Sunday, October 7, 2018
Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: SYN Consulting by AG Carothers
Title: SYN Consulting
Author: AG Carothers
Series: Dragon War Chronicles #1
Genre: M/M Romance, Urban Fantasy, Paranormal
Release Date: August 17, 2018
Summary:Continue to hide or help save the very kin she's hidden from?
Welcome to SYN Consulting, the top business strategy consulting firm in Europe, home to a motley crew whose leader has a life changing secret. CEO, Danica Lestrange, is the first female dragon born in the last 800 years. Hidden from the rest of her kin and raised in the human world, she built a life that she would defend until her death.
A devious plan is unearthed while working on a new business deal that could plunge the dragons into another war with the humans. The humans may have forgotten the last dragon-human war, but the dragons have not. Will the war reveal this hidden world to the humans, or will the clans come together to defeat their enemies and maintain their anonymity?
Danica must gather her allies and help the very dragons she's hidden from her whole life. She can only hope that she'll be strong enough to protect her chosen family.
This is the first book in a new series about dragons who want nothing more than to live in peace, but refuse to be subjugated. In war there's also love, and love is blind. Love doesn't care about gender, race, species (in this case), or sexuality.
Warning: This book contains explicit sexual content between consenting adults. The sexual scenes are MM, MF, and MMF. There are romantic relationships depicted that are MM. There is also a high level of explicit language, snark, kink, and possibly bad puns and fart jokes.
This book does end in a cliffhanger. Book 2 will be released in November 2018.
Matthew finished the last bit of his sandwich as he stood up going over to a wall of glass that overlaid the actual wall. The glass was one large computer interface, much like most of the glass in the building from the table they were eating on to elevator walls, to all the glass panel monitors of various sizes. Matt tapped on the panel bringing up several windows and enlarging them so that everyone could see. He pulled a photo of Kollin Olsen and moved it to the center.
He reached back, grabbing his bottle of water. Swallowing a mouthful, he cleared his throat and started his report. “I finished my preliminary research into KleanTech and Global Gas. You'll never believe who Kollin Olsen is.” Danica was completely occupied with a large mouthful of her sandwich and gestured for him to continue. “He's the next alpha to the Norwegian Dragon Clan, son of none other than HafthΓ³r Ormsson, making him JΗ«kull Ormsson, The Glacier himself.”
“Fuck!” Danica thought, looking over at Xander, who could hear her thought clearly.
“Fuck is right,” he answered out loud.
Danica took another bite of her sandwich and looked around the table at the family she had created, mulling over that bombshell. Matt, thankfully, let her take her time and waited silently while she came to terms with that disturbing news.
These SLIPs who stood by her, supported her, and loved her were, for the lack of a better word, her pack as motley as they were. They were hers to protect as much as they protected her. She thought about that as she continued to eat. Xander placed a hand on her thigh and squeezed it reassuringly. If she took this job, she risked exposure of what she was. With that, she risked not just her life, but all of their lives.
“Fuck!” Danica thought, looking over at Xander, who could hear her thought clearly.
“Fuck is right,” he answered out loud.
Danica took another bite of her sandwich and looked around the table at the family she had created, mulling over that bombshell. Matt, thankfully, let her take her time and waited silently while she came to terms with that disturbing news.These SLIPs who stood by her, supported her, and loved her were, for the lack of a better word, her pack as motley as they were. They were hers to protect as much as they protected her. She thought about that as she continued to eat. Xander placed a hand on her thigh and squeezed it reassuringly. If she took this job, she risked exposure of what she was. With that, she risked not just her life, but all of their lives.
A. G. Carothers is actually a dragon very cleverly disguised as a human. They are a non-binary author of LGBTQIA Urban/Paranormal Fantasy, who enjoys writing original and entertaining stories. They are very excited to share the worlds they've created with you.
A.G. currently lives in Tennessee with their platonic life partner, who is not a dragon. They yearn to live back in Europe and will some day. In their spare time they are addicted to losing themselves in the lovely worlds created by other authors.
A.G. is committed to writing the stories they see in their head without restrictions. Love is blind and doesn't see gender, race, or sexuality.
EMAIL: Info@AGCarothers.com
Release Blitz & Blogger Review: Us Again by Nell Iris
Title: Us Again
Author: Nell Iris
Genre: M/M Romance
Release Date: October 6, 2018
Publisher: JMS Books
Summary:When Alex gets a call in the middle of the night telling him his ex-boyfriend is in the hospital, he only hesitates for a second before rushing to Sammy’s side. But the Sammy in the hospital bed is fragile and not the same man who told Alex to leave seven months ago.
