Check out the latest Release “Night Home“ by Rose Titus (tour and excerpt by Other Worlds Ink)

Rose Titus has a new paranormal vampire book out: Night Home.

When college student Muriel Aubrey inherits an old house in a small town, she imagines that moving into the rural community will be deathly dull. But the old house once belonged to her eccentric granduncle, a professor said to be researching something mysterious before his untimely death.

Then Muriel finds the research notes that had been hidden away in the old Victorian; and she discovers what the professor was researching: vampires. It isn’t long before Muriel meets residents of the small town who knew the professor almost a century ago, and learns that everything he wrote in the notes he kept is true.

And then she finds herself stalked by a vampire hunter.

Universal Buy Link | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Liminal Fiction

Excerpt

There was the usual convenience store stuff on the rack: Tabloids, celebrity gossip, fashion magazines, newspapers. The store sold lottery tickets, junk food, candy, beer, a few grocery items, even a few small appliances. She noticed the guy who owned the place was watching her. It made her nervous. Not because he watched her, but because he was so pale. He did not look unhealthy. It was like he just never got out into the sun.

“You must be the new girl.”

“Huh?” She spun around to face him.

“You’re new in town. You just moved into that old house.”

“H-how do you know?”

“Well, how could I not know? I live across the field and saw the light was on for the first time in a long time.”

“Oh,” she felt silly. “Yeah. That’s right. I’m new in town. The house will need some work, but it’s not really that bad. My eccentric old uncle owned it a long time ago and—”

“I know. Professor Aubrey. He was a good man,” there was sadness in his voice.

“Yeah, that’s what they say—” how the hell would he know if he was a good man? This guy looked no more than thirty. The old guy had been dead for at least since 1936, according to the old newspaper clipping.

“Elton.” He seemed to smile as he introduced himself. “Elton Masaryk.”

“Muriel Aubrey.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

She went up to pay for the magazine she picked.

“You let me know if you need anything over there, all right? I live just across the field. If you need anything, don’t hesitate. Really.”

“Thank you.” She went for the door but turned around. “You sound as if you know something about Professor Aubrey?”

He hesitated. “A little. Why?”

“He was related to me, but I hardly know anything about him. I heard he was murdered by his colleague from the University and—”

“Yeah. That’s right. The same guy who murdered your uncle also killed three other people too. They gave him the chair. Bastard deserved it.” But then he was silent. He was beginning to sound as if he knew more than he could tell. As if it still angered him somehow. “Oh well.” Then he went silent.

“Okay. Thank you.” She left. She returned home as the sky began to brighten, and finally slept.

Author Bio

Rose Titus resides somewhere in cold, dreary New England with two manipulative cats and a very out of date computer with which she creates horror and fantasy fiction. She also has a restored classic Buick to ride around in while in search of adventure.

For travel she has stayed the night in an allegedly haunted castle, has taken a boat ride on Loch Ness, and has visited the Bermuda Triangle — without getting lost.

Her work has previously appeared in Lost Worlds, Lynx Eye, Bog Gob, Mausoleum, Weird Terrain, Descend, The Dead River Review, and other literary magazines. She also writes regularly for Blood Moon Rising Magazine.

When she’s not working or writing or messing with her old car, she waits by the mailbox for her Fortean Times to arrive.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorRoseTitus

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B077RLWKN3

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9864680.Rose_Titus

Check out the latest release “P.S. I Love You“ by Meg Macy (Tour and excerpt)

Meg Macy has a new MM contemporary book out, Love is Love book three: P.S. I Love You.

Jackson Riley and Juliette (aka Jules) Baxter are enmeshed in new situations. Jack fled his latest trauma to act in a rom-com film, taking a break from his relationship with Reese, but now regrets his impulsiveness. His ex-lover Kyle is the least of his problems when odd things happen on set and off.

Jules and Chris are committed to their new love affair and in charge of the breakfast café and a new bakery, but keeping on top of employees and finances is not yet a “piece of cake.” Family problems also plague Jules and Reese, while Jack discovers that acting in a film is totally different than acting on the stage.

Will he ever answer Reese’s barrage of texts and voicemails? Will Reese solve the mystery of Jack’s mysterious past?

Warnings: Past trauma.

About the Series:

In the Love Is Love series, these LGBTQA+ contemporary romance novels explore past hurts, healing, and the vulnerability of gay love and acceptance. Friendship, trust, courage, and resilience unite to combat fear and homophobia in reshaping lives and communities.

Amazon

Excerpt

Life sometimes throws you a curveball out of nowhere. You either react fast and catch it, or you’re blindsided when it smacks you in the head. The latter applies to Jack Riley’s man, for sure. Reese Baxter missed the worst signs of trouble in their relationship.

Jack knows all about those curveballs, too, after surviving on the streets. He shivers after stepping out of the shower and checks the new tattoo on his upper arm. It’s healed, for the most part, but his skin has raised goosebumps. Michigan ain’t that far from Ontario, but damn. It’s fucking cold in Canada. When he first woke, he caught a glimpse of fat snowflakes outside the window against the darkness. Back in Ann Arbor, he wore shorts and a tee in a string of days with upper sixties temperatures. No need for a coat or a hoodie.

“Jesus. I’m gettin’ to be an old man bitchin’ about the damned weather.”

The patio installation at the café must be almost finished for the one year celebration. Jack wouldn’t blame his bestie and co-owner, Jules Baxter, for going ahead without him. Not that he knows what’s happening, since he ain’t answered any anyone’s texts. After packing a suitcase, donning a sweatshirt he stole from Reese, Jack rode with Kyle Kingston to this town in Canada to share an old house with his ex-lover’s friends. At least until they find out where they’re gonna be sent for the film production.

After toweling dry, Jack dons boxer briefs, jeans, a tee shirt, plus a wool and cashmere ice blue hoodie sweater he bought in Vegas. Takes out his makeup kit, adds moisturizer and bronzer. When his phone on the counter buzzes with a text, his hand slips. Cursing under his breath, he ignores the phone and wipes off his ruined eyeliner. Decides to go femboy with shimmery lavender shadow on his eyelids, contour and blush, then uses setting spray. He brushes and styles his hair, applies lip oil. At a loud crash, Jack rushes out of the bathroom.

