Summary:
In the hushed solitude of a desert mountaintop, Asa Beck, a centuries-old vampire, perches on the precipice of his existence. With the horizon aglow, heralding the impending sunrise to the east, he grapples with a lifetime burdened by immortality and the shadows of a tormented past.
As the first rays of dawn paint the sky in amber and gold, Asa's thoughts drift back to the origin of his immortal curse—the twisted path that led him to embrace the darkness within and the relentless thirst that etched deep scars upon his soul.
Yet amid this bleakness, there remains a flicker of bittersweet memory—the one man Asa dared to love, a beacon of light in his endless night. Their love, forbidden and fleeting, lingers as a poignant reminder of a human heart that once beat within his chest.
With the sun's ascent looming ever closer, Asa confronts an existential crossroad. Should he continue his existence as a creature of the night, forever haunted by the echoes of his past and the insatiable hunger that defines him? Or does he dare to seek redemption, to find solace in the eternal slumber that awaits with the breaking dawn?
As the first rays crest the horizon, casting long shadows across the barren landscape, Asa Beck, the immortal wanderer, finds himself at the brink of a decision that will define his eternal fate.
There is a lot of Rick R Reed's work I haven't read yet but everything I have has never failed to entertain. Here Comes the Sun has a very dark feel, it's vampires right? But there is a very internal darkness about Asa Beck that puts a vamps life in perspective and you can't help but feel for the poor soul. That moment of truth is held till the very end and I won't spoil it, just know my heart could have went either way. Again, a story short on quantity but full to the brim on quality. Perfect read for this time of year but great anytime.
Summary:
Holiday Surprise #7
Kaleb's life is almost perfect, all he needs is to find his mate.
Kaleb loves his life. He has the greatest job in the world: painting decorative displays on windows. It lets him be outside and creative. His best friend is that ideal blend of supportive and teasing that keeps him happy. In fact, there's only one—well two—things missing: his alpha and their eventual family. But he knows his fated mate is out there, and he's going to live his best life so that his alpha finds a man who has made happiness for himself—including by attending a costume party to benefit the Valle Granja Art Museum.
Frankie's ready to settle down, but no omega wants to mate the class clown.
Frankie has watched his friends find their partners and start their families, but all his attempts at dating fall flat, and the lonliness is starting to get to him. However their efforts to include him more and keep him from feeling left out verge on the absurd when he's invited to be the third in a throuple costume at a Halloween party for the museum. But will it be the place where he can find himself a man to love?
More importantly, can they find each other in a crowd of costumes and masks?
Costume Party Crusg is an 17K word , non-shifter, M/M, mpreg, omegaverse romance
Original Review October 2024:
Another series I've been reading as the coinciding holidays approach and I'll admit some characters make appearances from previous entries as friends and co-workers which helps to set the scene of a found family kind of community. Having said that and having not read all the entries in order myself I can honestly add these are standalones.
I don't want to spoil anything so this will short and to the point. Costume Party Crush is so fun, so uplifting, so real that it's almost hard not to believe in the reality of mpreg. Kaleb and Frankie are so perfect together, talk about timing being on their side. Such a sweet, romantic, fun, friendly, and humorous tale that really grabs your heart, you can't help but cheer for these two. A winning gem that you wished could be longer and yet you know sometimes length can interfere with the greatness making the novella the perfect format. That's not to say I wouldn't mind seeing Kaleb and Frankie make appearances in other stories or get a Xmassy short to let the fun shine again😉.
For the Love of the Ghost by Jackie North
Summary:Love Across Time #6
Soulmates across time. A love that conquers even time itself.
In present day, all Finn wants is to leave behind the family farm and become a ghost hunter.
In 1912, Artie works hard to save enough money to escape the rumors about the kind of man he is, a man who loves other men. He has vowed never to open his heart to another.
Finn has taken up residence in a haunted hotel. There, he’s set up his equipment to track down evidence of the hotel’s three resident ghosts.
When Finn is thrust back into the year 1912, his only thought is to get home. The problem is, he’s fallen for Artie who, in the future, is one of the hotel’s ghosts.
Will Finn get back home? Or will his feelings for Artie cause him to stay in the past, leaving his future behind him?
A male/male time travel romance complete with the scent of lavender, shared beds, daring rescues, found families, root beer floats, and true love across time.
Original Review September 2024:
Despite very much being a read-in-order kind of gal even when dealing with standalone series I once again jumped out of order. Returning(which is long overdue) to Jackie North's Love Across Time series I jumped to the final entry, For the Love of a Ghost. I won't lie, my reasoning was purely timeframe, 1912. As much as I was sucked into the first entry, Heroes for Ghosts because of it's WW1 setting, the truth is I love reading stories set in the first half of the 1900s in general so when I saw #6 was 1912 it seemed the natural thing to dive into. So glad I did!
I always love a good time travel story because there is so much moral dilemma involved. Is it okay to change the past? Sure, you may be improving someone's life but as we learned in junior high science, cause and effect go hand in hand, will that initial improvement create new ripples and how far will those ripples go and how many will the path of said ripples effect? It is truly mind boggling and if one thinks about it too much you can drive yourself crazy.
So let's talk a few particulars of For the Love of a Ghost, not too many as to not spoil anything. Finn is chasing a dream to be a ghost hunter so he chooses a haunted hotel with 3 reported guests who seem to have all died very close together in the summer of 1912. I'll admit that fact alone had my mind going in a very specific direction but did it follow the author's destination? Perhaps, perhaps not but either way what a wonderful ride. Anywho, suddenly Finn goes from ghost hunting to time traveler where he unwittingly changed one ghost's course. I won't say more plot-wise but this is where the whole ripple effect begins.
As for Artie, well his life has not been easy and then a handsome stranger saves his life but then the stranger appears again and again. It's obvious Artie and Finn have a connection but how deep that connection goes is what sucks you in and won't let go.
You know what? I feel I've said too much already just know that this story is incredible.
Jackie North has meshed good old fashioned romance with paranormal and sci-fi in such an entertaining way. The world building is so strong, the characters are so real, the weaving of what ifs, what's real, what's the right thing to do, and then keeping it straight when the earlier mentioned ripples create new futures? I'll freely admit, I have always had a vivid imagination but I don't think I could have kept things as on point as Miss North does. A winning gem that will keep you enthralled to the very last page.
Summary:
RATING:
Black Veil #3
Learning he’s the last seer should make Bashiri feel special, unique. In this case, it’s the most terrifying and heartbreaking realization ever.
