 My snippet this week is from Quarry, book 2 of The Vampire Guard.  One car swerved wildly, and Declan was cut off, nearly running right into its bumper. The cacophony of horns and tires increased trifold. Blair was willing to bet most of the drivers never saw Declan weaving through the pandemonium since he moved so quickly. “Bastard,” Blair grumbled. Blair was a vampire, the same as Declan, and could see Declan’s actions though human or werewolf eyes weren’t able to. Too bad Blair couldn’t mimic Declan’s smooth moves. A car careened around a corner and right into Declan’s path. He jumped up, slid across the hood on his ass, and hit the pavement running without missing a beat. Blair hated him. Blair’s actions were less than smooth, and trying to keep up, even though he was the faster runner between them, made him feel horribly inept. His attempt at Declan’s move over and around the cars resulted in Blair’s face narrowly escaping an intimate meeting with the pavement. There are more snippets in the Rainbow Snippets Facebook group! Quarry is available in eBook, paperback, through Kindle Unlimited and your local library digital catalog.    
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NEW RELEASE 
Book Title: Hunter’s Hidden Camera Author: Anthony Auswat Publisher: Point Liberty Press Cover Artist: Vangega Release Date: April 1, 2026 Tense/POV: first person, present tense, single POV Genres: MM Psychological Thriller Tropes: Forbidden desire, taboo obsession, slow burn, secret crush, friends to lovers Themes: Coming of age, coming out, gay awakening, voyeurism, sibling rivalry Heat Rating: 3 flames Length: 68 000 words/318 pages It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger. Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited 
A high school track athlete with a perverse hobby. A college heartthrob with a secret life. A dark gay m/m thriller that will stop at nothing until everyone gets exposed. Blurb Hunter seems to have it all: brains, biceps, and a bright future beyond the halls of his oppressive high school. He also has a private obsession that he knows is wrong: secretly recording his older brother, Nash, with a spy cam. It starts as a thrill and morphs into a power trip. But one day, the video footage reveals something so disturbing that it cracks Hunter’s life straight down the middle. Now he’s trapped in a nightmare where desire leaves fingerprints, loyalty pulls triggers, and the brother he thought he knew might be the most dangerous person in the room. To survive what he’s uncovered, Hunter turns to his best friend, Oscar, who may also be the man Hunter never knew he needed. When the family you’re born into puts you at risk, the family you choose may be the only thing that keeps you alive. Hunter’s Hidden Camera is an emotionally charged LGBTQ coming-of-age psychological thriller about hunger, shame, and the brutal cost of exposure. Smile for the camera. Excerpt M y brother has Big Dick Energy. He walks tall, as if he’s purposefully stretching out his body, a real-life Mr. Fantastic, his head held high but kind of cocked to the side, like he’s sizing up the world and impressed with what he sees. His arms swing almost carelessly, taking up more space around him than he needs. He’s got very visible swagger, his right foot landing on the ground a bit wider than his left one, landing a little crooked, as a way to make room for the almost always noticeable bulge in his pants. But despite all this, despite the way he carries himself, he doesn’t come across as arrogant. His confidence is quiet. You can see it when you catch a glimpse of him alone, like when he’s cooking salmon and vegetables for himself for lunch or when he’s shooting baskets in the backyard. You can also see it in the way he interacts with others: the ease with which he talks to people, familiar and strange, and the friendliness he brings to almost every encounter. I mean, I guess if you have a dick that big, life is all sunshine and blue skies and you want to be friendly to everybody. God, I hate him. It’s not that I have a micro-penis or anything. I think I’m proportional, or at least average, or at least almost average, but it’s hard to tell because most of the dicks I see are in porn and that’s not the real world. I’m eighteen, my brother’s twenty-one, and I have now resigned myself to the fact that I’ll never catch up. I’m thinking all this while digging in one of my brother’s dresser drawers, the one with all his underwear in it. He rotates between boxer briefs, trunks, and briefs, all different colors, some with patterns. He’s got designer brands like Calvin Klein and Diesel, but he’s also got some targeted at the youth market, from stores like Abercrombie & Fitch and Hollister. There are also a few very basic Fruit of the Loom and Hanes thrown in there, probably left over from his high school days. Sometimes I wonder if his underwear works the same way a costume works for a superhero. Peter Parker is just Peter Parker, but when he puts on his Spider-Man outfit he is a man transformed. He is more confident, feels more powerful. Same goes for Iron Man, Ant-Man, most of them. Is my brother just a normal person, brimming with insecurities and worries, whose BDE only turns on when tighty-whities are wrapped around him? My brother (his name is Nash) is away at college, currently a senior majoring in business, and my parents are on vacation in Las Vegas, so I have the house to myself this morning. I grab one of Nash’s white Calvin Klein trunks. I’m jealous that he can rock these like a model. He wouldn’t look out of place next to Noah Centineo and Shawn Mendes, who broke the internet when their hot underwear ads were released. Again, it’s not that I’m out of shape or some kind of freak of nature. I’m actually pretty fit, pretty athletic, and pretty much the best track athlete at my school. It’s just that compared to Nash I feel like nothing. About the Author Anthony Auswat is the author of dark, demented, and deeply gay thrillers, including The Teacher Inside Me and Hunter's Hidden Camera, which were viral sensations online before they were officially published. He draws from personal experience and transforms it into genre storytelling. He lives in California, where he keeps a low profile and a high body count. Social Media Links 
