 My snippet this week is from Scintilla!  Brandon snorted a laugh. “Oh, God, no. Used the wrong way, or with a child or an inexperienced adult it’s paramount to rape, even if there is no sex or physical contact. As you saw, you had a lot of control over my body, mind and emotions. We’re taught the very basics as children, more as a defense so it can’t be used against us. The rest is learned from books and computer simulations. You’ll have to be careful to keep the connection constant to be my anchor. It won’t take long before I’m too deep to function on my own. If needed, I think I can act the part well enough after a half minute or so without going in deep.” He paused. “That was the first time for me, too, with someone else.” Raul squeezed Brandon’s hand and hooked one finger of his other hand under Brandon’s chin, turning his head so he was looking directly into Raul’s eyes. “Brandon, you are always safe with me. No matter what happens between us in the future, I vow to you that no one will ever have that control over you unless you want them to, not while I’m around. I will always, always, protect you.” There are more diverse snippets in the Rainbow Snippets Facebook group. Scintilla is available in eBook, paperback, through Kindle Unlimited and your local library digital catalog.      This week's excerpt is from Scintilla. He jogged around to the employee entrance at the back of the building and slipped inside, then down the hall to the employee lounge. Men’s and women’s locker rooms with showers were off the common area. Raul slipped into the locker room and stripped out of his old jeans and stained, ratty gray shirt. He pulled black leather pants and a vest from his locker. “You’re late,” his cousin, Tadeo drawled. He made exaggerated sniffing noises. “And you’re a little—what’s the word? Gamey.” Raul turned around. “I don’t have time to shower and he’s a human, he’ll think I’m manly smelling.” “Ooww… what the hell happened to you?” Tadeo took a few steps in Raul’s direction and motioned to his thigh. “That looks painful.” “It is. My fugitive was a centaur.” Tadeo winced. “You shouldn’t stand behind them. They kick.” “Thank you.” Raul pulled the vest on and buttoned all the carved, silver buttons. “What did you do with him?” “Who?” Raul stepped into the leather pants, fitted them over his hips and fastened his fly with buttons that matched those on his vest. “My client!” “Oh, him.” Tadeo gave him a mischievous smirk. “I put him in a playroom, let enough wolf out to watch him squirm, told him to take off everything but his jeans and stand in the corner. Then I turned the lights out.” Raul choked back a laugh. “You’re a jerk.” “You laughed. What does that make you?” Tad shrugged. “He’ll think it’s all part of the experience.” Raul ignored the question and took a few steps to the large, three panel mirror turning so he had a good view of his ass. Tadeo jumped forward, smacked Raul’s right cheek and danced out of reach, laughing. “No, your ass doesn’t look fat. It’s round and makes me want to drool.” Chasing after Tadeo he shoved against his shoulders. “You’re really a jerk.” “And you’re late. That poor kid has been standing in a corner for a half hour.” Tadeo clapped Raul’s shoulder. “Go get ‘em, tiger…uh… wolfie.” Raul flipped Tadeo off and walked backward to the locker room door. He pushed the door shut on Tadeo’s cackling laughter. **** Brandon was too nervous to try looking at his watch. He wiggled his toes against the cool concrete and wondered how long it’d been. His cock was still painfully full, and his balls were so tight he worried they might just split apart. When the door opened and clicked shut again, he jumped. The lights were turned up to a soft glow. An intoxicating scent of leather mixed with a slight bit of sweat swirled around Brandon. “Is that too bright?” A rough, deep voice asked. Brandon’s heart rate kicked up a notch. “N-no.” “No, what?” Taking a deep breath, Brandon immediately answered, “No, sir.” “Turn ‘round.” Brandon nodded and carefully turned around. Feeling a little weak in his knees, he took in the sight before him. Dressed in well-worn black leather, the man had dark, slightly mussed hair, broad shoulders and muscular arms that weren’t overly bulky. The V neckline of his leather vest showed off a dusting of dark hair that likely covered his chest. Between the gap in the vest and his low-slung pants was a strip of dark hair that drew Brandon’s attention. Brandon couldn’t help focusing on the werewolf’s deep navel. His pants stretched over thick thighs and were no doubt cut to particularly show off the package between his legs. A dark, five o’clock shadow accentuated his cheekbones, but it was his rakish grin and glowing copper eyes that took Brandon’s breath away. The werewolf cocked his head