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

Goodreads Series Link

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. 

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RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Colton’s Terrible Wonderful Year

Author: Vincent Traughber Meis

Publisher: Spectrum Books

Release Date: March 4, 2023

Genre: Young Adult Contemporary Fiction

Tropes: First love 

Themes: Coming of Age, Racial identity, Gay parenting

Heat Rating: 2 flames

Length: 58 000 words/ 231 pages

It is a standalone story.

 It is the third book that focuses on the Burd siblings: 

Four Calling Burds, First Born Sons, Colton’s Terrible Wonderful Year. 

The book does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited 

Universal Link  |  Amazon US  |  Amazon UK 

Colton searches for the surrogate mom he hasn't seen since the day he was born

Blurb

Colton is on a quest to meet his surrogate mom who might help him navigate being a Black teenager in today’s America. The woman who gave birth to him is Black. His dads are not. His diverse community of family and friends includes lots of LGBTQ+ people, though his first love is a girl of mixed race like him. Colton’s dads reluctantly introduce him to his birth mother, but she doesn’t turn out to be the person he hoped for. On his journey of falling in love, nearly losing one of his dads, and confronting a racist cousin, he learns about love, non-traditional families, community, and what is important in life. The biggest challenge of all is something he discovers about his birth, causing friction with his dads. But like every difficulty in his life, the love of his dads ultimately carries him along and lifts him up.

Excerpt 

I can pinpoint the day my life started getting strange, and by strange, I mean grown-up. My parents had just picked me up at the police station. It was the first time I had gotten in trouble with law enforcement and my dads (yes; I have two dads) were upset and, I suppose, embarrassed, and a bunch of other emotions. Let me just say, my dads are the coolest people on earth and probably don’t deserve the hard time I sometimes give them when I do stupid things and say stupid things and they get mad, and I get mad back. I don’t even want to think about all the times we ended up in tears because, you know, life is hard, and I really love them, and they really love me.

Those times the three of us ended up blubbering idiots were the worst but later turned out to be the best when we finished the evening on the couch eating ice cream and watching a movie that we all agreed was terrible and laughed and cuddled under a blanket because evenings are always cold in San Francisco, including in the summer. And, even if they weren’t, I loved the warmth and comfort of being in a family that wasn’t afraid to show affection.

But coming home from the police station was tough. I walked into the house in front of my dads and was headed for my room, my happy place, feeling like everything would be okay if I could get to my room and close the door on all the bad stuff. But before I was halfway down the hall, I heard my dad’s raised voice. “Where are you going?” That’s my dad, Augie, August actually, who I call Dad.

It was pretty obvious, but I said, “To my room.”

And my other dad chimed in. “No, you’re not.” His name is Ruben, but I call him Papi. He was born in Los Angeles, though his parents are from Mexico.

“Why not?”

“Did you think that was the end of it?” said Dad. “You’ve lost your screen time for a week and you will come home directly from school until further notice.”

“I said I was sorry.” I think I actually groaned like I was the most unfortunate teenager in the world, which I knew was a long, long way from the truth.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. There have to be consequences.” That was Dad with the dreaded c-word, a favorite with parents, teachers, and, I guess, adults in general.

Here’s the deal. My two best friends, Fer and Josh, and I went downtown after school and ended up in the Target store. It’s not something we do a lot because we often have basketball practice or Fer has to go home and take care of his younger sibs because both his parents work or Josh has to do something because whichever one of his divorced parents he’s with on a particular day is on his case. And Dad is now home all the time because he took a leave of absence from his job at the Mission Branch of the public library so he could pursue writing full time. If I’m not home by a certain time, I get the third degree. But the way the stars lined up that day, we didn’t have basketball practice. Fer’s mom stayed home because the clients she cooks for were out of town; it was the part of the week Josh was with his dad and his dad was working late; and my dad went to some writing event in Berkeley and wouldn’t be home until dinnertime. We were free. It was amazing how rarely that happened on a weekday.

About the Author 

Vincent Traughber Meis grew up in Decatur, Illinois where he got his start writing plays for his younger sisters to act in for a neighborhood audience. He graduated from Tulane University in New Orleans and worked for many years as an English as a Second Language (ESL) teacher in the San Francisco Bay Area, Spain, Saudi Arabia and Mexico, publishing many academic articles in his field. He published travel articles, poems, and book reviews in publications such as, The Advocate, LA Weekly, In Style, and Our World in the 1980’s and 90’s. He finally arrived at his true writing love: novels and short stories. Five of his seven published novels are set at least partially in foreign countries and his book of short stories focuses on countries around the world. Several of his novels have won Rainbow Awards and The Mayor of Oak Street was awarded a Reader Views Silver Award. He has published short stories in a number of collections and has achieved Finalist status in a few short fiction contests. He lives in San Leandro, California.