Bashiri spends his days loving his animals, running his own meditation studio, and knowing his kind are hunted while hiding in plain sight. He also spends a lot of time avoiding a certain grumpy vampire who rejected him one too many times. When his life begins to change and enemies become bolder, the Blood Boss sends his vampires as protection. Including the sullen Petru.
Petru’s focus is on keeping Black Veil safe. He has no time for foolish fortune tellers. Bashiri is a distraction he has pushed aside so often, the seer finally stayed away. Until Bashiri’s life is threatened and Petru must keep him alive. As he protects the seer, it becomes harder to ignore the love he feels until he finally realizes he no longer wants to.
The journey to keep Bashiri alive becomes harder as his centennial birthday approaches, especially when the shield that secretly conceals him turns to shreds. Great secrets are revealed as new and magical creatures appear to help Bashiri in a fight where failure is not an option. Petru and Bashiri want eternity, but will their determined, powerful enemies destroy their future and their love instead?
The Last Seer is book 3 in the Black Veil Series and should be read in order. The Blood Boss is book one followed by Emperor of Dragons. There is no cliffhanger.
Original Audiobook Review October 2024:
Well I didn't let The Last Seer go as long as the previous entry, Emperor of Dragons, but it still went unlistened to for 4 months. Shameful😉😉.
I honestly can't think of anything to add to my original review so I'll just talk about the narration. For the longest time I didn't think I'd like dual narration, which is odd in itself as I love radio shows of the 30s, 40, and 50s with full casts and they are the original audio entertainment. Tim Paige and Declan Winters once again bring such rich life to Davidson King's words. Again I don't know who narrarates which character but they are perfectly fitted.
Such a dangerously delicious delight in book and audio format, but be sure you have a few hours open because you won't want to stop once you start.
Original July Book of the Month 2023:
HOLY HANNAH BATMAN!!!! Davidson King has done it once again! By now I shouldn't be surprised . . . well I'm not surprised at the brilliance of her storytelling but I still get surprised at just how invested I get into it.
Okay, so "surprised" isn't exactly the right word but time just stood still while I was reading The Last Seer. For family reasons I wasn't able to read Seer without unwanted interruptions but while I had my Kindle open between daily demands, nothing else existed. I'd say I felt like a fly on the wall of Cain's mansion or Bashiri's meditation studio but it was more than that, it was a symbiotic connection to the characters. King has a way with the written word that I felt like I could feel whatever Bashiri or Petru was feeling, I was seeing it from their angle. Many times it's as if the story is unfolding in my front yard but rarely do I feel part of the story, see actions through the characters' eyes. I suppose in a way perhaps that's down to Bashiri's visions and how he taps into his power, he connects to the possible vision. I can't go as far as to say Seer is my favorite so far in the author's Black Veil series but wow it's pretty darn close.
Let's talk about our MCs, Bashiri and Petru. They hit our radar in book 2, Emperor of Dragons, you just knew that they were getting a journey of their own because if they didn't the villagers were going to rise up😉. Bashiri conjures up all kinds of Mama Bear feels, it's been a long time since I read a character I wanted to protect more. On the surface he seems fragile and, well not weak by any definition of the word, but perhaps isolated which can leave a person feeling weak or defenseless. Bashiri is not defenseless even though he is unaware of just how powerful he is and will become. You could say he is a bit clueless in the world of attraction and what that can bring out, especially when it comes to Petru. These are all qualities that strengthen his endearing side and kick my Mama Bear senses into high gear.
Petru. What can I say about Petru? I would never want to anger a vampire or get on their wrong side but I certainly wanted to take an iron skillet to the back of his noggin a few times and scream "OPEN YOUR EYES TO SEE WHAT EVERYONE ELSE SEES!!!" Some might say, talk about clueless but he's not clueless, just inexperienced in the ways of emotions. Don't get me wrong, yes the iron skillet would make an appearance if I showed up at Cain's mansion but so would a stern look ending with a Mama Bear hug.
Sometimes we just can't see our own garden because we're tending to everyone else's yard. Watching the pair finally water their own gardens is fun, exciting, and packed to the rafters with plenty of thistles and blossoms.
I've talked mostly about the MCs as individuals and a couple, leaving the plot untouched. It's going to remain untouched so not to spoil anything, just know that it too is jam packed with equal parts dangerous mayhem and intriguing mystery as well as a beautiful blending of paranormal and mythology. There may not be an overall story arc in Black Veil but characters carry over as do a few plot mentions which generally are in reference to said characters and the author writes those points in a way so you won't be lost if you haven't been reading from the beginning. HOWEVER, I highly recommend reading in order simply because I felt more connected to the characters, main, secondary, and cameo because any friendships/relationships were experienced as they grew and strengthened. But that's just me, after all I am a series-read-in-order kind of gal😉.
Gone But Not Forgotten by Charlie Cochet
Summary:TIN #1
Codename: Chaos.
Former THIRDS agent turned TIN operative Dexter J. Daley is a legend. Just ask him, he’ll tell you. Chaos isn’t so much a codename as it is Dex’s state of being. As a spy for the Therian Intelligence Network, Dex has spent the last four years bringing down the bad guys. Hell, his middle name is literally Justice. But a new mission brings him face-to-face with a different kind of monster, one with a weapon that can alter the course of history. Failure is not an option, but as the mission goes from dangerous to deadly, Dex finds himself up against a far more terrifying force, and this time, there’s no escape.
Codename: Atlas
As former team leader for Destructive Delta and now a TIN operative, Sloane Daley knows what it feels like to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. But no matter the challenge, Sloane knows that together, he and his husband, Dex, can overcome anything. When their latest mission takes a personal turn, Sloane is forced to confront the very thing that created him. Looking back to a past he thought he’d left behind is the least of Sloane’s problems, because the greatest threat he’s about to encounter… is his own husband.
Original Review August 2024:
How? Oh how did I let this sit on my Kindle for nearly 3 years?!?!?!?! Okay so 2021 wasn't the best year in our house and that September saw my mother get out of the hospital after 108 days and as her 24/7 caregiver things were busy. But 3 years?!?!?!?!?! I listen to at least one if not 2 THIRDS books every October so it isn't as if I forgot how brilliant Charlie Cochet's therian/human universe is. Well, 3 years or not, I finally got to the initial entry in the THIRDS sequel series TIN, Gone But Not Forgotten and boy did it justify the adrenaline rush I knew would come.
Dexter J Daley is just as quirky, loveable, and dare I say dangerous as he always has been, more so perhaps. Frankly, I couldn't think of a more fitting code name than Chaos because that is literally what follows in his wake. Meaning to or not, Dex always finds a way to turn his danger magnate personality up a notch. The man is an enigma. Even after all these years and all the tests no one, including his husband Sloane who knows him best and even Dex himself, fully understands or knows just who or what Dex is or capable of. I won't spoil anything but boy are you about to find out.