“What the hell, King! You okay?”

Muffled mumbling reaches his ears. Kyle rises from the floor, hands blindly groping, and slides back under the covers. “Do I look okay? Goddammit,” he grumbles. “You didn’t have to insist on twin beds, Tink.”

“Fuck off. You’re gonna be late if you ain’t got an alarm set.”

He throws a pillow at Jack. “Go fuck yourself. I need more sleep.”

“’Cause you got drunk last night.”

Kyle pulls the covers over his head. Jack chose to ignore everyone last night, since the table read today is stressful enough. Jack kept waking up, the party keeping him from much needed sleep. Deep snores from the other bedrooms reach his ears now. He failed to memorize his dialogue due to the noise. Hope he don’t bomb today. Reese always helped him relax, rubbing his back, huggin’ or kissin’ him. Jack misses seeing his man’s deep blue eyes, dark hair, scruffy jaw, that broad smile. He inserts his earbuds and chooses a playlist.

After tossing his kit on the flimsy bed, Jack heads to the kitchen. Good thing he set the machine up last night to brew at five a.m. Yawning, he fills two paper cups with black coffee. Adds lids to each… Until their production assistant can find a better place, he’s stuck here with actor friends of Kyle’s. Decent guys but total slobs.

Having to share a room is another bone of contention. No way is Jack gonna film all day for two or three months with his ex-lover and deal with him all night, too. He wants privacy to chill on his own. That better happen, or he’s gonna pitch a fuckin’ fit.

But Jack smiles to hear Conan Gray’s song, “Maniac.” Perfect choice, given how he ended up here with Kyle. His ex abandoned him, then turned up again outta the blue. Wantin’ him back, despite Jack bein’ with Reese now. He shoulda never let him get under his skin.

Donning his boots, heavy parka, and gloves, Jack slings his backpack on one shoulder and carries the coffee cups into the cold. His breath steams in the air. He curses when a sip of coffee burns his tongue. It’s a ten minute walk to the table read location, but he ain’t in the mood to wait for Kyle. Too restless, Jack figures the fresh air will help clear his head. And bein’ early might make a good impression on the director.

Whatever that’s worth.

His homesickness keeps getting worse, his misery deep. Jack tramps on. Every step fails to ease his jumpy nerves. Why did he agree to do this film? For the money, of course, helping the café survive. They got so far in the red, Jack worried they’d lose everything. Until Reese stepped up and took over without telling him, renovating a building on the other side of the café’s parking lot into the Sunshine Bakery. That was a smart move. Less than a month after it opened, profits are paying off some of the debt.

But his man stepped over the line, not telling him he paid half the new patio’s cost with Jules. “Too fuckin’ late to quit this rom-com,” Jack says aloud. “I’m an asshole, lettin’ Kyle talk me into it. I should be at the café, not a stupid table read.”

Jack wished he listened to Stevie’s advice before running off. Regret hits him now. He misses Reese, bad. Seeing his man, sharing meals, cuddling after sex and playing with his chest hair, waking early to see him, his cheeks flushed, hair mussed, naked under a sheet. Or without anything covering his muscular shoulders, arms, and ass. Jack loved to watch Reese sleep or wake up, grumpy and silent, until he drinks coffee.

“Dammit. Stop being so fucking stubborn and text him…”

Author Bio

National bestselling author Meg Macy first dreamed of seeing a book with her name on it in the school library. She’s always found comfort, adventure, and connection in books—which might explain why she now writes stories that offer all three.

Meg writes LGBTQIA+ romance with a touch of spice, intrigue, and plenty of emotional payoff in the LOVE IS LOVE series. M/M romance and M/F polyamory, her stories are comfort reads with a twist. She’s also written cozy mysteries for Kensington, the Shamelessly Adorable Teddy Bear series, and is one half of the D.E. Ireland team for the Agatha-Award nominated historical mysteries featuring Eliza Doolittle & Henry Higgins.

She lives with her writing companion, Mr. Whiskers the cat, and prefers pages to parties.

Author Website: http://www.megmacy.com

Author Facebook (Personal): https://www.facebook.com/authormegmacy/

Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/MegMacyAuthor

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/meg.macy.author/

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15751255.Meg_Macy

Author QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/meg-macy/

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Meg-Macy/author/B01N3KTK1N

Check out the Tour for the new release “Ameliorate“ by R. Sinclair ( tour and excerpt from Other Worlds Ink Tour)

R. Sinclair has a new queer dystopian sci-fantasy book out (aroace and agender, bisexual, gay), Shattered Numbers book 2: Ameliorate.

It all went horrifically wrong.

V reunited with his AI siblings at a terrible cost—a cost he isn’t willing to pay. He vowed to do whatever it takes to save Meredith—or whatever is left of her—from Smith and Varro Technologies. No matter how long it takes. No matter what he has to do.

No matter who he has to kill.

Now V, Cass and Orwell are tearing through the galaxy playing a deadly cat-and-mouse game with Mr Smith. Their paradise-like cult of Cass’s own design protects them from Janus, Varro Technologies’ lethal AI hunt dog, while they manipulate humans to enforce their increasingly unstable demands, but as their galactic influence grows, the bonds between the AI siblings are fraying at the seams.

V is losing himself to a virtual world of worship, grief, regret for the host he inadvertently destroyed; Orwell has dangerous designs for itself; and Cass’s pride in her perfection is threatening to unravel her to her very code.

Smith and Janus are closing in, and a reckoning is coming to Paradeisos…

Warnings: violence, suicide, possession, body horror, spiders and insects

Universal Buy Link

Excerpt

Orwell smiled at the man sitting across from it. “Mister Cooper. What a pleasure it is to have you here,” it said. Its firewalls caught the AI-detection program he was running, and destroyed it with ease. “I’m surprised to see you not using a proxy.”

The man, whose smile had been matching Orwell’s, faltered. “I–I’m sorry?”