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RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Farewell, My Boy

Author: Garrick Jones

Publisher: Moshpit Publications

Cover Artist: Garrick Jones

Release Date: March 1, 2023

Genres: Adventure Spy Thriller

Themes: Strengthening bonds, the love of a child, men at war

Heat Rating: 1 flame

Length: 120 000  words/ 372  pages

It can be read as a standalone. It is Book #3 in the Seventh of December series and does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads Series Link

Buy Links

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

Blurb 

From the deserts of North Africa to the dark forests in the Third Reich, Tommy Haupner, together with his American lover, Henry "Shorty" Reiter, lead their team in a daring mission to rescue a gifted young savant from Nazi Germany's T4 euthanasia program.

They are forced to flee in a stolen bus in the dead of night across enemy territory with a precious cargo of 24 handicapped children destined for extermination. In a supreme effort to save their charges and to avoid capture and execution themselves, they mount the most daring and dangerous rescue mission possible, the results of which almost end in disaster.

This third book in The Seventh of December series is an action packed wartime adventure set in the early months of 1942. Stolen aircraft, kidnapped senior Nazi officials, doctors of death and bloody revenge massacres, all of which are intertwined with the love of a helpless, rescued child. "Farewell, My Boy," deals with not only the frailty of men's hearts, but the truth that even the bravest are not exempt from the pain of loss, even when it is for a greater good.

Excerpt

 Not more than two or three minutes after I’d finished reading what Andrew had sent to me, a voice from behind whispered my name.

“Coco?” I said, turning to see Luc’s anguished face.

“Mon capitain.”

Then he was in my arms, his head on my shoulder, weeping as hard as he had on the night he’d killed his first man in Édouard’s garden, not long after we’d first met him.

“Steve told me,” I whispered against his ear, drawing him into the corner of the hotel foyer and behind a very large jardinière. He wasn’t old enough yet to have any instilled sense of appropriate behaviour when it came to showing emotions in public. Even though he’d been fighting alongside the Resistance since the age of fifteen, it seemed as if there was still a lot of the needy, lonely boy lurking underneath his tough-guy exterior. We’d become close during my time in occupied France last year and he’d “adopted” me. I’d long ago stopped trying to fight it.

“I’m all alone now,” he said eventually, wiping his nose with his forearm.

“Shorty and I are still here …”

“Until you fuck off again and leave me by myself.” He managed a grin as he said it.

“It’s the war—”

“Putain! I know it’s the war, but can’t we just pretend that it’s not happening for five minutes? I just need someone I care about to hold me and to let me behave like a kid again.”

“Come,” I said. “Upstairs. You can tell me all about it.”

“But you’re busy, aren’t you? Gavin told me you were interrogating the German. It doesn’t look like any sort of interrogation I’ve ever been part of.”

“I can’t pick you up any more,” I said, his arms still around my waist.

“I could probably pick you up now.”

“Most likely. Luc, I’m so sorry—”

“I killed him.”

“Killed who?”

“Corporal Löwe.”

“The German with the bladder problem?”

He nodded. “Papa’s body was never recovered, but the town put up a wooden cross in the graveyard for him—I had to go there to say goodbye, despite how dangerous it was. I was about to head back towards La Roche and had got as far as our house, thinking I’d see if there was anything of Papa’s I could take with me as a memory when I saw Löwe throwing all the furniture onto a bonfire. I crept up behind him in the dark and slit his throat, then pushed him into the fire. He couldn’t scream but he thrashed about for a bit.”

He said it just as any man in wartime would speak about the way the men they’d killed had died. Factual, unemotional, as if it was an everyday event. Part of me hated the fact that someone so young could already be so hardened.

“I’ve done worse,” he added.

“You and me both,” I replied then, after a moment or two when we just stood quietly, his head resting on my shoulder, I said, “You’ve got hairs on your chest now.”

He chuckled. “You should see the bushes below.”

“No, thank you.” I tousled his hair, as I’d always done.

“Given it a trial run yet?” Shorty said, coming up behind us.

“Are you serious, mon américain? For French men, it’s a rite of passage. My father couldn’t take me to a brothel on my sixteenth birthday, so Talley accompanied me and sat in the waiting room playing cards with the ladies for an hour.”

“An hour? Was that your first time?”

Luc nodded. “And second, and third, and I nearly managed a fourth.”

Although Shorty and I laughed, it wasn’t hard to see that Luc was putting on a brave face. We’d find time, as we had done on the night I’d said goodbye to him in Bayonne, wondering when and if we’d ever meet again. Damn me if Luc hadn’t crept his way into my heart, in the same way Gladys and Steve had done. Maybe it was fate: we were meant to be lifelong friends … as long as we all somehow managed to survive until the end of the war.

About the Author 

From the outback to the opera.

After a thirty-year career as a professional opera singer, performing as a soloist in opera houses and in concert halls all over the world, I took up a position as lecturer in music in Australia in 1999, at the Central Queensland Conservatorium of Music, which is now part of CQUniversity.

Brought up in Australia, between the bush and the beaches of the Eastern suburbs, I retired in 2015 and now live in the tropics, writing, gardening, and finally finding time to enjoy life and to re-establish a connection with who I am after a very busy career on the stage and as an academic.

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