Speaking of Sloane Daley, his code name Atlas is also 100% fitting. He is carrying so much weight on his shoulders it's hard to imagine just how he stands tall anymore but I guess that goes to show just the kind of man and therian he is. Course, as Dex for a partner both on and off the job, I don't know how he's still sane. Dex would have me going every which way that I wouldn't know my left from my right but I guess that's why they are perfectly suited: they balance each other.
As for Gone But Not Forgotten's case the men and their team find themselves facing might just be one of the hardest yet. They may have had past cases with more mystery, with more who did it questions to solve but I can't think of any that is more physically and emotionally taxing for the pair. There is definitely danger of course but they are trained for that, it's the emotional side that really pulls at both partners. I'm going to stop there before I spoil too much for anyone who is like me and arrived late to the party. Just know that you will be put through the emotional wringer but boy is it worth it!
Dex and Sloane may be the stars of this TIN beginning but we see old and new faces, friends and enemies, humor and suspense, drama and action, and of course lots of heart, warmth and ache. Gone But Not Forgotten is definitely the whole package and I'm not sure when book 2 will be released but I can tell you it won't take 3 years for me to dive in.
Random Paranormal Tales of 2024
Here Comes the Sun by Rick R Reed
The vampire Asa Beck waits at the top of the Araby Trail in Palm Springs. Below him, in the murky darkness, the Coachella Valley stretches out, with its settlements of homes, its turbines, and its mountains rising like cathedrals all around.
Right now, he can only imagine these things at the top of this heavily-trafficked trail, now empty, save for the mournful cry of a coyote, somewhere near. Sunrise is still at least an hour off, which allows him to sit quietly and contemplate his life. Or is what he contemplates truly a life? Is it something else? Perhaps a living death? A horror story? A fairy tale? A brush with immortality?
Whatever it is, he wants it to be over. Done. Kaput. Nearly two hundred years walking the earth should be enough for anybody, right?
He’s anticipating the rising of the sun, cruel and merciless here in southern California, especially in August. In an instant, it will transform him from the living dead to a pile of ash. Magic. He’s never been one for half-gestures. If he’s going to do something, he wants to make it dramatic. He imagines a huge ball of flame followed by a billow of black smoke rising up to the sky.
This image, oddly, comforts him. He plays it over and over.
Costume Party Crush by Lacey Daize
Chapter 1 - Kaleb
A curlicue of bright green appeared on the glass, and I finished off the pumpkin stem with a flourish.
I took a step back to examine my work, trying to decide the best place to paint a leaf. Just past the loop appeared to be the most logical location, and I moved in again to add it. Satisfied with my pumpkin’s shape, I switched to a black paint to create the face of the Jack-o-lantern.
I hummed along to my music and swayed slightly as I worked. Fall was the best time of year. For a couple glorious months I could let my creativity really shine, and not just paint ‘Grand Opening’ or ‘Sale!’ as colorful as the business would let me. No, I got to paint pumpkins, skeletons, Santas and snowflakes.
Businesses who rarely called lined up to have decorative displays painted on their windows, and I loved it. I could drive past strip-malls and my work would be right there for the world to see. Shoppers would stroll past in the Valle Granja mall, and I could never hide my grin when somebody stopped to admire my creations.
I grabbed my bat-shaped sponge and dabbed it in the black paint, then used it to place several bats flying above my scene. Once there was a nice balance I set my tools aside and took several steps back so that I could look at the big picture.
I grinned as I admired my work. The secretary inside had asked for a pumpkin under a spooky tree, with ‘Happy Halloween!’ in bold letters, and I thought my painting fit the bill. I decided to add a spider dangling from the tree, but it was the finishing touch.
Satisfied, I started putting away my paints and tools.
“Oh my God, it’s perfect!” squealed the secretary as she stepped outside.
I turned and grinned. “Thank you!”
She held out a check. “This was the price, right?”
I looked, nodded, and accepted the payment. “That’s correct.”
She clapped her hands together and looked at the painting again. “Do you have a card so we can have you do our Christmas windows too?”
“Absolutely! Let me grab one.”
I rummaged through my case until I found the card with the fewest paint smudges on it, then passed it over.
She took another minute to praise the windows as I took some photos for my portfolio, then she thanked me and disappeared back inside.
I looked down the strip mall, trying to decide if I had enough time for another storefront, or if the better plan was to stop in and attempt to schedule a couple places for the next day. Eventually I ended up doing a single pane for an insurance agent, and managed to set up two small stores for the morning.
I was just packing my gear into my trunk when my phone rang.
“Kaleb,” I answered, not bothering to check the caller ID.
“Mr. Anderson?” a pleasant male voice asked.
“Yes?”
“This is Sean Jefferson from the City of Valle Granja.”
A stone started to form in the pit of my stomach. Had I missed some sort of license renewal? Why would the city be calling?
“How can I help you?” I asked, forcing a polite tone.
Sean cleared his throat. “You do window painting, right?”
“Yeah?”
“Great!” he chirped. “I saw some of your work last week, and I got the ok to ask if you’d be willing to do a mural for City Hall.”
I blinked and found myself unable to breathe. Being able to paint the city hall windows would be a major gig, even if it was only a single pane.
“I… um… when would you like to meet to discuss?” I asked.
“I’m around until five today,” he answered. “Or I can make time over the next few days, except Friday morning.”
“I can come by right now, if that works.”
“That would be fantastic. Just ask for me at reception.”
“Sean… Jefferson, right?”
“That’s right.”
“I’ll be right over.”
“Great. I look forward to meeting you.”
I got into my car, then did a happy dance. A piece that was done for the city would be an excellent addition to my portfolio, plus it was an extra level of exposure.
I did fine with my regular customers, plus picking up randoms by walking malls and shopping centers during holidays. But if I could gain more repeat customers due to them seeing my work at City Hall? That would be fantastic.
I gave myself another minute to get the giddiness out of my system. It wasn’t a done deal yet, but to be called at all was a major boost to my ego. Then I started the car and headed that way.
Fifteen minutes later I’d parked in the underground lot and ran a hand across my buzz-cut brown hair to ensure that there were no paint flecks caught in it. Finally an elevator let me out in the lobby of the city offices.
The receptionist looked up and smiled as I approached. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Sean Jefferson. Kaleb Anderson, I think he’s expecting me.”
She nodded. “I’ll call him down.”
“Thank you.”
I stepped to one side to wait, watching as people came and went.
