Release Blitz, Excerpt & Giveaway: Stacked By Linden Bell

Stacked

Mars Fitness, Book 2

By Linden Bell

Sawyer

I've been in love with my best friend and roommate since the first day of boarding school over a decade ago. But Preston has always been oblivious, obsessed with his PhD research, and more importantly, straight.

When the new, sexy grad student walks into my gym, I have to wonder... is it time for me to move on?

Preston

Some guy is trying to steal my best friend. I won't let him. Sawyer's mine.

Maybe I haven't appreciated Sawyer enough over the years, but that's going to change now. I'll do whatever it takes to keep him by my side. Even if it means kissing him.

Stacked is a best friends-to-lovers, bi-awakening, nerd/jock MM romance between possessive, protective, and co-dependent roommates. Expect the most tender caretaking, slipping into each other's beds in the middle of the night, and adorable clinginess. It is the second book in the Mars Fitness series and can be read as a standalone.

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Excerpt:

“Who the hell are you?”

Mom and I spin around at the new voice.

In the doorway is another boy, shorter than me and scrawny. The school uniform he’s wearing is wrinkled, one pant leg is caught in a sock, and the tie is loose and off-center. He’s got a mop of black hair and thick black-framed glasses, but what really catches my attention are his eyes.

They’re blue. Like the ocean. Like the sky. And they’re zeroed in on me with such intensity that my lungs stop working. My brain stops working. The only response I’ve got is whoa and cool.

Beside me, Mom clears her throat and steps forward. She puts on her mom voice when she speaks. “This is Sawyer and I’m his mom, Ms. Paige. He’s moving into this room today. And you are?”

The mom voice works because the boy shrinks back and clutches the textbook he’s holding closer to his chest. “Preston Boyer,” he says, eyeing Mom warily.

“So nice to meet you, Preston.” Then she hooks her thumb over to my side of the room. “Would all this be yours?”

Preston’s eyes dart from Mom to the bed, piled high with clothes, to me. There’s a little furrow in his brow like he’s trying to think of a response and drawing a blank. Like maybe all this stuff isn’t actually his.

Then he blurts out, “You’re not my roommate.”

Mom’s in front of me, so I can’t see her face, but I know exactly what it looks like. Her eyebrows are halfway up her forehead and her lips are pursed into her “What did you just say?” expression.

Oh shit. Preston’s in trouble.

“As a matter of fact, he is. Sawyer’s enrolling as a student at Westbourne and he’s been assigned to this double room. So your choices are to become friends and get along or find another room to sleep in. Either way, you need to move your things. Now.”

With each word coming out of Mom’s mouth, Preston shrinks into himself even further. I kind of feel bad for him, even if he’s being a jerk. Getting on Mom’s bad side is never a good idea.

“Hey, Pres. What’s taking so long?” A pretty blond girl wearing a cheerleading uniform materializes behind Preston. It takes a second for her to notice me and Mom in the room. “Oh! Hi! You must be Sawyer.”

She squeezes past Preston and approaches Mom with a big smile plastered on her face. The girl is brave. “I’m Madison. Preston’s girlfriend.” She extends a hand for Mom to shake, then does the same with me.

“Mads!” Preston hisses like Madison is consorting with the enemy. “What are you doing?”

Madison glances back at him. “I’m welcoming them. Come on, Pres, don’t be a jerk. You knew you were getting a roommate.”

“No, I didn’t!” Preston shuffles into the room, staying behind Madison like she can protect him from Mom. Madison looks like she can hold her own, but no one can stand in Mom’s way if she’s determined.

“Yes, you did.” She rolls her eyes and turns to the mess on Preston’s desk. “The Residence Office sent you a letter, remember?”

She shuffles through his things, tossing them around as Preston’s expression grows pained. He’s probably one of those people who has some weird ass filing system that only makes sense to them.

“Here it is!” Triumphantly, Madison holds a crumpled piece of paper high in the air. It’s the same thick cream-colored stuff that my acceptance letter was printed on. “Sawyer Paige. Moving in September twentieth. Please clear away any personal items that have been stored on the other side of the room.”

As one, we all stare at the personal items that have definitely not been cleared away.

Silence stretches for long moments before Madison breaks it. “No worries! I can help! It shouldn’t take too long.” She marches over with a big grin and grabs a stack of books off the desk.

“No! Wait!” Preston drops the textbook he’s holding and reaches for the ones in Madison’s hands. “You can’t just move stuff around! I have a system!”

Ha. Called it. This guy is strange. Living with him is going to be a drag, but at least I don’t have to worry about being the token loner.

“Fine, here, I’ll hand you the stuff and you put it wherever you want, okay?” Madison takes him by the shoulders and spins him around so he’s facing his side of the room again. “Just keep it all over there.”

