a freedom, of sorts in a land where freedom is sold to those who have the gold to buy it. We remove monsters, and those who inconvenience our plans.

We free elves – for they have no freedom, we rescue where we can and avenge where we cannot rescue.

  • Do you have a moral code? If so, what might it be?

*Laughs. I have killed more people than I can remember – men, women, even children once or twice for mercy, I have slain monsters and I have brought death to the highborn and the lowborn alike. There is no lock, cell or door in the whole of Erana that can keep out the Shadowdancer if he wants ingress. The laws of Erana mean nothing to me, I am beyond the law for I have no law.

Those who are my allies have my unwavering loyalty and the sharpness of my blades. Those who are my enemies – fear the shadows – for there I may be.

  • Do you believe in magic and the gods?

I am an adept – I use a magic of sorts although I am not a spellcaster.

Magic in Erana is complex, it goes where it will and shows itself in many forms. I am fast, faster than most, I can use the darkness and the shadows to cloak myself. If I do not wish to be seen, then I am not seen unless the looker is another adept or already knows someone is there.

I am not pious, I’m far too cynical to be a zealot but I pay homage to the gods if I need to. Do they exist? Yes, of course but whether they bother with the lives of mortals is another matter.

  • Are you a good man? What do ‘good and evil’ mean to you.

*Laughs again. Have you not been listening?

But good and evil are such relative terms in this land. The Witch-Hunters claim they are the force of good – they ‘protect’ the population against the mages and the elves, they keep order, they ensure the roads can be travelled safely….

It’s all bullshit – they oppress the elves – elves and half-elves and anyone not human has no rights, no regress to law. If an elf is attacked in the street – the Order of Witch-Hunters will not intervene, in fact they may even arrest the elf for being an elf. Magic is illegal – sorcerers such as my master should not exist. The only good mage is a dead mage, and all that nonsense. But of course they use magic for their own devices. The best healers are magical, the best weaponsmiths and blacksmiths are magical, and the Order knows it.

My master’s lady was taken, raped and beaten almost to death because she was an elven mage. She was kept as a slave and past around her Keeper’s friends because she had no right to law, no rights as a woman to her own safety or body, and no property.

The Order rule by fear, the dissemination of lies and propaganda; they take a cut from the slavers – who kidnap elves, and sometimes humans.

And for the record – the roads are lousy. There are bandits all over Erana – outlawed men and women who either are living that way because they have no choice or who choose a modicum of freedom – at the risk of capture and death.

I kill, I steal, but I’ve never lain with a woman without her consent, I’ve never killed a mage simply because they are a mage, or dragged someone off to be a slave because it’s a lucrative business.

I’ve risked my life to save strangers, to return something which was taken from an elf widow who had nothing but a worthless trinket from her husband, I’ve poisoned lords, and slit the throats of young men barely old enough to shave because of bad choices they made.

You tell me – am I a good man or a bad one? And either way, I do not care.

  • Who is your greatest friend?

The Oncoming Storm – he is my friend, my master, my mentor and the closest person to a father I have ever known or shall know. He saved my life, educated me, brought me freedom of a sort and wealth beyond that of any other elf in this land. He is kind to those worthy of it, and deadly to those who deserve it.

I would die for him.

  • Do you believe you will be successful in your quest?

I hope so. If we fail someone will pay for that.

  • What do you do on your days off?

I like good food, good books, walking in the hills. I am an alchemist as well, so I like to make things that go boom, or make other people regret meeting me. *Grins.

  • Do you have a lover?

Are you offering?

I have Ozena, a forest elf we assisted. She’s brave, and resourceful and her unworldliness is charming. For some reason I don’t understand she thinks I’m a good man.

EXCERPT

Excerpt from The Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles – Book I

“I trust you are the chief of this band, sir, for you seem confident enough to sit apart from your fellows?”

The bandit spun around, sword drawn, to see the figure standing at ease near to him yet beyond sword reach, cloaked with the shadows swirling around his feet. “Who are you, that you come here? You yourself are confident sir considering I am armed and you do not appear to be.”

Olek laughed and somersaulted with lightning speed over the bandit’s head, kicking the sword from the fellow’s hand, toppling him in the dirt and landing with his own sword against the man’s throat.

“Appearances may be deceptive, my friend, but I do not come here as an enemy, for if it was so, you would now be in pieces.”

The other bandits formed a circle, weapons drawn, as Olek sheathed his own sword and held his hand out to help the man up. “As for who I am and why I am here, I will discuss that with you at the fire, as a friend and not surrounded by a ring of swords. Believe me in what I say when I tell you that a good deal of you would fall to my blades before I lay slain and those who did not would feel the wrath of him whom I serve. But as I say, I come here in friendship.”

The chief nodded reluctantly and the bandits sheathed their blades. “You have balls, sir, I give you that. Now perhaps you would care to join me and my companions in a beer from the barrel.” The man gestured to the fire, walked to the barrel and fetched some beer.

He sat and motioned Olek down. “You know I have killed men for less than you just did.”

Olek smiled and took the beer, saying, “I do not doubt it, but if I wanted you dead you would be now lying in the dirt with your head removed, or simply you would not wake to see the dawn. I am not honourable enough to feel remorse for killing a man in his sleep should it suit my purpose. I am known, amongst other names, as the Shadowdancer, and I come from my master with a business opportunity.” As he sat, the cowl of the cloak fell enough to reveal his pointed elven ears.

The bandit chief smiled and held out a hand. “I am honoured to meet you, your reputation precedes you. My name is Tholin. I lead this band, but what could the Shadowdancer want with a band of rogues and outcasts such as us?”

Olek waited until the man was sipping his beer before drinking his own. “Ah, well, that is a good question. I have…other business to deal with and not even I can be everywhere, thus I find it useful to have contacts…eyes and ears around that I may use. Shadows in the shadows, you might say.”

One of the other bandits approached. “How do we know this elf speaks the truth, Tholin? He uses the name of the Shadowdancer yet it could be a lie. Elves lie.”

“Well, perhaps you should take it on faith, unless you want a personal exhibition of my skills…human,” Olek said with a smile like a cat.

The man drew his sword. “Sure, I have not shed blood for a few days, and yours will do nicely, elf.”

