 No one was there, yet Forge couldn’t shake the feeling he wasn’t alone. He wandered down the beach a few yards. Water splashing against the shore and spraying up made him go closer for a better look. The lake’s edge here wasn’t gently sloping sand but a sharp lip of concrete. Hunkering on the ledge, Forge leaned over for a look. The wall ran a good half mile in either direction. He could see large spots that were darker than the surrounding area. Forge had read about the secret rooms constructed all along Lake Erie during Prohibition. At one time illegal booze and guns were stashed in them. One could only access the rooms by going under water. At high tide, many of the outer parts of the rooms were completely submerged. He’d never been in one. More than likely he’d have to get wet to justify the expense of divers. Forge was still contemplating getting a dive team when he heard shouting. “Stop. Wait!” The voice sounded familiar, but Forge couldn’t place it. That always annoyed him. Turning, he looked up at the top of the stairs. Then he squinted and shook his head. The voice’s owner made Forge stare in a type of horrified wonder, like one looked at a train wreck. The fact his cock picked then to persistently remind him of its presence with a few twitches and throbs didn’t help. It was a man, though the dread Forge was feeling might have been less if it’d been a woman. The guy wore what appeared to be homemade steampunk goggles with dark lenses, a long-sleeved black shirt, and black jeans. “Sweet mother of God, is that a cape?” Forge muttered and took a few steps forward. “No, stop, don’t—” His warning was too late. The oddly dressed man began to run down the steps—the slippery, wet steps, waving his arms. He’d gone about three steps when his feet slid out from under him and his rear hit the stone stairs. The man yelped, and Forge’s cock gave another twitch. He had the fleeting thought of how disturbing on several levels that was. “What the hell?” Forge ran to the bottom of the stairs. Bouncing head over heels down the steps, the guy finally flopped to one side and rolled the remainder of the way down, finishing his descent with a hearty splash in the chilly lake water. Floundering and shouting, the man slapped the lake’s surface, went under, bobbed up, and spit water out of his mouth, and garbled, “Can’t… swim.” Throwing his arms wide, Forge grumbled, “It’s not as if vampires drown.” The guy went under, the water churned, but he didn’t come to the surface. Jerking his jacket off and dropping it to the ground, Forge made sure his phone was with the garment. “This has got to be a joke. A really bad joke.” Forge ran to the edge and dove in. The only thing that prevented him from ejaculating the second his fingers touched the man was the cold water. He shuddered when he pulled the guy against his chest and wrapped one arm around him, using the other to help propel them to the surface. When he got to the concrete edge, he hefted the guy over and onto the ground. Forge hoisted himself out of the water and hit the guy, who looked to be in his twenties, between the shoulder blades to expel lake water. A shiver and spark of electricity ran from Forge’s palm and coursed down his spine to settle in his groin. This couldn’t be his soulmate. Yet even as he finished that thought, he knew, and there was no denying what his body was telling him. The fool dressed as some superhero wannabe in a really bad outfit was Jonas Forge’s mate for eternity. Forge wondered if other vampires would penalize him for killing his soulmate. Electric Candle is available in eBook, paperback and through Kindle Unlimited.     
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J. Scott Coatsworth & Kim Fielding have a new MM fantasy romance out, Chaos and Order book 1: Office of the Lost. And there's a giveaway! When Perfection Collides With Chaos, Sparks Fly Crispin Eladrin, desk fae at the Office of the Lost, could find a needle in ten haystacks. His desk is so neat it would make an accountant blush, and he's never failed to complete a recovery mission. He has no idea how adorable he is, especially when he's at his most annoyingly officious. Enter utterly chaotic Leopold Lane. His life is a masterclass in disastrous events--and it's about to get worse. He's the latest thing that Crispin has been sent to retrieve, but when they meet, sparks fly. Literally. And now they must find their way back before someone—or something—enchants them, eats them, or stomps them to death. Neither knows why the Office of the Lost is so hell-bent on acquiring Leo, but they're determined to survive long enough to find out--and to see if opposites really do attract. Publisher | Amazon | iBooks | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Smashwords | Universal Buy Link | GoodreadsGiveaway Scott & Kim are giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour: Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47327/ Excerpt
