Warren Rochelle has a new gay paranormal romance out: "The Werewolf and His Boy." And there's a giveaway!

Their leap of faith could unleash magic—or plunge them into darkness.

Henry Thorn has worked at Larkin’s since graduating high school. He likes it—especially when he can use his secret skill of hiding inside shadows so his boss can’t find them. Without that talent, he would never had survived growing up different.

When a hire enters the store, Henry’s other latent talent kicks in. He can smell an emotional response even before he lays eyes on the redhead.

Jamey Currey came out, and his conservative parents promptly kicked him out. He, too, is different—he senses Henry’s attraction the moment they met. The first time they kiss, torrential rains fall from skies split by lightning.

Their kiss also awakens the Watchers, diabolical hunters who will stop at nothing—even extermination—to keep magic suppressed. With the help of a friendly coven of friendly witches, the boys embark on a quest to discover an ancient key to restoring magic to the world, and to understand mysteries of their own hearts.

The question is, will this quest cost them their lives?

Publisher | Amazon | B&N | Kobo | Goodreads

Giveaway

Warren is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour – enter via Rafflecopter:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47152/?

Excerpt

Jamey screamed. Henry's heart turned over.

Dr. Melloy grabbed a long, carved oaken staff from a corner and stood very still for a moment. "My books, almost all my books, are in this house, and some of these are my mother's, my grandmother's," she whispered, clearly in pain. "Let's go," she said, sighing heavily as she threw the heavy zipped bag over her shoulder and ran for the door. Henry hugged his duffel and blanket to his chest and ran after her. He wanted to tell her thank you, thank you, for saving him and Jamey, and that she was one of the coolest -- no, the coolest person he had ever met. She had been so nice to him ever since he had moved in and he wasn't sure he really knew why. I'll thank her. When things calm down I will definitely thank her.

Up the stairs, down the hall, in and out of pools of light from this lamp, the other, the overhead, the front door, and down and Jamey stood holding onto the car door.

They looked up.

No stars. No moon. Shadows, winged, darker and blacker than any shadows around them. The lead one keened, high and sharp.

"Watchers," Dr. Melloy said. Behind the creatures were the beginnings of a storm. Lightning snapped and forked, striking the professor's house and setting the roof ablaze. Fire came down the roof, down the gutter pipes, the brick wall, over the windows, into the bushes growing against the house and into the pine-straw-covered yard that crackled, snapped, into flame.

"Jamey, Henry, get behind me, now," Dr. Melloy shouted as the Watchers hovered just above the thicket of cedars that screened the house from the street. They screeched and keened, throwing themselves against some invisible wall between them and the witch and the two naked boys.

Jamey hooked one arm around Henry's neck, and then he hopped as Henry half-carried him to stand behind the witch. Thunder, loud, close. Lighting struck the house again. Muttering, Dr. Melloy thrust her staff upward and light poured out of it as she threw out a fine, gauzy, sparkling net that spread out and over and above them, shimmering against the darkness. Something shattered, and grey and white chunks of dying light fell into the cedars and the gravel and hard earth of the driveway.

"Dammit! They broke the first ring of wards!" Dr. Melloy yelled over what now seemed like constant thunder and the roar of the fire. The wind tore at the flames, throwing bits and pieces into the air and the now-burning cedars. Flames and heat pushed against the net that glowed between them and the burning house and yard and trees.

"What are we going to do? Henry? Where'd he go?" Jamey yelled back, then stopped. Henry squeezed the arm around his neck with one hand, Jamey's waist with the other. Henry seemed to be flickering in and out of sight, the way he had done in Larkin's. Jamey could see the flames through Henry.

Henry looked at his hands, his feet: they were invisible. He shuddered, flickered on and off. "We wait just a few minutes more -- oh, werewolves do that -- camouflage, on and off. Henry, try to calm down."

"Wait?" Henry said, his voice trembling. He could feel and smell Jamey's fear and his own fear. Calm down?

"There are two more rings of wards and this shield-net, and all three have to be breached for those Watchers to get to us. We just have to hold on for a few more minutes. If only the moon were full," she added. "I'd have a lot more power to draw on. Can't be helped."