 Mason leaned over and looked. “Yeah. Probably hunters.” He didn’t see any other equipment, which was odd but not illegal. He smiled and patted Riece’s back as they approached the door, sliding his hand down to Riece’s belt before breaking contact. A bell jangled when he pushed the door open, and they walked in. Riece wandered the store while Mason went to the counter and waited in line. A woman, dressed in a way that told Mason she was a hunter, held a basket and was gathering some items off the shelves. A kid, maybe twenty, nudged her side and nodded toward Mason, then Riece. Mason had to make a conscious effort to refrain from rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “Morning,” the older man behind the counter said. “Morning, Jim.” Mason turned so he could face the man but still keep the kid in his peripheral vision. He pulled his wallet out, then laid a credit card and his driver’s license on the counter. “I’ll be leaving my vehicle for three or four days.” He added a paper with a list of the sites he’d be guiding Riece to. “The park service is having some photography work done.” Jim chuckled. “And you drew the short straw, eh, Arquette?” “A nice paid vacation,” Mason said. His gaze shifted for a split second to the woman and kid. The man behind the counter shrugged and shook his head ever so slightly. “So how’s life treating you, Jim?” “Not bad. Quiet.” Jim filled out some paperwork, then nodded to the card swipe. “Is there a problem with our Jeep?” The kid squared his shoulders and got closer to Mason. The woman turned toward them, sighed heavily, and followed along. “You need a warrant. I know my rights.” Mason leaned one elbow on the counter, putting him more on the same level as the kid, who was several inches shorter than Mason. “I have an older model of the same Jeep.” He dipped his head toward the window and his own Jeep outside. “I noticed yours and had to take a look. What do you think of it?” “We’ve only had it a few weeks. Is there a problem?” The woman joined them. “As I was saying, I looked over your Jeep because I have the same model a few years older. How do you like yours?” Mason was making a real effort to keep his voice neutral. The woman drew in a deep breath, but the kid’s defensive posture didn’t change. The woman set the basket on the counter and gave the kid a harsh look. “Bought it at a car show. I like it. You should go to a dealership and see one for yourself.” Mason nodded politely. “Thanks.” As he turned away, out of habit he gave the kid another visual once-over, noticing the handgun on his hip. Considering how he was dressed, that didn’t surprise Mason in the least. “I have a carry permit,” the kid blurted out. The woman shoved the basket closer to Jim, sounding agitated. “Can I pay for this stuff?” Mason stood to his full height and held out one hand, wiggling his fingers. “Well, since you’re so darn proud of it, let’s have a look at it.” Jim smiled and focused on the basket, pulling items out and ringing them up. The kid fumbled through the go pack he wore before finally pulling a wallet from his back pocket and producing the document. Mason glanced it over and handed it back without comment. “Go wait out in the Jeep,” the woman snapped at the kid. He looked from her to Mason and back again, then grumbled, “Damn Tonto thinks he can push us around.” Mason saw Riece look up and went completely still. As the kid tried to step by him, Mason put one hand on the counter and sidestepped to block the kid’s exit. He used his other hand to flick at his badge. “That’s Special Agent Tonto to you.” He pulled his hand away and turned toward Riece. “C’mon, Riece. Time to get moving if we want to get very far today.” Riece gave the woman and kid a wide berth as he walked to the door. Ignoring the pair inside the store, Mason put one hand on Riece’s shoulder to move him along faster. Mason took a path to his Jeep that circled behind the other one so he could get a look at the license plate. When Riece’s steps faltered, Mason took his arm for a few seconds and guided him to the far side of the vehicle. “What’s going on?” Riece asked. Mason shook his head. “No idea. Keep walking. Go to my Jeep.” Riece walked ahead, and as soon as he was next to Mason’s Jeep, he stopped. Mason walked more slowly. The minute he was out of sight of the store and the other vehicle, he pulled his radio from his belt. “Dispatch, this is Special Agent Mason Arquette, park service. I’m at Big Horn General Store. Check with the ATF and DEA; see if they have anything going on out here.” Riece’s eyebrows shot up and he sucked in a breath. Mason put one finger to his lips, then said in a low voice, “Keep an eye out for that moron kid and the woman. Let me know if they come this way.” Riece stood at the rear of Mason’s Jeep and pulled his camera out. He aimed it at the woods to the side of the store. Mason could see Riece would have a good view of the whole area without obviously being focused on the store’s front. A minute later Mason heard back from his dispatcher. No suspected illegal activity in the area. “Thanks.” He relayed the license plate number. “I’m not convinced they’re only here hunting, but I don’t have reason to search their vehicle.” He ended the call and stepped closer to Riece. “They have all those gun lockers in the back,” Riece said. “And that guy was obnoxious. Even I could tell he was nervous about something.” Mason nodded. “Hunters have guns, and the permit for his sidearm was legit. They haven’t done anything illegal.” He snorted and opened the back of his Jeep. “Hell, if being obnoxious and abrasive was against the law, I’d have been locked up for good years ago.” Riece shrugged and made a face. “True.” Mason pulled Riece’s pack out and twirled one finger in front of him. When Riece turned around, Mason helped him get the thing adjusted on his back. Riece took a step forward and stumbled sideways. Laughing, Mason steadied him, then shrugged on a vest-like go pack before he hoisted his own hiking pack onto his shoulders. “It wasn’t his personality that set you off, was it?” Riece got his camera bag situated and took another few steps before he looked back at Mason and gave him two thumbs up. “I got this.” Waving at a trail, Mason closed and locked his Jeep. “Let’s get going. We’ll talk on the way.” Riece grinned and walked beside Mason into the rugged country of the Black Hills.     RECENT RELEASE 
Book Title: And Then He Pressed Play: Track One Author: Robert J. Halliwell Publisher: Triple Scale Publishing Cover Artist: Harrold-Vincent Villanueva Release Date: February 28, 2026 Tense/POV: Past tense, third person limited, dual POV Genres: YA coming of age, MM Contemporary Tropes: Fish out of water, Shy-Sunshine, Idiots in love, exchange student Themes: Found family, bisexual awakening, first love Heat Rating: 1-1.5 flames Length: 338 pages, 80 000 words It is part 1 of a duology. It has a HFN ending with some heartbreak mixed in since the exchange program ends. Buy Links Amazon | Website | Kobo | B&N | Indigo 
Blurb It's 2006 and Sixteen-year-old A.J. Walker is openly gay, painfully Canadian, and very much out of his depth. He’s wanted to do his school’s exchange program for years, but now that he’s landed at an all-boys school in Glenbridge Ireland—an ocean away from Moose Jaw Saskatchewan—he’s starting to question his decisions. Armed with nothing more than his trusty Discman and an accent that makes him stand out, A.J. has one goal: get through the Irish school year. Born and raised in Glenbridge, Bren O’Shea has never known how to sit still or keep quiet. He’s also never known a day without laughter. Even when things get bad, Bren always knows how to get a smile out of someone, whether they asked him or not. His mam always says he needs to think before he acts, but as long as his heart’s in the right place, what’s the harm in a bit of impulse? Glenbridge is the sort of town where everyone knows everyone—and unfortunately for A.J. once someone thinks they know you, it’s hard to change their mind. After a rocky start that ends in disaster, Bren and A.J. need to decide if it’s worth reaching out to someone who’s so different from you—especially when one of you has to leave in June. 