Alex wants to help Sammy get better and is desperate to find out what went wrong between them. Maybe he’ll even get a second chance with the man he hasn’t been able to get over.
But will Sammy let Alex back into his life?
Talk about an emotional dramatic yet non-angsty sweet little gem. Those late night phone calls are never good news but maybe this one will lead to something positive for Alex and Sammy. Us Again is beautifully done with interesting characters that tug at your heart instantly. Could it have been even better with more backstory and follow to the future? Sure. Sometimes the pull-on-the-heartstrings isn't about the whole journey, about the getting there, about the where they end up but about the moment that it all comes together. Us Again is one of those stories that watches the characters discover "the moment", the point of no return, the do or die, the give it their all or go home. I know these are all cliches but they are cliches for a reason and Us Again may be the moment Alex and Sammy need to get it right but that doesn't make the story cliche. Oh no, this story will make you smile from ear to ear and entertain with every dimple that smile makes.
RATING:
Except for the dim light of a wall-mounted lamp next to the only occupied bed, the room is dark. Sammy is a shapeless silhouette from here and I take a step closer. Another. And another until I’m right by his side.
My knees buckle when I finally see him. His golden hair is plastered to his face, his cheeks hollow, his full lips dry and cracked. Long lashes fan out over black shadows under the eyes. His hand rests on his pillow and is so thin and bony, tears well up in my eyes.
A steadily beeping monitor surveils his vital signs. An IV bag hangs on a metal pole, and the line snakes its way down into his hand.
My hand flies to my mouth and my shoulders shake. To avoid ending up in a sobbing pile on the floor, I sink down in the chair next to his bed.
Sammy was always slender. Like a willow with long limbs, narrow hips, and a concave stomach. But now ... he looks emaciated. Hardly there. Easily breakable and so fucking small I wouldn’t be surprised if a stiff breeze could snap him in two.
I reach out but hesitate to touch him. Instead, I lay my hand next to his on the pillow. My olive complexion seems dirty next to his pallor.
“Oh, Sammy.” I don’t even try to wipe the moisture from my face; I just let the tears flow. I want to crawl into bed with him, scoop him up in my arms, and use my big body to shield him from the world. But all I do is move my hand closer, until my fingertips ghost against his pinkie. A jolt of electricity races through my body and a sigh slips out.
“Now will you tell me what happened?” I hiss to David who’s sat down on a chair on the other side of Sammy’s bed sometime during the last minute.
“His boss called me this evening. Apparently, he fainted.”
I gasp and can’t keep my hands off him any longer. Carefully, I lay my palm on top of his hand and something snaps into place in my chest when I finally touch him. He’s cold. I’d give him all my warmth if he would just open his eyes and smile at me and call me Care Bear again.
“Doesn’t he fucking eat?” I grind out between clenched teeth.
“He said he does. He said he was fine.”
“Clearly, he lied.”
“Clearly.”
“What’s all this?” I sweep my hand at the IV pole.
“He was severely dehydrated so they’re giving him fluids.” He rattles on about vital signs and nutrition and how Sammy will need to see a therapist and a dietitian to straighten out his eating and I only listen with one ear. Even though I asked, I can’t absorb all that information.
“Don’t you fucking check on your own brother?” I interrupt. I’ve always had a foul mouth, and frazzled nerves make it worse, but I don’t give a shit if David is offended.
“I should have. I knew he was ... sad. I talked to him on the phone almost every day and he said he was fine.” David’s voice trembles, saturated with guilt and remorse, but it just makes me angrier.
“Are you telling me you haven’t taken the time to visit him for seven fucking months?”
“No! That’s not true!”
“It seems that way to me.”
“Who are you to talk? You left him!”
His words sting. He might as well have thrown acid on my face. I tighten my muscles, so I won’t jerk under his accusations. “He told me to leave. He said he never wanted to see me again. I did not leave willingly.” I shoot him an angry glare but quickly look away. I want to take out my fear and worry on him. Plant my fist in his face and roar out the pain that took up residence in my chest when I laid eyes on Sammy a few minutes ago.
Dear, sweet Sammy.
“I don’t even know what happened. I thought he loved me,” I whisper. My head is heavy, and I let it sink down until it rests on his bed.