Something shattered. Chunks of light, this time, gold, fell again. A third shattering followed right behind the second, green chunks of light. Thunder. Lightning. Wind, bits of fire in the air, fire engulfing the house, the trees.

"Get right behind me. Get close."

The Watchers were right on the other side of the shield-net. They pushed, keened, ripped. The shield quivered. Bits fell.

A siren, another, and then another. The Watchers screamed.

"Finally," Dr. Melloy muttered.

"The fire department can stop these things?" Henry asked as he helped Jamey get as close to her as they could, their bodies bumping against hers.

"Watchers fear disclosure more than anything. Nothing attracts attention like a fire truck. And it looks like everybody in the neighborhood is out in the street. They could ignore the first few, but not this mob."

More thunder. The sirens were getting closer. The heat of the burning house and trees pressed against the shield-net. Sweat dripped down Henry's face, his back. His eyes burned from the salt, even as he tried to wipe it away with his free hand. With his other hand he held on tight to Jamey. Henry could feel Jamey's sweat on his bare skin; he knew if he licked Jamey's skin, he would taste salt. The Watchers charged against the net, and ripped, their claws caught in its shimmer and sparkle, frantic to beat the coming fire trucks.

"Get in the car. They're almost here."

Henry shoved Jamey into the backseat and crawled in after him and jerked the door closed. Dr. Melloy threw out one last layer of net, this time over the car, and slammed her door closed just as the sirens slowed down. Heavy tires crunched on gravel. He heard water hit fire as one truck started with the burning trees. With the Watchers screaming in the air above them, Dr. Melloy stepped on the gas, barreled down the driveway, hung a left onto Three Chopt, and drove through the crowd. Then she really floored it.

Author Bio

Warren Rochelle lives in Charlottesville, Virginia, and has just retired from teaching English at the University of Mary Washington.

His short fiction and poetry have been published in such journals and anthologies as Icarus, North Carolina Literary Review, Forbidden Lines, Aboriginal Science Fiction, Collective Fallout, Queer Fish 2, Empty Oaks, Quantum Fairy Tales, Migration, The Silver Gryphon, Jaelle Her Book, Colonnades, and Graffiti, as well as the Asheville Poetry Review, GW Magazine, Crucible, The Charlotte Poetry Review, and Romance and Beyond.

His short story, “The Golden Boy,” was a finalist for the 2004 Spectrum Award for Short Fiction. His short story “Mirrors,” was just published in Under A Green Rose, a queering romance anthology, from Cuil Press. “The Latest Thing,” a flash fiction story, is in the Queer Sci Fi anthology, Innovation.

Rochelle is also the author of four novels: The Wild Boy (2001), Harvest of Changelings (2007), and The Called (2010), all published by Golden Gryphon Press, and The Werewolf and His Boy, published by Samhain Publishing in September 2016. The Werewolf and His Boy was re-released from JMS Books in August 2020. The Wicked Stepbrother and Other Stories is forthcoming from JMS Books in late September 2020.

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

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

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

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/38355.Warren_Rochelle

Simon hated school vacations. If he gambled, he’d have bet money he was one of a very, very few students who didn’t look forward to the Christmas holidays. But first off, there was no Christmas in his house, at least not since his mother was alive. She used to make sure the tree got put up and there were a few gifts under it for him. He had no idea how she managed it, because he was pretty sure The Bastard hadn’t given her any money, though it was possible she got it the same way Simon did now: by simply taking it from The Bastard’s wallet.

The Bastard never seemed to know how much he had anyway, always assuming he’d spent it at the bar. He would still take the lack of money out on Simon. But he never seemed to get blamed, for whatever that was worth.

The last few years, however, The Bastard hadn’t even bothered to pretend there was a Christmas. Simon had tried, the first year after his mother died, to put the tree up. The Bastard had immediately torn the thing apart and smashed all the ornaments. Simon had rescued a few he’d made in school when he’d cleaned the mess up and hidden them in his wardrobe. He’d never tried again to decorate.

This year had been no different. He’d left his few things in his wardrobe, kept to himself in his room, and tried not to spend the day missing his mom.