Excerpt Save me! The chorus to “Bring Me to Life” rang in A.J.’s ears as he leaned against the damp, moss-covered wall at the far end of Glenbridge Secondary School. Even though the volume on his whirring Discman was cranked to the highest setting, it wasn’t enough to drown out the absolute bedlam that roiled around him. He’d thought his eleven years of attending school had shown him all the shades of feral guys came in, but standing to face the churning sea of testosterone before him, those years of experience all but melted away. He couldn’t say for sure whether it was the fact Glenbridge had no girls to act as a buffer, or if his new classmates just didn’t come with volume knobs. Whatever the reason, he was doubting the wisdom of signing up for the exchange program with each passing second. The main attraction stood at the end of the yard farthest from his wall. At least twenty guys, ranging throughout all the grades by the looks of them, were playing some sort of game A.J. had never seen before. Everyone carried strips of wood that looked like a cross between stubby hockey sticks and baseball bats. As far as he could tell, the goal was to balance, hit, or otherwise carry the baseball-sized ball from one end of the field to the other and get it past the goalie, all while being as loud as possible. Separate from this unknown sport, groups of students stood in clusters throughout the yard. This wasn’t much different from what he was used to at first glance, but on closer inspection, each group was in a state of constant motion. Guys were speaking with their hands, elbowing their friends or slapping each other on the back with every other word. They seemed to communicate exclusively by shouting, with accents that A.J. had trouble understanding—even without the music thudding in his skull. There didn’t seem to be another quiet person for him to approach. Not one other guy off on his own, reading a book, listening to music, or acting like they hadn’t downed about five cans of Monster. A.J. rolled his shoulders, and the fabric of his uniform bit into his neck. He’d thought by making sure his clothes were in pristine condition before setting out that morning, he was applying a layer of camouflage. A uniform made things easier—or at least it should have. To his dismay, it looked like everyone else had shredded the handout without looking at it. Shirts were rumpled, sleeves were rolled up, and despite the leaflet’s mention of neutral footwear, he spotted more than a few pairs of brightly coloured Nikes milling about. In the brief lull between songs, his eyes fell on one of the worst offenders of this near-universal breach of dress code. Flame-bright hair stuck out at every angle across his head, like he’d rolled out of bed and walked straight out the door. His blue and silver striped tie was so loose the knot thudded against his sternum whenever he was in motion—which seemed to be his default setting. He laughed as he peeled back the top of a yogurt lid and flung it with a casual flick towards one of his friends. It landed with a good stick on the boy’s breast pocket—right over the school crest. A.J. was wondering how hard the first boy was going to get punched when the second one’s lip twitched. He grabbed hold of the lid and, with surprising dexterity considering the size of him, flung it back at the first boy. It landed between his eyes with a splat that A.J. thought he heard above his music. The rest of the group exploded with laughter as the redhead peeled the lid off, still wearing his crooked smile. Without warning, the yogurt-covered boy turned from his group to toss the lid towards a nearby trash can. A.J.’s eyes darted away and came to rest on a patch of clover. Had the other boy seen him staring? Classes hadn’t even started yet, and he was already acting like a friendless loser. He was a friendless loser. His fingers found the dial of his Discman again, yearning to crank the volume up past its limits. He’d all but decided to cut his losses and head inside early when he heard it. The sound of a muffled voice, far too close to be there by accident. Shit. A.J. let his eyes linger on the clover before dragging his gaze upward. Sure enough, there stood the boy from before. A stray streak of pinkish yogurt clung to his fire-spun eyebrows where the lid had landed. Tiny beads of moisture glistened on his pale skin, shining among the freckles spread across the bridge of his sharp nose. It was impossible to tell whether it was sweat or not. If A.J. had learned one thing about Ireland in the two weeks he’d been there, it was that the humidity never dropped below chicken noodle soup. A.J. fumbled with the dial while the other boy’s head tilted to the side, like he was trying to figure out the plot of a show he’d dropped into mid-season. With his music humming instead of roaring, A.J. shifted his gaze to meet the boy’s hazel eyes. 
