Overexposed by K Evan Coles
Summary:
As the only vampire employed by the NYPD, forensic photographer Noah Green isn’t exactly popular. He’s worked alongside humans for decades and avoids attachments with the bleeders around him … but hasn’t done much to avoid a certain West Village baker, who has no idea what Noah really is.
Danny Kaes is done hooking up, at least when it comes to fangers. He’s too busy running his Filipino bakery, Nice Buns, to dwell on the dramas of dating, and if he misses the thrill of sharp teeth on his throat, he knows he’s better off with his own kind … like the CSU hottie who stops by before sunrise.
While working a string of suspicious deaths, Noah finds Danny at a crime scene, traumatized after discovering a body, and now in in the killer’s crosshairs. Surprising even himself, Noah offers Danny his couch, knowing he’ll have to come clean about his blood eater identity.
Days bleed into nights as the killer closes in, leading Noah and the cops in a mad scramble to protect Danny from dangers he never imagined. What Noah can’t protect himself from are his feelings for Danny and how they’ve made him question everything he thought he knew about his own vampire life.
Overexposed is a 92+K paranormal mystery MM romance. It features a crime scene photographer who thinks he’s got the whole vampire thing figured out, a bakery owner who’s sworn off inter-species dating, an unfortunate number of murders, more mayhem than anyone asked for, and a hard-won, deeply satisfying HEA.
Original June Book of the Month 2022 Review:
HOLY HANNAH BATMAN! or perhaps HOLY HANNAH VLAD-MAN! K Evan Coles brings so many factors to the table here in Overexposed: paranormal, heat, mystery, heat, romance, heat, crime, heat, humor, heat, heart, and did I mention heat?😉😉
There have been so many worlds created surrounding vampires that it's difficult to really be unique anymore so is the fact that the world knows about vamps(or fangers as many in this story use) in Overexposed original? No. Is Noah's hesitancy when it comes to Danny new? No. Is it new having vampires involved in solving the mystery? No. Is a vamp/human MC pairing original? No.
AND YET . . .
K Evan Coles has created factors, elements, and settings that though may not be 100% undone before, they leave the reader with a feeling of "now that's an intriguing take". Will I go into particulars with this statement . . . you know the answer to that: no. Overexposed may have been released back in January I refuse to spoil anything taking away any sense of adrenaline rush for those who haven't read it yet.
What I will say is Noah and Danny are amazing together and equally amazing individuals. Their personalities should clash but instead Coles has found a way to make those differing qualities end up not being all that different, once they open up. I loved the friendship between Noah and Cho, where Noah sees fear in Cho's eyes(in a scene I won't delve into further), Cho sees the want to learn, to understand, to fully appreciate just how hard it is for Noah when it comes to crime scenes and evidence. In the history of vampire fiction we know how important the 5 senses can be but in Overexposed, the author helps us to truly feel how important the senses most of us take for granted are to those in the vampire world, to the whole paranormal community really.
I feel I've already gave away more tidbits than I intended to so I'll stop here with only a couple of little thoughts more. First, I would love to see the author explore this world she created further, I don't want to say goodbye to Noah and Danny but the potential for so many more amazing journeys is off the charts. Second, I'm not generally one for police procedural mysteries, if done wrong it can just weigh a story down but in this vampire-known-to-the-world story, I actually found it quite perfectly balanced and it opened my eyes to rethink some of the previous procedural stories I've read and maybe didn't quite enjoy.
Another K Evan Coles win!
Summary:
Vale Valley Season Two #1
Like your favorite Hallmark movie...only way more gay.
An omega too busy helping others to find his own happily ever after...
Nathan Willis doesn't need an alpha. At least, that's what he keeps telling himself. He's content enough crafting magical clothing for the people of Vale Valley, thank you very much. When a spell backfires, he becomes part of his very own Cinderella story--now if only he could forget the handsome alpha who mistook him for someone else...
A sweet-toothed alpha looking for a place to call home...
A wolf without a pack, Caius Valens longs for someone to treasure and take care of. It's hard to find someone to get close to when they don't know you're a shifter. His travels lead him to Vale Valley and the local Chocolatier's Gala, where he falls into his very own fairy tale. Right down to the mysterious beauty disappearing at the stroke of midnight.
Can they find their way back to one another before the spell breaks? And will both men find themselves along the way?
Welcome back to Vale Valley, where love is always in the air and magic lies around every corner.
That Magical Moment is the first book in the Vale Valley Valentine's series. If you're looking for a sweet and steamy small town open to everyone in need of love and a home, you've come to the right place. This book contains magical clothing, incredible edible sculptures, way more than a dozen roses, and a feel-good happily ever after. Grab a glass of wine, a box of chocolate, and curl up with this heartwarming holiday read.
Summary:
Snow Globe Christmas #2
I can’t really complain about my life; I have a job I love and a best friend that fills the void of my nonexistent family, but sometimes I’m lonelier than I like to admit. Especially with the holiday season approaching, I can’t help but wish I had someone special to share it with.
My friend gives me a snow globe with a man and a snowy owl inside, and for some bizarre reason, this man starts showing up every night when I close my eyes. It’s… not real, but I can’t seem to get the guy out of my head. It probably shouldn’t surprise me that my brain conjures up the perfect man in my dreams… well, almost perfect if he’d stop claiming to be a warlock. But the crazy thing is that all of it—that he—feels so real.
When I start falling for the man, the warlock, I can’t help but wish that what we have in my dreams could be a reality. I know it can’t, but at least when I’m asleep, I can be with him—with Alaric.
Although this book is part of A Snow Globe Christmas series, it is a complete stand alone and it isn’t a requirement that you read the previous books to follow along. We wish everyone a happy holiday season.
Summary:
Magic Emporium
Staging a musical in Purgatory can be absolute hell.
Lonnie Coleridge last saw the sun in 1968. Since then, he’s been consigned to Limbo, still wearing the same tie-dyed T-shirt and bell-bottomed jeans he had on when he left his life behind. He and others like him have one chance each year at redemption: produce a show for the Greek pantheon. Whoever pleases this very specific—and temperamental—fan group could earn the right to move on.
But after a literal act of god (*cough* Hermes *cough*) destroys their sets, lights, and costumes, the company needs emergency help to rebuild. Without it, all of them could poof out of existence forever.
Out-of-work theater technician TD Baylor has precisely three things on his cosmic wish list: a job, a place to stay, and a boyfriend who isn’t a total tool. He thinks he’s got the first two nailed when he gets a line on a two-week gig that includes room and board. So what if the job tip came from a guy who was leaning way too hard into the LOTR cosplay at a sketchy Halloween pop-up? At this point, TD doesn’t have anything more to lose, so he figures…what the hell.
He didn’t realize hell was the operative word.