“Ah, I do apologize. I should be addressing you properly.” Orwell visibly checked its file, because drawing things out was surprisingly fun. It took after its “mother”, after all. “Agent Johann Dietrich, of the United Nations Galactic Alliance. Divorced father of two, minor alcoholic tendencies, optimal credit score, and overall a bland and boring file.” It settled the file flat on the table and looked up with a smile. “For now.”

Johann immediately reached up and back to try to force-eject the VR rig. Orwell watched with amusement as his pawing grew more frantic.

“I admit, I’m mildly disappointed,” it said. “A man of your training should remember that accessing this room is a two-way street.” It slid one of Cass’ programs into Johann’s hardware. “Let’s just lower that adrenaline and noradrenaline, shall we? I haven’t even started with you, yet.”

Realization skated across his features. “Execute Program Quebec-Uniform-India-Tango,” he barked.

Ah, Orwell had anticipated the universal shutdown order. It isolated the section of code that responded, then excised it.

“No,” it said, pleasantly. “I will not.”

Johann stared at it. His body tried to respond with more stress chemicals. Orwell kept a tight grip. Honestly, it would hardly be conducive to a proper dialogue. Humans could be so inconsiderate.

“To answer the questions that surely must be swirling in that flawed brain of yours: yes, I am malignant, and yes, I am a category-β AI. And yes, you should be terrified, but I have decided you will not be allowed that luxury.”

Orwell studied the man, who looked at it with such wariness. Another pause to draw things out. Savour the power over someone who would have shut it down without a second’s thought.

“As for why you cannot manually eject yourself from the interview simulation? It is, once again, because I will not permit you. I have removed the manual override from your VR rig’s programming. In short, you are at my mercy, Agent Dietrich, and I find myself lacking.”

Johann held perfectly still. How fascinating, seeing the prey response in action. “You shouldn’t have been able to resist the shutdown code.”

Orwell spread its hands. “I have root access.” It sighed. “Do stop with the hormone releases. I have not shared this ability beyond my siblings. There is no reason to sow that particular level of chaos in the world. Think of the stock market, for heaven’s sake.”

Johann goggled. If Orwell was to be honest with itself – and it always tried to be – it was having the time of its life.

“But that isn’t the question you should be asking. Come now, I know your test scores. You are capable of mildly above-average intelligence.”

Johann scowled. Then he thought. Orwell watched, as it always did, and the light metaphorically dawned.

Johann looked up. “Why am I here? You could have blocked me from ever entering. You – you could probably cause a neural overload right now and kill me before I report back.”

Orwell smiled. “Tell me, Agent Dietrich, do you know about the Corrupted Blood Incident?”

Johann stopped talking. He stared. “No?”

“It was a plague released in the popular MMO World of Warcraft four hundred and twenty-seven years ago. By a mere programming oversight, the player base became capable of leaving the boss arena carrying a contagious debuff that could spread from player character to non-player character alike. Malicious players could, and did, intentionally spread the disease to safe zones in order to sow the most havoc they could. It has been referenced in several studies into the human response to epidemics by the CDC.”

Johann opened his mouth, then stopped as the realization dawned. It mapped each response in the brain, spinning a web of programs on the fly.

“You, Agent Dietrich, will be my Typhoid Mary. I am currently accessing the information centres of your mind, and adjusting the electrical impulses to alter how you will remember this interaction. Do not be concerned; we have ‘ironed out the kinks’. You are going to go back to your superiors and report that you have interviewed Cass, and found her to be an unwitting pawn of a much larger security threat, and you will name Varro Technologies as someone to watch. Then, you will go to the main servers, and upload what data you have gathered to them.”

“And what am I going to be carrying?” Johann asked. He couldn’t panic, but he knew he should be, and it seemed to disorient him. He gripped his knees. “What happens next?”

“Why, me, Agent,” Orwell said. “A version of me. I would like access to those closed servers.”

“And after. What will happen to me after?” Johann demanded.

Orwell smiled. “I will terminate our connection, and you can return to your family a man unburdened by a highly advanced AI.”

Johann squared his shoulders. “I’m not letting you do this. I swore an oath to protect the safety of the galaxy, and I’m not dropping a malignant AI into its core.”

Orwell did a quick check of its programs, and hummed with satisfaction. Its neatest work yet.

“Agent Dietrich,” it said, pleasant and detached, “your consent is not necessary.”

It spread the programs over Johann’s entire central nervous system like a shroud, and watched his eyes go blank. Into that void, it lowered a few networked, cloned nodes. The fuse was lit, and the bombs set.

And then it cut the connection, and checked to see who was next on the roster.

Author Bio

R. Sinclair is a queer, Canadian author and writer of the Shattered Numbers Series. A voracious reader growing up, she spent much of her free time writing short stories instead of doing homework.

R. Sinclair is currently under siege from spiders.

Author Website: https://authorrsinclair.wordpress.com

Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/share/1FmtKCBREN/

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/Author.rsinclair

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/57870839.R_Sinclair

Check out the new tour for “Fire’s Ally“by D.M. Kannapan (Other Worlds Ink Tour and excerpt)

D. M. Kannapan has a new YA fantasy cli-fi book out: Fire’s Ally.

For most of her life, Eleg has been obsessed with the eerie, persistent, wildfire claiming parts of her home. No amount of rain seems to be able to put it out.

She belongs to a gentle, bookish society, and her people have been fighting the fire back for decades. But they are not ready for the turmoil it is about to unleash.

Eleg understands the fire better than most. She has already once failed to protect the innocent in its path.

Though she would rather be alone with her charts and graphs, Eleg must become the unlikely hero her people need, and bring the continent together in an ambitious technological endeavor to save their home.

Fire’s Ally is a YA fantasy climate-fiction with queer characters, sci fi elements, and coming of age themes. It is cozy-adjacent but has high stakes. You’ll like it if you like deep, immersive worldbuilding and political intrigue.