About the Author Robert J. Halliwell was born in the magical land of Canada during the age of butterfly clips and jelly sandals. He spent his formative years watching spooky movies and being jealous of Belle’s library from Beauty and the Beast. Many people don’t know Robert is married to an American Cyborg or that he’s secretly in possession of the two cutest cats in the world. He can often be found playing Dungeons and Dragons, knitting, or struggling to keep his garden alive. Author Links Website | Facebook | Instagram 
 Blair nodded and sniffed. “I-I’m s-sor-sorry.” “You have nothing to be apologizing for. Is the wetness in one spot?” “I don’t know. It’s getting bigger.” Blair sucked in air and opened his eyes again. “I’m bleeding. I’m going to bleed out and die. I don’t want—” He tried pulling in more oxygen, but it was suddenly impossible to breathe through what felt like tight bands tightening down around his chest. “Blair!” Declan said sternly and held one finger up in front of Blair’s face. “You are not going to die. You’re a vampire. Bleeding out takes weeks.” He sat back and ran one hand through his hair. “I know you’re scared and in pain, but we both have to stay calm. Lucas and Jonas are out there”—he pointed up—“and they are looking for us. I can feel it. They’ll find us.” Closing his eyes for a few beats, Declan sighed. “Right now, I need you to focus on our problem and stay calm. Someone is here with us. Can you do that?” Blair gulped and nodded. Declan patted the side of Blair’s head and smiled. He twisted on his heels and seemed to be searching for something. “I will get you out of here,” he said, reaching for something out of Blair’s line of sight, Declan turned back to Blair and handed him a piece of metal rebar. “Grip this and try to stay quiet. Have you ever seen a woman give birth?” Blair shook his head. “No.” His voice came out more of a squeak than a word. “You pull in a very deep breath like this.” Declan took a breath, and his chest expanded. “And blow out like this.” He exhaled a quick series of short bursts. “Then repeat.” Waving his hand in a get-moving motion, Declan said, “Now you.” Blair’s expression no doubt reflected how dubious he was. Declan nodded and raised his eyebrows. Focusing on Declan’s face, Blair did as instructed. “Again,” Declan said when Blair finished. Blair nodded and repeated the action. When he was done, Declan asked, “Feel better?” “Yeah. I do.” “Good. Now I want you to keep doing that.” “What are you going to do?” Blair asked. Declan stood up, removed his suit jacket, and laid it to the side. “I’m going to see if I can get what I think is a wine bar off of your leg.” Blair managed to look at his legs. From his pelvis down, he was covered by a huge chunk of concrete. “It looks heavy.” Declan chuckled. “Yes, it does. Hang on to that piece of metal and breathe.” Before Blair could think about what Declan was about to do, Declan grabbed an edge of the concrete and metal frame and grunted, straining to ease the thing off Blair. Gripping the rebar so tightly Blair pressed dents into it, he dragged in big breaths and panted them out again. Declan’s face turned red, and the muscles of his neck and arms corded and shook. Declan glanced at him. “Anything?” Blair shook his head and dropped the rod. “It’s not budging.” Declan released the edge of the concrete chunk, straightened, and stood with his hands at his sides, breathing hard. “I’m going to need help with this one, mon ami.” He put two fingers to his lips and turned silently to the left, then the right, before pointing to the far side of the parking garage. Elevator doors had been set in, but Blair could see there was no elevator yet. Stones bounced loose from somewhere above them. Declan dropped to his knees and inched closer to Blair, so he was hidden by the rubble. “Big rats,” Blair muttered. “I hate rats.” Declan grinned and nodded. “As do I. You up for this?” “Yes. Don’t get hurt.” Blair winced and bite back a sob as he shifted and panted a few more times. He gripped and released the edges of the concrete block a few times. “You promised to get me out.” “Make it sound good.” Declan patted the side of Blair’s neck. He kept low and crept away from Blair to another pile of rubble, then slipped out of sight. “Shouldn’t be too hard.” Blair put his hands flat on the ground to either side of him and lifted his weight up. All the progress the deep breathing and panting had made evaporated in a barrage of agony. Blair shouted, then clenched his jaw tight. When the wave of dizziness passed, he pleaded, “Is anyone there? Help me, please. Someone?” Declan crouched low in the shadows. Lucas had once described the difference between Declan and Forge perfectly. Forge would come at an opponent head on. Declan was, in Lucas’s words, the “deadly assassin of the night.” He’d disarm and disable an adversary before they ever knew he was there, and he had a spectacular repertoire of means to accomplish those ends. Blair almost felt sorry for anyone approaching and threatening him. Almost. The human they’d chased moved cautiously out of the elevator space. He looked one way then the other as he walked in Blair’s direction. Blair reminded himself he’d been human a few short years ago. Looking afraid and in pain wasn’t difficult. He was afraid and in pain. From behind his back, the man pulled a gun and held it in front of him in what Blair recognized now as an assault position. Coming to a stop opposite Blair, the man used one foot to shove against the chunk of concrete. Blair shivered and looked up at the man. He gulped in a breath and gagged. The man smirked. “Where’s your buddy, and why were you chasing me?” “I’m bleeding,” Blair whispered. The gun discharged, and a bullet ricocheted off the concrete, sending a spray of dust and stone slivers into the air. Blair flinched, then hissed in a breath and stifled a sob. “Help me. Please?” “How the hell did you even survive that fall?” The man’s eyes narrowed, and he raised the gun, taking aim at Blair’s head. “Tell me where the other guy is and I’ll make it fast.” He moved a few feet to the side and glared at Blair. “What were you two chasing me for? And why were you in the other building?” “Why were you in the…?” Blair cringed and his voice cracked and broke. He heard Declan moving into position behind the man. “He left me. The b-bastard. W-we were there to…” Blair sucked in a succession of breaths, tilted to the side as much as possible, and groaned out one long sigh, then slumped down. The man’s heartbeat ramped higher audibly. “Hey, no. Tell me what you—” He garbled some odd noise, his words abruptly cut off. Blair opened his eyes and turned his head to watch. One minute no one stood behind the man, and the next Declan was