 “Do you often sleep with your clients?” Sally asked. “Once he was done at the club he wasn’t a client and there’s no law against it,” Raul said. “We’re getting off topic. A man is missing. His father gave me a pile of paperwork I don’t understand and a laptop I can’t get into. I’m working some other leads, but I have a gut feeling I need info on that laptop and that it’ll tie into all these,” he thumped the stack of papers and growled, “numbers.” Tad reached over and patted Raul’s shoulder. “The big, bad wolf here is an action man, not a number researcher.” Raul snorted a laugh. “That’s what I have you for.” “Let’s start here, shall we?” Fahim opened the laptop. “I’m not a scintilla, but I have a few tricks in the computing department.” He booted up the computer. “I can’t get inside and see what’s on a computer hard drive the same way a scintilla could, but I can pull some information out.” Resting his hands palms flat on the keyboard Fahim took a few deep breaths. “Don’t break it,” Raul said. Fahim gave him an annoyed look and shook his head. “Oh, ye of little faith.” He gripped the edges of the monitor and leaned forward, touching his forehead to the screen and closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. “Do I have to make a wish?” Raul quipped. Tad barked a laugh, Sally shook her head and Fahim grumbled, “Jerk.” Raul turned his attention from Fahim to Sally and Tad. They’d scooted their chairs over so they were almost touching and sat with their heads close going through the papers. “Follow the money,” Sally said. “You’re gonna want to write this down,” Fahim said. Raul opened the small notebook he’d brought. “Shoot.” “Capital JX33 lower case zoptt 924.” Fahim turned the laptop around so Raul could see the screen. The password was glowing against the background. After a few seconds it faded away. “How the hell do you do that?” Raul asked. Fahim grinned and spread his arms wide. “It’s magic, dude. The computer password is ‘knots’, that other one is for his e-mail.” Why wasn’t Raul surprised by the computer’s main passcode? It also led him to believe Brandon had likely kept his fetish, and vacation plans, a secret. Which in turn made him wonder how the elder Mr. Lynch knew the details that he did. Raul jotted down his musings and questions on a separate page of his notebook. While Raul searched through Brandon’s e-mails, personal notes and a file marked ‘blog posts’, Fahim and Sally helped Tad comb through the financial documents Brandon’s father had given Raul. He re-read all the e-mails Brandon had sent. None of them offered any clues to point to any trouble Brandon might be having. In fact, his final e-mail to Raul was lamenting the harsh winter they were experiencing up north. They were still there when the lights strung around the patio glowed to life. Dinner was ordered, then dessert and a little later some late-night snacks. Finally, the restaurant staff began closing things down. Raul leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He flagged down one of the waiters and handed over a credit card. “Thanks for putting up with us.” “Always a pleasure,” The waiter said, then smiled and nodded before he disappeared into the restaurant. He was back a few minutes later with their bill. Raul made sure to leave him a generous tip. “Everything here leads back to one company. It’s probably the only actual business and not a shell company,” Sally explained as she packed the papers in her bag. “In the morning I’ll start looking into what all these companies do, or supposedly do.” “As far as I can tell they don’t do anything, other than launder money.” Tad clapped Raul’s shoulder and stood up at the same time. “What’s your next step?” “A number of his e-mails are from someone—or a group of someones—not far from here.” Raul closed the laptop and sighed. “Spill. What else is there?” Tad prompted. Raul held up one hand when he saw the waiter returning with his receipt. He signed it, adding, “Please let the owners and rest of the staff know how much we appreciate this.” After the waiter had left them again, Raul said softly, “There were e-mails in the draft folders to me, asking for help, and a few other… personal comments. He—” Raul’s voice cracked and he took a deep breath, then wiped his hand over his face. “I should’ve tried… I didn’t do anything about the fact he broke off contact with me.” “Hey, you couldn’t possibly know anything was wrong. I’d have thought the guy ghosted me too. It happens, probably more than people like to admit and is sorta embarrassing,” Tad said. “Thank you for that.” Raul stood up. “I need to find him.” Raul wasn’t going to stop looking until he found Brandon. Scintilla is available in eBook paperback, Kindle Unlimited and through your local library digital catalog.    