“Mr. Anderson?”
I turned and blinked slightly at the man extending his hand. I’d expected to see an alpha wearing the uniform of the building maintenance department, but instead he was an omega in a cozy-looking sweater. “That’s me,” I replied when I got over my shock.
“Nice to meet you,” he said as we shook hands. “And thanks for coming down on such short notice.”
“No problem,” I replied, then decided to get right to the point. “So you wanted me to paint some windows?”
He grinned and clapped his hands together. “Yes! I’ve always thought we should do something better than taped-up cardboard cutouts in the windows facing Civic Plaza. It took some doing, and it’s coming out of my discretionary budget, but I finally got building maintenance to agree to it.”
“You’re not in building maintenance?” I asked.
He laughed and shook his head. “No. I’m in the events department.”
Events, which meant that not only was he impressed enough to reach out, but he’d had to go through extra effort to get me there. I almost pinched myself to determine if I was dreaming or not.
“Wanna see the windows?” Sean asked.
I nodded, and he motioned for me to follow. We walked past a set of windows that opened onto First Street, and I wondered why. Then he paused and opened another door for me.
I did pinch myself when I realized that he really meant it when he’d said Civic Plaza.
The windows were large, letting abundant light into the lobby. But more importantly was that they were probably the biggest available stage for my work. It wasn’t just shoppers passing by, or cars. No, anything I put on those windows would be the backdrop for any Halloween events on the plaza—of which there were plenty.
My art, behind the concerts, pumpkin run, children’s costume showcase, and more.
It was the kind of break every artist hoped for, and I found myself hyperventilating slightly from the realization that it was happening to me.
“You ok?”
It took me a moment before I grasped that Sean was talking to me. I nodded. “Yeah, just shocked.”
He chuckled. “I guess I should have warned you over the phone.”
I shook my head. “No, I might not have believed you if you did.”
His chuckles turned to full laughter. “Fair enough.”
“So what were you looking for?” I asked, trying to put my shock aside in order to be a proper businessman.
Sean smiled. “That’s kind of up to you. I want to see what you can do. We’ve got some scaffolding or ladders if you need them, or you can do shorter so that it’s all work you can do from the ground. We’d like at least half the windows done, centered from the doors out. Only real requirement is that the words ‘Happy Halloween’ are prominent.”
I took a deep breath and looked at the windows, my imagination already running wild. What could I paint on such a canvas?
“Is this something you think you can do?” Sean asked.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Great! When do you think you can get started?”
I briefly considered my already scheduled clients. “Next week? Should I send some sketches to you first?”
“That’s perfect. And I’d like that if possible, but only if you think there’s enough time for that. I’ve seen your work, and since this project isn’t being bid on, I think as long as it’s family-friendly it’ll be ok.”
“When do you need it done?”
“As soon as possible. Ideally I’d have had you on it several weeks ago, but this all came together last-minute.”
“Got it.”
“Great! Let’s go inside and discuss your rate.”
I pinched myself again for good measure as I followed Sean back inside and up to his office.
This was really happening, and I couldn’t be more excited.
For the Love of the Ghost by Jackie North
Chapter One
Finn laid out his ghost hunting equipment on the bed: the EMF meter, the motion sensor, the infrared thermometer, the motion camera, the copper divining rods. Most of it was not new or even that expensive, but he was always careful to pack everything in a small padded chest of his own design, which he had lined with high-impact foam that squeaked when he put anything in or pulled anything out.
The EVP recorder was new, as his last one had broken when he’d dropped it the week before in the middle of a ghost hunt at Pioneer Cemetery in Old Town Harlin. Of course, ghosts didn’t haunt graveyards—everybody knew that—but he’d been invited by the Spirits of Harlin group to be an expert during a ghost hunting party made up of a busload of Japanese and Korean tourists.
The hunt had been a blast, and he’d enjoyed the tourists’ enthusiasm and curiosity, so while the whole evening had been more laughter and chatter than quiet attentiveness to the spirit world, it had been great. That kind of experience, ghost cred, would go a long way towards when he would finally be able to submit his audition package to Ghost Force, a growing Youtube channel with thousands of followers.
The audition package was why he was staying at the Harlin Hotel, only half an hour’s drive away from the house he grew up in, and still lived in, much to his own dismay. He’d taken English Lit as a major without really thinking about where it would take him. Now, college was over and he had the summer to figure out what he was really going to do before he packed up his bags and boxes and moved on with his life.
Everything felt like it was standing still, waiting, holding its breath. The only thing moving in his life were the ghosts, or at least the search for ghosts. Nobody had proof and everybody wanted some. Finn aimed to be the guy who got it, though he half-suspected that the hunt was the thing, the excitement of the chase. Just like the guys on that show about the bottomless pit who were always looking for evidence that there was buried treasure, there was always tons of evidence, but nothing that proved anything. The chase itself was the thing.
When his cellphone blared out the theme of Grim Grinning Ghosts, he answered it.
“Hey, Dad,” he said, flopping into the old-fashioned looking armchair in the corner. He grabbed the EVP recorder to heft in his hand, enjoying the sleek, new feel of it.
“Hey, Finn,” said Dad. Finn could hear the smile in his voice and smiled back, as he usually did.
“How are the bees?” he asked.
“They’re still buzzing,” said Dad. “How are the ghosts? You set up yet?”
“Not yet,” said Finn. “Thank you again for the loan to pay for the hotel room.”
“It’s not a loan, son, it’s a gift.” Dad sighed; they’d been over this before. “I just wish I could have afforded a room at the Stanley Hotel for you.”
“That’s not it, Dad,” said Finn, sighing right back. “They didn’t want me up there. Didn’t want me messing with their predetermined level of spookiness.”
“Is that what they said?”
“Not exactly.” Finn traced the On/Off button on the EVP recorder with his thumb.
It had been hard to swallow his disappointment over the Stanley Hotel’s refusal to let him openly hunt ghosts in their hotel. Sure, he could have snuck his equipment in and pretended he was an ordinary tourist. He could have skulked around, joined the Haunted Tour group like he was just anybody out for a lark and a scare, and not who he really was: a real ghost hunter.
“They just didn’t want the intrusion, I think. You know, Stephen King did his thing up there, and now the hotel will never be the same.”
“I think it’s the better for it,” said Dad, stating his mind as he always did. “They’d not have half the business they do if not for him.”
“You’ll meet him one day, Dad,” said Finn. “I know you will. Just keep writing those letters.”
“That was one time,” said Dad, his voice rising in mock self-defense. “One time, damn it, one time I wrote him, and it was a letter that needed writing.”