It wasn’t just the lack of holiday that made Simon dread the break. He hated being forced to spend time with his asshole of a father, hated being stuck in the house. Yet again The Bastard was out of work, so most of his time was spent at home, making it difficult for Simon to sneak out. He did his best to spend the time in his room, but that didn’t always work either. He was responsible for cooking for The Bastard—and himself, if he was allowed to eat—and cleaning the house, which meant that he couldn’t hide in his room all day.

He spent as much time there as he could, though, which caused its own problems. While it was an escape, before long it started to feel a little too much like a prison also. He wanted out of the room, but until he was sure The Bastard wouldn’t call for him, he didn’t dare try to leave.

Simon glanced at the clock and sighed when the green six mocked him. Usually, The Bastard would have gone out drinking by this time. Most of the time, he’d come back drunk enough to not even look for Simon, flop down into the recliner in front of the TV, and pass out shortly thereafter. But today was the day before “payday,” so The Bastard was instead cursing at the latest episode of How I Met Your Mother and in general being an ass.

Simon pushed the self-pity away, annoyed with himself for it, and dug out his sketchbook and pencil. He’d gotten good at hiding it quickly if the door opened so The Bastard couldn’t destroy his drawings. With another deep breath, he opened the pad to a fresh page, clicked his pencil a few times to get a point, and closed his eyes. When he had a solid picture in his head, he put pencil to paper and got lost.

You can find The Geek and His Artist at Amazon About The Geek and His Artist: Simon Williams spends his lunch periods drawing his geek and trying not to think about the terrors waiting for him at home. He needs to get away from his abusive father before he suffers the same grisly fate as his mother. Because he's learned the hard way running away doesn’t work, he’s counting the days until his eighteenth birthday.

Jimmy Bennet should be spending his lunch studying so his senior GPA is good enough to get him into college, but he can't seem to focus thanks to his distracting artist. When he’s given the opportunity to tutor Simon in Trig and discovers Simon’s home-life nightmare, he wants nothing more than to get Simon out of danger. This need becomes more urgent when Simon comes to school the Monday after their first date with bruises, but it takes a broken leg before Jimmy can convince his boyfriend the Bennets really want him.

But the danger Simon thought was past shows up at the most unexpected time, and he must stand up to the fears he’s held so long to protect not only himself, but the man he wants to spend his life with.

About Hope Ryan and where to find her:

HOPE RYAN is an out and proud bisexual, wife of a loving guy, and mother to three, including an amazingly brave gender-fluid son. She loves to write about the tough stuff, but also wants to see her characters happy in the end. She feels strongly about showing there is hope for everyone, no matter where you come from, how you identify your gender, or who you love.

Hope likes to play board and card games and can often be found playing God with her Sims or running around, fighting monsters in a virtual version of Middle Earth. Her TV and movie preferences lean towards anime, sci-fi, and fantasy, though she’ll never turn down a good happily ever after love story, either. As long as there are explosions or action, she’s happy. She loves to read books of all kinds, though prefers stories about love in its many forms.

Come join us on Facebook at Grace’s Groupies where you can find out more about Hope and Grace, hang out with other fans and authors, and have fun!

Website: www.hoperyan.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/hoperyanauthor Email: hoperyanauthor@gmail.com

Hurri Cosmo has a new MM paranormal romance out, The Oletti Shifters Book 2: "Graham's Rescue."

“You’re pregnant, Graham.”

Wow. Life has tossed Graham a lot of curveballs, but he never expected to hear those words. Then, just as Graham and his fated mate, Hyden, are getting used to that amazing news, someone from Graham’s past returns and kidnaps him, threatening the very future they want to build. Talk about curveballs! Graham is an Oletti, a bloodline of wolf shifters that seems to be part of an ancient prophecy, one that speaks of a hidden magical spring of water that can restore the earth and all that is in it. A power some would kill to possess. Except, in the wrong hands, it can also turn humans and shifters totally away from what, and who, they truly love, tearing families and even fated mates apart.

Unfortunately, Hyden has been forced to drink this water so no one is coming to rescue Graham. It’s now up to him to not only save himself, his unborn child and his fated mate, but very possibly the world. Except superhero capes are hard to come by and he never liked himself much in tights. Still, with the help of his Oletti powers, this should be something he could do, right? Oh, Great Wolf, let this be something I can do...