Olek simply laughed at the man and as he charged, side stepped and drew both his swords. The bandit charged again and Olek stepped back and disappeared into a patch of shadow beneath the trees to reappear behind the man, bringing his swords down a millimetre from the fellow’s face and a lock of the bandit’s hair fell past his eyes. He kicked the hand holding the sword and the weapon spun away. “Move one hair’s breadth and you are a dead man, bandit. I am the Shadowdancer, if you doubt me further perhaps we can continue this…entertainment, and after I leave you scattered for the wolves, I will take my business elsewhere.”

The bandit paled and held his breath until the swords were removed. “Apologies, sir, for the insult,” he managed with a squeak.

Olek nodded and shrugged, pulling the cowl back to shield his face. “It is best to be cautious in your dealings. Now after so much dawdling, perhaps we may talk business, my time is short. Witch-Hunters pass these roads. It would please my master if they were to be delayed…removed…inconvenienced. The Witch-Hunters seek not only users of magic but those of us who, through choice or necessity, live apart from what they term as law. If you are caught, you will hang, if not worse. The ‘hospitality’ of the Order is well known for its brutality. Now do you not think it would suit us all for them to be inconvenienced?”

Tholin looked at him in awe. “The Shadowdancer has a master? This man must be truly great or truly to be feared. What you ask is dangerous.”

Taking a slow swig, Olek merely replied, “The man I serve is both, for he is the Oncoming Storm. Now I can easily take this request elsewhere. You are bandits; you are supposed to be tough outlaws, the menace of the highways. It seems, however, that this is not the case.”

He got up to leave and Tholin stood quickly, moving to stop him. “We accept. We patrol the roads from the edge of the Tremellic Valley to the bend in the Great River known as the Blasted Oak Crossing. I am sure the Witch-Hunters can be inconvenienced.”

“Good will payment,” Olek said, holding up a small bag of gold coins. “I can be contacted at the Sign of the Moon on the road from Eleiry to the Tremellic Valley. There is a box there, of bleached wood. You may leave a message there, and proof if needed. The message will get to me. If you please my master, there will be extra payment.”

BLURB

The Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles – Book I

In a dark world where magic is illegal, and elves are enslaved a young elven sorceress runs for her life from the house of her evil Keeper. Pursued by his men and the corrupt Order of Witch-Hunters she must find sanctuary. As the slavers roll across the lands stealing elves from what remains of their ancestral home the Witch-Hunters turn a blind eye to the tragedy and a story of power, love and a terrible revenge unfolds.

*18 rated for adult scenes and violence.

Available as ebook, paperback, hardcover, large print and audiobook.

BUY LINK

Universal Link https://www.books2read.com/Lightbeyondstorm1

 

The Shining Citadel – The Light Beyond the Storm – Book II

Who rules in this game of intrigue where magic is forbidden, and elves enslaved? Journey where beliefs shatter like glass, truth is unwelcome, and monsters from ancient times abound: share the romance and revenge, magic and passion, and the wages of greed in a world of darkest fantasy.

 

*18 rated for adult scenes and violence.

Available as ebook, paperback, hardcover, large print and audiobook.

https://www.books2read.com/ShiningCitadel

The Stolen Tower – The Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles – Book III

What stalks the land cannot be but is.

Where magic is outlawed a troll Shaman calls from her deathbed to her heiress, Mirandra Var, daughter of the storm. Mirandra vows to find her missing kin, sort friend from foe, and claim the dangerous secrets guarded by unthinkable creatures. If she succeeds, she will become the leader of her tribe. If she fails, there will be no tribe to lead.

*18 rated for adult scenes and violence.

Available as ebook, paperback, hardcover, large print and audiobook.

Universal Link https://www.books2read.com/StolenTower

AUTHOR BIO

British-born A. L. Butcher is an avid reader and creator of worlds, a poet, and a dreamer, a lover of science, natural history, history, and monkeys. Her prose has been described as ‘dark and gritty’ and her poetry as ‘evocative’. She writes with a sure and sometimes erotic sensibility of things that might have been, never were, but could be.

Alex is the author of the Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles and the Tales of Erana lyrical fantasy series. She also has several short stories in the fantasy, fantasy romance genres with occasional forays into gothic style horror, including the Legacy of the Mask series. With a background in politics, classical studies, ancient history and myth, her affinities bring an eclectic and unique flavour in her work, mixing reality and dream in alchemical proportions that bring her characters and worlds to life.

Alex is also proud to be a writer for Perseid Press where her work features in Heroika: Dragon Eaters, Heroika Skirmishers – where she was editor and cover designer as well as writer – as well as Lovers in Hell and Mystics in Hell – part of the acclaimed Heroes in Hell series. http://www.theperseidpress.com/

Awards:

Outside the Walls, co-written with Diana L. Wicker received a Chill with a Book Reader’s Award in 2017.

NN Light Book Heaven awards:

The Kitchen Imps and Other Dark Tales won the best fantasy for 2018

Echoes of a Song – one of her Phantom tales – won the best fantasy in 2019

Tears and Crimson Velvet won the best Short Story category in 2020

Dark Tales and Twisted Verses – won the best Short Story Category in 2021

LINKS

Blog https://libraryoferana.wordpress.com/about-a-l-butcher-fantasy-author-poet-author-promotion/

Facebook Author Page https://www.facebook.com/LightBeyondtheStorm/

Twitter https://twitter.com/libraryoferana/

Amazon Author Page http://amzn.to/2hK33OM

BookBub https://www.bookbub.com/authors/a-l-butcher

Goodreads http://bit.ly/GR2iqokvK

Linked In https://www.linkedin.com/in/alex-butcher-8342ab13b/

Instagram https://www.instagram.com/libraryoferana/

Tumblr https://www.tumblr.com/blog/libraryoferana

Pinterest https://www.pinterest.co.uk/abmonkey/

Books2Read newsletter sign up

https://books2read.com/author/a-l-butcher/subscribe/1/97541/

Independent Author Network https://www.independentauthornetwork.com/a-l-butcher.html

Google Play https://play.google.com/store/books/author?id=A.+L.+Butcher

Smashwords Author Page https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/ALB123

Apple Author Page https://books.apple.com/gb/author/a-l-butcher/id895849667

Apple Audiopage https://books.apple.com/us/author/a-l-butcher/id895849667#see-all/audio-books

Kobo Author Page https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/search?query=a+l+butcher

Perseid Press Author Page http://www.theperseidpress.com/?page_id=523

Barnes and Noble Author Page  https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/%22A.%20L.%20Butcher

 

Blog tour organised by Writer Marketing Services.