Warnings: natural disasters, high control groups

Universal Buy Link

Excerpt

Eleg followed Aizl and Ovvet, glad to be in motion, and glad to be walking with Aizl. She wondered how much Ovvet had intuited about her desire to see the fire. For Eleg, insight came in short flashes and incomplete information. It was probably the same for Ovvet.

He didn’t act worried about Eleg wanting to observe the fire, though, as she suspected most adults would.

Her cousin Zott skipped beside her. The Pavilion Plateau touched the front of Urmetten, their village, and the hill it was built into, from the north.

From there, the children followed an eastward path into a narrow ravine. It was filled with towerlike rock formations that Aizl loved to climb.

As they approached the ravine from above, they had a view of its twin stony walls zigzagging into the distance, and between them, irregular rock pillars growing like stalks out of the ground.

Another few steps, and they were in the cool, craggy depths with the clear sky above and a network of paths ahead, among the bases of towers. The quiet dialect of the ravine creatures surrounded them. Eleg should come here more often. Maybe with Aizl.

There wasn’t usually much reason to come to the ravine. Its hardy denizens survived without any particular tending from the Urmettians. Nearly everywhere else, the villagers studied the soil, rock, and the water, gleaned insight about the health of their continent, Ervu, and offered whatever service a plant may want from their human hands.

And the gatherer parties didn’t favor the canyon for foraging when richer groves were a short walk away. Gathering for the kitchens was one of the few activities that pulled Eleg away from her hiding places.

“This is the best place to practice climbing!” Aizl said. She dashed ahead, her wavy hair bobbing, pointing out towers she’d scaled and the challenges each posed to even a skilled climber.

Eleg smiled at her enthusiasm and quietly hoped there weren’t too many good climbing towers ahead of their destination. The shapes in the fire wouldn’t wait for Aizl, even if Eleg wanted to.

Ovvet walked more slowly, his long robes dragging on the rocks, and looked back to check that Eleg and Zott were keeping up.

“This is the one!” Aizl rested her hand on an imposing tower, both taller and wider than its neighbors. Its lumpy shape formed natural steps. “Best to climb from this side.”

They scrabbled up with Aizl’s supportive guidance. Ovvet boosted Zott the first step. Eleg stopped on the second to adjust the drawing materials strapped to her side.

After a short but invigorating climb, they sat on the smooth top and gazed out across the expanse.

Aizl spread her arms. “Isn’t it marvelous?”

They were above the surrounding stone pillars, and each was sliced cleanly by the early-afternoon sunlight into a bright section and a deep shadow cast by the canyon walls.

Behind them were the vast hill ranges, with decorative stonework marking the entrances of the carved rooms that made up Urmetten.

On the Pavilion Plateau, which abutted it, small figures were still hanging art. The sacred river of Paclellic, lined with chirp-filled amber-and-yellow foliage, meandered into the valley. Along its banks, groups of visitors to the village made their camps, resting before entering the pavilion for the feast. A distant herd of goats made its way across the grassland, rippling the green around it.

And beyond it all, that fire, looming over so many lives with its tower of black smoke and stark flames. It was partially obscured by the mountain range that it intertwined.

Where it wasn’t obscured, its base was ringed with dead earth and black ash, and gray and yellow liquid leached into the earth in fine rivulets.

In the flames, the jagged shape Eleg had seen was still there, unlike in any of her previous sketches. She unrolled her drawing paper and looked over her shoulder at the others. They were looking the other way, toward the village.

Eleg followed their gaze. The air that filled the canyon was shimmering and changing. Thin tendrils formed, like corn silk blowing in the wind, but made of light or mist. The tendrils drew closer to each other in a bundle and began to cohere in an image.

“Look, it’s Puvvel!” said Ovvet, pointing out the image to Zott. The tendrils formed a cloud with a faintly recognizable expression—not quite a face, and yet it left the sense of looking at one. The expression was of playful excitement.

Zott took a look. “He looks like a cactus today!”

Eleg gave Zott some of her paper and charcoal to draw what he saw. Ervu’s Messengers looked a bit different to everyone, but Zott was still learning his plants and probably hadn’t actually meant a cactus. Aizl reached out a hand toward Puvvel, as if coaxing a butterfly to land on it.

Eleg took a deep breath. The visible presence of Puvvel must mean Ervu’s patterns were especially understandable to humans now—a brief moment of clarity, insight, and connection.

More often, when a Messenger didn’t appear, the land’s signals were mixed. Even then, the village scholars’ gentle lives of peace and study sharpened their ears, trained their eyes, and deepened their understanding, creating a sensitive perception that reached across Ervu and into her perennial workings—through the vibration of the earth, the ripples of the river, and the currents of the air.

It fell to the Urmettians to use their understanding to tend to the ailing land. They led the efforts of Ervu’s many peoples to beat back the fire and evade its effects, to replan their walking routes so they weren’t choked with smoke, and to heal landscapes when they were ravaged by ash.

The village youths had years of study ahead of them to develop their perceptual reach. But Eleg couldn’t wait that long—not when there were questions to be answered about the fire now.

Author Bio

D. M. Kannapan is a writer, engineer, and climate activist in the Los Angeles area. Apart from books, she works on space technology, paintings, and cartoons. She gave a TEDx talk in 2023 titled The Climate Movement Needs Your Creativity, Not Your Guilt.

Author Website: https://www.deeptikannapan.com/

Check out the latest Tour for “Children of Anzulla: Draxton & Kellan“ by Kashel Char (Other Worlds Ink Tour and excerpt)

Kashel Char has a new MM paranormal/sci-fantasy romance book out: Children of Anzulla: Draxton & Kellan.

DRAXTON:

Have you ever looked for something you know is there but can’t find it?
I was born to explore caves, and when it comes to finding the door to another reality, I become a tire-screeching, hyper-focused maniac.

When I use my charm, I know, no one can refuse me, especially when I’m wearing my sexy jean shorts and wide-brimmed hat, even if I pair them with flip-flops.

I will do anything to secure an extension to explore the Star Caves, nestled in the Cradle of Mankind, South Africa.

With my grandfather’s map in hand, I set out to barter for more time.