there with an arm around the guy’s chest, holding him in place. His other hand gripped the man’s chin. “Drop it,” Declan snarled. The man struggled, and Declan gave him a small jerk. “I was sixteen the first time I killed a man with my bare hands. You’re responsible for my young friend here being hurt. Drop. It.” The man sucked in a breath, but his fingers opened, and the gun fell to the ground. “I will kill you. You have the choice of it being quick and painless—here one minute, not here the next. Or…” Declan moved his hand and pressed against the man’s neck. “Do you feel where my thumb is pressing in? Enough pressure there will sever your spinal cord.” “Fuck you. You can’t really—” Blair watched as Declan tightened his arm around the man’s rib cage and jerked up with enough force to raise the guy’s feet off the ground for a few seconds. His face turned red, and he gulped. “Getting hard to breathe? I’m a vampire. That makes me strong enough to crush your rib cage and snap your neck.” “You’re delusional,” the guy grumbled. Declan’s eyes changed to a solid moss green, and his fangs dropped. He turned the man’s head far enough to see him. “Whether or not you believe in our existence is irrelevant. Who are you working for?” The man spit at Declan. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Declan said, “Hollywood makes it look so smooth. One twist of his neck—” He gave the man’s chin a jerk. “—and the bad guy just falls dead. No pain, no fuss, no muss, no real knowledge of what happened to him. Just dead. In reality, you’d lie there, conscious, unable to move and fully cognizant of the fact that you’re suffocating.” He shook his head ever so slightly. “It must be horrible—knowing your lungs aren’t working and being unable to draw a breath. Yet your mind knows what’s happening.” Declan ripped at the guy’s shirt collar with his fangs. “But one bite in the right spot and you’ll bleed out so fast you’ll never suffer, never know.” “I’m not telling you anything,” the man ground out. The muscles in Declan’s arm tensed, and Blair thought he heard ribs cracking. “It would be a shame if one of your lungs were punctured. Air in your chest cavity is an atrocious feeling.” Declan moved so he was speaking into the man’s other ear. “If you’re going to continue in this line of work, you really should learn more about human anatomy.” He shrugged. “A little tip.” He relaxed his grip on the man’s chest. “Now, answer my questions.” “I-I w-was only supposed to verify the Wi-Fi was out in the building and a private network would still be operational.” “Who was screwing with the traffic signals?” Blair asked. When the man glared and kept silent, refusing to answer Blair’s question, Declan must have pressed harder into the guy’s neck with his thumb because he spit out a funny hiccup sort of sound. “Answer him,” Declan snarled. Read Quarry in eBook, paperback, in Kindle Unlimited or from your local library digital catalog.   DEATH’S EMBRACE SERIES TOUR 
Author and Publisher: H. L. Moore Cover Artist: Damonza Pairing: MM (slow burn) Genres: Fantasy (coalpunk) The stories are best read in order. Universal Buy Links for the Series DEATH’S EMBRACE SERIES BLURB Doran Ó Seanáin, former miner and leader of the Black Lung Gang, and his best friend, Lien, are almost at a breaking point in their ongoing conflict with the city of Arajon’s tyrannical ruler. Just as things are spiralling out of control, Doran crosses paths with Nathaniel Morgenstern, an apotheker with a mysterious past. As their relationship develops against the backdrop of the ongoing social turmoil, the secrets Nathaniel is keeping might threaten to destroy them all… BOOK DETAILS BOOK 1 Book Title: Heart of Dust Length: 59 000 words Release Date: 2019 Tense/POV: Third person, past tense, single POV Tropes: Stabbing leading to meet-cute, yearning, slow burn romance Themes: Bisexual romance, dark pasts including alcoholism, drug addiction, atonement, forgiveness, worker’s rights Heat Rating: 2 flames It does not end on a cliffhanger, but leaves plot threads unresolved that are resolved in the next 3 books. 
Doran had a problem, and it wasn’t that he’d been stabbed. Blurb Iole City is in turmoil. Doran Ó Seanáin, leader of the Black Lung Gang, is determined to challenge the Archon, Arajon’s tyrannical ruler, for his brutal treatment of the miners. But Doran has more to deal with than getting stabbed and a city-wide lockdown that’s seeing his gang of ex-miners slowly starved out of their base. His daughter Grace has turned against him, and the death of his wife haunts them both. Although he finds reprieve in Nathaniel Morgenstern, the apotheker with a mysterious past to whom he owes his life, the clock is ticking. The fate of the mines hangs in the balance and the Archon is closing in. Doran’s plan to break the cycle may very well be his last. BOOK 2 Book Title: Soul of Ash Length: 86 000 words Release Date: September 2020 Tense/POV: Third person, past tense, two POVs (alternating) Tropes: Yearning, former assassin, slow burn romance Themes: Bisexual romance, dark pasts including alcoholism, drug addiction, atonement, forgiveness, worker’s rights Heat Rating: 1 flame It does not end on a cliffhanger, but some plot elements are unresolved (resolved in books 3 and 4) 
You can run, but you will never be free. Blurb Half a year after the events of Heart of Dust, Doran Ó Seanáin now finds himself trapped between two worlds while belonging to neither: held in contempt by the Bronze for the turmoil he caused during Archon Bryson’s reign, and resented by the miners for selling out. Leonora Darkwater’s pursuit to own the mines may be the answer to all of his problems, but the offer is far more complicated than it appears, and the only person Doran trusts is the same man who threw his life into chaos. Haunted by his past, hostage to a debt that cannot be repaid, and a slave to the poison that keeps him alive, atonement has never felt further out of reach for Nathaniel Morgenstern. Though the damage between him and Doran is too devastating to begin to mend, they have no choice but to face each other as their lives collide once more. There is a rot in Iole City. The mines aren’t finished with Doran, and the sand in Nathaniel’s hourglass is running out. BOOK 3 Book Title: Throne of Lies Length: 63 000 words Release Date: December 2024 Pairing: MM with hints of developing into MMF (slow burn) Tense/POV: Third person, past tense, three POVs (alternating) Trope/s: Political intrigue, forbidden romance, former assassin turned apotheker/healer Themes: Bisexual romance, dark pasts including alcoholism, drug addiction, atonement, forgiveness, worker’s rights, political intrigue, coup. Heat Rating: 3 flames This book ends on a cliffhanger. 