Chapter One Crispin Eladrin Moss’caladin was a by-the-numbers, check-all-the-boxes kind of fae, the only desk fae in the Office of the Lost with a ten-point-two perfecality score. This made his chest swell with pride whenever he thought of it, since it technically wasn’t possible to rise above a ten-point-oh. He hummed happily as he worked his way down the Recovered Assets form, filling out every line with careful precision, dipping his quill in the inkpot with exactly the right angle and timing to collect the perfect amount of ink with nary a drop spilt on desk or parchment. He was barely aware of the sounds of the other desk fae around him, sitting at the hundred or so identical white marble desks extending out from his like blocky petals of some strange stone flower. Item Recovered? Check. Item in Good Shape? Check. Description of Item: Slightly used spelled red oak wand, possibly from the Third Dynasty. World of Origin? Therrin. And on and on, cataloging all the minute details of how he’d acquired the formerly lost object. He glanced up at the hands of the enormous clock on the near wall. Five minutes to five. Perfect timing. He’d be home to his tree bole in the Greatwoods on Torevor—and his pet squirrel Minkis—right on time. Punctuality is Perfecality. As he was slipping the form and the small box with its recovered contents into his outbox, a shadow darkened his sparkling clean desk, dimming its reflected glow. Crispin swallowed hard and looked up into the beady eyes of his supervisor, Bidulla Krönk. She was an ogre of a woman. Literally. Her sallow skin was the color of a rotten lemon, two pointed yellow teeth protruded a good three inches past her lips, and paint nearly melted off the walls when she smiled. Like she was doing now. “Hello, Curator Moscow.” Her voice was like a rake over gravel. “That’s Moss’caladin.” He tried not to sweat, rather unsuccessfully. She nodded. “Yes, Moscow, just like I said.” She sank down on the corner of his desk, and the far side lifted an inch off the ground. “I’m told you are doing excellent work.” He wanted to cover his ears to block out the avalanche of sound, but decided that wouldn’t be at all proper. He should have been thrilled that his perfecality score was at last being noticed, but instead he wanted to shrink under his desk and hide until she left. He’d spent his entire career—well, if you could call five years a career—under the desk, figuratively, and he couldn’t imagine for the life of him how his cover had been blown. “Thank you, ma… Supervisor Krönk. I was just heading out—” “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” And when she said afraid, it felt more like rumbly angry. But that might have been just her voice. Which, to be fair, was comparatively lovely for an ogre. Still, ogres weren’t known for a subtle expression of emotion. “Why is that?” He found himself blinking and instead tried to stare at her politely, which somehow felt worse. She also had a strong… personal aroma, which was making his eyes water. “Something urgent has come up, a task that we feel is more wisely left to one of our best curators.” We? There was now a we who were aware of him? His heart dropped. “The best would be Curator Deepmountain, ma’am.” Theodor ur Deepmountain was a dwarf, and one of the most experienced members on the team. And by experienced, Crispin meant ancient; his long, wispy white beard was probably older than Crispin. Surely she’d see the wisdom in his suggestion. She growled—or was it a purr?—and his entire desk shook. “We think this particular task needs more… finesse than Curator Deepmountain possesses. The Oracle specifically asked for you.” Me? He suppressed a squeak, but there was the damnable blinking again. Crispin forced himself to stop. Then he blinked again. She was complimenting him, in a heavy-handed, very ogre sort of way. The proper thing to do with compliments was to acknowledge them. Right? “Um, thank you?” She nodded as if finally he’d done something right. “Here are the details. If you need anything, staff will provide it.” She handed over a dark blue folder with the Office of the Lost “OotL” logo embossed in gold. Some people called Crispin and his co-workers “oodles” as a result of the rather unfortunate acronym, but he stuck steadfastly to “curators.” He peered over her shoulder. Three sylvan fae hovered behind her with clipboards and magical quills that never needed dipping. Crispin sighed heavily. It was clear that there was no way out of this one, so he might as well acquiesce gracefully. “I see. Well then, I’ll go home and get a good night’s rest so I’m fresh for this most important task in the morning, and….” Bidulla shook her head. “This matter is top priority.” She pointed at the proffered paperwork, and sure enough, it was stamped “Top Priority.” The red ink seemed to sizzle as he stared at it. “You’ll leave tonight. With your… skills”—she said it as if there was still some doubt as to whether he possessed any—“you should be able to convince the subject to return with you forthwith.” Author Bio Scott