 

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Blog Tour: Servant, by Patrick R. Field #Paranormal #Fantasy #Giveaway #LGBTQ

GENRE: Paranormal Fantasy

BLURB:

Not long after their move into Blackstone, married couple Mitch and Buck begin to witness strange sightings of shadowy figures, physical manifestations and inexplicable events taking place in the former Sheppard family estate nestled in the Northern Poconos of Pennsylvania. Through séances, they learn from the spirit of Jedidiah Sheppard that he has not been able to cross over into the afterlife because the truth behind his sudden disappearance in 1965 has never been solved. During this journey, Mitch and Buck and an eccentric psychic, Gladys Munch aka Madame Fortunesta, encounter interference from the spirit of a Lenape medicine man, Mesingwe Medeu, who protects Jedidiah’s spirit. Mitch and Buck eventually realize that they must find Jedidiah’s remains and let the authorities discover through modern detective work the evidence needed to try and convict the murderer. But is it too late for Jedidiah’s spirit to find eternal peace?

EXCERPT

My curiosity finally getting the better of me, I ask, “What’s in your ‘concoction’?”

“Snaps and snails and puppy dog tails,” she chortles, a devilish smile beaming across her face as she continues uninterrupted. “I’m teasing. It’s your typical combination of magical plants…Mug wort, Wormwood, Mandrake, Sage oil, and a little Belladonna. Don’t want too much of that—we don’t need a hallucinogenic tonight. I have a feeling we’re going to see quite a show.”

“We’re not gonna eat that, are we?” I exclaim, after hearing the list of ingredients.

“No, silly, we’re going to wear it, on our faces. To trick anything nasty we might find down there that we’re not part of the living,” Gladys explains.

Instantly, Buck and I look at each other, our faces reflecting the same thought: “What the hell did we get ourselves into?”

“All right, that should do it,” Gladys states as she finishes molding her paste. She then opens the three velvet-covered boxes and pulls out three identical necklaces made of fine silver chains, with a round globe-like cage at the end that’s about three inches in diameter. Picking up one of the necklaces, she springs a catch on the cage, and it opens via delicate, simple hinges. Opening another box, she extracts what looks like a light brown carrot. The root looks like the body of a miniature person. “This is Mandrake root, a very powerful plant we will wear around our necks in these necklaces to protect us,” Gladys explains.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

After twenty-five years in higher education, Patrick Field traded in teaching and textbooks to pursue his passion of writing spine-chilling fiction. Holding a Ph.D. in Anatomical Sciences and Neuroscience, his experience informs his writing, a unique blend of scientific knowledge with supernatural storytelling.

His non-scientific writing career began with Prince Patrick, a memoir of his precocious childhood that he wrote for his mother as she battled pancreatic cancer. This process was not only healing but helpful in stirring his creativity and marked the moment he was bitten by the writing bug.

An avid fan of Anne Rice, Edgar Allen Poe, and Joe Hill, Patrick’s subsequent novels were inspired by his favorite authors. His first fiction novel, The Malevolent, and his two latest novels, The Bedfordshire Warlock (release date in early 2024) and Servant were written throughout the isolation of the COVID-19 pandemic.

His latest novel Servant was inspired by the supernatural events that happened to the author, his husband, and friends that have stayed in their home in northeastern Pennsylvania. Taking a page from his teaching philosophy that those who teach must never cease to learn, Patrick found himself hungry to discover all he could about the area’s diverse cultures, including the Anthracite coal mining community and the indigenous tribe of the Lenape.

Patrick’s writing process is a mix between walking meditation and meticulous research. His novels form while he walks alone with his dogs, imagining plot lines and characters. Once he’s home, he quickly types notes on his computer before fleshing them out later. Research is a considerable part of his process- the scientist in him abhors “alternative facts.” When he encounters an idea or a historical thread unfamiliar to him, he researches all he can about it. While he writes about a world where the supernatural realm is prominent, the real world is always based on facts.

When developing characters, he usually has an idea of the destination he wants for each character but the journey to get there is often written by the character and the environment. Of all the characters he’s written, Gladys Munch in Servant is his favorite, as she’s an amalgam of delightful, humorous “mature” ladies in his life and physically inspired by British actresses Margaret Rutherford and Angela Lansbury.

In addition to writing, Patrick appears on the stage of his community theater and sings in the chorus of a local opera company each summer. He enjoys spending time with his husband, Matthew, and their dogs and exploring new destinations around the world, especially those that have a supernatural history. Haunted buildings and structures associated with the occult fascinate Patrick. His idea of a perfect day: drinking pints of Guinness draught with friends and family over scintillating and humorous conversation.

Website: patrickfieldauthor.com
Instagram: patrickfieldauthor
Facebook: actoranatomist

Links for purchasing Servant

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Servant-Patrick-R-Field/dp/1509248765/ref=sr_1_1

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/servant-patrick-r-field/1143071600

Walmart:
https://www.walmart.com/ip/Servant-Paperback-9781509248766/2686843043

GIVEAWAY INFORMATION 

Patrick R. Field will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
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Blog Tour: The Empath and the Soldier, by A. K. Holubek #Giveaway #LGBTQ #FantasyFiction

The Empath and the Soldier - A.K. Holubek
A.K. Holubek has a new MM Regency period fantasy book out, The Unconventionals book 1: The Empath and the Soldier. And there’s a giveaway.

The situation seemed hopeless. But Tyrran couldn’t pretend to be ignorant of the danger and just wait for his home to disintegrate around him.

As a Favored male, Tyrran belongs to a select group of men born with one of the Four Gifts, a blessing usually reserved for women. Quiet, introverted, and filled with self-doubt, Tyrran has always struggled with living up to the responsibilities that come with being Gifted. Still, he had managed to achieve the near impossible — admission to the prestigious Lyceum Institute in Corvit, the Coarian Sovereignty’s bustling capital city. With this success, Tyrran’s future seems clear: the best education, a position in a Temple, and, one day, marriage to a young man of good fortune.

That is, until sinister forces intervene to shove him down a much bleaker path. Tyrran’s plans are thrown into upheaval when a deadly attack reveals the existence of an insidious evil festering within the ranks of the Sovereignty’s elite.

Now, he must use the privileges afforded him as a Lyceum student to uncover the secrets of a corrupt government. Targeted by relentless assassins and trying to ignore his growing attachment to the handsome exchange student Adwin, Tyrran must gather trustworthy allies to face the dangers that threaten to tear apart his nation and his home.