“I know, I know. Elba is a god, and the movie was a dud.” Finn laughed. “The Dark Tower should never have been made into a movie.”
“That’s right, son, and don’t you forget it.” Dad chuckled, soft and low, letting Finn know that all was right with the world. “Well, anyway, the Hotel Harlin is plenty haunted, isn’t it? You could get a brand new scoop rather than pacing in Mr. King’s footsteps.”
“He would be honored to have me pace,” said Finn, pretending to be all serious about it. “But yes, I’ve got three lovely ghosts to find and capture on film. I think they did the lobby up since the time you and Mom stayed for your anniversary. Did you hear about that?”
“No,” said Dad. “What’d they do?”
“They’ve got a little, I don’t know, tableau with three portraits in these fancy wooden Victorian frames. There’s a little table with a notebook for each ghost with articles pasted in, and newspaper clippings, and letters from folks who stayed at the hotel who say they’ve had encounters.”
“Nice. Did you take the tour yet?”
“That’s later,” said Finn. “It’ll probably be one of the cute kind of tours, you know, so as not to scare the residents overly much.”
“Not everyone enjoys being scared,” said Dad. “Just us’ns.”
“And Mom,” said Finn, laughing a silent laugh. “Even though she won’t admit it.”
“Mia’s the only hold-out,” said Dad. “All My Little Pony and not enough Scooby-Doo.”
“She sullies the Keating name,” said Finn, laughing out loud this time, though it was absolutely not true. His sister Mia was the nicest person on the planet, with a smile that could charm angels and devils alike. “She home yet from the big city?”
“Tomorrow for two weeks,” said Dad. “Though I’m not sure if she’s still bi or if it’s boys this summer.”
“She’s always bi, Dad,” said Finn, kindly but firmly. “But I think she’s seeing a guy named Toby.”
“You know,” said Dad, conversationally, “I don’t care who she loves, to be honest, as long as they’re nice.”
“Can you imagine Mia putting up with someone who’s not nice?” asked Finn, arching his brow even though his Dad couldn’t possibly see the sarcasm on his face.
“No,” said Dad. “At any rate, your Mom packed you some lavender honey and she says to be sure and have a spoonful every day.”
“Thank you,” said Finn. Lavender honey was the most sought-after flavor of honey that his Dad’s farm, Finnwood Farms, produced. “Tell her thank you for me, will you?”
“I sure will. And listen—” Dad paused, and Finn knew what was coming. “I sure as heckfire hope you get this audition thing with the ghost folks—”
“The Ghost Force,” said Finn, being helpful.
“The Ghost Force will love you and your ghost hunting skills, but you know you can always come home to Finnwood and work on the farm with me and your mother. There’s plenty to be done here. You could write about ghosts, too.”
“I know, Dad.” Finn couldn’t think of more words to say than that. Finnwood Farms was a family business. Dad and Mom had bought the property north of Harlin years ago from an elderly widow whose husband had died. They’d renamed the farm after him when he’d been born and replenished the soil and planted a small assortment of crops that they sold at local farmer’s markets, but their big sell was honey, local honey, drawn from bees who danced in the air above the lush rows of lavender and the green swaths of alfalfa.
There was no better smell in the world than those fields, no better sight than the green and purple against a blue sky, no better thing than to lie awake in bed on a warm night in August and hear the rain pattering on the plants.
There was nothing better than the farm, but it wasn’t the whole world. It couldn’t be everything. At least it had started feeling that way, when Finn had been halfway through college. Now that he was done, having just graduated in May, he wanted to test that theory. Hence the audition tape to Ghost Force, who could hire him on to be the local man in the field, so to speak.
The applicant who was chosen would cover hauntings and spirit activity in Colorado, New Mexico, Wyoming, and Utah. Ghost Force would cover half the cost of setting up a van that he could live in, a van that Finn intended getting painted up to look spooky and evocative. Dad had joked he should get it painted to look like the Scooby-Doo van, which would be fun, of course, but it would be too noticeable and not suitable for a serious-minded ghost hunter like himself.
“You need to spread your wings, and I get it, son, I do.”
“I know you do, Dad,” said Finn. There was nobody more supportive than his Dad, unless it was his Mom or Mia. “And I love the farm, but I just feel I need to do this. It’s all so perfect there, but I need to know if there’s more.”
“There’s always more, Finn,” said Dad, perfectly serious. “The question to answer is whether it’s worth it.”
“I know.” Finn put down the EVP recorder and checked his phone for the time. “All right, I’m off. Dinner’s at seven, and then the tour starts at eleven.”
“Whooooooo,” said Dad, making his best fake ghost sound. “I’m a ghooooost!” Then he laughed. “Try the chicken, I’ll be here all week.”
“Love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too, kiddo.”
Tapping the phone off with his thumb, Finn got up to put the EVP recorder back on the bed. He evaluated the equipment, all lined up in a row, and knew that while he might want an SLS camera, he didn’t need more stuff. What he needed was a chance, a chance to prove that his life could be interesting, that he wasn’t just a farm boy born to cut alfalfa and tend to bees. Sure, it had been fun when he was a kid, but it felt dull, now, compared to the dream of hunting ghosts.
The ghost bug had hit him hard two years before when his Nana had died. Nana Agnes Richter had lived in Denver in a retirement community, playing bridge with her gal pals, and going to dances, living her best life. It had been after a New Year’s Eve dance that she’d gone home and died peacefully in her bed with a smile on her face. At least that’s what Nana’s friends told him, and he’d believed it, wanted to believe it. Then he found out it was true.
He’d been staying in his old bedroom at the farmhouse before going back to the college dorms. The funeral was an oddly cheerful and well-attended event with many people devoted to Nana in attendance—more people than he realized had been her friends. That night he had gone to bed missing her so much that he felt like he’d been whacked up one side of his body and down the other with a very large broom handle.
Sleep had been restless and evasive, and he’d sat up at one point, thinking that his Mom had come in to comfort him. That was like her, except the person standing at the foot of his bed had not been Mom. Mom didn’t have goofy, curly hair like that, nor retro cat-eye shaped glasses, nor a house dress that had been artfully altered to look stylish. Nana did.
As Nana stood there, the shape of her was vague, like she’d been outlined in a soft grey crayon. Finn had looked at her with his mouth open, arms shaking beneath him. His heart raced, not with fear but with the joy of seeing her again.
He’d been a little remiss in visiting her since he’d started college, but when he had taken the time to drive to Denver, she’d always greeted him with the same warmth, with the same offer of chocolate covered graham crackers and milk, as though he was a small boy of seven or twelve instead of a fully grown man in his early twenties.