and asked, “Are you old enough to do this?” “Y-yes, sir. I’m twenty-five. I gave my ID at the desk.” “Where is it?” Brandon nodded at the pile of clothes in a square, plastic basket in one corner. “My phone and wallet are under my shirt.” “May I?” “Yes.” The werewolf moved the shirt and pulled out Brandon’s wallet, opening it and then scrutinizing Brandon’s driver’s license. He replaced everything, and Brandon noticed how he carefully refolded Brandon’s shirt. “Sorry, but I like to verify things myself sometimes. Minors do try to sneak in here. I’m Raul.” “Brandon.” Raul nodded and motioned to the basket. “I know.” Feeling a blush work up his neck, Brandon stared at the floor. “I get it a lot. People always think I’m a kid.” Raul used two fingers in a ‘come here’ motion. “Get out of the corner.” The words were phrased as an order, but the tone of his voice was calm and kind. “I apologize for being late,” Raul said. “A previous appointment ran over.” “It’s okay. Waiting was sort of thrilling.” “No, it’s not. We’ll do a bit extra to make up for it. You’re going to have to get closer to me if we’re going to do anything. Stand in the middle of the room, let me get a look at you.” Shaking his arms to help warm his hands, Brandon walked to the center of the room. First, he crossed his arms over his chest, then he stuck his hands in his pockets and a few seconds later he pulled his hands back out and let his arms dangle awkwardly at his sides. Next to this imposing man, Brandon felt like he had when he went to college at fifteen. A scrawny, skinny fifteen. Raul stood and watched him the entire time. When Brandon began shifting his weight from foot to foot Raul pulled in a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “Stop fidgeting.” He pulled a piece of paper from a small rack near the door and read it over. “According to the questionnaire you filled out you want the full deal. Are you a virgin?” “No, sir. But I’ve only ever been with humans.” Nodding, Raul leaned back against a padded bench and crossed his ankles. “We’ll go as far as you can take it, but…” he held up one finger and stared intently at Brandon. “Some males, even if they’re werewolf simply can’t tolerate the complete thing. No shame in that. If you need to stop, we stop. If I think you can’t take it, we stop.” He turned his attention to the paper once again. “You can do that, stop if you’re knotted?” The question burst out of Brandon before he could stop it. “Yeah. I’m a professional. I train.” “How?” Raul looked up, an expression of surprise and maybe amusement, all over his face.  Scintilla is available in eBook, paperback, Kindle Unlimited and through your local library digital catalog. Check my translations page for foreign translations.      Clint cracked his eyes open and yawned. The motion of the car made him want to drift back to sleep. When he shifted, his hands and fingers tingled slightly, and he wanted to move, to stretch and wiggle to make the feeling return. When he tried to move his arms, they felt odd, as if held down. He groaned and tried to straighten his legs, but the space was too cramped. “Griff, can we stop?” Clint mumbled. His voice sounded like he had a mouthful of marbles, and he was so thirsty. “Need some water and a bathroom.” A dull ache jabbed at his lower abdomen every few seconds. He heard a low chuckle and thought Griff must be getting a cold or something—it didn’t sound much like him. When Griff laid his hand on the back of Clint’s head, Clint instinctively turned into his palm. Griff’s callused thumb brushed over Clint’s cheek. “Shhh, baby.” Clarity came swiftly, followed by terror. Griff didn’t have calluses on his thumb or any of his fingers, and he’d never once called Clint “baby.” Clint jerked his head away and promptly hit the car window. “It’s alright, baby. You’re safe now.” “What the fuck? Dylan? You asshole! What the fucking hell?” Clint slammed himself as hard and as fast as he could against the seat, then the car door. “Baby, baby.” Dylan looked at Clint for a few seconds before turning his eyes back to the road. “And stop calling me ‘baby’!” “But I always call you that. You love it,” Dylan insisted. Clint blew out a harsh breath. He looked down at his arms. They were tied in front of him with chain. Another chain ran from his wrists to a ring bolted to the floor of the car. Chains encircled his ankles that led back to the ring as well. “I have to take a leak.” “We’ll stop soon. Get some food, something to drink, use a restroom.” Dylan reached over and ran his hand over Clint’s thigh, using his fingertips to press against the sensitive part next to the inseam of his jeans. “Get your hands off me,” Clint snarled. “I don’t know what you think, but Griff’s going to kill you when he finds me.” The