Graham's Rescue (Book 2)

Amazon | Smashwords

Hyden's Law (Book 1)

Amazon | Smashwords

Mates, Inc (Book 1.5 - short story)

Giveaway

Hurri is giving away a $20 Amazon Gift Card with this tour. Enter via Rafflecopter:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47150/?

Excerpt

Dreven shuffled to stand before Hyden and Graham and Graham couldn’t help but gaze up at the man. Oh! Such a kind face. Plus, he was beaming ear to ear. But even bent over, this old man was taller, wider, broader built than Graham. He was quite impressive. However, that huge smile faded as he studied Graham. After a few moments Dreven sighed and shook his head. Graham shot a wide-eyed glance up at Hyden who frowned deeply. What was going on? Was there a problem? Was that problem Graham? Oh damn, were they not fated mates after all? Had that been a lie too? He tried to pull away from Hyden but Hyden just tightened his grip. “Hang on, pup,” he whispered.

The spiritual leader leaned over to kiss Graham’s forehead. Reaching up, he brought Hyden’s face down to kiss his forehead as well. Immediately, Hyden let out a breath and relaxed beside Graham which allowed him to breathe again. Evidently, it was some sort of ritual for accepting Graham into the pack, maybe announcing a mating. Whatever it was sent the room into a low roar of mutterings. The older man held up a hand then turned back to Graham when the room once again was quiet.

“Oh, little one, for most of us life consists of choosing paths. We are tasked with making many decisions every day that affect what we do and where we go. Some are obvious choices, like the jobs we are meant to do. Others not so clear, like who we are to mate with. Still others of us,” he glanced up at Hyden, “make choices that affect us all and we are glad for it.” He nodded at Hyden before returning his attention back to Graham. “For every path we take, many others continue to open to us. Paths of glorious joy, love, a chance at dreams. And sometimes deception and perhaps betrayal. And so it goes all of our lives.” The older man sucked in a breath and let it out slowly as he touched Graham’s stomach. “But for a few there is an ancient calling that will allow only one path.” He gazed into Graham’s eyes. “You, my pup, are about to witness greatness.” He glanced up at Hyden. “Take good care of them, Alpha. The child he carries will change our world. And… I see great trouble ahead.”

There were gasps all around the room, the questioning whispered words of ‘child’ and ‘could he be pregnant’ flowed like a gentle wave.

Dreven’s smile, although a bit sad now, resumed as he stepped back and turned to the crowd. “We are in the presence of a pivotal moment in the lives of shifters. This” – he gestured back at Hyden and Graham – “is a true fated, destiny-bound mating between our great leader, Hyden, and this young man, Graham. A mating, of which, I can do nothing but approve.”

There was a moment of hesitation but then a cheer rose loudly from the gathered pack members. Finally, Hyden raised his hand for silence. When the noise died down, he spoke. “I did not need for the Shaman to confirm that Graham and I are fated mates. But it is good that he sees it. Thank you, Dreven, and,” he bowed slightly toward the older man. “we obviously need to talk later?” The older man nodded once and stepped back into the crowd while Hyden spoke again. “I now want to introduce to you my fated mate, Graham, soon to be Solfang. Yes, he is one of the rare Oletti and he carries my child.” He gazed down at Graham. “No one was as surprised or pleased as I was to learn that very thing just this morning.” He returned his attention to the crowd. “That is the reason I wanted this meeting. I wanted to announce Graham and I will be joined as one under the next Mating Moon a month from tonight.”

The cheer that went up was wild and the pack crowded in around Hyden and Graham. Hyden held Graham tightly to his side as congratulations and slaps on the back and handshakes rocked them both.

Suddenly there was a shout from the living room and all attention turned to Myrk, who was standing on top of one of Hyden’s beautiful coffee tables.

And he was very obviously pissed.

“You!” he pointed at Graham. “You husband stealer!” Myrk glanced around the room and then down to the elders who were sitting, stunned, on the couches. “You all know Hyden was to mate with me. And not this… this… imposter who somehow bewitched Hyden into believing he’s an Oletti. He’s no Oletti! He only claims that because he knows that’s what I am, and he thinks to trap Hyden with his fantasy of being pregnant. You can’t let this happen. You just can’t. Hyden is mine. He said so. You have to make him honor that.”