Scott lives with his husband Mark in a yellow bungalow in Sacramento. He was indoctrinated into fantasy and sci fi by his mother at the tender age of nine. He devoured her library, but as he grew up, he wondered where all the people like him were. He decided that if there weren’t queer characters in his favorite genres, he would remake them to his own ends. A Rainbow Award winning author, he runs Queer Sci Fi, QueeRomance Ink, Liminal Fiction and Other Worlds Ink with Mark, sites that celebrate fiction reflecting queer reality, and was the committee chair for the Indie Authors Committee at the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA) for almost three years. Website: https://www.jscottcoatsworth.com Facebook (personal): https://www.facebook.com/jscottcoatsworth Facebook (author): https://www.facebook.com/jscottcoatsworthauthor/ Mastodon: https://mastodon.otherworldsink.com/@jscottcoatsworth Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/jscottcoatsworth.bsky.social Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jscottcoatsworth/ Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8392709.J_Scott_Coatsworth QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/j-scott-coatsworth/ Liminal Fiction: https://www.limfic.com/mbm-book-author/j-scott-coatsworth/ Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/J.-Scott-Coatsworth/e/B011AFO4OQ BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/j-scott-coatsworth Kim
Kim Fielding is very pleased every time someone calls her eclectic. She writes fantasy, mm romance, science fiction, horror, and whatever else her muse demands. Winner of the 2021 BookLife Prize for Fiction, a Lambda Award finalist and Foreword INDIE finalist, she has migrated back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States and now lives in Oregon, where she will never have enough bookshelf space. She’s a university professor who dreams of being able to travel and write full time. She also dreams of having two daughters who fully appreciate her, a husband who isn’t obsessed with football, and a house that cleans itself. Some dreams are more easily obtained than others. Website: https://www.kfieldingwrites.com Facebook (personal): https://www.facebook.com/pgerstenfeld Facebook (author): https://www.facebook.com/KFieldingWrites Mastodon: https://romancelandia.club/@KFieldingWrites Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/kfieldingwrites.bsky.social Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kfieldingwrites/ Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4105707.Kim_Fielding QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/kim-fielding/ Liminal Fiction: https://www.limfic.com/mbm-book-author/kim-fielding/ Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Kim-Fielding/author/B006FN2T78 BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/kim-fielding 
 My snippet this week is from Whiskey and Moonshine!  “We kissed,” Colt confessed. “After that party. It was a sort of celebration thing. I was stoked over The Tonight Show, and we were dancing in our suite.” Phillipe dropped his voice and leaned in closer. “How was it?” “I don’t kiss and—” Colt stopped and chuckled when Phillipe playfully slapped his knee. “It was great. I was surprised, and we haven’t talked about it….” He met Phillipe’s gaze. “I’ve never dated before.” “I think you’re going to have to make the next move. Technically Mr. K laid one on an employee.” Phillipe stood and picked up his scissors. “I have to finish your hair.” There are many more snippets to read in the Rainbow Snippets Facebook group.  Whiskey and Moonshine is available in eBook, paperback, audiobook
and through Kindle Unlimited.  Forge pointed to a flashing light on the floor at Blair’s feet. “Hand me that.” “Can I do it? Please. There has to be some perks for being the soulmate of a real detective.” Blowing out a breath, Forge pushed the car to a faster speed. “Fine. Just this once, you turn it—” “Got it,” Blair said. He rolled down the window and flipped the switch as the light adhered to the car roof with a magnet. “Here.” Forge twisted the computer screen to face Blair. “Make yourself useful and give me directions. That red dot is where we’re headed.” Blair barely had a chance to glance at the map on the screen when he realized they were a few car lengths from a side road that was a short cut. “Here, right. Turn right. Now.” Forge swore and spun the steering wheel, and Blair looked behind them when the car’s tires squealed. A cloud of dust and debris billowed out in their wake. Forge glared at Blair. “What? It’s my first time. Cut me some slack.” Blair pointed to a short road. “That’s the one.” Forge fished his phone out and handed it to Blair while he parked. “You see anything… anything that looks suspicious, hit one. That’s Stewie’s direct line. And keep the doors locked.” Then he spoke into the radio, saying that an ambulance was needed, this victim wasn’t dead. In the next instant, Forge was out of the car, slamming the door shut and moving at hyper speed across the short span of sandy ground and sparse grass to what looked like a young man. He was lying on the ground a few yards from a cliff that dropped to the lake. His arms twitched, his head lolled to the side, and white foam drooled from his mouth while his legs jerked spastically. His feet were pushing along the ground with enough force to leave marks. Forge slid onto the ground beside the man. The first thing he did was grab the guy’s hand and hold on. He leaned over slightly, brushed his other hand over the man’s forehead, and Blair saw his lips move. He realized the car must be soundproofed, because they were close enough that Blair should have been able to hear Forge’s words. An awful feeling of despair, followed by compassion and helplessness, slammed into Blair with enough power to make him struggle for deep breaths. He scooted across the seat to the driver’s side, transfixed by the scene unfolding. Something moved near the edge of the cliff, drawing Blair’s attention. Forge’s head snapped up and turned in that