There are vipers in Arajon, from the Valley to the Bronze. Blurb Grace Harrington, the Dowager Archon of Arajon, is approaching her first anniversary on the throne she claimed following the death of her husband, slain at her own hands. But her position is so precarious that even the unwelcome presence of the former assassin Nathaniel Morgenstern, watching over her at her father’s behest, cannot protect her from her enemies. The city’s press has turned against her, the Bronze is rallying behind Odessa White, and her last hope of support from the Druids has gone up in smoke. The lies are adding up. A coup is coming for Grace, and she is running out of people in the city to trust… BOOK 4 Book Title: Valley of Secrets Length: 123 000 words Release Date: January 2025 Pairing: MM that develops into MMF (polyam), and a separate FF fast-burn relationship (femme/butch) Tense/POV: Third person, past tense, four POVs (alternating) Trope/s: Political intrigue, resistance against military coup, forbidden romance, former assassin turned apotheker/healer Themes: Lesbian romance, polyam romance, dark pasts including alcoholism, drug addiction, atonement, forgiveness, worker’s rights, political intrigue, coup. Heat Rating: 3 flames Most plot threads are wrapped up. Two further books are planned in the series but the series can also be finished here. 
This city of fools will be brought to order! Blurb Deposed, her father presumed dead, her friends slaughtered and the cavern in chaos, Grace Harrington is on the run and entirely alone. The only ally she has left is the man she hates most in the world: Nathaniel Morgenstern, the assassin who murdered her mother and seduced her father. Grace’s only hope of reclaiming the throne and saving her people is to seek the aid of Éamon Tadhg, the High Druid of Arajon. But she needs to survive the hostile streets of Iole City before she can even think about fleeing to the Violet Valley. Nathaniel made a vow to Doran to protect Grace, but he could never have imagined how quickly and horrifically their lives would fall apart. Grieving the dual losses of the man he loved and his new friend Tsa Lien, Nathaniel devotes himself to the service of the overthrown Lady Archon who despises him – even if it costs him everything he is. Excerpt from THRONE OF LIES (Book #3 of Death’s Embrace) “I’m sorry. I, uh… I guess you probably want me to –” Nathaniel braced his hand against the frame, using his arm to pause Doran’s advancement towards the door. “Stay,” he said quietly. He did not suggest it to continue what had been derailed by Leonora’s presence; neither he nor Doran seemed to be much in the mood for it any longer. But Doran must have needed Nathaniel’s request, for instead of shaking his head and leaving, he closed his eyes and sighed. “This wasn’t how I imagined the evening going,” Doran said. Nathaniel laid a hand upon Doran’s chest. “Rest here tonight,” he said, and started to gesture to the main room where the couch was. “I can –” Doran shook his head, opening his eyes again. “I’m not going to throw you out of your own room,” he said, a small smile finally returning to ease his features. Nathaniel became sharply aware of the bed behind him, the darkness outside the windows, Doran’s hands that moved to rest upon his waist. The room was dim, illuminated only by a small oil lamp set upon the desk under the window that overlooked Arkadia Lane. Under the faint glow of the light, he held his breath while Doran moved his hands up his body then down his arms, urging his jacket off. It fell to the floor with a soft thump. Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “I have a wardrobe, you know,” he murmured. “Maybe I want to see your clothes on the floor,” Doran replied. The sudden rush of desire that gripped Nathaniel’s body rendered him speechless. Doran smirked, then kissed him. It was deep and tender, slow and heated; milk and honey on Nathaniel’s tongue after years wandering the desert, finally stepping foot in the promised land he had denied himself. In that moment, Nathaniel felt there was nothing between them – neither pasts nor crimes, neither guilt nor regret; just them, their souls laid bare, and a barrier of clothes of which Doran was stripping away with barely restrained desperation. He relished the gentle scrape of Doran’s evening stubble across his chin, groaned when Doran moved along his jawline and kissed his neck, urging him to tilt his head back and bare his throat, which Doran used to break for air and run his hand up Nathaniel’s chest. Then, with the flickering lamplight reflected in Doran’s eyes, his fingers began working the buttons of Nathaniel’s shirt undone one by one. He slid his hands inside under the fabric and around to Nathaniel’s back, up his shoulder blades, his fingers tracing the scars that latticed his skin. Nathaniel allowed Doran to undress him, stripping his shirt to the floor beside his jacket, and moved backwards when Doran guided him until the backs of his legs collided with the edge of the bed. “Sit,” Doran ordered. Nathaniel sank down upon the mattress, his mouth dry as Doran knelt before him and began to unfasten the straps of his boots. He pulled off Nathaniel’s left boot first, then the right, leaving them askew on the floor – then Nathaniel’s hands clenched on the bedcovers and he groaned as Doran ran his hands up Nathaniel’s legs, curving around his calves, then over his knees, and all the way up his thighs and the strained fabric of his pants to reach for the buckle of the belt. Hoarsely, Nathaniel said, “You don’t have to –” “But I want to,” Doran interrupted, his voice low and heated. He rose to his feet now and stood between Nathaniel’s legs, gazing down at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Do you?” It had been years since Nathaniel’s last intimate encounter; longer still that it had been with someone for whom he had feelings that were not muted by the fog of Embrace. Such a thing was lost to him during his time with the Nameless. The physicality of sex had been heightened, certainly, while he himself was rendered as numb to the act as someone was used to the basic function of washing their hands. With a clear mind, he recalled of himself that some deep part not lost to the drug and his lifestyle must have found the experience undesirable, for he could count the number of unions he had engaged in during his adulthood on one hand. Doran’s touch was more potent, more electric, than anything Nathaniel had ever experienced under the thrall of Embrace. He felt he would die if he went one more night without knowing how Doran’s body felt against his. “God, yes,” Nathaniel rasped, and Doran closed the distance between them. About the Author H. L. Moore (she/they) is the author of the Death’s Embrace fantasy series and the Tales from the Jovian Empiresci-fi novella series. Author Links 