words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them. Can’t hide behind Griff’s badge. I won’t hide behind Griff or his badge. His brief glance at his own leg made him realize these weren’t the jeans he remembered wearing last, nor was this his shirt. How he came to be in different clothing was something he decided not to think about. That decision didn’t stop a shiver from working through him. Dylan chuckled again. It was a sick, cold sound. “Oh, we won’t have to worry about Griff anymore. I promise.” He removed his hand from Clint’s leg and grabbed the steering wheel so he could hold his other hand up for Clint to see. “Or his dogs. Especially the bastard who bit me.” “Our dogs.” Clint’s voice broke. He wanted to believe Dylan wasn’t able to hurt Griff. Yes, Dylan had gotten the drop on Clint, but Griff was a professional whose life revolved around protecting others and himself. He had training and skills when it came to self-defense. Clint couldn’t get through this without utter conviction Griff was alive and well despite Dylan’s words. Phoenix and Fern he wasn’t as confident about. A silent cheer went through Clint’s head at the sight of the crude gauze bandage with blood oozing through it. He hoped Phoenix had chomped down hard enough to do real damage to Dylan’s hand. The sort of damage that prevented it from being used normally after it healed. “Anyway, I have a nice trip planned for us. You’ll see how much I want to be like you and love you enough to be with you,” Dylan said without taking his eyes off the road. “And you think threatening the man I live with, the one I actually love, and our dogs, then taking me by force is going to endear you to me?” Clint shouted and tried jerking his feet up and down again. “Stop it!” Dylan snapped. He punched Clint’s head twice. “This is our adventure into love. It’s just you and me and no one else from now on.” The punches stunned Clint. He sucked in a breath and tried to move away, but there was nowhere to go. Dylan’s fingers curled in Clint’s hair. He yanked Clint toward him, then away in rapid succession and slammed Clint’s head back against the headrest. Small sparks of pain lanced through his shoulders and down his back until Dylan released him and he could hold his head at a normal angle again. Clint squeezed his eyes shut but couldn’t stop the few tears that trickled down his cheeks. He pressed his lips together and kept his eyes closed, repeating in his head that until he saw proof otherwise, Griff and their dogs were unharmed.  Jewel Cave is available in eBook, paperback, through Kindle Unlimited and your local library digital catalog.    My snippet this week is from Force Majeure.  “Ian.” Taren stood and crossed to Ian, taking his shoulders. “Don’t you fucking dare to tell me to calm down!” Ian snapped. “I was going to say, they probably already know what happened and might be at the resort already or working on the problem remotely. Do they have to be on-site to fix the issues?” “I don’t know.” Ian stepped away. “I have to go.” He rushed to the bedroom and pulled on khakis, a henley shirt, and hiking boots. When he went back to the living room Taren had loaded his laptop into his carry bag and held it out to him. “Thanks,” Ian muttered, slung the bag over his shoulder, and headed to the door. He stopped at the door to the garage and took a few deep breaths, looking down at his feet. “I don’t think I need a police presence, but would you come with me? Please?” Force Majeure is available in eBook, paperback, through Kindle Unlimited and your local library digital catalog. There are more diverse snippets to read in the Rainbow Snippets Facebook group.   RELEASE BLITZ 
Author: TA Moore Publisher: Rogue Firebird Press Cover Artist: Tammy Moore Release Date: May 26, 2026 Tense/POV: Third person, alternating POV Genres: Contemporary MM Romance/Romantic Comedy Tropes: Matchmaking, Black Cat/Golden Retriever, Love at First Sight, Second Chance Romance, Found Family Themes: Love after Loss, Taking the win, even when you don’t think you deserve it, the way people fit Heat Rating: 3 flames Length: 50 000 words It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger. Buy Links 