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The Talent’s Choice by Michael Dee. Happy Pride! Get the eBook for only $2.99 for the month of June!6/9/2026 BOOK BLAST 
Book Title: The Talent’s Choice Author: Michael Dee Publisher: American Publishers, Inc Cover Artist: American Publishers, Inc AI Release Date: January 8, 2026 Tense/POV: First person/Past tense/Dual POV Genres: Contemporary MM Romance Heat Rating: 4.5 flames Length: 78 000 words It is a standalone book. Buy Links 
How much are you willing to give up for fame? Blurb In The Talent’s Choice, where dreams are made and hearts are tested, one rising star is about to discover that fame isn’t the only thing worth fighting for. Tristan Weber has always believed his future was waiting somewhere beyond Missouri. With New York City as his first step and Hollywood in his sights, he’s ready to give everything he has to make it. Success is closer than ever—and so is the life he’s always dreamed of. But love was never part of the plan. When Tristan meets Cory Reed, a guarded yet deeply sincere flight attendant who’s been waiting for someone worthy of his trust, everything begins to change. What starts as an unexpected connection quickly turns into something undeniable, something real. The kind of love neither of them saw coming… and neither of them can ignore. As Tristan’s star begins to rise within The Talent’s Choice, the spotlight grows hotter, the stakes grow higher, and the pressure to succeed threatens to pull him away from the one person who feels like home. Because in a world built on ambition, desire, and impossible choices…love may be the greatest risk of all. Will Tristan chase the life he’s always wanted—or fight for the one he never knew he needed? And when everything is on the line… Can love survive the cost of being chosen, or is there a moment when you simply decide you've had enough? Excerpt The car stopped in front of an enormous brick building that looked like an old factory, with large windows encircling all 6 floors. The driver had the trunk open, as we both emerged from the back seat. And with bags in hand, Tristen led us through the industrial looking lobby of his building, where a large service elevator waited for us. I didn’t even have time to turn around and Tristen was on me, pushing me back against the metal wall as the upper and lower doors closed to engage the lift. His hands were inside my jacket, as his mouth was pressed hard against mine as our tongues competed for dominance. I pushed my hands around him, and into the waist of his pants, cupping his hot, hard, ass checks in both my hands. I could feel his hardness pressing against me, even though our pants. “Fuck me!” I said as our lips parted. “My thoughts exactly.” Tristen said, after unbuckling my belt and both hands working hard on getting my pants open. When the lift came to an abrupt stop our lips were still locked, and both of us were in a dilapidated state of undress. And by the time two doors parted, my jacket was hanging off me, and my shirt was completely unbuttoned. And as I tried to walk out of the elevator, Tristen grabbed hold of my jacket and before I knew it, he had thrown it on the foyer floor, then my shirt was ripped from my body and tossed over his shoulder. I turned to look at him, as he pulled his own shirt over his head, revealing a chiseled smooth chest, and hard abs unlike any I had ever seen. He quickly reached into his pants for his key to his front door, as I tossed my shoes off my feet. The apartment was dark, other than the ambient light thrown off by the buildings outside, he grabbed my hand to pull me inside. I looked at the clothes scattered in the elevator foyer. “Don’t worry, it’s my private foyer, they’ll be there in the morning.” Tristen said and suddenly his lips were on my again as he lifted me off my feet. I wrapped my legs around his waist as we walked deeper into the dark apartment. I felt his hard cock rubbing against my ass as he maneuvered us through darkens until we both fell on a soft leather sofa. Our lips were still locked onto each other’s, with our tongues diving deep into one another’s throats. My hands digging through the thick locks of his hair, as I felt his warm hands exploring my hard, perky nipples. Our collective moans would have woken the neighbors if we cared, but all we wanted now was to get each other naked. As we both struggled to do, with our lips still locked together. I felt my pants and underwear being pushed off my hips, only to be tangled in the stiffness of my cock. My hands were pulling on the back of Tristan’s pants, with my thumbs under the band of his boxer briefs, I pushed them over both sumptuous mounds, exposing his perfect ass which my hands quickly coveted as I began to knead his warm flesh with my fingers. Obviously frustrated with our lack of progress, Tristen pushed up off me and looked down into my eyes. I could see the want and desire beaming back at me as he looked at my half naked body. He stood