direction. He’d seen it too. Blair’s breathing nearly stopped when it hit him. It was the man who’d followed him earlier that day, and he was running straight at Forge’s car. He was fast enough that Blair got the idea a human might not see more than a darkened portion of the surrounding air as it whooshed past. Blair fumbled for the phone and at the same time restarted the car, silently thanking Forge for leaving the keys in the ignition. He dropped the phone when the man was close enough to pound on the passenger window. Blair got the car in gear and pulled away, circled around, and stopped next to Forge. Forge was on his feet in a flash, and Blair swore he looked as if he’d suddenly bulked up. Blair put the car in park and shoved the door open, immediately hearing sirens. The man bolted away. “That’s the guy!” Blair shouted, pointing. “That’s not how you described him. That’s the man I…. Shit.” Forge dropped down beside the wounded man again when he made gurgling sounds and began gasping. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, we’ll get you help. They’re coming. Hold on.” He was holding the man’s hand again and pressing his other hand to the man’s shoulder. The man’s back arched; his eyes went wide, then rolled back into his head. His entire body jerked and more foam, this time pink-tinged, bubbled from his nose and mouth. “No, don’t… crap.” Forge sat back on his heels when the man went completely still. He let go of him, sighed, and dropped his chin to his chest for a few seconds. Forge massaged the back of his neck, then looked up at Blair. “Would you give me the radio?” He leaned close enough to take the radio when Blair stretched the cord as far as it would go. “Send Dr. Coate’s team,” was all he said, and then he reached in and replaced the radio. He eyed Blair, his expression turning critical. “You all right?” “I… he… I’ve never… is he dead?” Blair’s voice cracked, and he looked away, embarrassed. The ambulance was just coming into sight even though Blair had been able to hear it since he’d opened the car door. Forge stood up, blocking Blair’s view of the body and reaching into the car; he brushed one hand over Blair’s head and fitted his fingers around the back of Blair’s neck. Forge pressed a gentle kiss to Blair’s forehead and said in a low voice, “Yes. I’m sorry.” “You deal with this stuff a lot?” Blair asked and tried to relax. Forge nodded, and Blair had to ask another question, “How?”  Electric Candle is available in eBook, paperback and through Kindle Unlimited. The Sleepless City series is co-written with Anne Barwell.     Colt’s face lit up with a brilliant smile. He stretched his arm far enough to take Mal’s hand and moved in close. Mal slid one arm around Colt’s waist, and Colt hooked an arm around Mal’s neck. The way Colt leaned into him felt good, and his body certainly enjoyed the warmth of Colt in his arms. Mal inhaled deeply, relishing the way Colt’s aftershave mingled with the fresh scent of his skin as they swayed gently in a small circle. “I could stay here and do this forever,” Colt murmured and leaned in even closer. Mal nuzzled his cheek, tightened his grip, and hummed along softly with the music. Colt melted against him, relaxing in Mal’s arms, radiating trust and the heat of arousal. Mal’s mood skyrocketed. He shifted so he could take Colt’s face in his hands. Jeffery and the board be damned. His only thought was that he liked Colt, and Colt seemed to return the sentiment. He wanted this and was sure Colt did as well. Mal licked his lips and kissed Colt. For a brief second, Colt tensed; then he stilled and relaxed against Mal again. Colt glided his hands down Mal’s side, and Mal cupped the back of Colt’s head. When Mal eased back, Colt followed and ran his tongue over Mal’s lower lip. Mal tilted his head ever so slightly and claimed Colt’s mouth again, this time parting his lips just enough for Colt’s tongue to glide inside. For a few seconds, their tongues mingled. Very slowly, reluctantly, they broke their kiss but held on to each other, Colt’s cheek resting against Mal’s shoulder. Wound in Colt’s arms, surrounded by Colt’s scent, and enveloped in music, Mal’s senses reeled. There was no hiding how his body reacted, but Colt couldn’t hide his excitement either. Mal took a deep breath and dipped his head far enough so they could lean their foreheads together. He blew a soft breath against Colt’s cheek before he kissed him in that same spot. Colt’s breathing sped up, and Mal tightened his grip to stop their bodies from trembling. Without letting go, Colt leaned back against Mal’s arms, letting Mal support his weight, and studied him. He pinched Mal’s shirt collar between his thumb and forefinger, tugged a tiny bit, and stammered, “I-I sh-shouldn’t have…. I’m s-sorry.” Mal released Colt and ran the back of his fingers across Colt’s cheek before he stepped away. He shook his head and confessed in a soft, rough voice, “Don’t be. I’m not.” “I liked it.” That made Mal chuckle. “I hope so.” He put some more distance between them. “I should….” He pointed over his shoulder at his bedroom door. “It’s been a long day.” Colt turned away and ran his hands through his hair. “Yeah. I’m beat.” He backed away, turned, and tripped over a chair. “I’m just going to go to….” Colt all but ran to his bedroom. Mal pulled off his tie and sat down with a sigh. He’d kissed an employee, and he should feel guilty about it. The truth was he never would have done it if he hadn’t believed Colt was as interested as he was. He would never take advantage if he was wrong. But if he wasn’t, he planned on repeating the act—and more. He wanted Colt, and once he was sure Colt felt the same, he fully intended to work toward that end. For now the only thing he could do was wait for some sort of confirmation Colt had the same feelings. No regrets for either of them, that was what Mal needed to know. Whiskey and Moonshine is available in eBook, paperback, audio and through Kindle Unlimited.   BOOK BLAST 