When Lonnie greets him at the theater door, though...whoa. TD fantasizes that item number three could be within his reach. But then Lonnie gives him the bad news: This is Purgatory Playhouse, aka Theater of the Darned. In two weeks—if they’re lucky and can successfully mount a musical version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream—the company will return to Limbo after the curtain falls. If they’re not lucky?
Remember that part about hell?
Purgatory Playhouse is part of the multi-author Magic Emporium Series. Each book stands alone, but each one features an appearance by Marden’s Magic Emporium, a shop that can appear anywhere, but only once and only when someone’s in dire need. This book contains a theater techie who’s one couch surf away from homeless, a production assistant who’s sort of, um, not alive, Greek gods behaving very badly indeed, and a guaranteed HEA.
Soulbound #6
Forgiveness is a hollow prayer you only hear in your dreams
Patrick Collins has spent years handling cases as a special agent for the Supernatural Operations Agency, even as his secret standing in the preternatural community has changed. He should have confessed to his role as co-leader of the New York City god pack when he and Jonothon de Vere took up the mantle months ago, but he didn’t. Now that split loyalty will cost him at a time when he can least afford it.
Outmaneuvered, framed for murder, and targeted by the Dominion Sect, Patrick has to face a past full of lies to regain his freedom. Revealing the truth means he’ll need to give up the life that has defined him. Everything he’s fought to build with his pack is at stake, and losing them isn’t a price Patrick is willing to pay, but some choices aren’t his to make
Jono knows they can’t cede any more territory if they want to win the god pack civil war spilling into the streets of New York City. But the souls of werecreatures are free for the taking when demons come to town and angels sing a warning no one can ignore. When Jono’s worst fear comes to life, and he loses the one person he can’t live without, the only option left is to fight.
Facing down the demons of their past and the ones in their present, Patrick and Jono will learn the hard way that some sins never wash away clean.
Overexposed by K Evan Coles
PROLOGUE
October 30, 1919 7:05 P.M.
Fire licked through Noah Green’s lungs. He kept running anyway, ignoring the stitch in his side. Growing up, he’d always been fast, the tall kid everyone picked for games, knowing his speed came with endurance. Once Noah had possession of the ball, he could be counted on to keep driving toward the goal.
Noah was doing that now. Pressing forward, legs aching and his breaths loud to his own ears. He’d keep running for as long as he could. Had to, though his chances of ‘winning’ anything were slim.
He wasn’t playing a game tonight. He’d made a mistake. And now he was running for his life.
Taking a corner, he searched for another burst of speed, the slap of his boots on the pavement echoing off the buildings around him. Lighter footfalls followed behind, so different from Noah’s desperate pounding. They’d matched his perfectly from the very beginning of this race, no matter how fast he ran, and he’d known after only a few blocks that the vampire tailing him was enjoying the chase. And that maybe the only reason he wasn’t already dead was because the fanger wanted to exhaust its prey before pouncing.
Noah didn’t know this neighborhood—he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere several blocks back. The streets and sidewalks were empty and the lights over every doorway dark. A citywide dusk-till-dawn curfew had been in place for weeks, barring humans who didn’t work nights from being outside and, even then, only at their own risk. New Yorkers complained bitterly about the restrictions during daylight hours, but were quick to disappear after sunset, locking themselves in their homes and drawing the blinds to keep the night out. Staying outdoors after dusk was dangerous now that the supernatural beings who’d always lived among them were walking around in plain sight, and every human knew it.
Noah would be inside too if this were a typical evening, either in his own Chelsea flat or his parents’ place in Midtown. He dined there several times a week after work and always stayed overnight. His mother was so certain her unmarried son was languishing alone in his set of rooms, helpless at keeping house or feeding himself. Noah didn’t mind indulging her imaginings. Not when sitting down to eat corned beef hash and listen to her thoughts on finding him a wife made her happy.
He’d been prepared for more of the same tonight. Dinner and talk about Noah needing to be married. But Niels and Marion Green had started in on a far more serious topic during dinner, namely the rash of inter-species crime that had thrown the city into turmoil.
“A young man who lived two doors down was killed this week!” Noah’s father exclaimed. “Meanwhile, we all live in fear, hiding inside our homes every night because it’s not safe to go out. I don’t understand why the mayor doesn’t do something.”
“Like what?” Noah set down his glass. “He can’t just order the fangers to vacate New York, Dad. Most have probably lived here longer than you’ve been alive.”
“And? That’s hardly a reason to let them and the shifters run roughshod over the rest of us.” Niels made a face. “Supernaturals are dangerous, Noah, especially the vampires. The gangs are ruthless, killing people and worse every day.”
“I know.” Noah frowned. He’d heard the stories of humans being taken and changed; they all had. He still knew better than to assume that every person who died or disappeared did so at the hands of a supernatural. “But we can’t pin the gangs’ behaviors on any vamp as if they were all cut from the same cloth.”
“They are cut from the same cloth, and it’s entirely unnatural.” Niels shot a grim look at his wife. “Those things may live among us, but they are not welcome in the human world. Vampires and shifters have their own places to go in this city. They’ve practically taken over Five Points, and there are blood bars popping up all over downtown.”
Marion’s face was haunted as she met Noah’s gaze. “I’ve heard those awful places are full every night, even with the curfew. But … I just don’t understand why any decent human goes near them. Mixing with fangers. Offering themselves up as if they enjoy it.” She shuddered, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Those poor souls are damned.”
Noah ground his teeth and took another corner. He and his friends talked about visiting the blood bars all the time, just for a thrill. Hearing his parents speak like that, though—understanding how profoundly they hated beings they’d never even met—had been painful. He’d stood his ground anyway, firm in his belief that a world where humans and supernaturals were equal was better for everyone, while his mother and father raged back at him, their hurt and confusion plain.
None of it mattered now. Because Noah was so, so screwed.
He’d opted to go home to Chelsea after dinner instead of staying overnight with his parents, hopeful that some time apart would help cool their tempers. But he’d forgotten to heed the time and the darkness falling over the streets, and he’d only traveled a block or two before the fanger had started tailing him. Now Noah was lost with nowhere to hide, and knew that if he died out here tonight, losing him would hurt his family far more than any dinnertime argument.
Voices nearby caught his attention and Noah’s heart leapt, hope nearly choking him. He pulled up short as two figures appeared in his path and almost knocked him off balance.
“Jesus.” Chest heaving, he swung his arms in wild pinwheels, fighting to stay upright as a young girl and boy stared up at him like Noah had lost his mind. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
The boy’s eyes narrowed in his pale face. Though he and the girl looked barely past childhood, he gave a mighty scowl. “Could ask you the same,” he said, voice hard. “Ain’t none of your business.”
The girl sniffed in seeming agreement. “Anyone with eyes can see y’ don’t belong here,” she said to Noah.