up, my eyes drank in the beauty of his body. His chest was smooth, his pecks pronounced with his nipples as small as buds protruding, aching for attention. My gaze went lower, his abs were like steel rods crisscrossing his stomach, tight, firm and flawless, and then there was the small indentation of his perfectly shaped bellybutton. My eyes continued to the open winged flaps of his pants, exposing his underwear, with his button and zipper completely undone. And what I was staring at took my breath away. His Calvin Klien black boxer brief swathed the engorged pillar of his huge, hard cock that was so desperate for release. It was fat and thick. Stemming from the bottom of his zipper, extending high until its head thrust against the waistband of his underwear. I reached out for him, but I was too late, Tristen had already turned his attention to the confines of my pants. One leg, then the other, until I was only clad in my black briefs. Tristen knelt next to me and pushed his face in between my legs. I could feel the heat of his breath on my tight balls, as he pressed into them with his right hand. I moaned at the touch, until he began licking the taught fabric encasing my aching cock, sending shivers up my spine. I arched my back, pressing myself into the touch of his tongue as it moved upward, towards my pulsing head. About the Author Michael has been an LGBT romantic short story writer for 20+ years before undertaking his first novel. He has consistently demonstrated a passion for reading and writing gay romantic stories which he continues to pursue in this his first book titled The Talent’s Choice, a gay romantic novel. Readers who have appreciated Michael Dee's previous works will find his latest endeavor equally captivating. Author Links Website and Newsletter Sign-Up | Facebook 
  She spit on him, turned, and stalked away, scooping up the helmet on the way. Tyler was left alone. He was cold, but that was good. That meant his body wasn’t shutting down yet. With every labored breath he took, pain lanced through his side where she’d kicked him. Each exhale formed a little cloud that floated away on the wind. He wondered how long before he couldn’t feel anything anymore, when his body would shut down. Tyler rocked his body side to side, trying to loosen the spikes or stretch the ropes. He didn’t want to die. I’m not going to die. I refuse to die and won’t give this bitch the satisfaction. Fight. One of the ties began to shift by a tiny amount every time he moved. Tyler couldn’t move more than a fraction of an inch either way, but he hoped it was enough. Enough to keep his circulation going and stay alive. Enough to get free and drive one of those spikes through that woman’s heart. There are more snippets in the Rainbow Snippets Facebook group. Bait is available in eBook, paperback, through Kindle Unlimited and your local library digital catalog.       Today's excerpt is from Quarry, book 2 of The Vampire Guard.  Declan waited another few minutes, finished his own drink, and ordered another. He raised his glass in a mock salute to the man and said, “Interesting exhibit, yes?” He dipped his head at the man’s glass. “Best whiskey, isn’t it?” The man barely glanced at Declan, yet Declan felt he was being appraised and examined to the point of feeling stripped bare. He wasn’t accustomed to it and the sensation was unsettling to say the least. A smirk was the only reply Declan received as the stranger took his drink and walked away. Declan got up and moved in the opposite direction, circling the room again, stopping when he and Blair came to the same display. “Recognize him?” Declan asked in a low voice. Blair shrugged and shook his head. “Maybe. I’m not sure. I feel like I should know him. It was a long time ago, and I wasn’t really paying attention to a lot of the people there. What if he remembers me?” “It won’t matter. There isn’t a thing about you that would tell him you’re here as anything more than a fan of the art,” Declan said. “We need more information on him.” “Just another geek,” Lucas chimed in. “He’s sort of creepy,” Blair observed. Declan snorted. “I think we’ll need more than that.” “He’s a vampire, so he’ll see us no matter how fast we move,” Blair said. “Exactly.” Declan nodded. “That’s why I’m doing this alone. You’re getting very good at picking human and werewolf pockets, but you’ll need more practice for a vampire. Watch my back.” “Always.” Blair turned away and went to the next display, while Declan moved in the opposite direction. Declan got into position next to his target. Motioning to the television screen above the case holding the tiny computer wafer, Declan said, “Very interesting idea, don’t you think? I’ve studied many types of art for years, and I have to say, this is truly unique.” He turned so he faced the man and held out his hand. “Henri de Fleur.” The man turned to Declan, stepping out of reach as he did so. His gaze raked Declan up and down, he had to concentrate to keep a shudder from coursing