That kind of love was hard to come by and he’d treasured it, always. And then she’d been there, at the foot of his bed, looking at him like she had a secret to tell.
“Nana?” he’d asked, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb anybody in the house, as they had all been a little worn out by the funeral and needed their rest.
She had seemed to move toward him—to float, really— until she was close by his side. His brain had fired off questions, alight with amazement, but he could hardly find the words to speak as she reached out and seemed to touch his face. She didn’t really touch him; he didn’t feel any physical sensation, but he had sensed it. The hairs on his neck rose up and all of him tingled.
“I’m all right, Nana,” he’d said, not really understanding why he felt he needed to soothe her in any way. “Are you all right? Are you happy?”
He had sensed that she was. He’d sensed that she nodded at him, tipping her head to the side, in that way that she had, as if she was appraising him to see if there was anything he needed or wanted.
“I got the cookie jar you left me,” he’d said, wanting to cry at the thought of the five dollar cookie jar Nana bought from Target years and years ago. The thing was old and a little rusty around the edges, the plastic lid had a chip in it, but it was Nana’s cookie jar. Even empty of cookies, it had been full of memories when he’d held it in his hands. “But I gave it to Mia. She’s the one who’s going to have kids, not me. You know that, right?”
Nana had seemed to shake her head. She knew all about him being gay, though they’d never really talked about it. She didn’t seem to care about that, only that he was lonely, only that he needed someone in his life to love him.
That he was practically a virgin had seemed to be an easier topic of conversation between them. She’d been forever getting phone numbers off waiters and busboys in restaurants they’d dined in when he visited her. Most of those dates had gone well, and he’d had some fun, but nothing had ever come of them.
“Are you going to visit Mom, too?” he’d asked. “She misses you. I heard her crying.”
The question had seemed to move through Nana’s form and the energy shifted in the room, as though she was already walking to the door to open it, even as she stayed where she was.
“You can go, Nana,” he’d said. “I’m going to be okay, but she needs you now.”
As her form had drifted into nothingness, her energy had shifted, moving around in a little circle before going out the door, leaving him with more feelings in his heart than he’d known what to do with. He’d gotten up in the dark, not turning on the light as he paced the room, until he came to a stop in the place where Nana’s ghost had stood. He’d stood there for a good, long minute before he crawled back into bed.
The tears that had waited and waited came in a small storm, then. He buried the sounds in his pillow, and in the morning, was as cheerful as could be expected, though he looked at his Mom, waiting to see if she would say anything about Nana visiting her in the night. But she didn’t.
Nana had come to him two more times, looking fainter each time. She left traces of herself in his heart as well as the very strong feeling that she would always be looking out for him. Finally, when Nana wasn’t coming to his room anymore, having said her final goodbyes, it seemed, he brought it up to Mom. She’d cautiously admitted that yes, she’d felt something, but she had not known what it was, only that she wasn’t scared.
Dad had been asleep in the bed beside her, but when he found out about Nana’s ghost he’d pretended to be annoyed that he was the only one who had not seen a ghost—he, who adored Stephen King more than any of the author’s other readers.
This was, of course, to distract Mom from her grief and give her something else to focus on as she joined the playful teasing about the letter to King that Dad had written. But later, when she’d pulled Finn aside and wanted to know more, he told her everything, every detail, from the warmth of Nana’s presence to the love he’d felt filling the darkness of his room.
After that, after everything had settled down from the funeral, he’d started researching ghosts and hauntings and everything he could think of for an explanation. Right away he’d found that those who passed on typically wanted to be sure their loved ones were okay, so they would come back and visit for a few nights before floating off to the afterlife, or whatever it was that awaited them. Some ghosts came back for revenge and carried dark feelings and energies with them, wanting only to do harm.
Nobody knew, of course, what was really there after a person died, be it a heaven or a hell or a limbo of some kind. There was was tons of evidence to indicate that something was going on, and that spirits and ghostly energy hung around for a while—or even forever— depending on how they died. Nana had died happy, by all accounts, so he figured she was in some Big Bopper Heaven where dances were held every day and her dance card was never empty.
But what about other ghosts? Did he have a gift, or had he just been close with his Nana, who loved him, and was therefore able to see her after she passed away?
He’d wanted to know so he started watching YouTube vids about ghost hunting, and read all the books. Finally, he’d bought an EMF meter on Amazon for around twenty-five bucks. There were more expensive ones of course, but he was a college student on a budget and needed to be sensible. He’d also made sure to get his homework done and to show up at his work-study job in the library on time before allowing himself to play with the EMF meter.
He’d gone into old buildings on campus first, figuring they’d have energy—and yes, they did. Of course, the EMF could pick up electrical signals from wires, too, but he made sure to do readings in dark corners, and at different times of the day.
If the signals came from wires, they’d be the same readings each time. If the signals didn’t come from wires, but from paranormal energy, the readings would shift and move, and then—yeah, baby—he had a ghost on his hands. Or at least the revenants of a ghost, as some weren’t as potent and tended to move on more quickly than others.
He’d felt he could sense them talking to him, their voices coming across like faint whispers that he couldn’t understand. That was when he bought an EVP recorder so he could listen to their voices.
Not sure what to do with the results of his solitary ghost hunts, he’d joined several local ghost hunting groups, most of which were silly excuses to go drinking in graveyards and to brag about their encounters to anyone who would listen.
The group he liked was a small group of guys and gals in south Boulder who, when they’d found out he wasn’t the drinking-and-bragging type of ghost hunter, welcomed him cautiously and taught him what they knew. They called themselves the Boulder Paranormal Society and it was they who had shown him the possibility of being a ghost hunter for a living.
Of course, there were those who hunted ghosts to be Instagram or Youtube famous or whatever, but then there were those who truly wanted to know about the unknown, who wanted to help people. Then there was the Ghost Force, a group on Youtube who had it all: a great rep, cool gadgets, and were making money.
By the time Finn had been involved with the Boulder group for a year, auditions for Ghost Force had opened up for additional members. Finn was determined to be the one picked. You had to turn in an audition package that consisted of three EVPs with analysis, ten pictures of ghostly apparitions (only three of which could consist of just orbs), a night time infrared recording with temperature readings from the night of the recording, motion sensor data, and a writeup of the whole thing.
For extra oomph, you could document any personal experiences from your own life, so Finn intended to tell them about Nana. Finn also sensed that the Ghost Force was looking for authenticity rather than anything showy, so he fully intended to admit any data, even if it didn’t support proof that there was life after death.