Bridgerton meets The Magicians in this fantasy novel about the importance of confidence and the strength of friendship.

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Giveaway

A.K. is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour:

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Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47280/

Excerpt

The Empath and The Soldier meme
At that moment they stopped suddenly, startled by someone crawling out of the pond almost directly in front of them. The someone turned out to be a man—an East Silacian, Tyrran noted right away, due to his black skin. He was shirtless, wearing only white tights, and he looked about Tyrran’s age. He was shorter than Tyrran and his chest, stomach, and arms were muscular—sculpted was the more appropriate term, his skin stretched tight over every muscle. His physique was compact rather than large, he had deep brown eyes, and his black hair was cut close to his head.

Tyrran had always suspected that the Silacian reputation for beauty was exaggerated, stemming from the inferiority complex Coarians held towards Silacians, whose empire was much larger, wealthier, and more advanced than the Sovereignty. But if Nyri and this man were any indication, then their reputed good looks were understated if anything.

“Good morning, soldier,” the man said, addressing Lena as he wiped water from his face with his hands. He spoke the Common Tongue with a sophisticated accent that sounded very similar to Nyri’s.

“Good morning, Adwin,” Lena replied, looking puzzled. “Did you, uh, fall in the pond?”

“Not at all. I was just going for a morning swim.” He smiled as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“In public? In the middle of campus?”

“But of course. This appears to be the closest body of water to our college. However, by your expressions, I assume Coarian notions of decorum discourage public bathing. I did swim wearing my tights, since I know public nudity is frowned upon.”

He may as well have removed them, for what little use they were in covering his nudity. The material clung to his skin, revealing bulging leg muscles as well as other bulges that Tyrran was making a concerted effort not to stare at.

“We do tend to prefer bathing in secluded areas,” Lena said. “Spaces set aside for bathing. Like the bathhouse next to the Barracks House, for instance.”

“I did try the bathhouse, but the water is heated. Quite uncomfortable on a warm day like today. Do you suppose I shall be sent packing back to Silacia for this breach of conduct?” An impudent grin spread across his face.

“It’s early enough that I’m sure no one but us has seen you. Though I do suggest you put the rest of your clothes back on soon. Where are they, by the by?”

“My clothes? I left them further down the trail. In truth, I was swimming about the pond for exercise rather than for bathing, then I saw the two of you and thought to come greet you. And now I think I have finished with swimming. Would you mind accompanying me to fetch my clothes?”

Tyrran could see that Lena was annoyed by the request and had every intention of replying in the negative. But Tyrran didn’t want Adwin to be offended, so he quickly spoke up.

“We would be happy to.”

That earned him an evil look from Lena.

Adwin offered his arm to Tyrran. “Adwin Mekalbe, at your service.”

Tyrran grasped his forearm, “Tyrran Kens, at yours,” he replied, trying to keep his voice from squeaking.

“I assume you do not attend the Military College,” Adwin continued, as the three of them resumed walking along the trail.

“No, I’m at Roothe College. Lena and I are friends from Temple Academy.”

“Ah, yes. In Hifield City. I am truly sorry about the attacks. I do hope you were not directly affected.”

Guest Post

Thanks for the opportunity to talk a little about my new book. In this post, I’d like to discuss how I began writing my novel.

I started writing The Empath and the Soldier on my phone. My husband and I had just moved from Washington, DC to Baltimore, Maryland for his job. But I continued to work in DC, which meant my commute was now an hour trek each way. Fortunately, that journey was made mostly on a train, rather than sitting in my car on congested highways.

When I first began this commute, like many of my fellow train passengers I would put on headphones to block out the world around me, listening to music while scrolling through social media or catching up on the news. But at the time, both social media and the news were very bleak places. I would often arrive at work or at home completely despondent after an hour-long train ride subjecting myself to a litany of the world’s evils.

I finally decided I needed a break from the constant doom scrolling. Usually, I would escape from social media by diving into a good novel. But at that moment I was suffering from reader ennui—I just couldn’t find a novel that really captured my interest. So I figured it might be time to write down a story idea that had been bouncing around in my head for years.

Actually, “story idea” is a massive exaggeration. What I really had was an idea for the opening scene of a story. Two friends climbing a hill together in the early morning, before some sort of special school function (exciting, right?). I honestly had no idea where the story would go from there. I only knew that it would be fantasy and take place in a different world, rather than some alternative version of Earth. I really wanted to get completely away from our planet.

One morning I began to pen my opening scene on a notetaking app I had downloaded to my phone, using my thumb to “swype” the words of my first novel onto the screen. I couldn’t use my work computer for personal writing, and my home computer wasn’t all that portable. My phone was really the only option for writing on my way to work.

It didn’t take long to finish the one scene that I had been imagining. After that, I actually had to consider what the plot would be, the characters’ personalities, what the world they lived in was like, etc. Besides wanting the story to be an otherworldly fantasy tale, I also wanted the novel to focus on LGBTQ+ characters, reflecting my own life experience as a gay man. In addition, I decided that the book should take place in a college-like setting. I thought it would be interesting to revisit and explore that time in life when adolescence has just ended and for the first time you really start to discover what it means to be an adult.

I didn’t map out the entire plot and character arcs like some authors do. Instead, I wrote the novel scene by scene, figuring out the characters and story as I went along. And while this might sound like an imaginative and spontaneous process, it’s also super inefficient. I would constantly have to rewrite earlier portions of the novel when they conflicted with later events or when something I wanted to happen halfway through the book required an introductory scene at the beginning.

Eventually, though, a cohesive and consistent story began to take shape. A few years, and many, many rewrites later, The Empath and the Soldier was complete.

In those first few days of writing the book, as my thumb slid across the glass screen of my phone in a frenzied effort to keep up with my thoughts for what happened next in the story, I had the “brilliant” idea to write the entire novel via smartphone.

“Yes,” I imagined myself saying on The Kelly Clarkson Show, “I wrote everything on my Samsung Galaxy.” Kelly, and the world, would be astonished at how I took writing to the next level, technologically speaking.

Obviously, this was a ridiculous notion. Writing more than a few sentences at a time on a phone is extremely tedious. I gave up after a week and purchased a cheap laptop I could use on the train.