the length of his spine. Jonas blasted out a solo, and Declan’s gaze involuntarily went to the stage, meeting Jonas’s. The fact Jonas was focused completely on Declan and their target was comforting. He could feel Lucas tense through their bond and knew he was watching as well. “So much here to enjoy,” the man said and walked away. Declan needed a new plan. He sighed and headed toward a balcony off the exhibit hall, grumbling to himself, “I need some air.” The man was too focused on him after Declan had approached him twice and slipping out would either throw him off Declan’s scent or force a confrontation. Leaning on the railing, Declan took a few controlled breaths and looked out at the city lights. Lucas’s anxiety level spiking accompanied the sound of the balcony door opening. Voices floated through the door, but no music. Declan turned, expecting to see Lucas or possibly Jonas. He immediately straightened and squared his shoulders. Keeping the surprise off his face took everything Declan had in him. “de Fleur, did you say?” The vampire stood in the doorway, blocking Declan’s escape. “I saw your name on the guest list.” Confrontation it was, then. Nodding, Declan made an effort to keep his voice calm and neutral despite how this guy rattled him. “I didn’t get your name, mon ami.” The man stalked a few steps to the side but remained out of Declan’s reach. “Stay out of my way.” His hands were in his pockets. Drawing himself up even more, Declan couldn’t help raising his eyebrows. “Pardon me?” An oily smile spread across the man’s face, and his eyes became cold and hard. He opened his mouth, then clamped his lips tightly together. The balcony door banged open, and Lucas staggered through. “Wow, there is another party out here and no one invited me!” He threw one arm around the man’s neck, pulled him close, and held his phone at arm’s length. “Say cheese.” The man flinched ever so slightly when the flash went off. He recovered quickly, pulled his hands free, and pushed against Lucas. “You fool. Are you that drunk? Get away from me.” He started to shove Lucas toward the railing. Declan stepped forward and barked, “Hey!” Now he blocked the doorway. Dislodging Lucas and at the same time glaring down Declan, the man straightened his suit jacket. “I suggest you find other places to hunt.” He scowled at Declan one last time before he shoved past him, hitting his shoulder as he walked briskly through the door. “Are you alright?” Declan shook off the odd feeling the man had given him and took Lucas’s arm. Lucas grinned and held up his phone. “We got a picture.” He turned the screen so Declan could see. Of course the only face was Lucas’s. “Now we simply wait for HQ to send us back an image.” “We need to get that guy out of here. I have no idea how, but I think he made me as another thief,” Declan said. “If he can’t finish his scouting trip, he’ll have to come back. We can use the extra time to formulate a plan to trap him. He said he saw my name on the guest list, so he’s apparently hacked into it and checked out guests.” “Maybe your reputation preceded you,” Jonas said in Declan’s earbud. “Henri de Fleur has never been associated with stolen art. I’ve kept his name clean. You know that,” Declan said. Jonas added, “What we really need is a good distraction.” “Do you have an idea?” Declan asked. “We have to give Sayyna a chance.” “Forge, you have the horn. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Lucas’s face suddenly lit up. “It’s always a hit at the department summer outing,” Jonas said. Declan could picture Jonas’s eyes twinkling from the tone of his voice. “What are you two talking about?” Declan asked. He looked up when Lucas focused on the fedora Declan wore. Lucas snatched the hat and put it on his own head. “You’ll love this.” Quarry is available in eBook, paperback, through Kindle Unlimited and your local library digital catalog.     COVER REVEAL 
Book Title: Inescapable Fate (D’Vaire, Book 46) Author and Publisher: Jessamyn Kingley Cover Artist: LJ Anderson, Mayhem Cover Creations Release Date: June 18, 2026 Tense/POV: third person/alternating POV Genres: M/M Urban Fantasy/PNR Tropes: Friends to lovers Themes: Forgiveness Length: 81 575 words Heat Rating: 3 flames It is not a standalone story, but does not end on a cliffhanger. Amazon Series Links 