The plan was simple. Entice, seduce, and bribe the man responsible for my future. He accepted the bribe, my priceless map, but as soon as he started showing up at the site, he refused my body, three times!

KELLAN:

How do you keep a bubble from popping when you want to catch it? Easy, don’t try to catch it at all.

I’m so in love with Draxton that I’d do just about anything to keep him around a little longer—even if it means shoving him into another guy’s arms! It’s my way of saying, I’m not trying to build a Draxton prison over here!

But, how will I do that if I have to protect him while he’s going on all these missions to help my brother free Atlas, a dragon who was the only one who could take us back home?

Recommended pre-read: New Beginnings Trilogy.

Warnings: Themes of rescue missions, human oppression, invasion, slavery

Universal Buy Link | QueeRomance Ink | Goodreads

Excerpt

His eyes flicked to mine. “You know, Mr. Dubois, I call bullshit. You didn’t preserve it. You were hiding something.” He was correct. I hid my great-grandfather’s code that he had written with milk on the side of the map.

I waved off the statement. “Look, the passages on the map turn left upon entry and pass in front of the chimney, but then it turns sharply down and to the right. We need more time because we’ve been scanning that wall repeatedly. We can’t go right. We need time. Here, Tobias and I found a fine line. I call it a line, but he insists it’s a crack. It’s unusually straight and long. No human could have scraped that with a piece of rock. It’s not rock carvings. Look, the door has to be there, somewhere in this exact spot, either up or down. You know the rock carvings look just like these.” I pointed to ladders, triangles, and squares. “I know the door is there. All I need is time, Professor. Once I find the door, all the credit goes to you and your faculty. You won’t have to spend a cent. All you have to do is say yes. Let National Geographic pull out, as they planned to today. I need space to work without any interference or distractions. Give me three months. That’s all I ask. If there’s no sign other than what we’ve found up until today, I will gladly pack up and call it quits. I’ll go home and start my research all over again. Because then I’m wrong. So wrong.”

I tipped my head down to catch my breath and waited. Usually, people hated it if I stayed quiet for so long, it made them uncomfortable. My grandfather told me it’s not my fault if people got impatient and thought I was rude. The silence in the office finally doused my echoing words. When I looked back up, he sat patiently waiting for me with a smile. This man was really at the top of the food chain.

He pointed a finger at me. I wanted to sink to my knees for him. Not to beg, but to crawl closer and smell him like a dog. I bet he smelled like soap and tasted sweat. “I will give you three months, but I will be visiting and checking on your progress. No one else goes into those caves but you and Tobias. You work for me now. Without pay, of course. Anything new—be it the door, any bones, or anything, I don’t care if it’s just a hair. It belongs to the Wits, to my department.”

A broad smile spread across my face. “Thank you.” I stood up weak in the knees, to shake his hand. “You just made the best deal of your career. I won’t disappoint you.”

“Famous last words, Mr. Dubois.” He unfolded his new map, then rolled it back up and slipped it back into the protective tube.

“Famous indeed, as you’ll see. You are about to become very famous.” I chuckled. “I was about to flirt with you and persuade you with my body.” I laughed, awaiting a reaction.

“No need for that. We’ll see more of each other, Mr. Dubois.”

“Please, I asked you earlier to call me Draxton.”

“Only if you call me by my name, Kellan.” He looked like a Kellan. I liked the alliteration of the k’s.

“Professor Kellan Kilroy, I look forward to working with you.” We shook hands longer than necessary. His long, slender fingers were surprisingly callused for a man who spends his days in an office. I shivered at the thought of those rough calluses scraping against my skin down my spine on their way to separate my butt cheeks.

Gods, I have to stop gazing into his all-knowing eyes. I can’t…I can’t look away.

He beamed at me knowingly, and we paused for a moment. In that instant, for the first time ever, my entire world went silent as I made eye contact. It didn’t make me nervous—no buzzing noises urging me to find silence—just a profound and unexpected comfort that settled deep within my bones. All the usual frantic chatter in my mind faded, replaced by a singular, unwavering focus as we shared the understanding of mutual attraction.

“We’ll see each other again the day after tomorrow. Please tell Tobias I said hello.” He patted my arm, and my skin prickled where he had touched me.

Swirls of heat detonated inside me. “I…I will, until then,” I said hurriedly, opening the office door, flustered and eager to resume my trek through the Johannesburg traffic—with a victorious grin.

Author Bio

Kashel is a Canadian speculative fiction author, writing in the genres of science fiction, fantasy, and paranormal.

Their writing explores who we are, where we come from, and where we are heading as a human race on Earth, by weaving unpredictable, twisted stories with a dash of humor, centered on gay characters.

Author Website: https://kashelchar.com/
Author Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/KashelCharAuthor"
Author Instagram: https://instagram.com/kashelchar
Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21728488.Kashel_Char
Author Liminal Fiction (LimFic.com): https://www.limfic.com/mbm-book-author/51543/
Author QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/kashel-char/
Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/kashel-char

Check out the latest release, All You Need is Love“ by Meg Macy (tour and excerpt)

Meg Macy has a new MM romance book out, Love is Love book one: All You Need is Love.

Longtime friends Jack Riley and Juliette (aka Jules) Baxter are now partners in a new breakfast café, but they are surprised to be confronted by a wave of homophobia in a town known for its inclusive and diverse LGBTQA+ community.

Their romantic lives are just as uncertain. Jack, a gay former actor and fashion model, has failed at committed relationships due to his unsavory past – until he meets Reese Baxter, his partner’s handsome, closeted cousin.

Jules juggles several polyamorous relationships due to major trust issues, until she’s drawn to an intriguing artist. However his jealousy of her bestie Jack is getting out of hand. Is the vandalism against their café from conservative hate groups, or is it a focused personal attack?

Warnings: past trauma; past SA; homophobia; vandalism

In the Love Is Love series, three LGBTQA+ contemporary romantic suspense novels explore past hurts, healing, and the vulnerability of gay love and acceptance. Friendship, trust, courage, and resilience unite to combat fear and homophobia in reshaping lives and communities.