In short, The Empath and the Soldier began as a sort of doodling with words on my phone to pass the time on a long commute to work. I’m still not quite sure how I found the patience and persistence to turn these word doodles into a published novel, but it’s one of my proudest life accomplishments thus far.

Author Bio

A.K. Holubek
The moment A.K. Holubek stumbled across a ragged copy of The Fellowship of the Ring in his elementary school library, his life changed forever. The rest of his childhood, his adolescence, and even his college years were spent living only part time in the real world. He much preferred spending time in the fantasy lands of his imagination than in the reality of life as a closeted gay kid. As real life got better, he left his fantasy worlds behind. But a few years ago, those worlds called him to return, and to share his created worlds with others who might also need a place to escape. He now endeavors to carry out this mission from his home in Baltimore, supported by his husband and two ridiculous cats.

Author Website: http://theunconventionals.com

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

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

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theunconventionalsbooks/

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Release Blitz: Unforgiving Dreams, by Jessamyn Kingley @jessamynkingley #MM #Fantasy #Paranormal #Romance

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Unforgiving Dreams (D’Vaire, Book 35)

Author and Publisher: Jessamyn Kingley

Cover Artist: LJ Anderson of Mayhem Cover Creations

Release Date: March 9, 2023

Genres: MM Fantasy/Paranormal Romance

Tropes: Fated mates

Themes: Love, overcoming the past

Heat Rating: 3 flames

 

Buy Links

Amazon US | Amazon UK

Two mates from opposite worlds must discover if the past can ever truly be left behind.

Blurb

Fifteen thousand years ago, the Fae realms crumbled. A decade ago, Noble Protector Drekkoril D’Vaire of the Light Fae woke after spending many millennia in a dreamless sleep. Upon waking, he discovered his people no longer exist. A goddess revered by the Fae had changed them into elves and sprites with no memory of the past. Thanks to a wonderful, supportive family, Drekkoril healed from the ordeal. Now he wants to find the other half of his soul.

Valiant Defender Daravius of the Dark Fae wanders from place to place, trying to put food in the bellies of his tiny family. With little knowledge of any language still spoken and no resources, Daravius’s existence is meager. Each night, he uses a spell to travel to the destroyed realm that once carved deep scars into his soul; night after night, he must relive the horror. Although Daravius wants more for his loved ones, he is lost.

Expert trackers locate Daravius and his family, and they bring the trio to D’Vaire for sanctuary. Within minutes of their arrival, Daravius and Drekkoril learn they are mates. Drekkoril rejoices and yearns for a future together, but Daravius is terrified and desperate to avoid uniting their souls. Only Fate knows which man will get his wish.

Excerpt

Getting to his feet, Drekkoril wondered where Daravius was. There was no one near him, and the blue grass grew wildly around him as if few people trod through the woods. Drekkoril was left with little choice but to walk to find his v’airsell nioll and some clue as to his location. With a shrug, he went east.

A grin crossed Drekkoril’s face when he spotted a line of people ahead of him. Although their black hair told Drekkoril they were Dark Fae, he still called out to them, but they didn’t look in his direction or respond to his repeated attempts to inquire about where he was.

“Can you not help me?” Drekkoril demanded in a near shout after several minutes of walking past the people lined up. His fists clenched as they continued to ignore him, and Drekkoril wondered why they chose silence. Surely, they were not refusing to acknowledge Drekkoril because he was a Light Fae.

“Stop yelling,” a voice Drekkoril recognized hissed. Drekkoril’s annoyance faded away as he turned to spot Daravius standing across a small land bridge. Understanding hit Drekkoril like a punch, and he realized that the line was Light Fae who’d recently gone dark and were awaiting their fate in the Valiant Defender’s realm.

“It is a relief to see you, Valiant Defender,” Drekkoril stated and bowed deeply. With an audience, it was imperative that he acknowledge Daravius’s title.

“Why are you calling me that?”

“It is your title, Valiant Defender.”

“You already know I wish to be called by my name,” Daravius retorted and crossed his arms.

Drekkoril stalked toward where Daravius stood and was horribly confused about why the people around him continued to act as if he were invisible. “I would have no one think I disrespect the leader of the Dark Fae, Valiant Defender.”

“I am not yet Valiant Defender, Noble Protector,” Daravius countered with a roll of his eyes. “And no one can hear us. I thought you had dreamed magically before. We are shades, Koril, and remain unseen too.”

“I was unaware we could dream that way, I was myself in my lone magical dream , not a shade,” Drekkoril replied. “That is a relief. I thought the divide between our people was so great that no one would acknowledge me because of it.”

Daravius stuck out a splayed hand. “You need to stop. You cannot cross to the Dark Fae realm.”

“Why not?” Drekkoril asked. “This is a dream. We are shades in it. No one can see me or wonder why a Light Fae is wondering around.”

“Because once a Light Fae crosses the threshold, they are instantly turned. You cannot be ignorant of that fact.”

Purposefully, Drekkoril continued to walk until he was inches from Daravius. The handsome dark bemollo was scowling at him, but it took nothing away from his beauty. Drekkoril wondered what it would feel like to press his lips to Daravius’s sensuous, unsmiling mouth.

What did Daravius taste like? What would it be like to caress Daravius’s beautifully decorated body with its vivid swirls of black? Would Drekkoril want to undress him slowly to savor every lovely inch, or tear his simple clothing away to stroke and kiss him?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Daravius demanded, a touch of alarm in his swirling gaze.

Daravius’s trepidation didn’t bother Drekkoril. They both had a lot to learn of each other, and the Noble Protector wouldn’t mind overwhelming Daravius with the chemistry he was convinced was growing between them. “I find you very attractive.”

“Stay back,” Daravius insisted with both of his hands in front of him to ward off Drekkoril’s imminent charge into the Dark Fae realm.

With a wide grin, Drekkoril hopped the tiny distance between their realms. “Nothing happened.”

“Your hair is still light,” Daravius exclaimed, his arms falling to his sides.

“It is a dream, Dare. A living history. We cannot change anything that happened. My magic cannot shift. Although I have often wondered if I could have ventured here without switching to a Dark Fae if the realms had remained in existence. I am a bemollo. Would it take my fairy visiting with me to alter us?”

“I would hope that you were not foolhardy enough to challenge such a notion. If your gamble was wrong, you could not undo the damage.”

“I know that, and you are correct. It is not a theory I would have pursued. But since I am here, show me your world.”

Daravius sighed heavily, and his shoulders slumped. “It is not something I wish for you to see.”