Which was why he was staying at a fancy hotel only half an hour from home, looking for ghosts and feeling a little lonely. But then, he was always alone. Why? Because he was the kind of guy who lived in his own head and was currently the type of guy who holed up in an old hotel just so he could chase after ghosts. Nobody wanted to be with a guy like that. Right?
The Last Seer by Davidson King
PROLOGUE
NINETY-NINE YEARS AGO
HORATIA
“I love you, sweet boy. More than the stars in the sky, more than the air in my lungs, more than the—” Another blast shook our cave, and my words were cut off. Quickly, I wiped my tears, humming to my baby boy, trying to calm him. “Everything is going to be fine. Mommy will keep you safe.”
“Horatia!” The deep timbre of Caspar’s voice had me clutching my son to my chest and turning.
“Caspar. Oh, thank the stars. What’s going on? Where do we go?”
“My love, we must flee and get to the temple.”
“Why?”
He gripped my hand, his smile shaky. “We must protect Bashiri.”
Like the sun’s burst revealing dawn, the realization of his words rattled me.
“Caspar, who will care for him after…”
“It’s been handled. We’ve all known this day might come, and the Tutelary have been waiting. Bashiri will be cared for; he will be hidden and loved. We have to give him the tools to survive and hope—” Another explosion and Caspar pulled me up. “Horatia, we must run.”
Bashiri pressed close to my chest, my hand in Caspar’s, we raced along the narrow paths through the cave. Rocks shattered above us, and dust covered our skin. My legs felt as though they were on fire but the temple was close, and as soon as it was in my sight, a surge of energy overcame me.
“We don’t have much time.” Caspar opened the temple doors, and I was halfway to the altar when I froze.
Twelve of the most powerful seers stood in a circle surrounding the moon table. I knew this was for the best, that it was the only way to keep our kind alive… to keep Bashiri alive.
“My love…” Caspar’s voice cracked. His gaze flickered between me and our son. We wanted years with him, lifetimes. We spoke of how we’d teach him his gifts and hone them into powers that would save the world.
Now, someone else would do that, and I could only hope I’d be able to witness his triumphs from the stars.
“Horatia, please. We are out of time. I’m sorry.” Neoma, the oldest of the seers, smiled through her tears. “Because we will perish this day does not mean our kind will.”
I pulled Bashiri from my wrap and lifted his tiny head to my lips. I pressed a kiss to his soft skin, inhaling his aroma. At that moment, I wished to never need another breath and to be able to lock his scent in my heart forever.
“I love you, Bashiri. You will save the world.” I placed him on the moon table as more blasts shook the temple.
“We are out of time!” a seer shouted.
We all surrounded Bashiri, hands locked. I never took my eyes off him as he stared up at the glow that bathed him. He was kicking his tiny legs, gurgling, blinking against the moon’s light.
“In the years to come, many of us will die— but through our power, Bashiri’s will grow. On this night, we sacrifice our lives, our gifts, our knowledge and power to Bashiri.” Neoma lifted her head, and everyone followed.
“With every fallen seer, may their magic flow into Bashiri. May it protect him at that time in the future when he must face the enemy, those who seek our destruction.”
I closed my eyes as I felt my soul drain from my body. Silent tears wet my cheeks, and I begged the powers that be to protect my son and to shroud him until he had enough strength to fight back.
“One hundred years,” Neoma whispered.
My head jerked slightly at her words. Her gaze met mine.
“We cannot ask for eternity, Horatia. The powers that be will never grant it.” Neoma winced; as we weakened, the pain was unimaginable. “One hundred years. We must hope they will shield him, and when the clock strikes midnight on his one-hundredth birthday, let us hope he will be ready.”
A whimper escaped me. How could that be long enough? What if our enemies find him on his birthday? Please, please let him live forever.
“One hundred years,” every seer chanted over and over again.
Dust and rocks began to rain over us as our words became louder, and we were brought to our knees. Bashiri’s cries echoed throughout the temple, and the last thought before my life was drained was, I hope someone out there will protect him when evil comes for him. Please, let his protector find him.
Bashiri’s cries silenced, and with my last breath, I heard a voice.
“With their lives, you will live, Bashiri.”
Gone But Not Forgotten by Charlie Cochet
[Location: Redacted, Spain]
Warrior. Weapon. Hunter.
The names were many, but none changed who he was or what he was inside. Trained in the art of invisibility, master of the hunt, a terrifying force to be reckoned with. His expertise in various forms of lethal combat made him an agent of destruction. By the time his prey discovered his presence, it would be too late.
Silence engulfed him as he lay in wait beneath the water’s surface, his mind and body a study in absolute control, his heartbeat a steady rhythm as he counted the seconds.
It was time.
Slowly he emerged, water sluicing over his bare chest, his muscled body toned and sculpted from years of intense training. Knife between his teeth, he waded through infested waters, aware of the beast floating nearby, eyeing him, hoping to make him its next meal. Gingerly he approached the water’s edge and took his knife in hand, his breath controlled as he crouched low, eyes locked on his quarry.
You’re mine now.
One step closer. Two. Three.
His prey lay motionless, completely unaware.
Four. Five.
“What are you doing?”
He stilled.
“I know you can hear me.”
At the low grumble, Dex straightened, his voice a hoarse whisper. “You’re ruining the moment.”
“Which is?” his quarry murmured, not so much as glancing in Dex’s direction from where he lay, long legs crossed at the ankles and fingers laced on his flat, muscular abdomen. The giant beach umbrella provided shade from the intense heat and glaring sun, his eyes undoubtedly closed behind the dark sunglasses.
“Hunting.”
Blue-green waves crashed gently against the shore, the sand beneath Dex’s feet hot as he crossed the short distance to the sexy Therian stretched out on the blue beach towel.
“Is that what that was? Because from here, it looked like you were swimming around with a cocktail umbrella between your teeth.”
Dex sniffed and lifted his chin. “It’s a knife.”
“And the giant donut float?”
“An alligator ready to attack.”
“You’re adorable.”
Dex chuckled as he dropped to his knees beside Sloane, then straddled his lap. He leaned in for a kiss. “Must be why you married me.”
Sloane slid his hands up Dex’s thighs to rest on his hips. “Someone had to keep you out of trouble.”
“And how’s that working out for you?” Dex teased, smiling against Sloane’s lips.
A laugh rumbled up from Sloane’s expansive chest as he wrapped his strong arms around Dex and brought him in for a deeper kiss. The scent of saltwater, coconut sunscreen, and Sloane made Dex moan. At times he still couldn’t believe he was married to this amazing man. How had it been almost four years already? And how was it possible his husband seemed to get even more handsome with age? Sloane’s pitch-black hair had white strands interspersed, the same white that connected to a neatly trimmed beard on his chiseled jaw. Dex had a few silver strands of his own, but they were harder to see in his dirty-blond hair. It seemed like a lifetime ago that they’d first met.