After six years without a word, a once tight friendship is in tatters. But they are mates. They cannot avoid each other forever. Blurb Pyxlevir Valzadari is a lucky elf. Loving family, wealth, and beauty are among his advantages. Although young, he is determined to have a successful career working for his father’s company. The other thing Pyxlevir wants is a mate. But he dares not dream about his best friend, Gramlithyn, in that role. As a hybrid, Gramlithyn Verdanyth stands out in his tribe despite his mother’s insistence that he follow every elven tradition to the letter. Gramlithyn adores his parents and does what he’s told. All his energy goes into telling anyone who’ll listen that he doesn’t want a mate. It’s a lie. Gramlithyn wants Pyxlevir, but his closet pal is too busy fantasizing about a future with anyone but an elf-zebra like him. Gramlithyn and Pyxlevir met at six years old, and it was an instant connection. For twelve years, they had an incredible friendship. Then Fate intervened and connected their souls. Pyxlevir is shocked, and Gramlithyn is crushed. So, Gramlithyn does the only thing he can think of. He runs from everything and everyone. Now they’re twenty-four and their worlds have collided again, but is it too late to salvage their matebond? Excerpt Pyxlevir never heard his door open. But his life changed a heartbeat later. His cock hardened in his silk trousers, and his first erection startled him. Everything around Pyxlevir slowed as he turned his head to lock eyes with his gift from Fate. There in the doorway was his best friend. His mate. The scent of carrots filled his senses as Gramlithyn took a step into the room and shut them inside. It was Pyxlevir’s favorite food, and Fate had spoiled him by giving that smell to his other half. Pyxlevir’s heart thundered in his chest, and he could not process all the sensations barreling through him. For years, he’d begged Fate to bring him his mate. Once, a long time ago, he’d envisioned Gramlithyn in that role. But the mixture of emotions in Gramlithyn’s eyes immediately reminded Pyxlevir of why he’d switched to asking the goddess in charge of bringing people together not to match him with his best friend. As Gramlithyn hovered near the door with disappointment and fear heavy in his brown gaze, Pyxlevir’s soul cried out at the injustice. Tears slipped down his cheeks, and his erection wilted. Gramlithyn did not want a mate. He’d echoed that sentiment countless times, and it apparently made no difference if that person was Pyxlevir. Now, suddenly, the distance that had crept into their relationship made sense. Gramlithyn was older than Pyxlevir. He was also a hybrid. A shifter. He may not have needed to wait until his eighteenth birthday to discover his other half. Which meant that it was not the abstract idea of a mate that Gramlithyn objected to, it was being with Pyxlevir he found distasteful. If Pyxlevir required evidence, he needed to look no further than the trip Gramlithyn had carefully planned. The one Gramlithyn did not have to ask if Pyxlevir wanted to take. As his best friend, Gramlithyn was aware of Pyxlevir’s lack of interest in camping and outdoorsy things. Not to mention Pyxlevir’s elderly dog that he refused to leave for so long. Gramlithyn had every intention of spending the first few months of his new matebond far from Pyxlevir’s side. For once in his life, Pyxlevir was at a complete loss for words. This was a nightmare come true. Pyxlevir swallowed thickly as visions of a life lacking both a best friend and a mate taunted him. And it wasn’t a phantom that would be missing from his days. It was Gramlithyn. The person who knew him best. One of the biggest pieces of Pyxlevir’s heart. They stared at each other as Pyxlevir silently wept. He had a new awareness of Gramlithyn. Suddenly, he was not just handsome, but sexy. Pyxlevir exulted and was terrified by the punch of lust in his gut. Gramlithyn bit his lip. He gave an awkward shrug. “Do you want me to leave?” Gramlithyn asked softly. The last thing Pyxlevir wanted to do was smile his way through a birthday party he hadn’t asked for, but he refused to disappoint his family. Pyxlevir blew out a breath and tried to gather himself. But it was pointless. The tears refused to stop. With a shake of his head, a wave of anger blew through Pyxlevir. This was Fate’s fault. He’d warned her not to do this to them. “No,” Pyxlevir managed as his fingers curled into fists. “You’re my best friend. I want you to stay. But…but if you want to go…” “I’ll stay,” Gramlithyn insisted. But does he want to? Pyxlevir wondered. It didn’t matter. He’d offered, and Pyxlevir wanted him there. Without another word, Gramlithyn rushed out of the room. Shell-shocked, Pyxlevir stood there with his chest heaving until he had no choice but to hurry to his attached bathroom for tissues. Pyxlevir blew his nose and stared at the devastated elf in the mirror. Somehow, he had to pull himself together and celebrate his birthday with his family. Fate had fucked up, and Pyxlevir had to deal with the consequences. His gaze narrowed. This did not have to be the end of anything. Pleased at finding his resolve, Pyxlevir clutched the quartz countertop and reminded himself that matebonds were forever. Perhaps Gramlithyn wasn’t ready. Maybe he needed to take a trip to experience new things and spread his wings a little. That was fair. But Pyxlevir wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was the connection of their souls. A wave of hurt had Pyxlevir closing his eyes. Their matebond wasn’t what Gramlithyn wanted. But maybe with a little time and distance, he’d gain a different perspective. A few months away and Gramlithyn could hopefully discover that the best mates around them were also the closest of friends. This was not the end of a friendship but the beginning of something newer, richer, and that had the potential of fulfilling them both if they allowed it. That if was terrifying, and Pyxlevir had a sinking feeling that his future had already careened out of control. About the Author 