 Mason Arquette would always be the one who got away. Not that Riece Burrell ever gave Mason, or the fact he’d gotten away, any thought. He definitely wasn’t giving it any consideration as he disembarked the airplane and made his way to the baggage area. After grabbing his first suitcase to roll out on the conveyor belt, he set it between his feet and waited on the second one. His camera bag and a laptop case were slung over his shoulders, which made juggling the larger suitcases awkward. He absolutely never gave a moment’s consideration to Mason’s broad smile, cocky attitude, and self-assuredness. The term mountain man was something Riece often associated with Mason, though when he’d last seen Mason, he’d had no beard. Mason, with his agile body, muscular arms, and quick wit, had alternately amazed and frustrated Riece during their few years together. There are more awesome snippets in the Rainbow Snippets Facebook group. Gone Away is available in eBook, paperback, Kindle Unlimited and your local library digital catalog.   For the Long Run The man tipped his beer at Jay before wrapping his lips around the bottle neck, taking a swig and watching Jay with dark, smoldering, lusty eyes. Jay gulped and looked down again, picking at the material of his jeans where they covered his knee. Jay waited, wondering what would happen next. Was this man a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it? When the man shifted around, planted both feet on the floor, and leaned forward, gaze moving from the television to Jay and back a few times before he settled on watching him, Jay decided maybe he was indeed a man who saw what he wanted and then took it. The thought of this big man pinning him to a bed or wall, taking him and giving to him, made Jay’s heart race. Jay was never that lucky. “Eric.” The man was standing beside Jay a few seconds later, hand extended, warm expression in his eyes and on his face. Jay shook his hand, returning the smile with a shy one of his own. “Jay.” Eric eased onto the stool beside him and tipped his chin at the television. “Who you rooting for?” “Not the Heat.” Laughing outright, Eric waved at the barmaid and ordered them each another beer. “Me either.” He punched the air next to his head and grinned. “Go Cavs, then.” Jay was immediately impressed. The man had done his homework in the short time they’d been in the same bar. Instead of ordering what he had been drinking, Eric was sure to ask for the local stuff Jay was drinking. He went so far as to use the specific name of the beer. Picking up both new bottles, Eric used them to point at his booth. “Let’s sit there—more comfortable.” “I’d like that, thanks.” Trailing after Eric, Jay was doubly impressed when Eric stepped aside as they reached the table, letting Jay slide into the booth. Eric slipped in across from him. “Hungry?” “I had some nachos earlier but I could always eat.” Eric chuckled and nodded. It was sexy, endearing, and thrilling all at once. He wondered if Eric knew this bar’s reputation or just happened upon it. Scanning the menu, Eric stretched long, rock-hard legs out and brushed Jay’s leg lightly, igniting sparks that ripped along his inner thigh. “I’ve never been here before—just passing through. I’m on my way to a new job and stopped here for the night. How about you?” That answered Jay’s unspoken question. “I live an hour or so away, come here a couple times a month just to get away, less a chance of being recognized. The pizza is good, so is the steak sandwich, though you can practically hear your arteries harden with every swallow.” Eric chuckled again, and Jay loved how his voice rumbled. It was deep and pleasant. He watched as Eric turned the menu over a few times and imagined what those large hands and long fingers would feel like against his skin. The flesh between his legs firmed and stiffened, making his jeans tighten. When Eric waved the waitress over and ordered dinner, Jay was again impressed. He’d taken the hint, ordered Jay a pizza, with Jay filling in the toppings he wanted. Eric didn’t go for either the pizza or the sandwich but opted for a burger. This man, Eric, was cut from a rare cloth. Jay was a natural submissive. He didn’t have any deep, underlying reason, it was the way he’d always been. Sometimes, when he thought about it, he supposed it came from the fact that he’d grown up having to be the perfect son. Jay wanted to please his mother, so he always tried to maintain decorum and control. The right man—Dom—freed Jay from that control, even if it was only for a few hours. Picking out the right Dom, even for one night, was a job and a half. This guy obviously wasn’t new to the Dominant-submissive scene. He knew what he was doing, cared about his partner’s needs, and was willing to ensure his sub was provided for properly. They ate, watched the game, cheered and booed, and it was the most fun Jay had had in longer than he cared to remember. He could fall for this man and fall hard if he wasn’t careful and didn’t keep his wits about him. Jay excused himself to use the bathroom. When he returned, Eric was leaning against the end of the table. “Needed to stretch.” He grinned, and when Jay slid into the booth, Eric didn’t sit across from him but this time eased in beside him. “It’s getting pretty late to drive any distance home. Shouldn’t drink and drive anyway.” “No, that’s never good and I don’t do that,” Jay said softly. Eric’s hand rested on Jay’s thigh making his stomach clench, his breath quicken, and his jeans snug in even more closely. When Eric’s fingers inched down to his inseam and dug in slightly, Jay let out a long, slow, very low moan. It had been a while since anyone had bothered seducing him instead of simply picking him up for a fast lay or blow job. “I like a man who knows what he wants and how to get it,” Jay murmured softly. “Who knows how to give me what I want.” “Hmm. Good,” Eric rumbled.  For the Long Run is available in eBook, paperback, audio and through Kindle Unlimited and your local library digital catalog.  My snippet this week is from High Test, a sweet with heat May/December romance.  