Book Title: The Hidden Heart Author: Patrick Bryce Wright Publisher: JMS Books Cover Artist: Written Ink Designs Release Date: April 26, 2025 Tense/POV: third person, past tense, single POV Genres: Sweet MM Contemporary Romance Tropes: Co-worker to boyfriend, silver fox, age gap, May-December, size difference, boss-employee, workplace romance Themes: Wounded guy finds love, found family Heat Rating: 1 flame Length: 20 000 words/ 60 pages It is a standalone book and does not end on a cliffhanger. Buy Links - On sale for $1.99 during the promo on Amazon and JMS Books Amazon US | Amazon UK | JMS Books 
Ellis Isaacs falls in love with his new boss, silver fox Richard Quillen, but worries Richard will find him inaccessible or cold. Will the older man see Ellis’s true heart and return his feelings? Shorter blurb At the Kissinger-Mann detective agency, the mystery of love is solved just as often as crimes. When detective Ellis Isaacs joins the agency, he falls in love with his silver fox of a boss, Richard Quillen. But Ellis worries Richard will find him inaccessible or even cold. Will the older, wiser man see Ellis’s true heart and return his feelings, or will Ellis’s heart remain hidden? Longer Blurb At the Kissinger-Mann detective agency, the mystery of love is solved just as often as crimes. When detective Ellis Isaacs joins the agency, he falls in love with his silver fox of a boss, Richard Quillen. However, Ellis faces two big problems: He tends to fall for straight men, and even when he doesn’t, Ellis’s ex-boyfriends claim he is inaccessible or even cold. Also, he has no idea how Richard will react to the age gap between them. As Ellis works hard to spend time with Richard outside of work, problem after problem unfolds. Is Richard straight, or is he already dating a male co-worker? Is the age gap a problem, or is the issue Ellis’s reputation for being cold? Will this older, wiser man see Ellis’s true heart and return his feelings, or will Ellis’s heart remain hidden? Excerpt Ellis steeled himself and headed across the hallway to Richard’s office. On the strength of the single donut he had eaten on the way there and half a cappuccino, Ellis paused in the doorway and gathered his nerve. It was time to ask the man out for coffee. Richard was already seated at his desk, wearing a dark gray suit and a maroon bowtie. He read over papers that filled a manila folder. As expected, he was breathtakingly handsome. Ellis took another sip of cappuccino for courage and then spoke. “Sorry to interrupt you, but I have a question.” Richard glanced up. “Hm?” He met Ellis’s gaze and gave him a smile. “Not at all. What is it? I’m always here to help.” If only you could help in the way that I wish you would. “I’d like to get coffee with you sometime this week. At lunch, maybe? Or tomorrow morning? We could even go after work, if that’s better timing.” Ellis’s heart pounded. He always hated this part: setting himself up for rejection. “Well, sure,” Richard said. “Be glad to. We could get some coffee tomorrow morning if you’re an early bird like me, or we can have lunch. I know a café not far from here that has great sandwiches and decent coffee.” He looked curious, one eyebrow lifting, although he didn’t ask any questions. “Lunch is perfect,” Ellis said. “Let’s shoot for noon today.” This was the closest he had ever gotten to asking an older man out on a date. Despite his miserable track record with men in general, he’d managed to go on dates with men his own age. That was how he knew he wasn’t interested in getting serious with any of them. At securing a lunch with Richard, Ellis felt a smile threatening to overtake his face, and his heart still raced. “We can always leave a couple of minutes early or late depending on how our mornings go.” “True,” Richard said. “All right. As soon as you’re ready for lunch, stop by. I’m just doing paperwork today.” There was a kind twinkle in his eyes. “Great!” Ellis headed up to the third floor to his office, his dour Monday morning officially turned around. I asked a silver fox out for coffee, and he actually said yes. About the Author I’m a quirky English professor with tattoos, piercings, and an addiction to supernatural thriller, horror, fantasy, and science fiction. I'm proudly neurodivergent, third gender, and a trauma survivor, all things often reflected in my novels. I have degrees in both English and psychology, both of which inform my writing. In my free time, I enjoy hiking, off-road biking, and pyrography. Author Links Blog/Website | Facebook | Instagram | Medium.com Newsletter Sign-up/Substack | Blue Sky Giveaway Enter the Rafflecopter giveaway for a chance to win one of five ebook copies of my sweet romance MM short story, Dancing at the Edge. 