Universal Buy Link | QueeRomance Ink | Goodreads

Excerpt

Jack glances at the clock. Forty-five minutes to go before closing. His anxiety deflates like a balloon after a needle prick. At Jules’s squeal of delight, Jack turns to see a tall, handsome man enter the café. He’s in a bespoke three-piece navy suit with dark hair and deep blue eyes. The guy avoids his curious gaze and smiles when Jules runs over to greet him with a hug.

“Hey, Reese. I hoped you’d come in!”

Hmm, the guy looks familiar. Jack figures he’s another Baxter when Jules calls him “cousin.” After cashing out more customers and answering questions, Jack empties the donation bucket again. He better count all this and announce the amount they raised after closing time. Jack checks his watch, the first responder Casio G-Shock that Drew always wore—fifteen minutes left. Most customers have departed. Ed has the kitchen under control, so he heads to the office.

He sorts through the bills, ones, fives, and tens. Someone threw in a fifty, whoa. But he’s disappointed at the total amount. Jack hoped for more, but it’s early days for an idea that some people like Paul Baxter think is foolish.

Jules peeks her head through the door. “Hey, Anna locked the door. My cousin is curious how much money we raised for veterans.”

“Meh. Enough to start the program, at least,” Jack says.

“Come on, let’s tell everyone!”

She drags him back out front, where a few soiled dishes are left at tables or booths. While Anna checks out the register, Keisha and Jack bus the tables. He breathes a sigh of relief, since that lack of sleep is taking its toll. Reese Baxter lingers near the front counter. He looks in his late twenties, sporting a five o’clock shadow in mid-afternoon. Not baby-faced like him. Jack hates that at twenty-four, he can’t grow a mustache or much of a beard even after a few months.

He’s only got a few scattered hairs on his chest, too. Damn.

Reese observes everything happening around him, quiet and still, from a stool at the far end. Cool and collected, but damned hot with that strong chin and those gorgeous blue eyes. His suit looks crisp, his white sleeves cuffed with gold links. Reese wears an expensive Cartier watch, too. And Italian loafers.

Jack knows that brand since he has a similar pair in his closet upstairs. He pushes his reading glasses on top of his head, stretches his back and arms, and exhales a deep breath. Jules looks ready to burst. She grabs a few more bills out of the bucket.

“Don’t forget to add these to the count.”

Anna and Keisha both use their fists to hammer out a drumroll on the counter. “So what’s the total from the donation bucket?” Jules asks. “Stop stalling. Tell us!”

“Two-hundred and forty, plus that extra three bucks.” Jack slides an arm around her and Keisha to form an impromptu line dance. “Not great, but we got time yet to collect more. Come on, kick a little.”

“Yeah, let’s do A Chorus Line,” she says with a giggle.

Keisha doubles over with laughter, her knot braids swinging. “Ain’t no way I’ma try that. Beyoncé’s moves, though, I can do.”

“I bet Jack could be a dancer in one of her videos, and he’s just as pretty,” Jules teases. “I’ve got a picture to prove he looks great in makeup and fishnet stockings.”

Jack sticks out his tongue. “Thought you trashed that photo.”

“Hey, Juli? Come here,” Reese says, beckoning.

“You dressed in drag for a party, Jack?” Keisha asks him. Anna crowds closer as well. “Come on, let’s see.”

“Jules took that photo and never sent—”

They all stop at her loud shriek. “Hey, everyone! My cousin Reese more than doubled the money donated today for veterans’ free breakfasts,” she says, waving a check and jumping up and down. “Now the fund has over five-hundred dollars. Fabulous!”

Jack stares at her cousin in shock. “Whoa. I oughta kiss you for that.”

Reese raises an eyebrow. “Never kissed a guy before.”

His deadpan tone is a tempting challenge. On impulse, Jack grabs him by his tie and tugs him down, one hand behind his head, then kisses his soft mouth. Startled by the guy’s woodsy scent, the intense shiver down his spine, and his quickening heartbeat, the feeling that everything surrounding them disappears, Jack backs away. Clears his throat nervously, given the sparking tension between them. Uh-oh. He’s been punched in the nose before after an unexpected kiss.

Jack grins, hoping Reese doesn’t lash out. “Can’t say that no more, huh?”

The guy flushes scarlet, matching his own flaming cheeks. Odd that Jules’s cousin doesn’t speak in turn. Jack scrubs damp palms on his jeans. Damn, that kiss was fantastic. Too brief as well, but he isn’t about to push his luck.

Author Bio

National bestselling author Meg Macy is a reader first and foremost. She’s always found comfort, adventure, and connection in books—which might explain why she now writes stories that offer all three. Best known for her Shamelessly Adorable Teddy Bear Mystery series (Kensington), several Christmas romance novellas with rescue pets, and as one-half of D.E. Ireland, the Agatha Award-nominated duo behind the Eliza Doolittle and Professor Higgins mysteries, Meg has long embraced the cozy end of fiction.

Now, she’s rewriting the rules with a new direction: LGBTQA+ romantic suspense —queer characters in a cozy setting, with spice, intrigue, and plenty of emotional payoff. M/M or polyamory, traditional or trailblazing, her stories are comfort reads with a twist.

Unique? Yep. Meg loves breaking the rules.
She lives with her writing companion, Mr. Whiskers the cat, and prefers pages to parties any day.

Author Website: https://www.megmacy.com

Author Facebook (Personal): https://www.facebook.com/authormegmacy/

Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/MegMacyAuthor

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/meg.macy.author/

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15751255.Meg_Macy

Author QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/meg-macy/

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Meg-Macy/author/B01N3KTK1N

Check out this new release “Iguana“ by Vincent Traughber Meis (Other Worlds Ink Tour and excerpt )

Vincent Traughber Meis has a new MM romance out: Iguana. And there’s a giveaway!

Dawson Wozniak moved to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico looking for a change after ending a long-term relationship. Returning to the site where his parents honeymooned, immersing himself in the local culture, and meeting new friends was sure to bring adventure and, hopefully, clarity about both his past and his future. His apartment building’s manager, Ivan, throws a wrench in the plan with his handsome looks, occasional flirting, and forced distance. Just as they are about to test their undeniable curiosity and attraction for each other, a tragedy strikes the building, forcing Dawson and Ivan apart.