 

About the Author

Jessamyn Kingley has published over thirty titles and refuses to pick a favorite among them. With an extraordinary passion for her characters, she enthusiastically adds tales to her D’Vaire series and avidly re-reads them whenever her schedule allows. After decades living in the Washington, DC area, she now resides in Nevada with her husband and their three spoiled cats. When she is not writing or adding new ideas to her beloved notebooks, she is gaming with family and friends.

Visit her website

Join her Facebook group, Jessamyn’s Ruffian’s

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Release Blitz: The Gods of Inthya, by Effie Calvin @EffieCalvin #Giveaway #Fantasy #ShortStories #Magic

Title:  Gods of Inthya

Series: Tales of Inthya, Book 5.5

Author: Effie Calvin

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 01/17/2023

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 38600

Genre: Fantasy, anthology, Fantasy, gods, magic, romance, short stories

Add to Goodreads

Description

At the beginning of time, the gods came together to create Inthya, a world where magic is common and hatred never had the opportunity to take root.

But the Inthyan gods are young and imperfect. With countless failures behind them and unspeakable horrors lurking outside the borders of creation, they must not allow this world to meet the same fate as the last—without alerting their mortal worshippers that anything is wrong.

Nineteen short stories from the perspectives of the gods themselves, some humorous, some horrifying, and all united by a theme of protecting the mortals who love them unconditionally.

Excerpt

Gods of Inthya
Effie Calvin © 2023
All Rights Reserved

Inthi, God of Creation and First of the Ten, does not generally manifest in cities. This is somewhat paradoxical, considering most new ideas come from places where mortals gather in large numbers. But Inthi is a quiet, thoughtful sort of god and has trouble focusing when surrounded by too much noise and commotion. Even when they are called to a mortal’s private workshop, away from shouting vendors and screaming children, they cannot block out the soft but persistent hum of countless souls going about their daily business outside, each mind a bright beacon of wants and worries and dreams.

But today, unfortunately, they must make an exception.

Inthi is intimately familiar with their own Great Temple in Birsgen, and the enormous district surrounding it. Some call it the Flame District, but others simply call it Inthi’s District. Most large cities have one, a place where smiths and artisans and inventors come together to work and exchange ideas.

As Inthi approaches their temple, they hear mortal voices raised in argument. Standing on the steps are two people—a neutroi that Inthi recognizes as their own archpriest here in Ieflaria, and a priestess of Eran dressed in silver robes. The priestess is the source of most of the noise, waving her clenched fist in the archpriest’s face.

Inthi’s archpriest, however, is unimpressed. They wave a hand dismissively and say, “Your concerns are unwarranted.”

The priestess’s cheeks redden. From the rage that emanates from her mind, Inthi can tell reason has failed and now she is about to start cursing. Inthi walks up behind her and rests a reassuring hand on the prophet-priestess’s shoulder. “It’s all right,” they say. “I will handle it.”

Eran’s priestess looks at Inthi with wide, disbelieving eyes. She takes a step back, too dumbfounded to speak. Inthi’s own archpriest has not recognized them, but she has. With more effort, they can disguise themselves completely, but Inthi is not inclined to do so today.

“I appreciate your efforts,” they add. Only rarely do Eran’s priests take an active role in events. Most adhere to the philosophy that attempting to alter the future is pointless at best and disastrous at worst. This priestess must have decided that no outcome is worse than what she’s already seen in her dreams. “Excuse me.”

Inthi walks past the bemused archpriest and enters the temple. Inside is warm from the heat of dozens of forges, and every stone is steeped in magic. Countless prayers have been uttered within these walls. Generations of priests and artisans have labored here. Even if the temple was disassembled and all the stones cast into the sea, it would take centuries for the magic to dissipate from the air.

After taking a few moments to admire the new bronze statues decorating the temple’s anteroom, Inthi takes a side door into a hallway. All around them, mortal minds buzz with ideas; mortal hands wrest iron and copper into new shapes. It is still early, but most of them have been awake for hours. Some have not slept at all.

Inthi could have manifested directly at the source of the problem, but there is time enough to enjoy being in the temple. They pass a few priests in orange robes, but most of the mortals are dressed practically, with heavy leather gloves and large aprons. Some carry boxes, or tools, or push carts filled with scrap metal to be melted down and turned into something useful. Inthi brushes each mind as they pass, appreciating every mortal’s unique focus.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Effie is definitely a human being with all her own skin, and not a robot. She writes science fiction and fantasy novels and lives with her cat in the greater Philadelphia area.

Website | Twitter

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Blog Guest: Lark Westerly, with three new Holiday releases! #Fantasy #Romance

Every time I read a story from Lark Westerly, I want to go live in the wonderful world she has invented. I’m thrilled to be hosting her today on the blog, with three brand new Stocking Stuffers from Extasy Books. I expect they’ll be just as delightful!

   

A word from Lark Westerly:

I love writing Christmas stocking stuffers. These long short stories, or maybe novelettes, are such fun because they hold a full story with some warm feel-good situations, peculiar challenges, and lots of Christmassy detail. Most of my stories begin with a situation, and since they all take place in a familiar (to me and my readers) world, they can branch off from bit-part roles in other books while standing alone. In this year’s batch of holiday fun, Anne does battle with a food critic in defence of the Lilac Ladies club, Odette runs away from the traditional Yule ball with a man who doesn’t want to be there either, and Timothea, who has been waiting for her true love’s return for over a decade, wonders if he’ll ever arrive.

About the Stories

Anne and the Lilac Ladies Spectacular. Anne Hathaway, who is not married to William Shakespeare, is an old-fashioned girl. As her house mother from the Mother Mary Christmas Children’s Home remarks, “Our Ann should have been born seventy years ago. She’d have flourished.” Now living in the country town of Delmsford, Anne has found her tribe among the Lilac Ladies, a local service organisation. Unfortunately, the Ladies are all decades older than Anne and their club is dying. Anne’s efforts to help are pushed off-course by Rafferty Kettle, a food critic, whose review of their catering could bring them down. The Christmas Spectacular is their spirited comeback. The Lilac Ladies and Raff appeared briefly in another of my books; Performing Pippin Pearmain, but this is Anne’s story.