My knees buckle when I finally see him. His golden hair is plastered to his face, his cheeks hollow, his full lips dry and cracked. Long lashes fan out over black shadows under the eyes. His hand rests on his pillow and is so thin and bony, tears well up in my eyes.
A steadily beeping monitor surveils his vital signs. An IV bag hangs on a metal pole, and the line snakes its way down into his hand.
My hand flies to my mouth and my shoulders shake. To avoid ending up in a sobbing pile on the floor, I sink down in the chair next to his bed.
Sammy was always slender. Like a willow with long limbs, narrow hips, and a concave stomach. But now ... he looks emaciated. Hardly there. Easily breakable and so fucking small I wouldn’t be surprised if a stiff breeze could snap him in two.
I reach out but hesitate to touch him. Instead, I lay my hand next to his on the pillow. My olive complexion seems dirty next to his pallor.
“Oh, Sammy.” I don’t even try to wipe the moisture from my face; I just let the tears flow. I want to crawl into bed with him, scoop him up in my arms, and use my big body to shield him from the world. But all I do is move my hand closer, until my fingertips ghost against his pinkie. A jolt of electricity races through my body and a sigh slips out.
“Now will you tell me what happened?” I hiss to David who’s sat down on a chair on the other side of Sammy’s bed sometime during the last minute.
“His boss called me this evening. Apparently, he fainted.”
I gasp and can’t keep my hands off him any longer. Carefully, I lay my palm on top of his hand and something snaps into place in my chest when I finally touch him. He’s cold. I’d give him all my warmth if he would just open his eyes and smile at me and call me Care Bear again.
“He said he does. He said he was fine.”
“Clearly, he lied.”
“Clearly.”
“What’s all this?” I sweep my hand at the IV pole.
“He was severely dehydrated so they’re giving him fluids.” He rattles on about vital signs and nutrition and how Sammy will need to see a therapist and a dietitian to straighten out his eating and I only listen with one ear. Even though I asked, I can’t absorb all that information.
“Don’t you fucking check on your own brother?” I interrupt. I’ve always had a foul mouth, and frazzled nerves make it worse, but I don’t give a shit if David is offended.
“I should have. I knew he was ... sad. I talked to him on the phone almost every day and he said he was fine.” David’s voice trembles, saturated with guilt and remorse, but it just makes me angrier.
“Are you telling me you haven’t taken the time to visit him for seven fucking months?”
“No! That’s not true!”
“It seems that way to me.”
“Who are you to talk? You left him!”
His words sting. He might as well have thrown acid on my face. I tighten my muscles, so I won’t jerk under his accusations. “He told me to leave. He said he never wanted to see me again. I did not leave willingly.” I shoot him an angry glare but quickly look away. I want to take out my fear and worry on him. Plant my fist in his face and roar out the pain that took up residence in my chest when I laid eyes on Sammy a few minutes ago.
Dear, sweet Sammy.
“I don’t even know what happened. I thought he loved me,” I whisper. My head is heavy, and I let it sink down until it rests on his bed.
Nell Iris is a romantic at heart who believes everyone deserves a happy ending. She’s a bona fide bookworm (learned to read long before she started school), wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without something to read (not even the ladies room), loves music (and singing along but let’s face it, she’s not Celine Dion), and is a real Star Trek nerd (Make it so). She loves words, poetry, wine, and Sudoku, and absolutely adores elephants!
Nell believes passionately in equality for all regardless of race, gender or sexuality, and wants to make the world a better, less hateful, place.
Nell is a 40-something bisexual Swedish woman, married to the love of her life, and a proud mama of a grown daughter. She left the Scandinavian cold and darkness for warmer and sunnier Malaysia a few years ago, where she spends her days writing, surfing the Internet, enjoying the heat, and eating good food. One day she decided to chase her life long dream of being a writer, sat down in front of her laptop, and wrote a story about two men falling in love.
Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angsty, and wants to write diverse and different characters.
EMAIL: contact@nelliris.com
B&N / KOBO / GOOGLE PLAY
Saturday, October 6, 2018
Saturday's Series Spotlight: Tyack & Frayne by Harper Fox Part 3
Summary:
It’s Halloween, and Lee is wrapping up a TV special at Underhill, a haunted house on Bodmin Moor. There’s only one problem – despite its terrible past, this house doesn’t seem to be haunted at all. Not great for the fans of Spirits of Cornwall, but all Lee wants to do is get home to Gideon and Tamsyn in time for their family party. Gid and Zeke are due to pick him up at any minute, so Lee sends his film crew home to enjoy their own Halloween plans .