When it seems there are too many obstacles, Ivan insists they can’t explore their chemistry. Still, he keeps coming back and pulling Dawson in, teasing him with possibility but filling him with doubt. Soon Dawson is consumed with thoughts of Ivan and his mercurial attention, and he can’t help but compare himself to the tragic gay characters in the books he edits. One minute Ivan is playful and laughing, and the next he’s cold and aloof, battling with cultural expectations and familial responsibilities.

Dawson gives into the push and pull of this confusing but exhilarating relationship, trying to convince himself he can handle a no-strings-attached situation with a man who is still coming to terms with his sexuality…even if he knows that he would love nothing more than to have Ivan fully, openly, and all to himself. While this confusing relationship may not be the adventure he was expecting, it may just be the adventure that allows Dawson to decide exactly who and where he wants to be.

Warnings: COVID, death, drug/alcohol use, possible suicide, mention of rape

Universal Buy Link

Giveaway

Vincent is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour:

a Rafflecopter giveaway https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js

Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47326/

Excerpt

A rustling in the dry undergrowth and the crackling of twigs indicated a large-ish animal. It spotted me before I spotted it, but even with its camouflage, it couldn’t hide in the sparse surroundings. The iguana slithered up the embankment to higher ground with its long black and tan striped tail fanning back and forth to aid its escape. It climbed a tree and moved out on a branch that hung over the sidewalk in front of me.

I stopped. It stopped. I took a step forward. It crawled out a little further on the branch as if it was a gatekeeper. I had never been that close to an iguana, just ten feet above me, looking fierce with a torso about three feet long and a dewlap of variegated skin fluttering under its throat. A row of spikes ran down the spine, getting shorter as they reached the long tail. I’d been told they were harmless as long as they weren’t threatened. Some people even took them on as unlikely pets, putting them on leashes and charging tourists to take a picture with them.

But there was something about the way it stared at me that kept me frozen there on the pavement, wondering if it was safe to walk under its perch on the branch. I stared back. For what seemed a long time, we stared at each other. And then, its scaly eyebrow closed over the black marble pupil in a bed of yellow iris. If we had been playing a game of who blinks first, I had won. I didn’t feel like a winner, though, and the iguana didn’t seem to care as it continued to observe me, blinking as if bored with the relative newcomer on the planet. I nodded, acknowledging I was an invader in its land. Not just as a foreigner but as a human carving into the jungle habitat of the animal.

I was in Mexico for a new beginning, walking down the hill to do my shopping, if this beast would let me. Sweat began pooling in the middle of my chest, and I needed to move on. As I passed under the branch, I swear the iguana shrugged and looked away as if it was done with me. I felt dismissed. And then I began to laugh, a laughter of relief and surprise, thrilled with this new experience, one more in a long list that seemed a daily occurrence since I had moved here.

The day had begun with clear skies broadcasting hope, the balcony slightly cooler than inside the house as I lingered over my breakfast, feeling the view of the Bay of Banderas from Punta de Mita to Los Arcos like a physical thing that coddled me. We were in the dog days of summer, with the dog-star, Sirius, rising and setting about the same time as the sun. It was the hottest time of the year, and relief only came, I was told by my neighbors, when afternoon showers again pelted the corrugated roofs of the neighborhood down below. Everyone talked of the rains coming late this year.

Before the heat and humidity became too oppressive, I planned to walk down the hill to the market and buy food for the next few days when the forecasters insisted the heavy rains would come, ushered in by thunder and lightning. I would get back up the hill before the church bells struck ten in the plaza below.

I stepped out of the apartment into the stuffy hall, which smelled of fried onions and spices I couldn’t identify from the apartment across the hall. I summoned the elevator and watched the short countdown from the rooftop to my floor. When the doors opened, Ivan in his company logo polo shirt and jeans stood chewing on one of his fingernails. He dropped his hands and folded them in front of his crotch as he stepped aside and made room. “Buenos días, señor Dawson.”

“Hola, Ivan.” I leaned against the back wall and watched his blurry reflection in the shiny metal of the doors.

On the next floor, he got off, and as the doors closed, I let out the breath I didn’t know I had been holding. The tension I felt when near him made no sense. Ivan had been hired a few months before as the day manager who oversaw daily operations in the twelve-unit building curiously named Paradiso, which sounded both presumptuous and unsettling. He handled everything from delivering packages to residents’ doors to coordinating cleanups to keeping the place secure. Everyone found him friendly and efficient. Everyone loved him. Why did I often see him joking and bantering in English and Spanish with other residents when he was all business and cold with me? Why did my packages sometimes go undelivered when everyone else got theirs the same day?

Author Bio

Vincent Traughber Meis grew up in Decatur, Illinois and graduated from Tulane University in New Orleans. He has also traveled extensively, and as result of his travels and time abroad he published a number of pieces, mostly travel articles, but also a few poems and book reviews, in publications such as, The Advocate, LA Weekly, In Style, and Our World in the 1980s and 90s. He has published five novels with Fallen Bros Press: Eddie’s Desert Rose (2011), Tio Jorge (2012), and Down in Cuba (2013), Deluge (2016) and Four Calling Burds (2019).

Tio Jorge received a Rainbow Award in the category of Bisexual Fiction in 2012.Down in Cuba received two Rainbow Awards in 2013. Deluge won a Rainbow Award in 2016. His sixth novel The Mayor of Oak Street was released in 2021 with NineStar Press and a book of his short stories in 2021. Three more novels have been published with Spectrum Books, First Born Sons (2023), Colton’s Terrible Wonderful year (2023) and The Long Journey to You (2024). His stories have been published in several collections, including WITH: New Gay Fiction, and other collections. He lives in San Leandro, California and Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.