The Tale of Timothea. Years ago, Timothea Skipton climbed the Grandpapa Yule tree on Christmas Eve. This act of valour was supposed to let her see her own true-love-to-be. While stuck at the top of the tree and awaiting rescue, Timothea sang a Christmas carol with a wandering fiddler. He was obviously the one for her, but it was years before they were brought together again on another Christmas Eve by Mihangel’s very respectable brother, Dai.

Black Swan. Odette Cygne is the youngest daughter of Cygne Manor. Her three tall, beautiful siblings are married with children, but Odette, dark-haired and buxom, is facing yet another Yule ball of dancing with spare gentlemen. She’d rather be somewhere else. So would Godfrey de Courcy, whose sister has dragged him to the Yule ball to find a bride. Odette and Godfrey run away together to the Yule grove where they complete an ancient ritual and celebrate Christmas Eve in their own fashion. Godfrey appeared briefly in Queen of the May. Timothea Skipton, Odette’s cousin, appeared in a small part in Under the Christmas Tree.

BLURBS

Anne and the Lilac Ladies Spectacular

Anne Hathaway had found her spiritual home with the Lilac Ladies of Delmsford, worthy women with saucepans, ladles and looms. Now the Ladies were under threat, but how could Rafferty Kettle be an enemy when he understood the importance of apostrophes?

BUY LINK https://www.extasybooks.com/Anne-and-the-Lilac-Ladies-Spectacular

The Tale of Timothea

One Christmas Eve, Timothea sang while her true-love-to-be played his fiddle. She gave him her name, and he called her my angel. That’s what she thought he said. It was hard to say, considering where they were. After that, of course, she didn’t see him again for a very long time.

BUY LINK https://www.extasybooks.com/The-Tale-Of-Timothea

Black Swan

Just before the traditional Yule ball at Cygne Manor, Odette’s mother gave her an heirloom necklace. Her siblings had important news, but Odette had other things on her mind, including a man who didn’t want to be at the ball any more than she did.

BUY LINK https://www.extasybooks.com/Black-Swan

EXCERPT

From Black Swan

Down the moonpath a horse was galloping. His hooves made no sound, but Odette heard the huffs of his breath.

“Grilled trout on a wheelbarrow!” she exclaimed.

Godfrey stopped whistling to laugh. “Trust you to say that—but he’s coming now.”

Odette felt her eyes trying to bug. “What is that?”

“That is Fils de Lune, Odette. My horse.”

“Your horse. Your horse.” Of course it was.  And Master Godfrey de Courcy was no more a typical courtfolk man than she was a typical daughter of Cygne Manor. He looked like one, but he just wasn’t.

The horse closed the distance rapidly, giving a twisting buck in the air before landing his forehooves on the grass.

His hind hooves followed neatly. He pranced, swished his tail, tossed his mane, and snorted.

Odette gazed, entranced. He was so deep a black that he gleamed almost silver in the moonlight. His eyes shone an eerie blue.

“You said he was a piebald,” she accused.

“He is.” Godfrey reached out his free hand and the horse switched to face him, thrusting his muzzle into the man’s palm. “I haven’t forgotten your treat, mon ami,” he said.

Odette smelled gingerbread.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lark Westerly loves writing series where characters weave in and out of one another’s lives. She thrives on complication, rules, moonlight, trees, traditions and magic. Despite this, she is not a fairy. Mind you…she sometimes wonders about her late granny. Lark has been writing stories since someone taught her how to spell. She lives in the island state of Tasmania where she walks with her dogs, reads, cooks, adventures with her daughter and dreams up new challenges for her characters. She is often smiling when she writes her stories. She hopes her readers smile as well.

~ o ~

Meanwhile, don’t miss all the other amazing books on sale at Extasy Books.

Backlist Christmas stories are 50% off, and all other backlist releases are 40% off.

 

 

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#NewRelease: The Necromancer’s Heart, by Robin Harper @Suntail7 #LGBTQIA+ #fantasy #booklover #bookblogger

Title: The Necromancer’s Heart

Author: Robin Harper

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 11/16/2022

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 21300

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, fantasy, supernatural, gay, first love, HFN

Add to Goodreads

Description

Mortimer’s life is set in stone. That is until he takes the reins and rejects his crown and his namesake. Striking out on his own, he discovers a whole new world and a whole new him. But even with all of the newness, falling in love is still his greatest dream.

Then he meets Galen. He never planned on falling for a man who stands for everything he’s not. Now he just has to deal with the significance of his birthright.

Excerpt

The Necromancer’s Heart
Robin Harper © 2022
All Rights Reserved

I fell into a hole.

I know, stellar move there. I was such a graceful individual. So graceful that I’d not only fallen into a hole, but I managed to sprain my ankle. Hopefully. I couldn’t tell for sure, but based on how painful it was, and how I could literally put no weight on the joint, I was betting it was broken. Only a fool would fall into a hole and break his ankle and thus remove any hope he had of getting out of said hole.

“Help!? Anyone up there?” I called out again for what seemed like the hundredth time. The sun had gradually been crawling along the sky so I knew I had to have been here for some hours, thank the living dead that night hadn’t fallen yet.

Alas, with no sign of passers-by or any fellow travelers that might take a moment of their day to aid me, I might have to think about this pit with its dirt and worms as my bed for the night.

And hope no wolves come for a snack.

Perhaps I should have stayed home and done as I was told. Those fairy tale stories made running away from a great destiny seem simple, and easy. I guessed reality must ever grind down on the mortals of the world to remind them they are but prisoners to fate on its plane of existence.

“Please! Someone! Anyone–help!” I cried again, despair thick in my voice. No one would hear me; what was the point? I was about to slump back against the dirt walls of my pit when a shadow danced along the side–and did the wind rustle the grass? Or was that the stepping of light feet? I eagerly pressed myself up against the side of the hole where I saw the shadow milling about. “Hey! Hey down here! Please help me!”

My hopes were dashed when two furry ears and a face of white whiskers greeted me. The accompanying ‘Maow’ crushed my heart.

“Oh, hello, adorable.” The cat was striped, black and white contrasting in defined lines across its face. The white whiskers wiggled as it ‘maow’ed’ down at me again, and I smiled despite my despair.

Cats always had an affinity for death and those of us who worked with it.

“Hey, sweetie—do you have a master? Hm? Someone who can pull me out of this pit? Anyone nearby to hear your small meows?”

“Maow!” the critter called down while its striped tail swayed behind it.