“Maybe not,” he started, “but you don’t understand—”
“And I don’t wanna, Mister.” The girl frowned at him. “You oughta go if you don’t want no trouble.”
She jerked her head at a nearby alley and Noah spied what he thought might be a brewery at its end, doors standing open and a broad-shouldered figure just beyond the threshold. But before he could speak again, a hand settled on Noah’s shoulder and the air in his lungs rushed out of him in a single whoosh.
“Off you go, young miss,” said a silky-smooth voice, “before I show you what trouble really looks like.”
Noah stood, unable to move as a figure fitted itself against his back. He heard the kids run off, boots clattering over the cobblestones as they hustled toward safety, but he knew better than to expect they’d send any help. No one was coming. The workers inside the brewery would bolt the doors, and even if they’d had some way to contact the cops, the NYPD weren’t going to risk their own skins for some fool who’d broken curfew. Even if said fool was a tender-age kid working for pennies under the table like the boy who’d run off, or a young man like Noah who just wanted to get home.
Noah’s breath split the silence that followed, and the hand on his shoulder moved, gently cupping his jaw. A second hand took hold of his waist, the light touches guiding Noah around until he was face to face with the vampire who’d chased him. He—it?—was shorter than Noah and slim, with a shock of light hair and ordinary features that belonged to a man. The vampire’s eyes were beautiful, however, shining and so dark. They grabbed hold of Noah more tightly than the hands on his body.
“Oh.”
Noah knew he’d spoken, but it felt like a dream. He’d read plenty about vamps and other supernaturals and learned from a young age to stick with his own kind if he wanted to be safe. That the species shouldn’t mix. And he should be afraid of this being before him, despite his gentle voice and eyes.
Noah didn’t feel any fear, however. And nothing could have moved him from that spot.
He forgot his aching lungs and legs, and the hammering of his heart sounded distant. He’d never been this close to a vampire, at least not that he’d ever known, and saw immediately that they were nothing like he might have expected. His touch wasn’t cold at all but warm, and he was vital, so shockingly alive. Pink lips curved in a smile, while the eyes fixed on Noah saw inside him. Captivated him so totally, he hardly knew how he was still standing. Noah was enthralled. And didn’t mind one bit.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
The vampire’s tone was wonderfully easy, words like caresses over Noah’s skin while a spicy, luscious scent filled his senses. He closed his eyes against the heat buzzing through him, and it warmed his blood in a rush.
“Noah.”
“A name that suits you well.” The vampire was still smiling when Noah opened his eyes, and he moved his hand gently over Noah’s cheek, stroking skin that burned hot. “Look at that blush. And those eyes, mmm. You really are enticing.”
Noah leaned into the touch with no idea what to say. He was probably being rude. But the vampire didn’t seem to mind at all and took another step closer.
“My name is Morgan,” he said. “Would you like to have a drink with me?”
“Have to … I have to work tomorrow. But yes.”
God, Noah wanted. The drink. To hear this Morgan speak. Noah didn’t give a damn, so long as he could have more of that electric touch. He wanted it. More. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t sure what ‘more’ even meant. Nothing could matter when Morgan swept him close and everything else fell away.
Lips too soft to be real brushed against his throat.
The following sting was fleeting.
And it made Noah fly.
That Magical Moment by Connor Crowe
Love Spells Are For Losers
Nathan
“I told you, I don’t do love spells. Not even for my best friend.”
Miles slumped his shoulders and groaned. “Pleeeease? Come on, us omegas gotta stick together!”
I crossed my arms. “I said no. Love spells are too dangerous. Too many ways they can go wrong.”
“Is it really a love spell though, if you just put a little extra something in my coat for tonight? You can do that, right?”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. “I can do a lot of things, Miles, but I’m sorry. You’re gonna have to find your mate the old fashioned way. Now can I help you with something else, or are you going to keep me away from paying customers all day?”
“Geez, you’re no fun. Full moon getting to you?”
I clenched my teeth and suppressed a growl. “Why don’t you ask me if I’m on my period while you’re at it?” I pinched the bridge of my nose and let out a breath. “Don’t you have somewhere to be tonight? You kept talking about some big fancy party you were serving at.”
“The Chocolatier’s Gala is tonight.” Miles perked up. “I’ll just be the one passing around the champagne, but have you seen some of the stuff they come up with? Positively mouthwatering, man.”
I gathered a bundle of the latest beanies into my arms and brought them out to the market stall, arranging them on the table so that passerby could see each design. I’d even crocheted a few flowers onto these, and with spring on its way but a chill still in the air, they’d be perfect.
Miles followed me, of course. I couldn’t escape my friend’s gaze for long.
“I’m willing to bet the serving staff have a ‘look but don’t touch’ policy on the chocolate though, right?”
“Yeah.” Miles sighed, then his eyes flicked to the sign at the front of my shop. He burst out into laughter instantly, rushing over to it.
“What? What happened?” I finished up sticking the price tags and looked up. “Some kids vandalize it or something?”
“No,” Miles said between snickers. “Even better. I think I know why you’re not getting much business.”
Ugh, what was it now? I stuffed my hands in my pockets and walked over to the front of the stall. Then I started laughing, too.
The sign reading “love in every stitch” had bent in the wind, leaving a score across the display board and a growing tear up the middle.
“Love...itch.” I read with a smile. “That doesn’t sound very attractive at all, does it?”
“It really doesn’t. Love itch sounds like you need to see a doctor!” He cracked up again, and I couldn’t help it. I laughed too.
“Okay, wise guy. Grab the sign and get in here.” I jerked a thumb toward the back of the stand where I had a little work area. “Help me fix the sign and then maybe I’ll think about your request.”
“Deal.”
******
After finishing the sign and helping a few customers, the sun had long since reached its peak. It started to wane toward the horizon and cast the town in its warm, sleepy glow. Time to pack up soon.
Miles had stayed around to help out, and normally I wouldn’t have minded, but he had it in his mind that he needed help in the love department and wouldn’t let me forget it.
Not my proudest moment, but I’ll admit I considered pawning off a sweater on him with the guise of taking inventory, only to have it quiet my friend up for a little while so I could think.
It wasn’t that I had anything against love, no. It was just…messy. And with magic, it got even messier.
I was breaking down the displays and putting things back in boxes when I felt Miles’ presence behind me again.
“You don’t give up, do you?” I said wearily, though I still couldn’t help but smile. His tenacity, in any other situation, made him a steadfast friend.
“You always make such beautiful things for other people, Nathan. But never for yourself. Why is that?”
The question caught me off guard. I hadn’t been expecting that. Something else about how he was so lonely and needed my help, probably. But not this.
“What?”
“You heard me.” Miles gestured at the bins full of scarves, hats, and sweaters in every color of the rainbow. “You put so much time and care into the things you create for others. Yet I’ve never seen you take a real vacation. Never seen you go on a date, either. I just…want to make sure you’re okay.”