My snippet this week is from Scintilla.  “Yeah. Or they sold me out. There aren’t a lot of people in this world who know the extent of what I was trained to do. Other than you, all those other people are related to me,” Brandon confessed. Brandon had the sense that what he hadn’t told Raul, or what hadn’t been learned from Brandon’s father, Raul had worked out for himself. “I want to find out what’s going on and stop these people, whoever they are.” Raul reached out and took Brandon’s hand. “Then we will. We’ll talk to the cops and get you somewhere safe. After that we pool our talents and resources and get the answers.” “But first I need clothes,” Brandon pointed out. There are many more diverse snippets in the Rainbow Snippets Facebook group. Scintilla is available in eBook, paperback and through Kobo Plus.
Forge turned and looked toward the sign, then focused on Blair. “Nothing more than a couple enjoying their day.” Blair nodded. “Pay in cash.” Forge wandered to the coffee shop and stood in line. Every time Blair glanced in his direction, he could tell Forge was keeping an eye on him. A few minutes later Forge returned and set a large cup of steaming hot liquid in front of Blair. He settled in the chair beside Blair and sipped from his own steaming cup, which smelled of espresso and chocolate. “I have to do a few things on my phone first,” Blair said softly. Leaning back in his chair, Forge rested his ankle on his other knee and pulled out his own phone. After a minute he grinned and said, “Sweet. I can get all sorts of live sports feeds on this.” Blair glanced up and smiled. “I like to give special gifts too.” “I knew I loved you for more than your pretty face.” People walked by them, but no one lingered or appeared to pay a bit of attention to either man. Blair sipped his coffee while he worked. “Okay, now for all the details,” Blair said. Forge stood up. “Come on.” “Where are we going?” “Somewhere we won’t be easily overheard.” Forge waited for Blair to tuck his phone away before he motioned to the hotel’s front door. They took their coffees and walked casually onto the street. “There’s a shopping center about a half mile from here. We can try that.” Walking in silence, Blair knew from the way Forge glanced in store windows and pointed out various landmarks or other things of interest that they weren’t being followed. Blair realized Forge was so adept at knowing his surroundings such tactics had become second nature. The shopping center was an open-air type. They wandered among shops and restaurants to a miniature park with benches and a fountain. Blair sat on one of the benches, close to the cascading water. “Declan, can you hear me?” “Only in my earbud,” Declan said. “Where’s our target?” Forge asked and sat beside Blair. “Mr. Wrong and Mr. Very Wrong are sitting at the bar beside the lobby, but they aren’t paying any attention to each other,” Lucas said. Blair pulled his phone out and turned it so Forge could see it too. “I’ve planted devices to track everything that goes through the hotel’s unsecure public and private secure Wi-Fi. Right before we left the hotel, I sent an email out with a Trojan embedded in it, which will also help me track any device connecting with the Wi-Fi.” Forge took Blair’s phone. “That’s this list of names and numbers?” “Yes.” Blair nodded. “Aren’t such activities illegal?” Sayyna asked. She and the others were able to join in the conversation despite being back at the hotel. “I think you need some sort of warrant for that,” Maisy added. Forge smiled, glanced down, and scratched his nose a few times. Blair sighed. “Uh-huh.” “How can you be sure such an email will work?” Declan asked. “Some fool will open it,” Lucas said. “What if they don’t go through the Wi-Fi?” Forge asked. “In order to screw with the hotel Wi-Fi, or any Wi-Fi system, the simple fact is they’ll have to connect with it at some point. Unless they simply kill the power or the Wi-Fi source,” Blair said. “My program will also pair up different users on the system.” “So maybe we can pinpoint Mr. Black,” Dane said. “Right. Except the problem is, we’re in the middle of a group of people who are more apt to have devices with additional security than the average person. Presumably, they won’t be using the hotel Wi-Fi, free or otherwise, and if they do, they’ll have measures installed like a VPN.” Blair pointed to the phone’s screen. “I can see them but getting into the devices will be trickier. We also have a list of which devices contact others. However, we don’t know what name either of our perps go by, other than Black.” “But by process of elimination, we’ll be able to narrow them down?” Forge asked. Blair nodded. “With the help of my program, which will sort them and alert us to any consistent pairs within a minute or two. We’ll also get notification of unauthorized, malicious attempts to infiltrate the Wi-Fi and tamper with it. The users on the free system, or those without extra layers of security on their devices, will be weeded out pretty quickly since with those I’ll be able to see what they’re doing virtually. So will my program. It won’t be them anyway.” “That’s brilliant,” Palle said. Blair grinned. “Thank you.” “Can’t you simply get close enough to clone the phones?” Dane asked. “I could, and in some cases that might work. However, I’m going on the presumption our perps’ phones have signal-blocking pouches or cases similar to ours. Those accessories aren’t tech unique to the Vampire Guard. You could order it online, and it’s not very expensive.” Forge handed Blair back his phone and switched his earbud off. Blair frowned. It had been drummed into him for security’s sake to always leave it on during an investigation. Forge reached to Blair’s ear and turned his off as well. He twisted on the bench to face Blair. “Are you sure you’re up for this? Either way I’m with you.”  