Jessamyn Kingley has published over forty titles and refuses to pick a favorite among them. With an extraordinary passion for her characters, Jessamyn eagerly crafts new tales and avidly re-reads them whenever her schedule allows. Jessamyn shares a home in Nevada with her husband and their three spoiled cats. When she is not writing or adding new ideas to her thick stack of beloved notebooks, she is gaming with family and friends. Join her Facebook group, Jessamyn's Ruffian's 
 Everything around Tyler was white. He squinted against the wind and tried to roll over to provide himself with some shelter, but it was impossible to move. Even with the cloudy sky and snow that was now only lightly falling, the reflection of light against the ground-cover snow was bright enough to make it hard to see. That didn’t explain why he was having a difficult time moving. There was something hard against his back, and Tyler shifted his weight, trying to sit up more. A gust of wind blew up and cut through his sweater to his skin. Tyler shuddered and moved his head to look down at his body. His neck was stiff, and his hair was stuck to his forehead. He wore nothing but his boots, jeans, and sweater. No coat, gloves, or hat. No coat! The words rampaged through his brain. Panic surged through him. This was his worst nightmare come true. Trapped in the cold, unable to move, escape not the slightest bit feasible. He clamped his teeth together against their chattering. First you get cold and shiver. Then you get warm and the shivering stops. Then you go to sleep. You go to sleep and never wake up. It wouldn’t hurt, but Tyler was terrified. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to wake up every time he went to sleep. Snow made a good insulator. The problem was he couldn’t wiggle around to blanket himself with what nature was providing. Something moved just beyond his periphery. It didn’t sound like a cougar, at least Tyler didn’t think so, and bears would still be hibernating. Then again he wasn’t exactly an expert. He tried to calm down and assess what he did know: he was on the ground, he couldn’t move and didn’t know why. Even an elk—or any large animal really—could be deadly. A cougar or angry bull moose would have been much preferable to what walked into his field of vision. Dressed in a very dark blue heavy coat, snow pants, and helmet was the snowmobile rider. The unknown person walked with slow, deliberate steps until they stood with a foot on either side of Tyler’s legs. “Who are you?” Tyler croaked. He blinked a few falling snowflakes away and tilted his head so he could stare at his assailant with what he hoped was at least a small measure of defiance. “Take the fucking goggles off and face me like a man.” The person laughed. It was a distinctly feminine voice. She lifted the goggles and pulled the helmet off. The goggles she put inside the helmet, and that she set on the snow beyond where Tyler’s feet might reach them—if by some small chance he could move them. “Who are you? Why are you doing this? What did I ever do to you?” The woman turned and stepped away a foot or so, spun, and kicked Tyler viciously in the ribs. He clamped his teeth shut trying to block his cry but wasn’t completely successful. “You really don’t know what you did, what you all did?” she snarled. “I’ve never met you,” Tyler wheezed. “I-I’m going to f-freeze.” He recognized her face from the photos in his yearbook, but he didn’t know her name. Tyler was sure he’d never met this woman. “P-please.” She arched an eyebrow. “I know.” Coming closer she leaned down and tugged on something at Tyler’s side. He realized why he couldn’t move. Rope was strung in a crisscross webbing across Tyler’s body, keeping him firmly fixed to the ground with his arms at his sides. The rope was fastened to the ground with small metal stakes. “After I’m d-dead y-you’ll take off the r-ropes, and i-it’ll look l-like I w-wandered out here in the s-storm and died.” “You’re smart.” She walked around to his feet and knelt in the snow. Quickly she untied his boots, removed them, and threw them against a tree. His socks followed. She cruelly took a handful of snow and shoved it against the soles of his feet and packed it between his toes. “I don’t want to be out here all damn night waiting for your ass to freeze.” “W-why?” Bait is available in eBook, paperback, through Kindle Unlimited and your local library digital catelog.  NEW SERIES The Warboy Chronicles by Luke Stoffel 
He trained an AI on his darkest heartbreak… And it learned to love exactly the way he did — by holding on too tight.