Cupid might be free, but Match Made takes direction Blurb Cupid has a help desk Alaskan pilot Quentin Hannigan is good at his job, but not so great with people. He's the last man anyone who knows him would expect to fall in love at first sight. Until he does. Hard. Just one problem. Joe Kendrick, widower and frazzled dad of three, does not have the bandwidth for this. Between his kids, his trainwreck of a sister, and bills that keep piling up, the last thing he needs is a too-good-to-be-true, and admittedly very hot, pilot swooping in to play knight in shining armor. Luckily for the star-crossed couple the world's premier, and only, covert match-making service is on the case. Match-Made's highly trained operatives are ready and willing to engineer a happy-ever-after, one way or another. They just need Quentin and Joe to co-operate…just once! Excerpt “People,” Benjy said, with sullen practicing-teenager import, as he slouched down into his jacket like a tortoise, “are looking.” Yes. Joe was aware. He tried to ignore it as he hitched Cody up on his hip and watched his knight in shining armor make room for his backpack in the overhead bin. “I could do that,” he protested weakly. The man tucked in a dangling strap and turned to look over his shoulder at Joe. A dark brown eyebrow twitched up over serious, dark brown eyes. “You want me to pull it out so you can do it yourself?” he offered tolerantly. Yes. “No,” Joe capitulated with poor grace instead. He raked his fingers through his hair. It needed cutting. It needed brushing. Today had gotten off to a bad start and had not gotten any better. Joe took a breath and scraped together what he could muster of his social graces to try again. “Thank you.” The man shrugged. “Least I could do.” He closed the hatch and turned to give Joe a concerned look. “Are you going to be OK? Do you need–” “No. I’m fine. I’ve got it from here,” Joe cut him off firmly, his hand raised to fend off any offers of help. It was well-meant—and Joe did appreciate that, he did—but he’d reached his limit for people being nice to him today. Already. His tolerance was low these days. If Mr. Shining Knight did or said one more nice thing, Joe was going to either burst into tears or flames. He didn’t know which, but he knew it wouldn’t stop anyone staring at him. Jessie looked up from her phone. “Can I get a coffee?” she asked slyly. “Milk. Two sugars.” “You don’t get coffee, you’ll get juice. And that’s when we’ve taken off,” Joe told her firmly and then turned back to Mr. Knight. “Honestly, everything is under control. You can get back to…” He trailed off as he tried to ‘guess the profession’ based on a crisp white shirt and uncallused hands. Accountant? Lawyer? He seemed too nice to be a lawyer, but that was probably the last year talking. Mr. Knight shrugged. “I was just doing a crossword,” he said. “And I was stuck on a three-letter prefix for ear.” “Oto,” Joe provided the answer without thinking. “O.T.O.” Mr. Knight looked surprised and a little impressed. “That would work,” he said. “Thanks. I hate to leave one unfinished.” The admiration on his face made Joe flush and feel like a fraud. Before he could defend himself against any misapprehensions of being smart, the tannoy system crackled to life. “We’re sorry for the delay,” a woman’s smooth, alto voice said. The passengers all looked up from their phones and magazines to listen to the announcement. ‘But we should be taking off shortly, as soon as our pilot is ready to go.” Joe had time to think that was a funny way to put it. Then he realized that everyone’s head had swivelled around to look at him. He was ready to hold up his hands to the delay when he realized they were actually… …looking at Mr. Knight. Oh. Oh, no. Joe squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he realized just how disruptive his late arrival had been. “You’re the pilot,” he said as he opened his eyes. Mr. Shining Knight—or Shining Pilot, Joe supposed, to be accurate—just looked amused. Apparently, from his side of things, it wasn’t absolutely mortifying. “I told you they wouldn’t leave without us,” he pointed out as he nudged Joe to the side so he could squeeze by. “I should get back to it, though.” About the Author TA Moore is a Northern Irish writer of romantic suspense, urban fantasy, and contemporary romance novels. A childhood in a rural, seaside town fostered in her a suspicious nature, a love of mystery, and a streak of black humour a mile wide. Coffee, Doc Marten boots, and good friends are the essential things in life. Spiders, mayo, and heels are to be avoided. Author Links Blog/Website | Facebook | Twitter Instagram | Newsletter Sign-up | TikTok .
 “How could someone steal a racehorse?” Wyatt asked as they drove back to the farm. Val shrugged. “I’m not sure the real question is how, but what the hell do you do with one after you steal it? It’s a horse. A big horse. They average twelve hundred pounds. It’s not like you can stash one in a safety deposit box or under your bed. And you sure as hell can’t stuff it in a bag to walk out with it. You’d not only need somewhere to keep it, but a way to get it there. They need food and water—it’s like kidnapping a person.” “Another question is why steal a racehorse at all?” Wyatt asked. “What would all that have to do with people who deal art?” Val asked. “The art is probably easier to steal.” “Art can also be forged,” Wyatt said. “Well, Thoroughbred