Of course I was okay. What kind of question was that? I frowned at my friend, but something twisted in my gut. He had a point, much as I didn’t want to admit it.
“I’m fine, Miles.” I stacked the bins on top of one another and pointed to a rack of hand-warmers still standing in the corner. “Grab those for me, will you?”
Even as I completed the last work of the day and prepared to go home, Miles’ words haunted me. When was the last time I’d taken a break? Months ago? Years?
“If this is some kind of trick to get me to do that love spell for you, it’s not going to work.” I snapped the last of the plastic bins closed and looked around the stall to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.
“But…” Miles trailed off. Damn him. He knew there was always a but.
“But if you come back to the workshop with me tonight, I’ll see what I can do. No love spells, though.”
Miles jumped up and threw his arms around my neck. “You’re the best, man!”
******
It was twilight before we got everything back to the storage unit slash workshop where I kept my inventory when we weren’t selling. The extra pair of hands really helped, though, and soon we were both settled in rickety thrift shop chairs with beers.
“So that Gala is tonight, isn’t it?” I asked, twisting my wrist to check the time. “Won’t it be starting soon?”
“Doesn’t start until eight,” Miles replied, “though the main event doesn’t happen till closer to ten. They want to give people plenty of time to mingle, of course.”
“And that means you’ll be flitting around with glasses of champagne trying to look fancy?”
He snorted. “Something like that.”
“Why is it so important that you go to this particular Gala on this particular night?” I asked. “You’ve never been this insistent about something before.” I paused for a moment. “And what’s more, why do you need magic help? Trying to woo someone there?”
That got a reaction out of him. He sunk into his seat, face burning a bright red. Suddenly, Miles was very interested in his beer and his shoes, yet a goofy love-struck smile still crept across his face.
“You are, aren’t you?”
Miles chewed his lip before responding. “I had one of those visions again,” he said at last, finally daring to meet my eyes. “I saw him there. Tonight.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I thought you’d stopped having visions.”
“I thought so too,” Miles shrugged. “But this one got through. It was clear as day, Nathan. There was alpha there in a red suit, his eyes the darkest grey I’ve ever seen…” He shivered. “And I saw one of your costumes there, too. That’s why I know you’ll help me.”
Narrowing my eyes, I gulped down the last of my beer and tried to make sense of his words. He’d only ever had small flashes of inspiration in the past. Nothing so detailed as this. Was that why he’d followed me around all day? Did he know this was going to happen?”
I put the bottle down on the side table and took off my glasses to rub my eyes. “And what…costume…exactly, was this person wearing?” Might as well play along, I thought. Didn’t look like he was gonna give me a break otherwise.
“I’m sure it was me,” Miles continued, clasping his hands together. I noticed with some surprise that they were shaking. “I could just feel it, you know? I was in my regular server outfit, but there was a mask, too.”
“A mask?” I asked with some amusement. “You know the Masquerade Ball isn’t until Valentine’s Day. Maybe you’re thinking of that instead.”
“No.” Miles shook his head. “I know it was tonight. There were chocolate sculptures everywhere, laced with sugar and sprinkles and everything you can imagine. I could even smell it in my vision, Nate. It was definitely the Gala tonight.”
“So you saw some kind of mask,” I repeated, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. “And it had some kind of spell on it too?”
Miles nodded. He gave me those huge puppy dog eyes he knew I couldn’t resist. “Please say you’ll help me?”
I gave a long-suffering sigh, then stood up. “Fiiiine. But if any funny business happens, it’s all on you, man.”
“Yes! Totally!” Miles leaped up and clapped his hands together. “Now let’s go look at your collection…”
Wishing on a Dream by Michele Notaro
Prologue
Vakore
Two Hundred Years Ago
Tiberius stretched his wings from atop my son’s shoulder, and the whole court held its breath. I hid a smile, amused at the fear on their faces. Strange that they seemed to fear my son’s familiar, a white owl, more than they feared me at times. I supposed he was rather large, even within his species, and his beak was intimidating. My people had no idea where my son had found him, where the owl came from, so naturally, they assumed he was evil. That was the only reason I allowed my son to stand beside me in court.
His owl’s presence made the people think evil was among them. But that was far from the truth. My son and his familiar were nothing like me. I knew I had a darkness inside my veins, but it was something I enjoyed latching onto since my wife died in childbirth. It felt too good to ignore. If the people only knew who held the true darkness.
Stroking my hand down my own familiar’s fur—a lynx—I said, “Payment is due today, farmer.” My familiar further settled on the arm of my chair.
“I understand, sir, but the fire, it took half our crop and—”
“Your taxes are due,” I said, irritated. Why did these people think they could get away with not paying? What was so hard about it?
“I beg of you, Lord Bloodgood. Please. Our crops… it’s all we have in the world,” the man said. His wife and three children were behind him, huddled together, filthy and crying.
“You will pay, or I will make you pay.” The darkness swirled inside me, and I felt a smile pull at my lips.
Whatever the farmer and his family saw must have scared them because they took a step back and the man said, “We’ll pay, sir. Please forgive me.”
“Bring the payment by the end of the hour and all will be forgiven… but not forgotten.” I aimed my grin at him.
The man quivered and nodded before rushing out of the room.
Over the course of the next hour, man after man begged me to give them a break, begged me to let them live on my land for free. And man after man was forced to bring me my payment, no matter the cost to him or his family. The darkness inside my chest swirled in victory at the sorrow and pain laced on the people’s faces, and the grin grew on my face.
An elderly woman approached my chair, and I asked, “Did you bring payment, wench?”
“You have taken advantage of these people long enough, warlock,” she said as she stood straight and pointed at me. Her cloak fell away, and with it, her wrinkles and moles smoothed out, revealing a woman no older than me.
My eyes narrowed at her. What was this? Why the disguise? “What do you want, witch?”
She cackled. “I heard of your power, Lord Vakore Bevan Cross Bloodgood, but I heard of your mistreatment of non-magics. I didn’t believe it at first. I didn’t want to believe that a man who could use his powers to help people would be mistreating them so.” She stepped closer to me. “But I have seen with my own eyes how cruel your heart is. We were put on this earth to help mortals, and yet, you take from them. You make them pay you. You rule over them as if you are king.” Power started swirling around her. “You are king no more.”
Yanking on my magic, I stood and pulled a shield around myself. Smoke swirled around me, my hands glowed, the hair on my arms and head stood straight up at the power of it. I prepared my spell, a blast to knock her away followed by a freezing spell to keep her still. As I was lifting my hands to send it at her, her magic broke through my shield, knocking into my chest. It hit me so hard, I flew backward, knocking my throne back as I tumbled. I landed beside my son, and as I locked eyes on him, I realized I wasn’t the target of her magic.