Quarry is available in eBook, paperback and through Kindle Unlimited.     While they ate breakfast, Raul made a phone call to someone by the name of Fahim requesting his truck and clothes for Brandon. It made Brandon smile when Raul simply rattled off sizes and what items to bring. “Fahim will be here in about a half hour,” Raul said after ending the call. “Does he live here, in Tucson?” Raul shook his head. “No. Green Valley. Fahim is a jinni. He uses alternate means of transportation when needed.” He grinned and pocketed his phone. “You don’t want to go wandering around in hospital garb.” Brandon finished off his eggs, then said, “No, I do not.” He fell silent for a minute, trying to decide what he wanted to say next. One thing couldn’t be said enough. “Thank you, for searching for me.” “I’m sorry it took as long as it did.” “So, what happens now? I tell the police what I know and then what?” Brandon asked. “There are still at least two more men out there. They know you’re free and they have no idea what you know,” Raul said. “Because you do know more, don’t you?” Brandon nodded. “Someone is being paid a lot of money from my father’s company. I don’t know who sent the payments, or how, but money, a lot of money is gone. Those kids have something to do with it, and they weren’t being given scholarships. I also know I don’t want my family, particularly my father, knowing where I am right now.” “Why? What did they do to you?” Brandon shrugged. “Nothing specific, or horrible… that I can prove. I don’t think they like me very much. If I wasn’t a scintilla and useful, I’m pretty sure they’d have nothing to do with me.” “Nothing you can prove?” Raul echoed. Brandon nodded, and Raul took a deep breath. “Someone close to you…closely associated with you or your family did this to you?” “Yeah. Or they sold me out. There aren’t a lot of people in this world who know the extent of what I was trained to do. Other than you, all those other people are related to me,” Brandon confessed. Brandon had the sense that what he hadn’t told Raul, or what hadn’t been learned from Brandon’s father, Raul had worked out for himself. “I want to find out what’s going on and stop these people, whoever they are.” Raul reached out and took Brandon’s hand. “Then we will. We’ll talk to the cops and get you somewhere safe. After that we pool our talents and resources and get the answers.”    BOOK BLAST 
Book Title: Death & Maia Author and Publisher: A. C. Jolly Cover Artist: Alyssa Winans Release Date: April 24, 2025 Tense/POV: first person, present tense, single POV. Genres: FF Dark Fantasy, Historical, Paranormal Tropes: Fated mates Heat Rating: 4 flames Length: Approx 35 000 words/184 pages It is a standalone book and does not end on a cliffhanger. Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited and Paperback Amazon US | Amazon UK | BookShop.org 
Can love truly conquer death when mortality stands in the way? Blurb A lush, sapphic romantasy. In the shadowed streets of plague-ridden Athens, Maia lies on the brink of death. When the grim reaper appears to claim her, Maia makes a bold request: a kiss. Ancient and enigmatic, Lady Death has guided countless souls into the unknowable afterlife. But Maia is different. Her resilience and humour—and that kiss—awaken a desire that Death has never known. What begins as a moment of terrified curiosity deepens into a passion as tender as it is consuming. Excerpt There’s death and sheaves of hyacinth beside me in the chamber. The body of the other girl lies on the floor. I can see her in the darkness like a misshapen pale rock in a shallow puddle. I want to swim to her. I was with her when she died. I didn’t know her name, but I told her mine. “My name’s Maia,” I said. I don’t think she heard me. Her thin breath was drowned out by the music coming from the street below. A festival, the Anthestreria by the sounds. But I knew that she was still alive, and as long as she lived, I might. My wrists were tied above my head to a bracket on the wall. “I’m here,” I said. “I’ll wait with you.” But she drowned to death, or burned, or something. I didn’t know her name. And now there’s only me, and the party downstairs is finished, and the street outside is quiet. Dawn has come and it finds me dying, too. I was working in a different neighbourhood with the other girl, who was so, so pretty. “Follow me,” I remember saying to a passerby, some young guy with an absent look and fancy laundered clothing. He smelled good. I