racehorses are under a lot of security. Not just where they live, but at any racetrack they go to. They’re worth a lot of money and some of them are hard to handle. You’d need someone who is familiar with horses and knows how to treat them. There are restrictions on the medications they can have, too. Lots of testing goes on.” “Okay,” Wyatt said, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “You couldn’t drug a horse and then have them race under another name until the drug clears their system?” “You couldn’t do that at all. Most of them are microchipped and don’t forget the extensive pedigree information. It’s not just the markings—breeders can use DNA testing to match mares and stallions for the best foals. I don’t know how in-depth that is, or if an individual horse’s DNA is used to identify them, but—” “So, I’m not going to steal Secretariat to race under another name,” Wyatt began. “No one is. He’s been dead for about twenty years. I doubt he’ll run fast enough to win a race now.” Wyatt arched an eyebrow and glanced at Val. “Smart-ass. Fine, no one is going to steal Fire and Spice and race him under another name.” “Horses are individuals. If you tried, someone would recognize him and question his identity,” Val said. “And they have these little patches on their legs called chestnuts. Those are like fingerprints on a person, no two are alike and they don’t change as a foal grows. They’re part of the horse’s identifying marks. The cowlicks in their coats are used that way too. All those things are extensively recorded in a separate document listing all the physical characteristics of a horse. Those are public records.” “Good point. We’re going to steal him and do what? What else can I get from a racehorse? Sperm if he’s a stallion. But what if the horse is a mare, like the one Janelle’s car hit?” Val shook his head. “I don’t know about other countries, but in the United States, artificial insemination isn’t allowed. Mom and Dad have to actually do the deed.” “Which I’m sure the horses are extremely grateful for.” “Besides, to be allowed to race, a horse has to be registered. For that you need the pedigree. Got to prove both sire and dam were Thoroughbreds, and their ancestors, too. Switching one horse for another to race used to be a huge problem, but the racing industry has done a lot to put a stop to that kind of activity. If you do it and get caught, which I think is pretty likely, you’re out of the sport.” Val stopped and collected his thoughts. “You have to understand, to these people, those aren’t just horses, and racing isn’t just a fun sport. It’s everything to them, their whole lives. Without racing, they’d rather die. Reputation is everything. Why are you asking about stealing a horse?” “Marcus Paulle was an art dealer, a high-powered one, who was being watched by—or at least attracted the interest of—someone at ICE. He also owned racehorses. He’s found dead, along with three other people, not too long after a missing horse’s remains are found.” Wyatt pulled up to the farm’s main office and parked the car. As he shut it off, he turned to Val and asked, “What do you want to bet they were all connected?” “Does that mean there’s a killer on the loose? Would they go after Janelle?” “I don’t think so, or she’d have been killed by now. My theory is, whoever is behind this is going to try to frame her for it. Those people weren’t killed by professionals, and the rehab has decent security, but I’ll call and warn her,” Wyatt said. “Professionals? How do you even know that?” Val asked. “Professionals don’t bash people’s heads in—and they make murders look as if they’re not murder.” Wyatt stopped suddenly and twisted to look at Val. “Whoever is responsible might not go after Janelle, but you, on the other hand, might be a different story.” “Me?” “Weren’t you following Janelle’s car the night of the crash?” “Yeah, but no one has tried to kill me,” Val said. “No, but the cops have kept that pretty quiet. It’s possible no one other than the cops realize you were there and saw everything.”  Run for the Roses is available in eBook, paperback, Kindle Unlimited and through your local library digital catalog.    