The moment he’s alone, everything changes. When Gideon and Zeke arrive, they find the house deserted and dark. Zeke thinks Lee must have left with the film crew, but Gid’s instincts tell him otherwise.
The policeman and the preacher must set aside their differences and pool their gifts to pick up Lee’s trail. Will they be in time to save him from the ghosts and strange forces at work in Underhill House?
Summary:
It’s May Eve, and for once the body discovered in a meadow isn’t Gideon’s concern. The remains are decades old, and Gid and Lee are free to enjoy a proper Cornish Beltane, with maypoles, mirth, and a wild, sexy dash into the greenwood.
When trouble flares, it’s from an unexpected source: Tamsyn, after a quiet few months, suddenly manifests terrifying new paranormal powers. She can’t be kept hidden forever, and working out how to shield her is enough to drive a wedge even between these most united of parents.
Then Gideon’s cold case becomes a hot one for Lee. The dead man in the field has been forgotten by the living, but his memories are vivid and riding wild on the wind from the sea. No-one can act out his unfinished business but Lee, and it’s going to take all Gideon’s strength and love to get him through the ordeal.
Beltane magic past and present sweeps through Cornwall as Tamsyn steps into her powers, and the witches of the western shore look set to pay a dreadful price unless Gideon and Lee can bring to light the truth buried so long ago.
Original Review November 2017:
After finishing up a television show for Halloween that proved fruitless in the quest to contact the spirits, Lee waits for Gideon to pick him up. That's when the spirits begin to speak. When Gideon and Zeke arrive they find no Lee. It may be Halloween and the otherworldly happenings the couple has faced make a simple spirit seem pretty tame but as far as Lee and Gideon are concerned nothing is ever simple. Where did Lee go and will Gideon be able to reach him before its too late?
When I saw a post on Facebook that there was another new Tyack & Frayne tale I immediately went to Amazon and 1-clicked. I stumbled upon this series a couple of years ago while researching for my blog series Random Tales of the Paranormal, I instantly fell in love with Lee and Gideon and the supernatural world they live in. Underhill may be a novella but its packed from beginning to end with everything that made me fall in love with the series. There's spirits, humor, family, drama, mystery, and of course Lee and Gideon.
I won't go into any details of the tale because I don't do spoilers(as most of you know) but when dealing with paranormal/supernatural genres every little detail can be a spoiler or lead to one. So I'll just say this: if you are a fan of Harper Fox's Tyack & Frayne series than definitely gobble up Underhill and if you are new to that universe well its a perfect time to check it out. Paranormals can often be severely dark and scary, well Lee & Gideon have certainly seen their share of darkness but Harper Fox also incorporates humor, friendship, love, and its these elements that make Underhill and the series one of my favorites.
Once Upon a Western Shore #9
Original Review June 2018:
It's May Eve and Gideon and Lee are enjoying some quiet family time with their daughter, Tamsyn. A century old body is discovered but even that is nothing to concern the boys. Tamsyn's powers can't be kept hidden forever and when Gideon's cold case can only be solved with Lee's abilities, suddenly their Beltane is no longer quiet. Will Lee be able to reach into the past to solve Gideon's case and will Gideon be able to pull Lee back?
When I saw that there was a new Tyack & Frayne story I was thrilled! There is just so much to love about these boys, Tamsyn, family, and friends. Their connection, their passion, their love for their daughter, the way they want to protect all those around them and with Once Upon a Western Shore we get to see those around them wanting to protect them too. Throw in the cold case mystery, paranormal elements, friendship, and the love that binds them together and you find yourself on an amazing journey.
I won't go into too much detail because of the mystery but let me tell you that my heart breaks for the past but the boys' love goes a long way to heal the present so the past can rest, watching Gid & Lee get from point A to point Z is quite a ride. As for Tamsyn, I can't wait to see her continue to grow into her powers, it's terrifying and exhilerating at that the same time. Watching Zeke go from a non-believer to a willing(mostly) assistant shows just how experiencing something can truly open a person to what is beyond their own four walls.
Once Upon a Western Shore is a great addition to the series and a thrilling next step in Gid & Lee's journey. Can't wait to see what the author has in store next for this family and the little Cornish village they call home.