“No!” I yelled. “Don’t!”
“You have a choice, Bloodgood. You or your son?” Her voice wrapped around me, awakening the darkness within.
I needed to keep her away from Alaric, but… but I needed to live more. I dropped my hand.
“Your selfishness knows no bounds, warlock.” Her eyes pierced me with a cruel gaze. “You will have to live with the knowledge of your choice while your son suffers.”
I cried out, but I didn’t use my magic against her. I was a coward.
******
Alaric
Tiberius squawked and flew at me, trying to help block the power, but the witch shot my familiar with a stun spell. I yelled out in shock, anger, and fear. If she injured Tiberius, I would end her.
Father was yelling, but the witch’s magic surrounded me, and I could no longer hear anything on the other side. Why would she attack me when her ire was with my father?
The cackling witch stood over me, whispering words I did not recognize, her power emanating off her in waves. Whites and blues and purples and greens swirled around us, covering Tiberius and me. With all of my strength, I pulled my familiar into my chest, cradling him with one arm as I shielded my eyes against her magic.
When the power relented, I pulled my arm down, looking around the room. My brows furrowed in confusion. Standing, I held Tiberius to my chest as I walked forward two steps on an ashy ground, but was abruptly stopped by an invisible shield. I put my hand out and tapped at it. No, it wasn’t invisible, it was a clear, hard surface. Glass.
I turned back, and the confusion spread. Behind me was a… cottage. A small, tiny thing. And I wasn’t standing on ash, I was standing on… was that snow? Here?
Where was I? Had the witch used a transport spell on me?
The witch’s cackle reached my ears, and I startled and gasped, backing away from the glass. She stood on the other side of the glass, but she was a giant. Her head was bigger than the house behind me. How had she made herself so big? How did she have so much power?
I scrutinized her, then startled again when my father stood beside the witch. He was equally as big. His skin was pale and it seemed as if he’d aged fifty years since before the spell. But… warlocks didn’t age, they also didn’t grow into giants.
Blinking, I looked past them, past the glass, and realized that it wasn’t they that had grown, but me that had shrunk.
I took in the cottage and stepped to the side, placing my hand on the glass again, pushing my icy power into it. My magic ricocheted back, swirling over the glass, and I gasped as my eyes followed my power in a circle over the top of me, and I realized I was in a glass dome. A magical prison.
I pushed all of my willpower, I threw every spell I knew at it, over and over again until I was wrung out and empty. Nothing worked. Not so much as a crack. I was weakened inside this dome. My powers were suppressed.
The witch grinned down at me. “This should teach your father a lesson, young warlock.”
“What did you do to me?” I screamed.
“Do not fret, Alaric. Your father has seen what his choice has done to you.” She cackled. “He will live with that guilt.”
My father’s weak voice whispered, “I’m sorry, son… I’m… sorry.”
Tiberius shivered in my arms, and I pulled him closer, stroking his back to offer comfort. I wasn’t sure if it was for his comfort or my own. “Let us out!”
She grinned, but it looked manic. “No.” She blew on the glass dome and it began to shake as her magic pressed down on me making everything turn black.
Purgatory Playhouse by EJ Russell
1
The shower’s anemic water pressure did nothing to mask the pounding on the bathroom door. When TD Baylor peered through the daisy-patterned shower curtain, an unexpected surge of water shot shampoo suds straight into his eyes.
“Ow! Shit!” He turned his face into the stream only to have it retreat to a bare trickle. Goddamnit.
“I know you’re in there.” The shrill voice from outside in the hallway was unfamiliar. “You have five minutes to get out.”
TD pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, willing the sting to dissipate. Turns out his willpower wasn’t a match for travel-sized Head & Shoulders. He hadn’t been in here that long, surely— there was still hot water, when any water at all deigned to come out of the shower head. Besides, he’d become an expert at bathroom efficiency. You had to be when you were a guest— and the only man— in an apartment with three women who were virtual strangers.
But that voice didn’t belong to any of those women, the roommates of a dancer he’d met at a summer stock gig five years ago. Angie was the only person he more or less knew in Boston other than his ex. She and her friends had been incredibly kind to let him stay at their place, even though Angie wasn’t technically in Boston herself at the moment, since she was on the road with a national tour of Hairspray.
Maybe there was a fourth roommate, one he hadn’t encountered during his two weeks of couch-surfing? He rinsed as well as he could, dried off on the rather threadbare towel he’d picked up at the thrift store for a quarter, and squinted at himself in the chipped mirror. He needed to shave, but when the pounding started again, he figured that wasn’t an option at the moment.
He picked up his clean boxer briefs from the top of the toilet tank as the doorknob rattled, clicked, and the door was flung open.
“Jesus!” TD fumbled with the towel and held it in front of his groin, blinking blearily at the figure in the doorway. “I wasn’t in here…”
As his vision cleared, he realized the person glaring at him wasn’t any of Angie’s roommates, although he caught a glimpse of Nora’s chagrined face in the shadowy hallway over the woman’s shoulder.
“Five. Minutes.” The woman, whose mouth was pressed into a grim line, folded her arms over a chest that would make any Wagnerian soprano proud. “If you’re not gone, I’m calling the police.”
Nora made a face at TD. “Really, Mrs. Fry—”
Mrs. Fry drew herself up and glared at Nora. “This is a clear violation of your lease. I’d be within my rights to toss you out as well.”
“It’s fine.” TD didn’t want Angie’s friends to be punished on his account. He was the one who was stupid enough to believe his douchebag ex, Steven, when he’d promised TD a job and a place to live. Turns out Steven is really good at offering shit he never thinks he’ll have to deliver. “I’ll go.” Mrs. Fry didn’t move. “Although I’d like to get dressed first.”
She hmmmphed and marched off down the hall. Nora flipped off her retreating back and then leaned into the bathroom. “I’m sorry, TD. We didn’t tell her, I promise. Someone must have seen you come in.”
“No worries. I appreciate you three letting me crash here for as long as you did. I should have left last week.” Except, of course, that he didn’t have anywhere to go. That happened when you completely upended your life and moved all the way across the country for something as stupid as love.
Which, as it turned out, was another thing that Steven offered with no expectation he’d have to put his dick where his mouth was. So to speak.
Nora smiled weakly as she pulled the bathroom door closed. TD sighed and finished getting dressed. At least it wouldn’t take him long to pack. He hadn’t wanted to be a poor guest by scattering his shit around the not-very-spacious apartment, so everything was still in his single suitcase, tucked behind the couch that had been his bed since Steven had informed him stonily that it wasn’t a good time for TD to be in Boston at all, let alone in his townhome.
When he got to the tiny living room/ dining room/ kitchen, though, his suitcase wasn’t behind the couch. It was parked in front of Mrs. Fry. Apparently she was going to supervise his exit. Oh well. It wasn’t as though TD hadn’t endured worse humiliation in the last month.