I sighed, “No, I suppose you don’t…”

The cat gave a trill and wandered away. My shoulders slumped as I took in my earthy prison. I guess I’d better make myself comfortable for the night, and try to find a stick or something as a weapon… Maybe one of the tree roots was hard enough to use as a blunt force weapon…

While I was hopping over to the other side of my dirty sanctuary the cadence of someone yelling echoed down the pit. Faint—but most assuredly a human’s voice.

Oh, praise the Dead!

“Hello! Over here! Please help me!” I bellowed, attempting to make my voice go as far as possible.

“Blasted pet–what are you doing? Stop tripping me!” Did the cat find help? Was that something a cat could do?

Not possible. But despite possibilities and probabilities, a petite black and white striped head with whiskers and big fluffy ears popped up again and gave me a friendly “Maow,” while its tail swished. I smirked, awkwardly because now I heard heavier, human footsteps approaching. And while that should spell my freedom from this forsaken hole, it meant interacting with another person.

I wanted out of this pit, of course, but my social graces were rusty to say the least. The mere idea of speaking and interacting with another person was a daunting task now. Hopefully it was some old man who would offer me a ride in the back of his potato wagon so that we didn’t have to speak so much while he took me to the nearest town…

The figure that appeared beside the striped kitty was not that of an old man. Oh no, I would never be that lucky. No, my fate was cruel and instead of some crotchety old man with beady, pale grey eyes and scruff for hair, a pair of golden-brown eyes met mine, a solid frame, square jawline. Skin that had been kissed by a thousand suns, thick, dark hair…and a furrow formed between two fine eyebrows as he startled at seeing someone very much alive in this hole.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Robin Harper is a bisexual, polyamorous witch who lives with her husband and two sweet ginger cats in the cold northern state of Minnesota. She finds joy in creating stories about love, and healing, as well as weaving ghost tales and supernatural encounters. She is also an avid reader, an optician during the day, and a lover of coloring books.

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Dragon Bridge by E D Parr @Parr_books #NewRelease #MM #LGBTQ+ #MFRWAuthor

Thank you for inviting me to your blog with my new release MM romance release, Dragon Bridge, from Evernight Publishing

I first started thinking about this story around two years ago when I saw a shadow across the full moon that looked like a dragon. It was a dark gray cloud, but it captured my imagination and for a year, I considered a plot that might work that sight into a story and so the legend of Ponte Drago, (Dragon Bridge) was born.

It still took me a year to write Dragon Bridge, weaving my legend through the love story to provide the background for characters.

I researched Italy, where the bulk of the story takes place, a little, just enough to imagine places that might exist, but not enough to describe existing towns as I wrote that might take away from the mysterious element I wanted in the story. I’d love to visit Italy for the art that exists there … maybe one day.

My lovely hero Key Alder is an ordinary guy, worn down by life as many people are. Naturally, I’m in love with him, as I am with all my characters. We meet him when he’s struggling emotionally with his work. His journey through this love story allows him to find his lost confidence and in the end, huge courage.

Claudio Di Fiore, my other hero, as Key Alder puts it, is gorgeous and enigmatic. I think, right now, he is one of my favorite characters from any of my MM romance stories. His love for Key is steadfast and fierce. He’s fearless until he falls in love with Key and then Claudio’s only fear is losing him.

The story is contemporary, gay, MM romance, fantasy, adventure, and paranormal romance.

I hope readers enjoy the legend and the love story as much as I loved writing it.

Blurb

Tired from his high stress work fighting cyber-crime, handsome, Key Alder takes a vacation on a beautiful Italian coast. He travels from one gorgeous town to another and after a perilous journey lost in the mountains, he settles into his hotel and relaxes.

In a beachside café, next to a warm pale-blue ocean, a performer hands out fliers for an arts festival in a mountain village. Lured by adventure, Key attends an evening performance of fire juggling acrobats in the legendary village piazza.

Beautiful, enigmatic Claudio Di Fiore, the star of the show, sees Key in the audience and is captured by a wonderful feeling he’s unaccustomed to.

Claudio wants Key.

Key is enchanted by Claudio.

A passionate love grows between the two men.

When Claudio’s mysterious ancient family threaten to tear them apart, will Key risk everything to stay with his loved one?

Read a teaser. Key arrives at his first vacation destination.

As he turned a corner of the high coast road, Key caught his breath as his destination came into sight. The entire hillside of a gorgeous bay housed buildings interspersed with trees and flowering shrubs. Several rooftops sprouted palms in huge pots or tubs of bright flowers. Each building climbed the sheer hillside effortlessly from a beach of white sand toward a wall of crags enclosing the bay. The sun slanted off a jade colored dome and sprinkled glitter on primary colored buildings close by. Key slowed to enter the town, already well below the speed limit in awe of the view, he crawled the car to his hotel. Key had spent hours on the internet making sure he knew where it lay. His newfound fragile lightheartedness wouldn’t stand going around in circles until he was exhausted trying to find the place.

A valet took his car keys to park his rental. A porter picked up his luggage and led him to check in. Relieved by these ministrations, Key smiled at the desk clerk. He gave his name. The young woman on duty returned his smile and keyed something into a computer, then she stood and took a keycard from one of the small rectangular openings in the wall behind the desk. Her near perfect English as she spoke to him was reassuring, but Key decided right then that he’d try to learn some Italian. Then I could at least greet people and say thank you.

Copyright E. D. Parr, Evernight Publishing July 28, 2022

BUY the book on new release special discount price from Evernight Publishing only

https://www.evernightpublishing.com/dragon-bridge-by-e-d-parr/

BUY the book elsewhere

Amazon

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0B6ZGLJ8H

https://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B0B6ZGLJ8H

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B0B6ZGLJ8H

Siren Bookstrand, coming soon

KOBO

NOOK

Smashwords

 

Read snippet teasers on the ParrX gay romance blog

https://parrx.blogspot.com/2022/07/mark-your-calendars-mmromance-lovers.html

https://parrx.blogspot.com/2022/06/releasing-this-summer-from-evernightpub.html

Find E. D. Parr online

Evernight Publishing Page https://www.evernightpublishing.com/e-d-parr/

Find E. D. Parr’s all-time bestseller list and 30 day bestsellers on Siren Bookstrand https://www.bookstrand.com/ed-parr

Twitter https://twitter.com/parr_books

Amazon page https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B01MUNJ3I8\

Blog  https://parrx.blogspot.com

Facebook @parrbooks https://www.facebook.com/parrbooks/

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