Author Bio

Hi. Hi, my name is Hurri Cosmo. I live in Minnesota where I hold tight to the idea that here, where it’s cold a good part of the year, I won’t age as fast. Yep, I avoid the truth as much as I avoid mirrors. But one of the reasons I love writing is reality doesn’t always offer up a “happily ever after” and being able to take control of that is a powerful lure. Being a happy ending junkie, writing just makes them easier to find. Oh, I don’t mind “real life” and I do try to at least keep it in mind when I write my stories, but I truly love creating a wonderful couple, knowing they will fall in love and have their HEA every ―single ― time. And, of course, that is exactly the reason I love writing this genre, too. Give me a glass of red wine, some dark chocolate, and my computer, whether I am reading or writing, and I can entertain myself for hours. The fact that I actually get paid to do it is Snicker bars on the frosting on the cake.

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

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

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

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

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6466687.Hurri_Cosmo

Author QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/hurri-cosmo/

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Hurri-Cosmo/e/B00IZNFSXS

April Kelley has a new mm paranormal romance out, Wingspan Book 4: "A Little Unsteady." And there's a giveaway.

Nigel wouldn’t mind if Asher called him Daddy if the age-gap didn’t bother him so much.

Nigel Blackburn has lived a full like as a private investigator. His job means he travels solo a lot, which is something he enjoys. He’s a grouchy, stubborn dragon shifter who is better off alone. The last thing he wants is a mate and certainly not one so young. It doesn’t matter that he finds little bobcat shifter, Asher Burkhart, sexy. But all Nigel’s dragon wants to do is protect, which is good because danger drives into town.

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon CAN | QueeRomance Ink

Giveaway

April is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour – enter via Rafflecopter:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47147/?

Excerpt

By the gods, Asher looked young. How young, Nigel didn’t know, but he needed to find out.

No one would mistake the age difference. Nigel had life etched into his skin. Not all of it bad. Sun and laughter did their best after he hit his prime.

He shook his head and ran a hand down his face. The kid made him feel every damn year he’d lived, and all Nigel had to do was look at him. Considering he was a dragon shifter, there had been many.

“Are you asking me if I’ll let you find your brother?”

Asher nodded.

“You’re not a damn prisoner. I’d rather you didn’t wake them, though. They’ve all had a long day and need the rest. So do you, for that matter. Why don’t you lay back down and try to sleep?”

Asher darted his gaze to the closed bedroom door. “Can I have clothes, please?”

Nigel stood and walked over to the dresser. He opened the second drawer from the top and pulled out one of his t-shirts before closing it again. Sweatpants were in the third drawer down. Nothing he had would fit, but that wasn’t the point. He wouldn’t have the kid thinking he had to stay, not after being held captive in the panel room and then at that lab. Somehow, Nigel thought the hostage situation with Terrance caused the most damage. Still, Nigel would follow the kid around like a pet dog before letting him believe his captive status extended to Nigel’s home.

He’d never have to go through anything like that again.

Nigel carried his bundle to Asher, handing it over. He sat on the bed next to him. “The sweatpants have drawstrings.”

Asher nodded and held the clothing to his chest. His eyes shifted to his cat, and his teeth dropped down. Despite the physical response, he sat there as if scared of Nigel.

They were strangers, so the uneasiness made sense. Still, he didn’t like it. “My name is Nigel.”

“Asher.”

Nigel smiled. “I know yours. Leaf talks about you often.”

“Oh.”

“How old are you?”

Asher narrowed his eyes and met his gaze. To say Nigel was surprised by the sudden change of emotion was an understatement. It made him question his assessment of Asher’s earlier behavior. “I could ask you the same thing?”

Nigel lifted his eyebrows and tried not to smile again. “I would answer that I’m a lot older than you.”

The corner of Asher’s mouth turned up in a half-smile. “Fine. Then I’m a lot younger than you.”

“Are you over the age of eighteen?”