Did she say she was his girlfriend? How the hell did a confident, pretty cheerleader end up with this disaster of a guy? I exchange a look with Mom, who has to be thinking exactly the same thing.

Then she sighs and pats me on the shoulder. “Looks like you’re all going to get along just fine.”

It’s going to be a long year.

Check out Book 1 in the Mars Fitness Series:
Ripped

Sometimes heartache is a blessing in disguise.

I thought my life was perfect. I lived with my amazing boyfriend. I worked with my ride-or-die best friend. I was on track to made-it-ville.

Then I came home one day to find my boyfriend sleeping with my best friend.

Now I’m lost with no one to turn to except Donnie, the silver fox who lets me crash at his house until I can figure out what the hell went wrong and how I’m supposed to fix it.

But once I’m there, I’m not sure I want to leave.

Donnie’s a lot older than me and he’s still grieving the death of his husband. My life is a trash fire and my career is non-existent. He’s a svelte spin instructor and I’m a film geek. We couldn’t be more different, but we need each other like we both need to breathe.

So maybe my boyfriend sleeping with my best friend wasn’t the worst thing to happen. Maybe it was the best. It brought me to Donnie.

Ripped is an age gap, nerd/jock, opposites attract MM romance between roommates who cuddle on the couch while watching classic movies. Expect steamy shower rooms, teary confessions, disapproving family, and brand new starts. It is the first book in the Mars Fitness series and can be read as a standalone.

CW: off-page sudden loss of a spouse, off-page homophobia, cheating secondary characters. Happily ever after guaranteed.

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About the Author

Linden Bell writes contemporary MM romances that heat you up and make you

smile.

Connect with Linden:
lindenbell.com
instagram.com/authorlindenbell
facebook.com/authorlindenbell
amazon.com/author/lindenbell
goodreads.com/authorlindenbell
bookbub.com/authors/linden-bell

Enter the Giveaway:

To celebrate the release of Stacked, Linden is giving away 3 e-copies of the release!

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New Release Blitz For Mell Eight's Soul Bond

Title: Soul Bond

Author: Mell Eight

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 19,100 words

Genre/Tabs:

 Fantasy, mage, magic/magic users, 

royalty, military, bonded, holidays, soulmates

Description

Soul Bond is normally the most romantic night of the year, but for Hew, that night promises to be a nightmare. Afflicted by a terrible curse, Hew knows he must either submit to blackmail or get help. Magic is illegal, so Hew must break the law and dive into the seedy underbelly of the city, where he finds more than he ever believed possible. However, even with Ren’s help, breaking Hew’s curse might ensure their executions on Soul Bond Night, rather than experiencing the romance the holiday usually promises.

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Excerpt

Soul Bond

Mell Eight © 2024

All Rights Reserved

“Word on the street is you can help me find something I’m looking for,” Hew said as he took the empty chair at a four-seater table adjacent to the bustling bar. The tavern wasn’t fancy, but it was located in one of the steadier lower-class neighborhoods. Hew had heard they watered their beer down with actual, clean water, and the bar patrons were primarily there to relax after work rather than get drunk and be rowdy, including the three people now staring at him, mixed expressions on their faces.

The man to Hew’s left was rat-faced and scowling, but he was also leaning away as if he wanted to escape before this conversation escalated. The woman on Hew’s right was homely and broad, with the shoulders of a person who worked the docks and a nose that had been smashed and not healed properly. The man directly across from Hew was the one he was actually interested in. He went by the street name Skink, and he was as skinny as his namesake with a pinched face and long nose, but his eyes were shrewd as he took in Hew’s feigned nonchalance.

“I’ve been known to help a friend or two with some issues,” Skink replied with an easy shrug. “But I don’t know you, stranger.”

Hew leaned forward slightly, although he kept his hands in view to show he wasn’t offering a threat. “I could be an excellent friend to have.”

He slowly reached into his tunic, brown and homespun. He might be in one of the better lower-class neighborhoods, but Hew wasn’t about to come here dressed like someone who didn’t belong. The coin he pulled out glimmered in the glow cast by the candles in the flickering overhead lights. The silver chit—a quarter silver coin in proper parlance and equal to five full coppers—continued to glimmer as he set it on the table.

“If you have more of those, I agree we could be great friends,” Skink said, eyeing the chit. He looked back up at Hew rather than taking the coin, his eyes narrowed. “Tell me what I can help you find, friend.”

Hew leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Someone who can help me with a magical issue I’m having.”

Skink immediately leaned back and the rat-faced man let out a snort and stood. “I’m not being part of this,” he snapped out before heading over to the bar to order another drink. The dockworker crossed her arms over her chest, flexing impressive arm muscles, but otherwise didn’t react.