Dex savored Sloane’s kiss, melting against his sinfully gorgeous body. He was everything to Dex—his partner in crime, his mate, a sleek black jaguar Therian with amber eyes that could reach into the depths of Dex’s soul. They shared a bond most couldn’t fathom, one only those closest to them knew of.
“No, really, what were you doing?” Sloane asked with a hum as Dex trailed kisses down his jawline, ignoring the feel of eyes on them. The beach might be Therian-friendly, but that didn’t mean everyone occupying it was.
“Remember last night when you were galivanting about the city?”
Sloane’s lips lifted at the corners in a smirk. “You mean when I was out working and you stayed in our hotel suite binge-watching old eighties TV shows and eating your weight in desserts?”
“I think what you meant to say was while I was fueling this weapon of mass destruction”—Dex motioned to himself—“and researching undercover techniques.”
“From an old eighties spy show.”
“Hey, that show was based on real spy craft.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“But it could have been.”
“It could have,” Sloane said, then popped a kiss on Dex’s lips. “But it wasn’t.” He smiled at Dex’s pout and tapped his flank. “As much as I love debating the factual validity of your eighties movies and TV shows, I’m thirsty. How about you get me a frosty drink?”
“Already on it, amor de mi vida.”
Sloane hummed.
“Te amo, cariño.” “Te amo, mi conejito.”
“Little bunny? Really?”
Dex booped the tip of Sloane’s nose. “Because you’re so cute and fluffy.”
“Ah, yes. That must be why that guy jumped out of the moving bus we were on last week. Clearly, my fluffy cuteness overwhelmed him.”
Dex laughed as he sat up. “Sit tight, Daddy, while I get you that drink.”
“I’ll just stay here and look pretty, then,” Sloane drawled. “And don’t call me Daddy.”
With a chuckle, Dex stood. He tugged his slip-ons onto his feet and grabbed the button-down flamingo-patterned shirt off his towel, the fabric heavier than it should have been, thanks to the lightweight holster sewn into it and the Sig P365 with suppressor discreetly tucked inside. Shirt on and unbuttoned, he removed his sunglasses from the front breast pocket and slipped those on, then pressed the metal center bridge as he pushed them up his nose. He headed for the plaza and the giant metal sculpture of—he wasn’t entirely sure what it was. Modern art was not his thing. Something to do with swimming.
A cougar Therian pushed a drink cart over to the base of one of the sculpture’s legs. Joining the small line that formed, Dex pulled a couple of Euros out of his pocket, aware of the small tourist group of Therian college kids who stopped to ogle him. They murmured and giggled among themselves. One of the young Therians, a wolf, playfully waved at Dex, who smiled and waved back. The wolf Therian licked his full bottom lip and motioned Dex over.
Dex put his left hand to his heart in apology while showing his wedding ring. The young wolf Therian pouted before the group moved on, laughing and teasing their friend. With a chuckle, Dex stepped forward in line. He finally reached the vendor and smiled.
“Tienes refresco de cereza?”
The cougar Therian shook his head. “No cherry, solo limón.”
“Esta bien. Dos refrescos de limón, por favor.”
The guy reached into a separate compartment on his cart and pulled out two frosty cans of fizzy lemon soda.
“Thanks.” Dex paid and took the cans. He popped open the can that was slightly lighter in color and took a long gulp of the lemon drink as he headed back toward the beach. A quick scan of the ingredients revealed the intel he’d been waiting for. He tossed the can into the trash as the chemicals started melting the aluminum.
A shrill scream pierced the air, and on instinct, Dex ducked and turned while tourists and locals scrambled in panic, several removing their phones—whether to call the authorities or take video was anyone’s guess. The vendor lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath his head.
Dex’s earpiece came to life, Sloane’s growl on the other end. “What the hell’s going on?”
Rick R. Reed is an award-winning and bestselling author of more than fifty works of published fiction. He is a Lambda Literary Award finalist. Entertainment Weekly has described his work as “heartrending and sensitive.” Lambda Literary has called him: “A writer that doesn’t disappoint…” Rick lives in Palm Springs, CA, with his husband, Bruce, and their two rescue dogs, Kodi and Joaquin.
Lacey DaizeLacey lives in New Mexico with her four critters. She’s a Jill-of-all-trades by day, but loves writing in her spare time. She dabbles in a variety of pairings, but jumped feet-first into the deep end of omegaverse the first time she read it. She loves the play on social expectations and the different ways to express romance.
Jackie North has been writing stories since grade school and her dream was to someday leave her corporate day job behind and travel the world. She also wanted to put her English degree to good use and write romance novels, because for years she's had a never-ending movie of made-up love stories in her head that simply wouldn't leave her alone.
Luckily, she discovered m/m romance and decided that men falling in love with other men was exactly what she wanted to write about. In this dazzling new world, she turned her grocery-store romance ideas around and is now putting them to paper as fast as her fingers can type. She creates characters who are a bit flawed and broken, who find themselves on the edge of society, and maybe a few who are a little bit lost, but who all deserve a happily ever after. (And she makes sure they get it!)
She likes long walks on the beach, the smell of lavender and rainstorms, and enjoys sleeping in on snowy mornings. She is especially fond of pizza and beer and, when time allows, long road trips with soda fountain drinks and rock and roll music. In her heart, there is peace to be found everywhere, but since in the real world this isn't always true, Jackie writes for love.
Davidson KingDavidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.
She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.
If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she’d tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you’re afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.
Charlie Cochet is the international bestselling author of the THIRDS series. Born in Cuba and raised in the US, Charlie enjoys the best of both worlds, from her daily Cuban latte to her passion for classic rock.
Currently residing in Central Florida, Charlie is at the beck and call of a rascally Doxiepoo bent on world domination. When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found devouring a book, releasing her creativity through art, or binge watching a new TV series. She runs on coffee, thrives on music, and loves to hear from readers.
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Rick R Reed
BLOG / KOBO / GOOGLE PLAY
EMAIL: rickrreedbooks@gmail.com
Lacey Daize
Jackie North
Davidson King
EMAIL: davidsonkingauthor@yahoo.com
Charlie Cochet
EMAIL: charlie@charliecochet.com
Here Comes the Sun by Rick R Reed
Costume Party Crush by Lacey Daize
For the Love of the Ghost by Jackie North
The Last Seer by Davidson King
Gone But Not Forgotten by Charlie Cochet
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