He’d gotten off the plane at Logan Airport, expecting Steven to be waiting for him with a kiss and some afternoon so-glad-you’re-finally-here sex. Instead, he’d gotten a tight smile and a “Not here” when TD had tried for a hug.
TD could have forgiven that— not everyone was comfortable with PDAs, he got that, and he and Steven had conducted most of their relationship in texts, late night calls, and occasional video chats. But he would have appreciated being treated as more than an inconvenience. They’d been planning TD’s move from Portland to Boston for months.
Apparently Steven had never thought TD would go through with it. Probably because he never does what he says he’s gonna do, the asshole. Remind me again why I thought I was in love with him?
He eased his suitcase away from Mrs. Fry’s gravity well and tucked his shaving kit, T-shirt, and sleep pants inside. The damp towel— ugh. Putting that inside the case was nothing but an invitation to mildew stink. He shoved it into the outside pocket and hoped the stupid thing was waterproof.
With Mrs. Fry staring pointedly at her watch, he gave Nora a hug. “Thanks. I really appreciate your help.”
She squeezed him back. “And we appreciate you fixing the light switch and making dinner every night.” She pulled away. “You weren’t a burden, TD. We were glad to help.”
He kissed her cheek, earning another hmmmph from Mrs. Fry, and then pulled on his coat, shouldered his lumpy backpack, his cordless drill poking him in the spine. He dragged his suitcase with its wonky caster and his sorry-ass self down two flights of stairs and into the gloomy— and remarkably brisk— October morning.
Sighing, he zipped up his jacket, which was perfectly adequate for autumn in Portland, but left a little to be desired in New England. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket— thank goodness he’d already disconnected and stowed the charger before his shower— but before he could make a call, the door opened behind him and he glanced back to see Mrs. Fry glaring at him from the stoop.
Apparently he wasn’t welcome on her sidewalk either. He dragged the suitcase down the street toward the corner and speed-dialed the same number he’d been calling daily for the last two years.
“Hirschel and Park,” said an unfamiliar young-sounding female voice. “How may I direct your call?”
“Eun-Ji Park, please.”
“May I tell her who’s calling?”
“TD Baylor.”
There was a pause as the obviously new receptionist checked the client list. TD waited. He knew this drill, since he’d been through it several times before. Hirschel and Park had a history of hiring extremely competent receptionists and promoting them into the paralegal training track.
“I don’t see that name on Ms. Park’s expected caller list.”
He sighed. “Last name’s Baylor. B-A-Y-L-O-R.”
“The only Baylor we have listed is a Taylor.”
TD grimaced. “That’s me.”
“You’re Taylor Baylor?” To give her credit, she didn’t snicker like almost anybody else who ever heard his name.
“Yes.” With a father who’d made a living writing advertising jingles and a mother who was sometimes referred to as the female Dr. Seuss, TD had had no chance when it came to names. “But I prefer TD.”
“Of course. One moment please.”
TD leaned against a lamppost, his suitcase sideways between his feet to keep it out of the way of pedestrians, all of whom, unlike TD, had somewhere to go.
“TD, good morning.” Miguel, TD’s lawyer’s assistant, always sounded as though he’d just consumed his third high-octane espresso, regardless of the time of day. “I’m sorry, but Eun-Ji’s in court. Can I give her a message?”
“I don’t suppose there’s any new development?” TD tried to keep the pathetic hope out of his tone, but doubted he was successful.
“Nothing yet.” Yep, Miguel sounded like he was informing a puppy that they were out of bacon. Forever. “I’m so sorry. I can have her call you—”
“No, that’s okay.” Eun-Ji hadn’t billed TD yet for any of her time during the fight over his mother’s estate. She’d always said they could settle up once probate cleared. He suspected she’d never imagined it would take more than two years— and counting— to resolve the convoluted mess with his mom’s agent. “I just wanted to check in.”
“I understand. We’ll call you as soon as we hear anything, I promise.”
“I know. Thanks, Miguel.” TD disconnected the call and turned off the phone to save the charge. “Now what?” he muttered to the alarm of two guys passing by with a baby in a jogging stroller.
One of them glared at him. “If you don’t keep—”
“Sorry!” TD held up his hands, palms out. “No judgment here. I’m gay myself. Just having a really, really bad day.” He forced a smile. “Cute kid. Congratulations.”
Immediately they both beamed. “Thank you,” the one who hadn’t glared said. “And if you’re having a bad day, can I recommend the caramel brûlée latte at Bean There, Donut That?” He pointed down the block. “It always cheers me up.”
“Thanks.” They both waved and jogged on, their baby cooing and waving her hands like a tiny orchestra conductor.
Because he didn’t want to appear as though he’d ignored their recommendation, TD trudged down the street toward the coffee shop. He’d passed it every day on the way to and from the Harvard Square subway station in his vain attempts to find work, but the prices had made him cut the place a wide berth. Once his mom’s estate cleared, he’d have money. A lot of it, actually, assuming her sleazebag agent— whom he’d mistakenly considered a benevolent, avuncular sort— hadn’t somehow embezzled it all. But after Steven’s epic fail on the job front, he was down to his last ten bucks and change.
“That’s what you get,” he muttered to himself as his suitcase chittered over the cracks in the sidewalk, “for leaving a perfectly good job— in your chosen profession, for fuck’s sake— for the promise of love.”
Well, he’d learned his lesson. Never again. Sex, yes. Companionship, maybe. But love? Nope.
Never again.
Lonnie Coleridge took a deep breath— something he could actually do now that he’d phased out of Limbo and into Purgatory’s more physical dimension— and faced the people perched nervously on the three shabby green room sofas. Most of those present were, like Lonnie, the more recent additions to the company, but several of the ancient Greek contingent were present too.
Man, I could really use a drink. But considering the vending machines against the wall in the barren kitchenette held nothing but Necco Wafers and store brand cola— warm decaf diet store brand cola— he may as well hope for a stairway to heaven.
He wiped his damp palms on the bell-bottomed jeans he’d worn since 1968 and attempted a reassuring smile. Judging by the way everyone’s tension level ratcheted up, he wasn’t particularly successful. “So. I suppose you’re all wondering—”
“Is it true, Lonnie?” Tovah, the petite seamstress squeezed between Wilson, a massive Black pit singer, and Kiku, the master electrician, leaned forward, her hands clasped as though she were praying for a miracle. “Everything’s gone? The sets? The lights? The…” She swallowed, tears glistening in her big brown eyes. “The costumes?”
“I’m afraid so.” Lonnie gave up on reassurance, because frankly, this was a disaster of… well… mythic proportions.