“Magic is illegal, punishable by death,” Skink finally replied. “Keep your coin. I’m not helping anyone and getting my own head chopped off.”

Hew reached into his tunic and pulled out two more silver chits, laying them on the table with the first one.

“I’m not looking to cast magic. I need someone to help me solve a rather, erm, delicate issue I’m having because of magic.”

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

When Mell Eight was in high school, she discovered dragons. Beautiful, wondrous creatures that took her on epic adventures both to faraway lands and on journeys of the heart. Mell wanted to create dragons of her own, so she put pen to paper. Mell Eight is now known for her own soaring dragons, as well as for other wonderful characters dancing across the pages of her books. While she mostly writes paranormal or fantasy stories, she has been seen exploring the real world once or twice.

Website | Facebook | Twitter

Giveaway

One lucky winner will receive a $50.00 NineStar Press Gift Code! 

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New Release Blitz For Jessamyn St. Claire's For Nate Book

Author: Jessamyn St. Claire

Title: For Nate

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 73,577 Words

Genre/Tags:

Romance, Thriller/Suspense, Gay Fiction,

LGBTQIA+, M/M, Hurt/Comfort

Publisher: Amazon KDP

Release Date: Aug 22nd 2023

Synopsis 

College senior, Jacob Dawson, moved to California to rekindle a previous relationship from several years past. When he meets and befriends Nate, a beautiful man who hides all his pain and baggage behind a pair of oceanic blue eyes and exuberant smile, Jacob is dragged completely into his life. Just when things are going smoothly between them, a man from Nate’s past returns, a sadist who is hell-bent on mentally and emotionally breaking Nate once more. Jacob must do whatever it takes to save him, even if that means stepping out of his comfort zone and facing his ultimate fear to do so.

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Excerpt

Chapter 1


He looks like California.


Jacob couldn't help the wayward thought as he ogled the gorgeous young man behind him in line. The tall—a bit over six feet—lean-muscled guy had tawny skin for miles. His midlength hair held a blend of gold-and-copper lowlights, and his hooded eyes were the color of the ocean. Dressed in a fitted graphic tee, cargo shorts, and flip-flops, the guy resembled an actor on vacation. Except why would an actor be on vacation in Fresno?


The current object of his adoration looked him in the eye with a playful grin, showcasing perfect white teeth. Of course. Everything about him would be flawless. Jacob wondered what other parts of him were as out of this world.


"Excuse me, sir."


As if snapped from a trance, Jacob turned toward the cashier who wore a pinched expression on her face as she held out his bag. His face grew hot. "Thanks," he mumbled, snatching his food and shuffling toward the door.


On his way out, Mr. Perfect averted his gaze, one elegant hand on his mouth to cover a laugh.


Jacob cursed himself as he hurried out of Chipotle toward his car. How could he have gotten caught up pining for a complete stranger? He never did stuff like that. Jacob sighed into the mild breeze, absentmindedly stroking his throat. It'd been way too long since he'd last fooled around. Not since he'd moved to California four years ago. And he didn't plan on going that route either, no matter the temptation.


"Hey."


Jacob froze with his key halfway into the driver's side door. He turned his head to the side to see the perfect blond rushing toward him. Jacob's stomach fluttered. "What?"


"Sorry for staring back there. I got nostalgic seeing your hat."


Jacob touched the bill of his Bulldogs cap, having forgotten he'd put the hat on today. "You like the Bulldogs?" he asked in a voice so low, he cringed.


"Oh yeah, I'm a huge fan. Fresno State was my alma mater. Are you a student there?"


Jacob didn't respond. He set his bag and bottles inside his car.


"I'm Nate," the guy continued. "Nathan, actually, but no one calls me that. What's your name?"


"I'm late, so I need to get going."


"Oh. Okay." Nate's shoulders dropped at Jacob's rejection, yet he tried to hide his obvious disappointment behind a grin. "Well, hope you have a good day. Go Bulldogs."


Jacob gave him a tight nod as he slid into the driver's seat and started his car. Nate jogged back to the restaurant. When he disappeared inside, Jacob lowered his head onto the steering wheel. He didn't know if he was doing the right thing or being a first-class idiot for turning away something like that.


Chipotle sat right in front of Fresno State, so it only took Jacob a moment to drive to the English department building. By the time he got to Professor Drake's class, the older male had been surrounded by stacks of paper he'd printed out for grading purposes. Unloading his backpack, Jacob joined him at his desk and handed him the salad and water he'd bought. "Morning."


Professor Drake flopped into his chair, regarding him with grateful blue-gray eyes.