The evening wore on, and the crowds thinned out. Hayden glanced covertly at his watch. He’d be walking home if he didn’t leave soon. His duty had ended two hours after he’d arrived. That was all the time he was required to work, but he’d been here nearly four hours with Neal. He knew the night would have to end, but he sure didn’t want it to. Hayden hoped Neal wasn’t one of those rich people who came in here to hit on the younger, less affluent—that is, broke and nearly starving-- students. Hayden hadn’t gotten that impression, but a few hours was a short time to judge someone. “Would you like to dance?” Neal stood up and held out one hand. Hayden blinked. “Dance?” Did he really have to sound so awkward and clueless? “I’m sorry, I misread you. I thought—” “No. I mean, yes, I’d love to dance.” Hayden jumped up. There are more wonderful snippets in the Rainbow Snippets Facebook group! “The hair has to go,” Philippe, Mr. Kensington’s personal stylist, said. “And it’s much too dark. He doesn’t fill out a suit the same way Mr. Kensington does, that’s for sure,” added Gwendolyn. Audrey called her the mistress of the wardrobe. Colt had no idea if that was a real thing or simply Audrey’s description of what Gwendolyn did. She’d warned Colt never to use the shortened version of her name—Gwen—however. The two of them talked as if Colt were in some fancy salon, rather than in Mr. Kensington’s house. He wondered if it was customary for rich people to have rooms of their homes devoted to their wardrobes and hairstyles. This room was beside an office and had ample space for a barber chair, television, and a wide stool and armchairs. A second room across the hall had dressers, changing screens, a free-standing clothes rack, three-paneled mirror, and more armchairs. “You would notice that.” Philippe pulled up a chunk of Colt’s hair and let it fall from his fingers slowly. Gwendolyn snorted. “As if you didn’t.” She poked at Colt’s shoulder. “Stand straight.” She was a little taller than the average woman, with a very full figure and a bright, sunny smile. Colt judged her to be about his age, maybe a few years older. Everything about her matched. He could tell right away she was one of those people with such inner beauty it radiated outward, and she would have looked glamorous in a burlap sack. “His coloring is all wrong for light hair,” Philippe mumbled. Colt grabbed his hair and pulled it to the side. “Why does my hair have to go?” Up until now, Mr. Kensington had been standing quietly to the side. He barked a short laugh but didn’t add any of his own thoughts. Colt had a moment of fright. Maybe Mr. Kensington had changed his mind about Colt or thought a street kid wasn’t the right type. Colt tried to quiet his mind and settle his nerves. “Not all of it, of course.” Philippe yanked Colt’s hair from his hands and fanned it out again. “But this is not Mr. Kensington’s style at all.” Colt looked at Audrey, hoping for some help. “I thought the point was a younger, hipper style for the distillery.” He inched away from Philippe. “I don’t have to look like a duplicate of him.” Gwendolyn held different color swatches of what Colt hoped was fake hair against Colt’s face. She and Philippe were arguing—and getting louder—about how best to cut Colt’s hair. “Couldn’t I just wear it like this?” Colt pulled his hair back and wound it around itself into a bun. “The man bun is fine for some sweaty athlete or common model, not for Mr. Kensington’s public representative,” Philippe declared. “I thought you enjoyed the look since you have an entire Pinterest board devoted to those men,” Gwendolyn teased. Philippe snorted. “We won’t discuss what your Pinterest boards are.” “Those are purely for professional references.” “Uh-huh,” Philippe muttered. Colt wondered if their rivalry was more of a friendly thing than first appearances led others to believe. Audrey was leaning against the back of an armchair, flipping through a magazine. “What about a style like this?” She held the magazine up for them to see. All of them looked first at the magazine, then Colt, then repeated the process. “May I see?” Mr. Kensington asked. Audrey handed over the periodical, and Mr. Kensington spent another minute or two flipping through the pages. Every few seconds he’d stop, hold the magazine up, and focus on Colt before continuing. It wasn’t long before Mr. Kensington’s gaze met Colt’s. Offering a small, shy smile, Colt ducked his head after a few beats and bit his lip as he felt his cheeks warm. The voices around Colt dulled. He mentally gave himself a shake, but the kindness and what he could only describe as kinship he’d seen a glimpse of in Mr. Kensington’s eyes settled and warmed him. A brief slip of time where it seemed to be just the two of them in the room. Colt never really believed in that sort of thing. It happened in books and movies, not real life, so he dismissed it as his imagination and maybe a bit of being overwhelmed at the moment. Nevertheless he returned the smile and was rewarded with one slight nod Colt had the distinct feeling was assurance and approval. “I like this one.” Mr. Kensington held the magazine out to Colt. “I think it would look nice on you.” He shrugged and winked at Colt. “It’s hair. If you don’t like it, it’ll grow back. You’re not stuck with it forever.” His voice was soft and steady, giving the impression he didn’t regret his decision to hire Colt. Philippe swooped in, snatched the magazine, and held it beside Colt’s head. “He’s got lovely high cheekbones and facial features.” Nodding, he moved from one side to the other. “Yes, yes, this is a very nice style.” “Can I—” Colt reached for the magazine, but Gwendolyn yanked it away. “It’s still too long,” Gwendolyn said. “Gwen,” Mr. Kensington said softly and held out his hand. Gwendolyn rolled her eyes and turned the magazine over. He stepped beside Colt, put one hand between his shoulder blades, and leaned over his other shoulder. “I think it’s a very nice cut. You’ve got thick hair with just enough of a wave that this will look nice on you.” Holding the magazine in his free hand, Mr. Kensington showed Colt the picture. “It’s very chic,” Audrey added. “And looks nothing like Mr. Kensington,” Gwendolyn protested. “Gwen, it doesn’t matter. He’s to represent me in public, not take over my identity.” Colt looked up at Mr. Kensington and smiled when he winked at Colt. “If I don’t like it, I can grow it out and try another style?” “Of course,” Mr. Kensington said. “I bet you’ve had your hair the same way for fifteen years,” Audrey said. “Good for you, Colt, for trying something new.” Mr. Kensington patted Colt’s shoulder before he nodded at Philippe and moved away. “Work your magic.” Philippe unfolded a large tarp and let it flutter to the floor before motioning between Colt and the barber chair. “Have a seat.” Once Colt was settled, Phillipe swung a large plastic cape around Colt’s chest and shoulders and tied it at the back of his neck. Philippe took what looked like a fishing-tackle box and a small folding table from the closet. He set the table up beside Colt and arranged the contents of the box across it. As Colt watched his hair fall to the tarp, he realized this was something that probably went on regularly in this room. Colt hadn’t seen the inside of a cheap barbershop in years, let alone been treated like this. He felt like royalty. When Colt was trying to convince them he was the perfect choice, it all seemed like a great idea. However, he’d never been around this much wealth, and except for what he’d picked up these past weeks since he’d been here, he knew very little about the production of spirits. Maybe he was out of his league.      |
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