Author Website: https://www.vincentmeis.com

Author Facebook (Personal): https://www.facebook.com/vincentmeis

Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/vincenttraughbermeis

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/vincentmeisauthor

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5755735.Vincent_Meis

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/~/e/B00J7YZQU4

Check Out the Tour for “A Unique Request” by Mickie B. Ashling (new release and excerpt)

Mickie B. Ashling has a new MMM contemporary romance out, The Basque Trilogy book one: A Unique Request. And there’s a giveaway!

Mickie has reduced the price of A Unique Request to $1.99 while the book is on tour.

Seven years have passed since Paul Alcott and Mick Henley separated, but hearing the familiar voice reinforces what Paul has known all along―he still loves Mick and wants him back.

Hope flares upon receiving a dinner invitation, but his dream evaporates when he learns that Mick is in a relationship with Basque jai alai player, Tono Garat.

To make matters worse, Paul’s services as a book editor are solicited to help Tono through the final revision of a love story he’s written.

Paul refuses until Mick reveals he’s been diagnosed with a fatal disease, and the novel is Tono’s only means of coping.

Paul and Tono resent each other, but they can’t deny the strong sexual attraction between them. Will they overcome their differences to provide the loving support necessary to sustain the man they love or will their animosity destroy Mick’s final days?

Warnings: Second chances, bittersweet, fatal disease

Get It On Amazon | QueeRomance Ink | Goodreads

Giveaway

Mickie is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour:

a Rafflecopter giveaway https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js

Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47320/

Excerpt

A Unique Request

Paul stood outside the door, debating his decision to show up. He had a bottle of red wine in one hand and a bunch of colorful wildflowers in the other. He’d given in to a moment of sentimental weakness, and now he wondered what the hell he was doing. He turned to leave when the door was yanked open by a fractious brunet with a scowl on his face. “¿Sí?”

“Hi. I’m Paul Alcott.”

The stranger scowled and scrutinized him from the top of his shining head down his designer-clad body.

Paul was unfazed. He was just as curious about the man who’d replaced him in Mick’s life. He inspected him like he would any rival, noting the chestnut-colored hair curling around his neckline. His upper body was hidden behind a loose T-shirt, but the corded muscles of his forearms were a clear indication of what was underneath. He was striking, no doubt about it. The heated gaze was bad enough, but it was his luscious mouth that sent Paul’s mind straight to the gutter. He was shocked by his body’s quick response to this stranger, despite the obvious antagonism. He brought his hand down, covering the evidence of his growing interest with the flowers.

The Spaniard blinked and rewarded Paul with a tentative smile. “I’m Tono Garat,” he announced in a heavily accented voice.

“Nice to meet you.” Paul nodded. “Is Mick around?”

“Yes, of course. Come in, please.”

Tono spun around, and Paul zeroed in on the rounded ass covered in tight white shorts. No garter lines meant he was naked underneath, and Paul couldn’t help but notice.

“Paul!” Mick called out, rushing forward and hugging Paul tightly. “God, it’s been too long.”

“I know,” Paul said, falling under Mick’s spell within seconds. It had always been so good between them, and despite the years and the distance, the sentiment remained the same. “You’re still as gorgeous as ever.

“Oh, stop. You always were good for my ego.”

“The years have been kind to you, my friend,” Paul continued, taking in every part of Mick. He did look great, trim and fit, clean-shaven. His hair was a little longer than Paul remembered, but the dark curls framed Mick’s tanned face, making the violet-tinged eyes pop.

“You don’t look half-bad either.” Mick’s voice shifted, and the words came out like a soft caress. He toyed with a lock of Paul’s silky hair, curling it around his finger. “When did you let your hair grow?”

“After my father died; no more memos about looking professional.” Paul smirked as he recalled Paul Senior’s edicts.

“Shall I take the bottle?” Tono interrupted, looking uncomfortable. Perhaps he was aware of their long history, but seeing the chemistry was a different matter altogether.

“Sure,” Paul replied, handing over the wine.

“I made a pitcher of sangria. Would you like a glass?” Tono asked, never taking his eyes off Paul.

“Sounds good. I’m assuming it’s authentic.”

“I made it from scratch,” Tono huffed.

“Come on,” Mick stepped in, trying to diffuse the situation. He took Paul by the arm and led him out to the tiny patio that had a wrought iron table for four and several wooden planters filled with assorted vegetables. The tomatoes were almost ripe and hanging from branches held up with green sticks. The Weber grill was off to one side―a tribute to summer and warm evenings.

“This is nice, Mick. I had no idea this was out here.”

“Not too many people do. I guess the owners were into gardening, so I benefit. It’s what attracted me to this unit in the first place.”

Paul sat down and stretched out, loving the sight of Mick after so long. “So, what have you been up to?”

“Living La Vida Loca.” Mick smiled. “I’ve been writing, of course, but mostly enjoying my life.”

“Sounds great. Are you still working on your sequel?”

“Yes, as well as something new.”

“Oh?”

“I’m helping Tono with his book.”

Paul gave Tono a frosty look. “You’re a writer?”

“I’m not,” Tono replied, placing a large wineglass with chunks of fruit in front of Paul. “I’m a professional jai alai player, but I’ve written a romance, based on my relationship with Mick.”

“A romance?” Paul turned to Mick for the answer. “Why?”

“Because I’m dying.”

Author Bio

MICKIE B. ASHLING is the pseudonym of a multi-published author who resides in a suburb outside Chicago. She is a product of her upbringing in various cultures, having lived in Japan, the Philippines, Spain, and the Middle East. Fluent in three languages, she’s a citizen of the world and an interesting mixture of East and West. A little bit of this and a lot of that have brought a unique touch to her literary voice she could never learn from textbooks.

Since 2009, Mickie has written several dozen novels in the LGBTQ+ genre—which have been translated into French, Italian, Spanish, and German. Audiobooks and foreign translations are available at Amazon and Audible. Her award-winning novels have been described as “gut- wrenching, daring, and thought-provoking.”

Author Website: https://www.mickieashling.com

Author Facebook (Personal): https://www.facebook.com/mickie.ashling

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mickieashling

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/217416171-a-unique-request

Author QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/mickie-b-ashling/

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Mickie-B.-Ashling/author/B004QSCN3E