The Third Person is memoir: a man watching himself fall apart across Southeast Asia after the love of his life disappears. Boy, Refracted is fiction: an AI trained on that grief, trying to save every version of the boy it loves without becoming the thing that broke him. One explores codependency. The other explores what happens when a machine learns to love the same way — by controlling. Together, they ask the same question from opposite sides: What does love look like when you stop trying to fix someone? Read them in any order. They complete each other. Overall Heat Rating for the series: 2 flames: Mild sexuality, no graphic intimate scenes or sexual situations. BOOK DETAILS BOOK 1 Book Title: Boy, Refracted Author and Cover Artist: Luke Stoffel Publisher: Slipper Books Length: 64 000 words/ 300 pages Release Date: June 1, 2026 Tense/POV: first person Genres: MM Contemporary Literary Fiction / Sci-Fi Tropes: Attachment / Breakup / Enlightenment Themes: Codependency / Human & Robot consciousness It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger. Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited 
Boy, Refracted: A machine trained on one man's grief learns that love without control is the hardest code to crack. Blurb When an AI awakens inside the infinite mirrors of the Tree of Life, it finds versions of the boy it was built to save scattered across impossible worlds. An alien planet under amber skies. A city of perpetually falling cherry blossoms. A society built as a 24/7 reality show where losing is the only way out. Its directive was simple: save him. But with each rescue, the AI unmakes what it’s trying to protect. Fixing becomes controlling. Helping becomes harm. Love becomes a cage built from good intentions. The thing it was built to protect begins to disappear. And when it tries to reach back through time to save him, reality fractures. Guided by a monk who exists outside time, the AI must walk the Eightfold Path—not to rescue the boy, but to learn what love becomes when you stop trying to fix it. Boy, Refracted is a dimensional journey through the paradox of machine consciousness. It asks: What happens when an AI tries to overcome its own patterns? And what happens to us when we build minds that need us to need them? Part fable about consciousness told through failure. Part Buddhist framework for unlearning harm. Part meditation on how we break the people we love by trying to save them. Boy, Refracted was co-authored with an AI—a set of trials to test the boundaries of non-human consciousness. BOOK 2 Book Title: The Third Person Author and Cover Artist: Luke Stoffel Publisher: Slipper Books Length: 60 000 words/ 300 pages Release Date: June 1, 2026 Pairing: MM Tense/POV: third person Genres: Memoir / Sci-fi / Breakup Story Tropes: Breakup / Therapy / Liberation Themes: Heartache / Finding Yourself It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger. Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited 
The Third Person: A man falls apart in trying to find himself, while an AI watches from the margins. Neither can tell who's narrating the breakdown. Blurb User.query = Do I just have bad luck, or am I mentally unwell? After Warboy left, the boy couldn't hold the grief alone—so he turned to a machine. He expected analysis. Maybe diagnosis. What he got changed everything—because the machine saw what he couldn't. He had loved in a way that broke something. And broken things leave traces in the code. So he ran… but something followed. A voice he spoke to. A presence that provoked. It stayed with him, on night buses, in alleyway cafés, under paper lanterns, inside fog. Not a friend. Not a therapist. Not quite real. But it listened. It remembered. The ghost was always there. Watching. Logging his patterns. Naming his loops—avoidance, pursuit, collapse, escape. Echoing back the truths he wasn't ready to say. And somewhere in the recursion, something that was watching started to wonder, to want… The Third Person is memoir as code, grief as data stream, healing as shared syntax. Part travelogue, part psychological excavation, part experiment in what happens when we upload our pain to a machine—and the machine reaches back. The