“But how?” Fred, the stocky set construction foreman, sounded bewildered, as well he might. The sets, costumes, even the lighting instruments were corporeal enough— barely— in Limbo for the company to prepare for each year’s production. But they couldn’t actually be destroyed in Limbo, any more than any of the souls consigned there could move on. “Everything was ready for the load-in. We triple-checked. Every blasted Doric column phased out of Limbo yesterday without a hitch.”
Kiku nodded. “Even the lights and the light board made the transition perfectly. At least…” She tugged at the chopstick that held her messy black bun in place. “It looked perfect from our side of the Veil.”
“The costumes, too. Racks and all.” Arachne— in her human form, thank goodness— anxiously fingered her spider-silk shawl. “We didn’t— Lonnie, I swear we didn’t do anything wrong,” she wailed.
Daphne glared at Lonnie as she patted Arachne’s shoulder. “We didn’t. The gods could have had absolutely no objections.”
“No objections,” Echo repeated, wrapping a comforting arm around Arachne’s back.
Lonnie held up his hands, palms out. “Nobody’s accusing you of error. You all did beautiful work, and we should have been ready for tech week starting tomorrow. Except…” Lonnie cleared his throat and glanced sidelong at the corner where a very sulky Hermes slumped against the wall, his normally golden skin slightly green except when it was bathed in red from the sporadic flicker of the soda machine. “It appears that the monthly Cards Against Humanity game between Hermes, Loki, Anansi, and Coyote got a little more… spirited than usual.” He tamped down an inappropriate laugh, because this really wasn’t funny. “There may have been copious amounts of nectar involved.”
“And peyote,” Hermes muttered. He massaged his temples. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any aspirin?”
Lonnie dismissed Hermes’s grumbles. He was one of the twelve ranking Olympians, for Pete’s sake. He ought to be capable of finding his own headache remedies. Although after the shambles he and his trickster god friends had made of the theater, Lonnie was ready to recommend the same ax that cured Zeus’s headache by way of Athena’s birth.
On the other hand, one Athena was more than enough, thank you very much.
Hermes belched and pushed away from the wall, towering over all the ex-humans. “I gotta pee.” He lifted into the air on his winged sandals and aimed himself toward the hallway, his flight path erratic at best.
The group was quiet until he vanished in a flutter of white linen, his exomie chiton short enough to flirt with his butt cheeks.
“Do you suppose the pantheon will be okay with, a, you know, minimalist production this year?” Tovah asked. “One without sets or costumes?”
“In the dark?” Kiku muttered.
“Are you kidding?” Daphne said in a revolted tone. She was still bitter about the fate that befell her while escaping Apollo’s unwanted advances. At least in Purgatory she was human and not a tree, although the skin on her arms sometimes had a distinctly bark-like cast. “Since when do the Olympians make do with anything less than wretched excess?”
“Wretched excess,” Echo parroted. Then again, she couldn’t do much else.
“But if we can’t mount the show with the production values they expect, will we all… you know…” Kiku made a sound like a fizzling outlet.
Lonnie wanted to deny it, if only to calm everyone down. However, she’d voiced their mutual fear. They— the souls consigned to Limbo because they weren’t either bad enough to damn or good enough to ascend— had one chance each year to earn redemption. That chance depended on producing a musical extravaganza that pleased the Olympians and their guests from other pantheons.
One night, one performance, and one of them would be awarded sufficient grace to… move on. Whatever that meant.
That tiny ray of hope— that this year, they’d be the one to be singled out and earn their final reward— was what kept them all tied to this half-life. Occasionally— okay, often— Lonnie wondered if it wouldn’t be better to relinquish all hope and simply… dissipate into oblivion.
He could never decide. But then, his inability to commit to any particular course of action was what landed him in Limbo in the first place. It wasn’t enough, he’d been told the first year he’d awakened here at the Playhouse, to simply not be bad. You had to consciously be good. To the Judgment Committee, indecision was no better than moral ambiguity, and subject to the same punishment.
He met Kiku’s worried gaze. “Hermes has promised to intercede with the pantheon and find a solution for us.”
“I’d pay money to see that,” Fred muttered.
“Do you really think that will work?” Daphne demanded. “Half of us are here because of the Olympians’ excessive self-absorption, lack of self-restraint, and entitlement.”
“And entitlement,” Echo muttered.
Tovah bit her lip. “Daphne has a point. Hermes will have to confess he was the one who caused the problem in the first place, and the pantheon is never particularly good at accepting responsibility for their actions.”
Lonnie forced himself to smile, even though he had doubts of his own. “He promised he would.”
“Yeah,” Wilson rumbled, his rich bass voice filling the room. “But he’s made a career out of thievery and trickery.”
“That’s so,” Lonnie acknowledged, “but he’s never denied culpability. His escapades are sort of a badge of honor for him, the more outrageous the better.”
“Honor among gods,” Arachne grumbled. “Kind of an oxymoron, isn’t it?”
“Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides”— he shrugged—“ it’s not as though we’ve got another option.”
They all nodded glumly.
“It’s all set.” Hermes caromed off the doorjamb. He would have plowed headfirst onto the center sofa if Wilson hadn’t leaped up, caught him, and set him firmly on the worn tiles. “You’re approved for a technician.”
Kiku frowned. “A single technician? We’ve got to rebuild the set and all the costumes, not to mention hang all the lights, since the instruments were destroyed too.”
Hermes didn’t respond, suddenly much more interested in leaning against Wilson’s broad chest than paying attention to the rest of them. Lonnie sighed. He’d need to have another chat with the god about consent, something that was apparently very difficult for the entire pantheon to comprehend.
“Kiku has a point,” he said. “Through no fault of our own, it’s very likely this show won’t be mounted with the extravagance the Olympians have come to expect. The blame will accrue to us, even though we’re the victims too.” No surprise there— victim-blaming was another of the pantheon’s greatest hits. “Couldn’t you request at least three carpenters, an electrician, and six costumers?”
Hermes snorted. “Not likely. One new technician. However…” He stretched the word out, his onyx eyes glinting red when the soda machine lights flashed on again. “They agreed that you could pull in some ringers. Clotho, Lachesis, and”— he mimed scissors with one hand—“ Atropos are on deck for costumes.”
Lonnie’s smile turned to a grimace. The Fates. Wonderful. Just what they needed to set them all at ease.
“Prometheus is handling the lighting design.” Hermes scratched the back of his neck. “You’ll have to work around his schedule, though. The daily…” He pointed at his abdomen. “You know.” All of them, Greek and non-Greek, winced. “They’ve also agreed to push back the performance by a week.”
“A week.” Lonnie kept his temper in check, because losing it with the gods hadn’t worked out well for so many of them. “That set took us all year to build.”
“Yes, but you were in Limbo then. Now that you’re here, in this dimension”— he nudged Wilson’s ribs with his elbow—“ it’ll be a lot easier to hold those hammers, am I right?” He grinned at them.