took the pretty no-name girl by the hand because I wanted her with me, and the guy followed us down a narrow street to a doorway strung with many-coloured ropes. After that I don’t remember much until the neighbourhood, below us, below our chamber, got fired up with the festival and its lights purred orange on the back wall. And then the music died and the sun rose, just about enough to see the flowers on the step beside the shuttered door, no doubt to cover up the smell of the body of the pretty no-name girl. It’s hot in the chamber. I sit with my back against the wall, a rag across my stomach. I couldn’t tell you how many days I’ve been here. I’m starting to think that the fires and the music and the shouting in the street may not be festive at all, unless many months have passed since that pretty afternoon with the girl, the guy, the doorway with the many-coloured ropes. Unless the music that I’m hearing is carried to me from a far, far different quarter of this city or the next one over. I think about home. My cabin. I miss it. My tiny little cabin where I keep my only thing, a patterned clay horse figurine, on a stool beside the mattress. The dim light fades. Maybe it’s another evening. And I’m still not dead. The hyacinth is failing at its job. It’s night again and I can’t remember what it’s like to have arms—well, what it’s like to feel them. They’re not actually tied to a bracket on the wall. That’s just fucking nonsense. They’ve fallen at my sides and don’t move. The chamber fills with cooking-fire flakes and the music blares. I open my eyes, which rasp with dryness, and black smoke falls from the long, high slit of window at the top of the opposite wall. And if my nose wasn’t telling me otherwise, I’d think it wasn’t smoke at all but a river of perilous dark hair that runs down the wall, sinks down the wall, and starts to fill the chamber, flooding round the body of the pretty no-name girl, and I panic, thinking, Shit, she’s gonna drown! But she’s dead already. And this evening Death has come again, for me. She kneels in front of me, a woman dressed in subtle linens. In her right hand she holds a moist and I assume human heart with fronds of cypress growing out its ventricles. She has the pale face of a barbarian and jet-black hair and dark eyes, not black but glorious brown and shot with other colours, whirling blue and green, each eye a round of deep sky reversed on a field of white moon. She says, “You may ask something small of me, if it is reasonable.” And although I’ve never actually heard her voice, I kind of already know it. You would too, if you came from my neighbourhood. And right now, in this moment, I’m determined not to ask her for a thing, but I know that won’t last. She is unspeakably lovely and ancient, and I’ll definitely crumble. But I play it out, anyway. “You took your time,” I say, because the truth is I should have died eight years ago, when a dated version of this fever took my parents and uncles and baby brothers, or five years ago, when my master and his favourite slaves were murdered by his business partner, or just a month ago, when a wild wolf-dog came down the alley and through the empty canteen where I was drinking down my supper. She smiles briefly and her teeth are white and perfect. That smile makes me sure this is the way she prefers it done. I mean, if I was her, I’d enjoy the rude ones a lot more than the simps. “My name’s Maia,” I say. “What should I call you, Lady?” “My name is Death.” Alright, so now I’m scared. My split lips sting with salt from tears and sweat. And I’m so fucking angry at myself because there’s no point in that, there’s no point in crying, because I have no choice. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry,” I say, and my breastbone cracks as the breath coils, blooms, inside my body. “Why promise that?” says Lady Death. And she’s not holding the cypress heart anymore. Instead, a column of fine red dust drops from the funnel of her hand. “I wanted to defy you,” I say raggedly. “You know how it goes.” “I do,” she says. “But why waste time? Remember, you may ask something small of me, if it is reasonable.” I take a breath. “A kiss,” I say, because why not. “Is that reasonable?” “Aye,” says Lady Death, and I suppose she’s granted this same favour a thousand million times before. She has to come to me because I can’t move. She holds my face in her hands, and they’re warm like fire but do not burn, and her lips meet mine gently, and they’re soft and cool like mist but do not chill. Her tongue tastes of sweet apples, and peppery, exactly what I’d hope for from the wildest, freshest, most inspirited of oils. I keep my eyes shut tight because the final thing I want to see on earth is her mouth as she handed it to me. I keep my eyes shut tight and say, “Who knew Death would be so beautiful?” About the Author I'm a writer from New Zealand, and now live in the UK with my wife. I wrote Death & Maia, which is about a romance between Lady Death and a mortal woman, after watching the TV series Agatha All Along and being a bit disappointed with the (lack of) backstory. Author Links 
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