D. M. Kannapan has a new YA fantasy cli-fi book out: Fire's Ally. For most of her life, Eleg has been obsessed with the eerie, persistent, wildfire claiming parts of her home. No amount of rain seems to be able to put it out. She belongs to a gentle, bookish society, and her people have been fighting the fire back for decades. But they are not ready for the turmoil it is about to unleash. Eleg understands the fire better than most. She has already once failed to protect the innocent in its path. Though she would rather be alone with her charts and graphs, Eleg must become the unlikely hero her people need, and bring the continent together in an ambitious technological endeavor to save their home. Fire's Ally is a YA fantasy climate-fiction with queer characters, sci fi elements, and coming of age themes. It is cozy-adjacent but has high stakes. You'll like it if you like deep, immersive worldbuilding and political intrigue. Warnings: natural disasters, high control groups Universal Buy LinkExcerpt Eleg followed Aizl and Ovvet, glad to be in motion, and glad to be walking with Aizl. She wondered how much Ovvet had intuited about her desire to see the fire. For Eleg, insight came in short flashes and incomplete information. It was probably the same for Ovvet. He didn’t act worried about Eleg wanting to observe the fire, though, as she suspected most adults would. Her cousin Zott skipped beside her. The Pavilion Plateau touched the front of Urmetten, their village, and the hill it was built into, from the north. From there, the children followed an eastward path into a narrow ravine. It was filled with towerlike rock formations that Aizl loved to climb. As they approached the ravine from above, they had a view of its twin stony walls zigzagging into the distance, and between them, irregular rock pillars growing like stalks out of the ground. Another few steps, and they were in the cool, craggy depths with the clear sky above and a network of paths ahead, among the bases of towers. The quiet dialect of the ravine creatures surrounded them. Eleg should come here more often. Maybe with Aizl. There wasn’t usually much reason to come to the ravine. Its hardy denizens survived without any particular tending from the Urmettians. Nearly everywhere else, the villagers studied the soil, rock, and the water, gleaned insight about the health of their continent, Ervu, and offered whatever service a plant may want from their human hands. And the gatherer parties didn’t favor the canyon for foraging when richer groves were a short walk away. Gathering for the kitchens was one of the few activities that pulled Eleg away from her hiding places. “This is the best place to practice climbing!” Aizl said. She dashed ahead, her wavy hair bobbing, pointing out towers she’d scaled and the challenges each posed to even a skilled climber. Eleg smiled at her enthusiasm and quietly hoped there weren’t too many good climbing towers ahead of their destination. The shapes in the fire wouldn’t wait for Aizl, even if Eleg wanted to. Ovvet walked more slowly, his long robes dragging on the rocks, and looked back to check that Eleg and Zott were keeping up. “This is the one!” Aizl rested her hand on an imposing tower, both taller and wider than its neighbors. Its lumpy shape formed natural steps. “Best to climb from this side.” They scrabbled up with Aizl’s supportive guidance. Ovvet boosted Zott the first step. Eleg stopped on the second to adjust the drawing materials strapped to her side. After a short but invigorating climb, they sat on the smooth top and gazed out across the expanse. Aizl spread her arms. “Isn’t it marvelous?” They were above the surrounding stone pillars, and each was sliced cleanly by the early-afternoon sunlight into a bright section and a deep shadow cast by the canyon walls. Behind them were the vast hill ranges, with decorative stonework marking the entrances of the carved rooms that made up Urmetten. On the Pavilion Plateau, which abutted it, small figures were still hanging art. The sacred river of Paclellic, lined with chirp-filled amber-and-yellow foliage, meandered into the valley. Along its banks, groups of visitors to the village made their camps, resting before entering the pavilion for the feast. A distant herd of goats made its way across the grassland, rippling the green around it. And beyond it all, that fire, looming over so many lives with its tower of black smoke and stark flames. It was partially obscured by the mountain range that it intertwined. Where it wasn’t obscured, its base was ringed with dead earth and black ash, and gray and yellow liquid leached into the earth in fine rivulets. In the flames, the jagged shape Eleg had seen was still there, unlike in any of her previous sketches. She unrolled her drawing paper and looked over her shoulder at the others. They were looking the other way, toward the village. Eleg followed their gaze. The air that filled the canyon was shimmering and changing. Thin tendrils formed, like corn silk blowing in the wind, but made of light or mist. The tendrils drew closer to each other in a bundle and began to cohere in an image. “Look, it’s Puvvel!” said Ovvet, pointing out the image to Zott. The tendrils formed a cloud with a faintly recognizable expression—not quite a face, and yet it left the sense of looking at one. The expression was of playful excitement. Zott took a look. “He looks like