It always amazed Jacob how young and handsome the English professor was. He had to be in his early thirties with short chestnut hair and deep-set eyes. Tall with distinct European features but a Mediterranean skin tone. No one had managed to guess what his family ancestry was. Jacob had been working for him as his teaching assistant for the better part of the school year, and he still hadn't worked up the nerve to ask him. "You just get here?"


Professor Drake shook his head as he opened the bag. "I've been here since five. I printed all these out."


"I see." Jacob attained a red pen so he could relieve his boss. "How much have you gotten through already?"


Professor Drake pointed to the larger stack sitting to his right before taking out the salad, made the way he preferred with sofritas, guacamole, cheese, and a special honey vinaigrette Chipotle does so well. "Spring break is coming up. I overheard some of the students talking about making the trip to the beach. You'll be joining them, won't you?"


At the mention of the word "beach" Jacob couldn't help but wince. "No way," he said, the bitterness evident in his tone.


"Why not?"


Jacob avoided Professor Drake's curious gaze, fidgeting with the pen in his hand. "I kinda have this thing with swimming. When I was a kid, I nearly drowned in the ocean, so I've never liked to swim." He took a quick breath. "I don't like to talk about the incident since it makes me want a cigarette."


Professor Drake patted his shoulder before he took a bite of his salad. His expression held no mocking or revulsion, which Jacob was glad for. People always mocked him or laughed whenever he told them his fear of swimming. Or they said stupid stuff like, "Brah, we're, like, in California. How can you not, like, swim in California??"


"Don't do that." Professor Drake's deep, educated voice yanked him from his ruminations.


"I'm sorry?"


"Smoking. It's a disgusting habit that ruins lives."


Jacob tilted his head to the side. It sounded like he spoke from personal experience. "You weren't a smoker, were you?"


"No, but my father was. He died of lung cancer."


"Sorry to hear."


Professor Drake didn't respond, but Jacob didn't miss the subtle tightening around his eyes and the tic in his jaw. Awkwardness filled the room. Jacob drummed his fingers across the paper he'd yet to look at. "So, what plans do you have for spring break, Professor?"


Professor Drake's face softened. He appeared so much more handsome like that. "I think I'll spend more time with my dog. Take him somewhere nice."


"You have a dog? I didn't know that."


"Two of them." He smirked. "Though one refuses to acknowledge me as his master. He's not housebroken yet."


"How long have you had him?"


"About a year now."


"A whole year?" Jacob clamped his lips shut, trying to hide the embarrassment on behalf of Professor Drake, but the taunting grin made its way up his face anyway.


Professor Drake gave him a blank stare. "Is that funny to you?"


"I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh. It's just, if it hasn't happened by now, it probably won't ever."


"I'm afraid of that." Professor Drake shoved the coated leafy greens into his full, perfect mouth.


Unwittingly, Jacob focused his gaze elsewhere as he thought about Nate. He had perfect full lips too. "Well, I know how that feels. I have two orange tabbies, Ross and Bagel. In my house, they're the masters, and my parents and I are their willing slaves."


The corner of Professor Drake's lips turned up. "Ross and Bagel?"


"I didn't name them, trust me."


"Well, since you're not home, I suppose I can take Ross's and Bagel's place and order you to get to work."


Jacob gave him a sheepish grin as he pulled the stack of papers closer to him. "Yes, sir."


***


Nate couldn't wipe the stupid grin off his face.


Earlier, upon noting his cheerier-than-usual attitude, his coworkers had played twenty-one questions, trying to figure out the why and possibly the who. Yet Nate remained mum all day.


It wasn't anybody's business, and besides, he didn't need to come off like a sap, gushing over the fact some complete stranger—albeit a cute one—had stared at him in line at Chipotle.


Nate's ears grew hot at the memory. It'd been so embarrassing at first. Stuff like that never happened to him.


Of course, he got catcalls all the time. From women. No guy ever gawked at him the way the college kid had. If they did, it amounted to nothing more than a subtle once-over before going about their way or trying to hook up.


There was something endearing about the kid finding him so attractive that he'd forgotten everything around him. It certainly wasn't a blow to the ego either.


At any rate, Nate was ready to burst by the time he parked his car in the lot of the 1920s-style bungalow he called home.


KFC bag in hand, Nate opened the back door and skipped to the third bedroom, aka his best friend's "office." All the lights were off, the rooms quiet except for the muted heavy metal and serious moaning that grew louder the closer Nate got to the door. He leaned against the doorframe and knocked. "Kai, I'm home. I bought dinner."


"Just a second," came the strained, accented response.


Nate shook his head, pretending not to listen to his best friend's loud moans. When everything went quiet several heartbeats later, Nate mumbled, "Finally."