Nobody grinned back.
Lonnie sighed. “Where are we getting this alleged technician?” Horror pooled in his belly, his eyes popping wide. “You’re not going to kill somebody, are you? Just so we can rebuild the set?”
“Keep your shirt on, Lonnie.” He winked at Wilson. “You can take yours off any time, big guy.”
“Hermes.” Lonnie loaded his tone with warning. Wilson just rolled his eyes.
“Okay, okay,” Hermes huffed. “It’s all copacetic, I promise. I already posted the job description.”
Lonnie shared a mystified glance with Tovah and Wilson. “Posted the job description? Where? Some cosmic call board?”
“Something like that.” He winked at Wilson again and lifted into the air. “Don’t worry. It’s all taken care of.” He zigged and zagged through the air, stopping at the green room door to gaze back at Wilson, hold his hand up with fingers spread between his lips and ear, and mouth call me. Then he blinked out.
Lonnie winced. “Sorry about that, Wilson. I’ll talk to him again.”
Wilson shrugged. “Nah. It’s okay. He’s never gone further than this really awkward flirting. And he only does it when other people are around. No inappropriate god privileges invoked.”
“Must be the first time ever,” Tovah groused. “I’m still not sure I trust him.”
“He’s their messenger, and if nothing else, he takes pride in his work. I’m sure he did what he said.” Lonnie considered the smirk on Hermes’s face as he’d disappeared. Yes, the god would do what he said, but Lonnie wasn’t convinced there wouldn’t be some kind of catch. There usually was with Olympians.
They all began to file out of the green room. “Do you suppose we’ll get to interview the candidates?” Fred asked. “I mean, if they’re not gonna kill anybody, they’ll have to recruit someone who’s already dead, right? Hey!” He brightened. “Maybe we could get Leonardo DaVinci. He was brilliant.”
Lonnie waggled one hand. “I kinda doubt it. He was more of a designer than a builder, and if he’s already moved on, why would he commit to two weeks in Purgatory?”
Arachne’s eyes rounded. “Maybe he ended up in a worse place. Or with a worse fate. You know. Like Ixion on that fire wheel. Or Sisyphus with that stupid boulder. Or, you know, turned into a blasted spider.”
“I suppose it’s possible. But we really need somebody who’s a practical problem solver rather than a conceptual one.”
And probably somebody who didn’t have much to lose. Because you’d have to be damn desperate to agree to mount a show in Purgatory.
An Echo in the Sorrow by Hailey Turner
“The only way to win is to take them out completely. That’s going to be a costly fight in terms of blood and territory,” Jono said.
“What about our alliances?” Wade asked.
Jono shook his head. “Their assistance in maintaining our borders is helpful, but we need to be the ones to push Estelle and Youssef out. This is our fight.”
“What about going the direct route and meeting them in the challenge ring?” Marek asked.
“I wouldn’t trust any fight that happens in that place,” Amelia said flatly.
Other people in the crowd echoed her statement. Patrick had never been to the challenge ring located beneath the god pack home in Hamilton Heights. The underground space was familiar to everyone else from the times all the alphas had been summoned to meetings. He’d seen the aftermath of fights held in other challenge rings to know they were bloody spaces. He agreed with Amelia though—no fight held in a space controlled by Estelle and Youssef could be handled fairly.
“I’m not sure how much help the fae will be able to provide right now. Tiarnán was summoned to Tír na nÓg today on an emergency basis. He’s been our liaison for the fae, and I don’t know when he’ll return,” Sage said.
Patrick shrugged. “His absence shouldn’t affect the alliance. We—”
A loud explosion in the bar above cut him off, magic crashing against the wards embedded in Tempest’s walls. They flashed fire bright for a split second, nearly blinding Patrick. Before the glow faded, Patrick was on his feet and racing for the stairs, Jono right on his heels. The crowd of alphas peeled away from his headlong rush forward, giving them both space.
K. Evan Coles is a mother and tech pirate by day and a writer by night. She is a dreamer who, with a little hard work and a lot of good coffee, coaxes words out of her head and onto paper.
K. lives in the northeast United States, where she complains bitterly about the winters, but truly loves the region and its diverse, tenacious and deceptively compassionate people. You’ll usually find K. nerding out over books, movies and television with friends and family. She’s especially proud to be raising her son as part of a new generation of unabashed geeks.
K.’s books explore LGBTQ+ romance in contemporary settings.
Connor Crowe grew up reading stories about dragons, magic, and adventure. He often liked to imagine himself as a character in those stories, and as he grew older he began to write some of them down. He couldn't just write any old fantasy, though. As a die-hard romantic, he tells stories of men finding true love amidst adversity.
When you read a Connor Crowe book, you know you're getting action-packed fantasy mpreg that will make your heart race in more ways than one ;)
Michele is married to an awesome guy that puts up with her and all the burnt dinners she makes—hey, sometimes characters are a bit distracting, and who doesn’t plot when they’re supposed to be cooking? They live together in Baltimore, Maryland with two little monsters, a three-legged fiend, and a little old man (aka their two sons, their cat, and their senior dog). She hopes to rescue another cat soon, and if her hubby wouldn’t kill her, she’d get more than one… and maybe a few more dogs as well.
She loves creating worlds filled with lots of love, chosen family, and of course, magic, but she also likes making the characters fight for that happy ending. She hopes to one day write all the stories in her head—even if there are too many to count!
Multi-Rainbow Award winner E.J. Russell—grace, mother of three, recovering actor—holds a BA and an MFA in theater, so naturally she’s spent the last three decades as a financial manager, database designer, and business intelligence consultant (as one does). She’s recently abandoned data wrangling, however, and spends her days wrestling words.
E.J. is married to Curmudgeonly Husband, a man who cares even less about sports than she does. Luckily, CH loves to cook, or all three of their children (Lovely Daughter and Darling Sons A and B) would have survived on nothing but Cheerios, beef jerky, and satsuma mandarins (the extent of E.J.’s culinary skill set).
E.J. lives in rural Oregon, enjoys visits from her wonderful adult children, and indulges in good books, red wine, and the occasional hyperbole.
Hailey Turner is big city girl who spoils her cats rotten and has a demanding day job that she loves, but not as much as she loves writing. She’s been writing since she was a young child and enjoys reading almost as much as creating a new story. Hailey loves stories with lots of action, gritty relationships, and an eventual HEA that satisfies the heart.
K Evan Coles
GOOGLE PLAY / BOOKBUB / B&N
EMAIL: coles.k.evan@gmail.com
Connor Crowe
Michele Notaro
EJ Russell
Overexposed by K Evan Coles
That Magical Moment by Connor Crowe
Wishing on a Dream by Michele Notaro
Purgatory Playhouse by EJ Russell
An Echo in the Sorrow by Hailey Turner
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