RATING:
Underhill #8
Alone, Lee stood by the window, looking out over the bleak hillside beyond. The moors around Dark were grim at this time of year too, but there were a hundred subtle differences. There—at Chy Lowen, at home—the land stretched out beneath the October skies with a wild, deep grace. Gave up its treasures of fox-copper bracken and the last scraps of gorse like an opening hand, to the wind and the rain-loaded sky.
Underhill Cottage was the last lonely outpost of a half-dead mining town. Of all the places in the world that should have provided a spectacular haunting for Jack’s camera and Anna’s production schedule, this should have been it: not only was there Gwen and Johnny’s dreadful tale, but someone had knocked down a chapel to plant the concrete-poured 1950s bungalow on its unprepossessing site. Gravestones still scattered the hill. Too old to find care among the living, too young to have acquired the mossy charm of the Kernowek-Celtic churchyards by the sea—Victorian at the earliest, marking the remains of the tin and lead miners who’d poured out their souls into the soil long before their mortal remains had returned there—they tilted at crazy angles, a tale of neglect and abandonment he could read like the remnants of yesterday’s newspaper, getting trodden underfoot in the rain.
He made a stern effort to stop. If the ghosts were giving him a break, no need to seek them out. Gid and Zeke would be here any minute, and it couldn’t happen soon enough for Lee. A quick dash up the A30, and they’d be home. Gid had taken an afternoon’s leave to shop and set up, leaving poor Sarah Kemp to try and keep Tamsyn’s cork in as well as Lorna’s, Jenny’s and Brad’s. The stove in the kitchen would be lit, and the living room’s big open fire. The huge old house, full of people and candlelight, would come into its own.
He glanced at his mobile. It was unlike Gideon to be more than five minutes late without calling. Then, with the signal dropping out like this... He gave the handset a shake. The reception bars were vanishing, right to left, leaving only one sad little nub that dissolved as he watched into a small red cross.
That was strange. The wifi had been good enough that afternoon for Anna to stream footage from the Spirits of Cornwall website. He turned away from the window, and a piece of paper fluttered from the ledge to the floor.
The sill had been empty, he was sure. He held still. He wanted to stride into Gideon’s arms, give and receive a bone-crushing hug and go home, not open himself to the no-show undead who had failed to turn up for his hard-working crew, but if somebody wanted to talk... “Hi,” he said uncertainly. “Sorry I called you a tosser. It’s been a long day, that’s all.”
Nothing. The vibe of the room remained undisturbed. If the Nancarrows’ story held any element of truth, he should have no trouble picking up traces of the entity that had harmed them. A raging bloody monster, that would be, churning up the psychic airwaves like a sea storm off Hagerawl Point. He picked up the sheet of paper, turned it over. “Wow. Are you writing to me?”
Neat typescript, from an old manual machine. A single indented paragraph. He read the first sentence, and broke into bewildered laughter. The talented young clairvoyant looked in horror around the room. “Thanks,” he said. “Is that what you want me to do? Why would I be horrified?”
He’d noticed a second door, although he’d have sworn that there was only one. A gut-clutching sense of evil emanated from the oblong frame. Before he could move or cry out, the second door flew open! An unseen force seized the gifted young psychic like a rag in the jaws of a hound! Helplessly it snatched him off his feet, and swept him into the darkness beyond the door.
“Gut-clutching,” Lee echoed wonderingly. “No, I... I’m not feeling it. You know, I think this might work better if you don’t insist on my age and my job title each time you mention me. The exclamation marks are a bit much, too. And helplessly applies to me, really, doesn’t it, not the unseen force?”
Now the atmosphere did change. Less a sense of evil than... pique, was the best way he could describe it. A kind of whole-house pout.
Before he could move or cry out, the second door flew open.
Gideon braked sharply to avoid a black cat that had just shot across the road, tail in a brush, left to right. A pumpkin rolled off the back seat and thumped into the footwell. Ezekiel glanced over his shoulder. “For heaven’s sake, Gideon. Half the Falmouth Halloween market seems to have come home with us.”
“I know. It’s great, isn’t it? And every scrap’s organic, biodegradable, recyclable or all three, so don’t look so po-faced about it.”
“I’m not commenting on your consumer habits. What worries me is...” He jammed a hand to the dashboard as another cat—not the same one, surely—whipped from verge to verge of the narrow lane, travelling in the opposite direction. “Really, whether you approach the matter from a godless Pagan angle or the heartless commercial rubbish we’ve inherited from the States, there’s not much in your planned celebrations tonight to feed our children’s souls or improve their moral outlook.”