The door cracked open, and Kai stepped out, dressed only in black track pants, his pale skin flushed. Bits of damp black hair clung to his pierced face. Despite his smeared guyliner, Kai's Euro-Asian features and dark-gray slanted eyes were beautiful. He gave Nate a questioning look while folding his arms across his lean-muscled chest.


"I'm home," Nate repeated.


"Welcome home."


"I bought dinner." He held up the large KFC bag for Kai to see.


"Oh."


"Let's watch a movie together while we eat."


"Let me grab a shirt."


As Kai disappeared into his office, Nate headed for the living room, turning on the lights as he went. He hated the house being too dark. After hooking up the DVD player, Nate put on <em>The Green Hornet</em>, one of his favorite action/comedy movies. He'd set out the food and hit Play when Kai joined him, dressed and lighting a cigarette.


The pungent scent of mint and smoke filled the space as he exhaled a deep breath. "You're in a good mood."


Nate scooted over on the spotless white sofa so Kai would sit beside him. He bit down on a grin, trying not to let his exuberance show, but his face hurt with the effort. "Don't know what you're talking about." He took a huge bite of the crispy chicken breast.


"You're dying of laughter on the inside. I can see it."


Nate snorted. "Sure, you can."


"Talk before I make you."


"You know, it's hard to take your threat seriously with that British accent of yours." Nate shook his head with disbelief. After all these years, Kai still retained his native accent and speech. He found it badass most of the time, but there were times when Nate wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. "You sound like a villain in a James Bond movie."


"First of all, it's an English accent." Without warning, Kai flicked cigarette ashes onto Nate's hand.


Nate hissed and dropped his chicken onto the dark wooden coffee table. "Son of a—"


"Second, you met someone, didn't you?"


The rising anger faded away as Nate ruminated about the guy from earlier. In his oversized sweats and hat, most people would have considered him unremarkable. Not Nate. With his big, light-brown eyes and youthful face, Nate thought of him as pretty damn adorable. Not to mention, he blushed well, a plus in his book. A slow smile crept along his face. "I met a guy this morning."


"Go on." Kai stubbed out his cig to pile a plate with chicken and mashed potatoes.


"So, this guy was standing in front of me in line, right? And for some reason, he happened to look back. That's when he noticed me. He just kept staring, mouth wide open, barely blinking. So frickin' cute, dude. I felt bad for him cause people were looking and laughing, and the cashier got pissed."


"Did he say something?"


Nate shook his head. "He was so embarrassed, he grabbed his food and left in a hurry. But I followed him."


Kai stopped midbite and arched a pierced brow at him. "You did? That's not usually your MO."


Nate shrugged and averted his gaze, taking a bite out of a buttery biscuit. He didn't have a clue what compelled him to go after the guy like he did either. He never chased guys. Especially given his past with men. "He seemed like a pretty cool kid. He's a student at Fresno State and was repping the Bulldogs. Plus, he likes Chipotle, which is a huge deal. I mean, it's Chipotle."


"I can't believe you chatted up someone," Kai mumbled. "When do you plan on seeing him again?"


"I didn't get his number. He looked really busy."


"Did you at least get his name?"


Nate shook his head before biting into the chicken. "He was in a hurry."


Kai regarded him a moment, no telling what went on in his skull. Sitting there under his analytical scrutiny made Nate restless. "What?"


"Thinking it's just as well that you didn't. You would have pushed him away like the others."

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About The Author

Meet the Author Jessamyn St. Claire is an up-and-coming author of gay fiction who loves to explore dark and psychological themes in her stories. She lives with her family in the South, and is currently on a journey to becoming a bestseller.

Website | Facebook | Goodreads

Giveaway 

One lucky winner will receive an Epub copy of Jessamyn’s previous novel, Obsession

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 Christie Meierz has a new MM sci-fi romance out: Rembrandt's Station. And there's a giveaway!

Synopsis

Stationmaster and exiled aristocrat Albert St. John Rembrandt—Bertie to his friends—is in love with a man he's always believed he can't have, and finding out the hard way that some Tolari are as poisonous as their planet is only the beginning of his troubles.

A ship has gone missing. His station is in crisis. Bertie must somehow recover his health and manage the disaster while trying to decide whether to accept genetic modification in order to be with the man he loves.

And no Rembrandt has ever taken a gen mod.

Warnings: mention of past off-screen rape of a character who doesn't appear in the book

Excerpt

Bertie was dying.

The Monral bent over him. “My love, I beg you—”

“Must… must stay human… the Duke…”

The Monral slammed his other hand onto the treatment bed and looked up at the apothecary, knowing his face betrayed the pain of his next words. “You cannot give it to him unwilling.”