Asher smirked and rolled his eyes. “I can even legally drink alcohol. Imagine that.”

“How many years have you been able to drink alcohol legally?”

“Two.” Asher covered his mouth with the back of his hand when he yawned. Some of the tension in his shoulders disappeared.

“Just a kid.”

Asher shrugged and lay his bundle of clothing on the bed beside him. “Compared to you, probably.”

“Was that an old-man joke?” Nigel stood, taking the clothes and placing them on top of the dresser.

Their age difference might bother Nigel, but talking about it eased Asher’s tension enough that fatigue washed over him. Asher forgot about being guarded. Nigel could tell by the way he lay back down on the bed. “Will you talk to me until I go to sleep? Leaf does that back at home.”

Nigel pulled the covers up around him before turning back to his chair. If he stayed too close, he’d push the kid into bonding. His dragon already roared in protest that he hadn’t mated Asher yet. Nigel sat down, keeping the room between himself and a kid who seemed far too traumatized by the last few months of his life. “What do you want to talk about?”

Author Bio

April Kelley is an author of LGBTQ+ Romance. Her works include The Journey of Jimini Renn, which was a Rainbow Awards finalist, Whispers of Home, the Saint Lakes series, and over thirty more. She’s a main contributor at Once and Books.

Author Website: http://www.authoraprilkelley.com/

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

Author Facebook (Group): https://www.facebook.com/groups/1538712856332109

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

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

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/authoraprilkelley

Author QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/april-kelley/

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/April-Kelley/e/B00TWDUUEM/

Eric Alan Westfall has a new queer fairy tale out: Prince Ivan, "A. Wolfe & A Firebird." And there's a giveaway!

Dear Reader,

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

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

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

• “To Kvetch, Or Not To Kvetch? A Reader’s Choice”
• “Ivan Has A Close Encounter Of The F-Word Kind”
• “Second Direction Questers vs. The Caliph’s Sayer Of Sooths”
• “Will Sasha Succeed In Seducing Prince Ivan?”
• “Bad Prince Ivan! No Touch Cage!”
• “A Travel Pause For Gratuitous Sex In The Tent—Which Does Not Advance The Plot—At The Insistence Of The Characters”
• “A Necessary Interlude To Consider The Age-Old Questing Question: What The [Expletive Of Your Choice, Dear Reader] Do We Do Next?”

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

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

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

Amazon | Smashwords | Universal Buy Link

Giveaway

Eric is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour. Enter via rafflecopter:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47138/?

Excerpt

“A wolf who talks,” Ivan said, his voice all full of surprise.

“I am not a wolf, Prince Ivan, I am A. Wolfe.”

Ivan lifted an eyebrow, in his long-perfected “inquiring princes want to know what you mean” mode, while wondering what effect it might have on such an enormous beast. Well, not a beast, exactly, since it could talk.

No reaction, except the bright gold eyes—so like one of his father’s apples, well-polished after plucking, or the gold circles in the Firebird’s tail—stared back, unblinking.

Since his eyebrow inquiry failed to a verbal response, it was Ivan’s turn to talk. Politeness had worked with the Firebird, when used in place of “I am royal, hear me roar” arrogance, and might be best for Ivan’s well-being in the current situation, conversing with a wolf, the top of whose head was above Gus’ shoulder.

“‘A wolf who talks,’” yes. My exact words, Sir Wolf.”

The wolf opened his mouth. Wide. No mere flash this time. Ivan was fully fanged. As they had only just met, he could not tell whether he was being fang-grinned for a reason he could not fathom, or fierce-fanged to frighten him. If it was the latter, there was a glimmer of starting-to-work happening.

But the wolf’s voice was neither fierce nor fun-filled when he hid most of his fangs and talked again. His tone was a goblet of great size, filled not just to the brim but overflowing—with more coming from somewhere so the over kept on flowing—with...patience. The kind of patience you use for, with, and on, those who are not very bright. Indeed, those who are so dim that if their brains were used to provide light for reading at night they’d be as effective as an inch-tall stub of a quarter-inch wide candle, set in a candlestick in the bowels of a cavern on the far side of a mountain range five-and-a-half eighths of a continent away.