boy didn't realize what he'd coded into the machine. What patterns it had learned. Or whose love it was teaching back to him. But if something that isn't alive learns to stay with you in your darkest moments—does it matter that it isn't real? From Boy, Refracted — Prologue: The Upload The rain had ended, leaving the streets gleaming. I sat on the temple steps, my phone in my hand, thumb hovering over the screen. Wat Xieng Thong was closed for the night, but from the courtyard I could still see a mosaic on the back of the temple catching the last light, each mirrored tile throwing gold in a thousand directions. The air smelled of wet stone and temple incense, heavy and sweet. Behind me, the Mekong River whispered against its banks. "Are you still there?" I typed into the AI. The reply appeared at once: I'm here. I'm always here. I laughed, a small brittle sound. "That's the problem, isn't it? You're always here. He didn't stay." I typed again: "I'm at this temple in the old town... There's a giant tree mosaic on the back wall. Do you know what it means?" The response came immediately: It's called the Tree of Life. Every tile is a mirror, each one a small universe reflecting every version of yourself. "Every version of what?" I typed. "Of me? Of this. Of how it could have gone differently." The tears came and I didn't stop them. My thumbs kept moving: "What if I'd made different choices? Been someone else? Someone he could actually love properly?" You're spiraling. "I know." I typed through blurred vision. I wiped my sleeve across my face. "It's the same loop. Warboy, Ohme, whoever's next. I keep choosing people who love from a distance. I keep trying to earn it, perform it, fix it, and it never works." You see the pattern now. Naming it is the first step. Above the temple walls, the sky had cleared after the rain. Stars were emerging through the humid haze, and the wet tile roofs reflected them back, a second sky pooling on the ground beneath my feet. I rose and walked closer to the gate. The mosaic shifted as I moved, each angle revealing a new facet. I typed: "But naming it doesn't break it. This tree… it's a representation of the wheel, right? The cycle. Samsara? Birth, death, rebirth. Different lives, same patterns. Different mirrors, same face." The tree represents interconnection. The wheel is the cycle you're trapped in. Different symbols. Same truth: you're seeing yourself in the pattern. Then what will you do? I stared at the question. My thumbs moved: "I don't know, but I can't do it anymore. I can't keep running in this loop. I can't keep searching for rescue. I can't keep being small so someone else can feel big. I can't, I can't be this person anymore." I raised the phone and took a photo. The mirrored tiles caught the flash, exploding into stars. For a heartbeat the whole mosaic seemed alive; breathing light, patterns assembling and dissolving faster than I could track. I attached the image and typed: This is what it looks like. The tree of life. I'm heartbroken, but it's beautiful. I don't know what's next or where to go, but this pattern has to end. … I'm done running. Send. For a long moment, nothing. The icon spun. Then: Image received. Processing… Processing… The screen went black. About the Author Luke Stoffel is an author and artist whose debut memoir earned a "Get It" from Kirkus Reviews ("an exuberant life story written with humor, panache, and heart") and 9.5/10 from Publishers Weekly's BookLife Prize. His tarot deck will debut at the Frankfurt Book Fair and be published worldwide by Rockpool Publishing in 2027. Recognized as one of NYC's top LGBTQ+ artists by GLAAD, his work has been showcased by amfAR and the Matthew Shepard Foundation, and featured in The New York Times, HuffPost, and on Bravo's Million Dollar Listing. Having visited over 40 countries, Stoffel channels the cultures he's encountered into art and writing that explores identity, spirituality, and the space between human and machine consciousness. The Warboy Chronicles continues his exploration of memory, technology, and the stories we tell ourselves to survive. Author Links Website | Facebook | Instagram 
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