a cactus today!” Eleg gave Zott some of her paper and charcoal to draw what he saw. Ervu’s Messengers looked a bit different to everyone, but Zott was still learning his plants and probably hadn’t actually meant a cactus. Aizl reached out a hand toward Puvvel, as if coaxing a butterfly to land on it. Eleg took a deep breath. The visible presence of Puvvel must mean Ervu’s patterns were especially understandable to humans now—a brief moment of clarity, insight, and connection. More often, when a Messenger didn’t appear, the land’s signals were mixed. Even then, the village scholars’ gentle lives of peace and study sharpened their ears, trained their eyes, and deepened their understanding, creating a sensitive perception that reached across Ervu and into her perennial workings—through the vibration of the earth, the ripples of the river, and the currents of the air. It fell to the Urmettians to use their understanding to tend to the ailing land. They led the efforts of Ervu’s many peoples to beat back the fire and evade its effects, to replan their walking routes so they weren’t choked with smoke, and to heal landscapes when they were ravaged by ash. The village youths had years of study ahead of them to develop their perceptual reach. But Eleg couldn’t wait that long—not when there were questions to be answered about the fire now. Author Bio D. M. Kannapan is a writer, engineer, and climate activist in the Los Angeles area. Apart from books, she works on space technology, paintings, and cartoons. She gave a TEDx talk in 2023 titled The Climate Movement Needs Your Creativity, Not Your Guilt. Author Website: https://www.deeptikannapan.com/ 
 “What do you mean no?” Kyle shouted. “How many letters does no have? How hard is it to get the meaning?” Daniel stood on the opposite side of their apartment, shouting back. “I’ve worked hard, for weeks, nothing but work, and I’ve learned everything. Frankly, I’ve learned it damn well.” “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Kyle! You’re barely out of the shooting yourself in the foot phase. A mission is out of the question. You’re not ready!” “If it were up to you, I’d never be ready,” Kyle shot back. Daniel had no comeback, since it was true. “No,” he ground out. “Yes!” Kyle stepped up into his space, fists clenched. “What am I supposed to do, sit here and wonder if you’ll come back?” “You know how to use the locks.” He was losing this argument and he knew it. “How am I supposed to get experience if I stay here or in the barracks forever?” “Kyle—” “Keller didn’t have a problem with me going.” “He said it was up to me.” The thought of Kyle in harm’s way made Daniel’s blood run cold. Yet he had no real argument for him not going on this mission. “I have to start somewhere. I want to help and learn. You promised to teach me.” Kyle’s voice had softened to that tone that simply made Daniel’s insides want to melt. Taking a few steps forward, Kyle brushed his fingertips from Daniel’s shoulder to the back of his hand. “Nothing bad will happen to me. You’ve been too good a teacher. I’ll listen to you.” Pulling away, Daniel turned his back on Kyle and walked to the door. He should have never told Kyle about how a friend—his best friend back then, another kid off the street—long ago hadn’t listened and died. “I’m safe with you. I want to give some of that back, repay you and all the others who’ve helped me.” Drawing in a deep breath, Daniel’s chin dropped to his chest. Turning on his heel he lifted his chin and glared at Kyle. “Fine. But there are rules and you will follow them to the letter.” Damn annoying kid was smiling. “Of course.” “You do everything I say, when I say it, and no backtalk.” Extending his arm at Kyle, he went on. “See this, how long my arm is? You get more than an inch farther from me than the length of my arm and so help me, I’ll—” “Yeah, yeah, I know, you’ll damn well shoot me yourself… twice.” Kyle rolled his eyes, crossed both arms over his chest, and smiled. Daniel ground his teeth. Gaze dropping to below Daniel’s belt, Kyle added, “What is it with you and the guns anyway? Is it some kind of compensation thing? ’Cause, seriously, dude, I’ve shared a bed with you since I got here. Not much a guy can keep secret. Really, you don’t have anything to worry about.” Daniel opened his mouth, shut it, and squinted at Kyle. He huffed and grabbed his pack. “I mean it, Kyle. Don’t cross me on this.” He stalked to the door, stopping with his hand resting on the knob. “See, you already can’t follow simple directions.” Storming back to Kyle, he fisted the boy’s shirt and yanked him along. “No… farther… than… my arm!” Dragging Kyle to the door, he opened it and shoved the kid out. Whooping, Kyle sprinted down the stairs three at a time. Daniel Shanks didn’t pick up strays off the street. He really didn’t let them move in with him and take over his life. What he certainly didn’t do was fall in love with them. Except he totally had. Strays is available in eBook, through Kindle Unlimited and your local library digital catalog.  