She nodded, her own face betraying nothing. Grimly, he poured more of his own strength through his fingers into Bertie, who rallied a little, bringing the pain roaring back. Pain itself could kill a human. The path to keeping Bertie alive lay along a cliff’s edge. Any mistake would plunge him into the dark.

The apothecary pointed her chin at his hand. “We will do all we can for him, but high one, you must pace yourself.”

He shook his head and turned back to Bertie, willing him to remain in the light. Stay alive. Stay alive! Stubborn human! Why? Why did he risk losing his own life to remain unmodified, to hold himself apart from a belonging he clearly desired?

Poisoned, sickened, in extreme pain—Bertie could not be thinking clearly. Did that give the apothecaries an excuse to disregard his oft-stated opinion about the blessing?

Or—he could make Bertie want the blessing.

The Monral lowered his head. No. That, Bertie would never forgive. When he realized he had been manipulated—and he would—he would hate them all.

At least he would be alive to hate them.

The Monral wiped at stinging eyes. He could not betray Bertie now, though the consequences were unthinkable. He touched his forehead to Bertie’s cheek, let his senses wrap around his lover’s presence. Pain. Everywhere, pain. It crescendoed. Bertie cried out, and the Monral drew a harsh, gasping breath. It was too much, and he broke the contact to straighten. A chair touched the back of his legs; he dropped heavily onto it. Bertie had to live. He had to. If he would not take the blessing, then the Monral would do what he could do, even give every last bit of his own strength to save him. He could live with prolonged exhaustion. He was unsure if he could live without Bertie. Not anymore.

Bertie writhed. “I don’t want to die alone,” he rasped. “I don’t—” The last word broke off into another scream.

The Monral’s vision glazed. “You are not alone, my love,” he said, when the scream subsided into choking sobs. “And you will not die. Not while I am here.”

Bertie sighed, and his emotional landscape fell into a disorganized chaos of shallow unconsciousness. His body spasmed and twitched. Around him, the apothecaries, nurses, and aides moved rapidly about their varied tasks, but even unconscious, the pain hardly dulled, radiating from Bertie like heat from a fire. The Monral sagged in the chair, exhaustion fogging his thoughts. He had poured almost everything he had into Bertie. It was still not enough.

“You will not die while I am here,” he repeated, and ignored caution to pull what he still could through his ruling bond, pushing that through his fingers.

He tried to find more. There was nothing left. He would have to wait for the energy available to him through his ruling bond to replenish itself, but he was out of time. Bertie was out of time. Already his glow began to dim again. Tears welled up and spilled down the Monral’s cheeks. He was going to lose him. He was going to lose Bertie.

No. He gathered his remaining strength. If giving it left him unfit to rule, so be it, so long as it kept Bertie alive. If it was not enough—

He took a breath, facing the reality before him. If it was not enough, then Albert St. John Rembrandt, the Duke of New Norfolk’s unwanted youngest son, would walk into the dark surrounded by the love of Monralar.

“I am yours, my love,” the Monral whispered. “I will always be yours.”

He took a deep breath, gathering himself.

A feeling of being watched stole over him, and with it, a sense of Parania’s beloved. He paused. Laura was awake and listening, then. Or she was traveling about while her body slept. Why was she here?

Was it simply to offer comfort when Bertie—if Bertie—when—his thoughts stuttered to a halt. More tears spilled.

Then something touched the very core of his heart and soul, refreshing and replenishing, and suddenly he was alert. Energy poured in from his ruling bond as if he had yet given nothing at all. Startled hope flooded him. He drew another deep breath and directed the energy into Bertie. The dimming stopped.

From across the stronghold, he felt the smile on Laura’s face.

* * *

As dawn approached, the mood in the apothecaries’ quarters lightened with the sky. Even to the Monral’s untrained eye, as bad as Bertie looked, his color was better, pale as a summer cloud but no longer grey. Much of the pain had subsided, to the relief of everyone in the room, and though his breathing was shallow, it had settled into an even pattern. The Monral caught the head apothecary’s eye and lifted an eyebrow. She nodded.

“He is out of immediate danger,” she said. “We will do all we can to repair the damage to his body, high one, but it is extensive, and he will require many tens of days to fully recover. He could not have survived without the strength you lent him.”

Its work done, his connection to the beloved of Parania guttered like a candle flame and went out, leaving his chest aching but his body thrumming with energy. Mother of All, he thought. What power Laura had. And how much longer could her Paran hide the fact of it from those who would use or destroy her?

The Monral turned back to Bertie, whose eyes had slitted open. The whites were entirely stained red with blood. “Good morning,” he told him gently, in English.

Bertie managed a faint smile and said, in a hoarse whisper, “You sure know how to show a man a good time.”