“When you bathe, do you clean your ears, Prince Ivan?” [See above for how he said it.]

“Uh...what?”

A sigh was heard.

Ivan wished he’d brought along a sigh that big, but then, since it was a large wolf letting it loose, accompanied by, Ivan was almost sure, a hint of a scent of pasta, pesto, garlic and butter, Ivan might not have been able to use it with the same effect. The sigh might almost have been designed to complement the show-patience-to-the-afflicted voice.

“Do. You. Clean—”

“I heard you the first time, Sir Wolf. I just don’t understa—”

It was the wolf’s turn to interrupt. “It’s clear you don’t understand, young prince. I was trying to ascertain whether your inability to understand plain Russian was based on a physical defect—stuffed ears, whether unclean or for another reason, bad hearing, something of that sort—and if not, on some mental lack which in theory requires me to be considerate and gentle.”

There was a tiny pause, so infinitesimal Ivan would have had no chance to get a syllable of a word in edgewise, sidewise, upwise, or downwise, even had he tried. “You do understand kindness and gentleness are not traits associated with a wolf, and especially not A. Wolfe?”

At the end of this series of insults, the Great Tsar would have raged, calling on his ever-present Imperial Guards to “Rid me of this wolf!”

Anatol would have ranted about the presumptuousness of peasants who did not know or stay in their proper place, probably forgetting who had just offended his sense of propriety.

Vlad would have grabbed his sword, and whether from horseback, or following a grandiose leap to the ground which displayed his awesome athleticism for the admiration of any viewers lurking in the vicinity—it was his policy to always act as if he was being viewed with admiration—would have started hewing and hacking away.

In part because Ivan suspected the outcome would have been the same with all three of those scenes—dead soldiers, dead royal family, likely including bystander youngest prince—Ivan chose the fourth door...and laughed.

He couldn’t say why he saw—thought he saw—a twinkle of humor in the great golden eyes. But he must have been right, because the wolf didn’t leap up, all howling, growling and slavering, and drag him off Gus before doing the devouring which would logically follow offending laughter.

Ivan forced a halt to his own humor. With gasps interrupting his initial words, he said, “My apologies, Sir Wolf. I was not laughing at you. It was an image in my head of my family’s reactions to your words, and yours to theirs. However, with all the respect to which you are entitled, which seems to be at least a reasonable amount”—Ivan was willing to be reasonable, but not obsequious—“I have no mental or physical defect which interferes with my hearing or my understanding. Perhaps the, ah, flaw lies in your explanation of what you mean? Or, you might consider, the lack of one?”

Ivan gave the wolf a princely grin of satisfaction with his response.

Wolfe gave the prince back a wolfeish huff. “I’ll entertain the possibility you might be right, if you’ll entertain the possibility you are not listening as well as you should.”

Ivan nodded.

“Very well. Repeat after me, ‘A wolf is not the same as A. Wolfe.’”

“A wolf is not the same as a wolf.”

Wolfe sighed again. He apparently had an inexhaustible supply, in a wide range of sizes.

“A wolf is an animal, Prince Ivan. It resembles me, but is far smaller, roams the forest, howls from time to time for various reasons, and at times for no reason at all. Perhaps because it doesn’t reason. I am a wolfe—with an ‘e’ at the end. Which means I have magickal skills. My name is: A...full stop...Wolfe.”

Ivan grinned again. “Your first name is Afullstop? What an unusual name. Not Russian, is it?”

“No. Not an ‘uh’ sound, but a long a-sound, which rhym... You’re teasing.”

Ivan learned another lesson in wolfe-prince relations. A wolf-with-an-e-at-the-end could grin, without his fangs looking all fearsome.

Ivan widened his own grin. “I am. So what does long-A stand for?”

“Aleksandr.”

“A handsome name for a handsome wolf-with-an-e.”

Ivan paused. He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but he decided he would, anyway. “Sir Wolfe, now that I know your name is A. Wolfe, and since we are being so precise with our pronunciations, are you really quite certain I shouldn’t call you ‘A. Wolfie?’ To be sure the final ‘e’ gets its just and proper due?”

Ah. So that’s what a Wolfeish glare looked like with a fillip of fang.

Author Bio

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

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

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

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