My snippet this week is from Strays, a scifi MM romance.  Tied to a chair with lights shining in his eyes, Kyle never saw the faces of any of those who’d taken him from the Militia barracks; they wore the government riot gear he disliked so much. He didn’t understand the charges being leveled against him, that he was a spy and had given the government agents information, dates, times, places where the Militia planned to take action. Despite his protests which rapidly turned to pleas, he was taken to a government office and placed under arrest. He’d done nothing but work hard for the Militia, given them every bit of information he’d had; he’d done nothing wrong. There are more snippets to be read in the Rainbow Snippets Facebook group. Strays is available in eBook, through Kindle Unlimited and your local library's digital catalog.  Forge laughed. He moved his fingertips so he gently stroked Blair’s shoulder and biceps. “What that man—the one in the bar, who turned you—what he did was beyond wrong. Being turned and left is something I know about, but not that sort of abuse. I’d like nothing more than to track him down and kill him.” “How’d you…? You saw things from me?” Blair sat up. Forge nodded. “He took advantage of his power. It’s called thrall. It’s a way to make a human do what you want for a short time.” “That man with the dark hair who threw you in the water? He tried to drown you.” Forge laughed. “No, I just hadn’t had a bath in, well, a long time. I imagine I smelled pretty bad. It’s been pointed out that my odor was the reason no wild animal ate me. I’ll tell you the story, but not right now,” Forge said. “C’mon, get some sleep.” “Don’t put me off by trying to change the subject.” Forge pushed up on his elbows. “Blair, I’m not. But I’m also not ready to have this conversation.” “Who is he?” Blair knew he was being irrational. It wasn’t like they had been together years. A second thought came to him right on the heels of the first, if they were some kind of soulmates, Blair had every right to know anything he wanted to about Forge. “What was that I saw? Memories?” Forge nodded, looking miserable. “You saw mine and I saw yours. I saw the same man, over and over—different clothes, various hair styles—but it was the same guy.” Forge swung around and sat on the edge of the bed, not facing Blair. “It doesn’t matter. You and I bond, nothing else, no one else, is important. Neither of us will want another partner until one of us dies.” “It matters to me! Who the hell was he? No, not was, is. Who is he?” Blair waited, but Forge said nothing. It was impossible to miss how his back and shoulders tensed. Forge pushed off the bed and grabbed his jeans, pulling them on. “You practically screwed me blind. I have a right to know.” “His name is Declan, and I’ve known him for nearly two centuries. It was just the two of us for most of those years.” Forge turned and looked at Blair. All the pieces clicked in Blair’s mind. Everyone telling Blair how strange Forge was acting, how one minute he was charming and kind, and the next snarky and flustered. “You’re in love with him!” When Forge said nothing, Blair shouted at him, “You tell me I’m forced into some goddamn arranged marriage neither of us has a choice with, and you’re in love with some other guy! You say what that asshole in the bar did to me was wrong? You fuck me and love him? Then tell me we don’t have a choice and have to do this bonding thing?” “I’m not exactly happy about this either!” Forge shouted back. “I don’t have a choice or get what I want.” Blair was off the bed, stomping to the bathroom and his clothes. “Go to hell!” “Blair, wait.” Forge’s voice changed to a hoarse whisper. He darted forward, grabbing Blair’s arm. “It’s complicated and—” Blair didn’t mean to. It was a knee-jerk reaction, and he couldn’t help himself. Snarling loudly, Blair’s fangs dropped. He felt his eyes change to completely gray-green. Forge didn’t back up, but he didn’t try to follow Blair when he stalked to the bathroom and yanked on his shorts. He couldn’t stop his mouth and knew he should’ve tried harder, hating himself when he heard what he was shouting, “You’re worse than that guy! At least he never lied to me!” Blair stormed out the suite door, slamming it behind him so hard, he thought it would splinter and shatter. Even furious and feeling betrayed, he still hoped Forge would try to stop him from leaving.  Electric Candle is available in eBook, paperback and through Kindle Unlimited.    |
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