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Author Bio

Award-winning author Christie Meierz writes space opera and science fiction romance set on a world of empaths at the edge of a dystopic human empire. Her published works include her PRISM award-winning debut novel, The Marann, three more novels set in Tolari space, and several short stories.

She is a member of the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers Association (SFWA), spent 10 years raising sheep in Broome County, New York, and has been declared capable of learning Yup’ik.

Christie now lives in Rochester, NY, where she and her mathematician husband serve as full-time staff to two parlor panthers known to humans as Banichi the Assassin and Miss Myrtle the Hurricane Cat. (Their true names remain a mystery). When she’s not writing, she writes about writing on her blog, her personal Facebook page, where she welcomes comments and friend requests, and her Facebook Author Page.

Where To Find Author:

Website

Facebook Personal

Facebook Author Page

Twitter

Goodreads

Liminal Fiction (LimFic.com)

Amazon

Giveaway

Christie is giving away a $25 Amazon gift card with this blog tour

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J. Scott Coatsworth has a new queer sci fi collection out: Tangents & Tachyons. And there's a giveaway!

Synopsis

Tangents & Tachyons is Scott's second anthology - six sci fi and sci-fantasy shorts that run the gamut from time travel to hopepunk and retro spec fic:

Eventide: Tanner Black awakes to find himself in his own study, staring out the window at the end of the Universe. But who brought him there, and why?

Chinatown: Deryn lives in an old San Francisco department store with his girlfriend Gracie, and scrapes by with his talent as a dreamcaster for the Chinese overlords. But what if a dream could change the world?

Across the Transom: What if someone or something took over your body on an urgent mission to save your world?

Pareidolia: Simon's not like other college kids. His mind can rearrange random patterns to reveal the images lurking inside. But where did his strange gift come from? And what if there are others like him out there too?

Lamplighter: Fen has a crush on his friend Lewin, who's in a competing guild. But when the world goes dark, only a little illumination can save it. And only Fen, Lewin and their friend Alissa can light the spark. A Liminal Sky short.

Prolepsis: Sean is the closeted twenty-five-year-old editor of an 80's sci-fi 'zine called Prolepsis. When an unabashedly queer story arrives from a mysterious writer, it blows open Sean's closet door, and offers him the chance to change the world - and the future.

Plus two flash fiction stories – The System and The Frog Prince, never before published.

This is the first time all of these stories have all been collected in one place.

Excerpt

Eventide

I felt a little sick. Okay, a lot sick—like something had wrenched my stomach out of my gut and pulled it halfway to Mars.

Not far from the truth, as it turned out.

I reached for my stomach. My furry belly was a little thicker than I would have liked—too much processed sugar, Peter said. That and the whole no exercise thing.

What did I eat this time? My memories were a bit fuzzy.

I remembered bright lights and a sharp smell. And a keening whine.

I opened my eyes. The light above dimmed of its own accord.

That’s weird. And the smell… kind of antiseptic?

I sat up, and my fingers sank into the soft blue mat beneath me, leaving an impression when I lifted them up which just as quickly disappeared.

I was naked. What the hell?

Alarmed, I looked around as my eyesight cleared.

I was alone in a plain white room. White walls curved into a white floor and ceiling, and only the “bed” had any color—a bright blue pad on a raised pedestal. There were no doors or windows.

I pushed myself up and my head spun. My stomach clenched, and I felt sick.

The room swam around me, darkening, changing.

I’ve been sick. I was certain of that, but the details were vague. I fell back, cushioning my fall with my left hand. “Hello? Peter?”

“Hello, Tanner Black.” The reply was warm, cordial. Feminine, maybe? Hard to tell.

“Hello.” My head ached. “Where am I? Who is this?” The walls continued to flow.

“I am Sera. You are in an awakening room. Welcome to the Seeker.”

“Welcome to where?” None of this made any sense. Where’s Peter? He must be looking for me. I tried to get up again and a searing pain clenched my gut.

“Please lie down, Mr. Black. You have not fully recovered yet, and your room is not ready.”

Recovered from what? I wanted to argue, but suddenly resting seemed like an eminently sensible idea. I was tired, and my head hurt.

Maybe just a short nap.

I pulled my feet up and lay down, wishing for my comfy feather pillow.

The foam conformed to my body, hugging me. So comfortable.

That thought faded as sleep took me, and the light went out.

Where To BuyAmazon | iBooks Barnes & Noble Kobo | Scribd Thalia | Vivlio

Author Bio

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, and Other Worlds Ink with Mark, sites that celebrate fiction reflecting queer reality, and is a full member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA).

Website  Facebook (Personal)

Facebook (Author Page)  Twitter

Instagram  Goodreads

Liminal Fiction (LimFic.com)

QueeRomance Ink  Amazon 

Giveaway

Scott is giving away a full set of his previously self-published eBooks to one lucky winner:

Rafflecopter giveaway

J. Scott Coatsworth has a new queer sci fi collection out: Tangents & Tachyons. And there's a giveaway!

Tangents & Tachyons is Scott's second anthology - six sci fi and sci-fantasy shorts that run the gamut from time travel to hopepunk and retro spec fic:

Eventide: Tanner Black awakes to find himself in his own study, staring out the window at the end of the Universe. But who brought him there, and why?

Chinatown: Deryn lives in an old San Francisco department store with his girlfriend Gracie, and scrapes by with his talent as a dreamcaster for the Chinese overlords. But what if a dream could change the world?

Across the Transom: What if someone or something took over your body on an urgent mission to save your world?

Pareidolia: Simon's not like other college kids. His mind can rearrange random patterns to reveal the images lurking inside. But where did his strange gift come from? And what if there are others like him out there too?

Lamplighter: Fen has a crush on his friend Lewin, who's in a competing guild. But when the world goes dark, only a little illumination can save it. And only Fen, Lewin and their friend Alissa can light the spark. A Liminal Sky short.

Prolepsis: Sean is the closeted twenty-five-year-old editor of an 80's sci-fi 'zine called Prolepsis. When an unabashedly queer story arrives from a mysterious writer, it blows open Sean's closet door, and offers him the chance to change the world - and the future.

Plus two flash fiction stories – The System and The Frog Prince, never before published.

This is the first time all of these stories have been collected in one place.

Excerpt

From Pareidolia

(Never Before Published)

Simon slammed the lid on his sugar-free, two-pump, pulse-heated vanilla latte, before he might accidentally get a good look at the pattern on the coffee’s surface.

Ethan, the barista, usually covered it for him, but he’d forgotten this time. Simon, distracted by the coffee shop’s textured wall, had almost missed it.

He’d jerked his gaze away when the whorls and lines in the plaster had shifted into a mountain landscape. He looked around as casually as he could manage, hoping no one had noticed the wall moving.

Simon put his prescription glasses back on. They blurred his vision just enough to block his curse from shifting any other patterns. If anyone ever found out what he could do, they'd stick him in a cage like a lab rat.

Fooling the optometrist had been easy enough—he’d just pretended that the clear letters were fuzzy and vice versa. Unfortunately, they made the handsome barista fuzzy too.

Simon sighed under his breath. An imperfect solution to an unwanted gift. He waved. "Have a good one."

"You too." Ethan winked at him.

Simon hurried out of the Student Union, keeping his eyes pointed forward, avoiding the patterns that flocked to him like birds to seed—clouds in the sky, the grains of wood on a table… even the swirls on Tracey Martin’s designer bag in class. He emerged into the fresh morning air, ducking as a drone zipped past overhead carrying a pizza to someone's dorm.

He’d learned to control his curse in elementary school. Mostly. The glasses helped, and if he blurred his vision when the patterns started to become actual things, they stopped. Usually. Still, he’d gone to detention more than once for, "whatever you just did to your desk."

There was a name for seeing things in random patterns—pareidolia. But most people didn't seem to do it so literally.

"Ally, what’s the time?"

His PA responded in his ear in her usual chipper Italian accent. -It’s eleven-fifty-seven, Simon. You have a class in three minutes.-

"Crap." He ran down the steps, knocking the wallet out of a woman’s hands. He grabbed it and tossed it to her. "Sorry!"

Then he bolted down the sidewalk, dodging a group of students flicking data over their wrists, and leapt like a track star over a short hedge to shave off fifteen seconds.

One of the Sac State professors shouted after him, "Slow down!"

"Sorry! Late for a lecture!" He hated being late—it drew attention to himself, and he liked to blend in. Plus, it's a damned good course.

Professor Dandrich’s course—Finding Meaning in Interstellar Noise—was one of his favorites. If he could just find a job like that where he could use his strange ability…

Simon slipped into the hall and slammed into his seat in the front row of the lecture hall at a minute past noon, splashing his latte all over his arm. "Dammit."

Everyone turned to look at him, and heat rushed to his face. So much for blending in.

Where To Buy

Amazon | iBooks | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Scribd | Thalia | Vivlio

Author Bio

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, and Other Worlds Ink with Mark, sites that celebrate fiction reflecting queer reality, and is a full member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA).

 Website # Facebook (Personal) # Facebook (Author Page) # Twitter

Instagram # Goodreads # Liminal Fiction  # QueeRomance Ink # Amazon

Giveaway

Scott is giving away a full set of his previously 

self-published eBooks to one lucky winner

a Rafflecopter giveaway