“Wow, Zeke. Godless and heartless?”
“Not you and Lee personally, of course. But do you take my point? This is a sacred time of year, when we try to remember our martyrs and saints at Hallowmass, and—”
“You’re a Methodist. You don’t celebrate Hallowmass.”
“I suppose I ought to be impressed that you knew that. However, John Wesley himself was very fond of the day. We don’t make foolish fetish objects of our martyrs in the Church, but we do respect their sacrifice.”
Gideon drummed his fingers on the wheel. After his Midsummer crisis of faith, Ezekiel was more than back on form. The chapel in Dark had been rebuilt, and he occupied its pulpit with a kind of thunderous humanity. Gideon kept up a dutiful front of irritation, but in fact found his brother’s griping more of a reassurance than anything else. “Right,” he said. “I suppose that means your little Toby and Mike won’t be coming along tonight for their dose of candy and corruption?”
A sigh shook Ezekiel’s frame. “Eleanor’s bringing them over at six. They don’t even know what Halloween is, but they do know they want it.”
“Costumes?”
“Two little werewolves.”
Gideon smiled, though Zeke’s answer had given him a small, odd shudder. “You really aren’t the very best advert for Christian austerity, you know. Did you manage to get through to Lee yet?”
“No. It’s odd—we’re right beside the Trescowe moor mobile mast, but I can’t get a signal.”
“Keep trying. We’re gonna be late, and I don’t want him to worry.”
“If you’re lost, have the grace to admit it.”
“I’ll have the grace to wallop the back of your head, when I can spare a hand.” Leaning forward, Gideon tried to focus through the drifting wraiths of mist catching the headlights. “Great. It’s nearly dark. I thought I knew all the back roads around Gotheglos.”
“Perhaps we should ask a policeman.”
“I swear to God, Ezekiel...”
Once Upon a Western Shore #9
The layby opposite Pascoe’s Farm wouldn’t be a bad spot for a picnic. The ochre-pink single-track was quiet but for the occasional tractor, the parking space turf-lined and broad in the shade of a spectacular Cornish hedge. Still, Gideon hadn’t meant to come here. “I don’t know. I really only thought about Lamorna because it seemed so beautiful last night, driving about through the lanes in the moonlight. How do you feel about it?”
“Well – not called as such, not the way I sometimes am. This guy’s been dead a long time.” He gave Gideon a sheepish grin. “Maybe I’m just on the lookout for my next Spirits of Cornwall script.”
“Sounds like it has potential. Want me call DI Lawrence and ask her to run some checks on that name?”
“Not yet. I’m not sure, and... we’re on our day off, aren’t we?”
Hanging around at a crime scene. Gideon shook his head. Still, maybe the distraction would be better for Lee than brooding about Tamsyn’s latest display. That too was on the board for discussion, for some reason harder to begin than it should be, as if a danger lay there, a source of conflict. That was ridiculous, of course. He and his husband disagreed about plenty of things, but when it came to their kid, they stood united. “Do you want to take a look? The field’s just through that gate.”
“Isn’t it taped off?”
“Just the section where the diggers unearthed our guy.”
“Any chance we’ll run into old man Pascoe and his shotgun?”
“I don’t think so. The police doc gave him a sedative last night, and he’s very fragile anyway. He’s probably tucked up in bed.”
Slowly they both got out. It was the kind of day that fostered unhurried movement, the stretch of car-cramped muscles in the fragrant wind, whose touch here felt powerful enough to lift you up into flight. Beyond a rise of land to the south lay the sea. Despite all these beauties, uneasy protectiveness surged through Gideon, and he ushered Lee across the quiet road like a true village bobby, opened the gate for him and gestured him through. Lee broke into laughter at these attentions. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing. Just looking after my investment, the famous TV psychic who’s gonna save me from a lifetime of pounding the beat.”
“Like you’d ever quit.” Lee grabbed his belt and pulled him in for a swift, electrifying kiss. He took a few strides into the field and looked around. “Oh, wow. That’s the one of the Drift stones, Gid.”
Gideon came to stand beside him. “The what? Oh, like the ones over by the A30?”
“Yeah. The remains of an alignment that ran through here from Madron and Tremethick and all the way down to Drift farmhouse. My dad and Jago said there was one right in our garden down there in my grandfather’s time, before it got blown up by a hellfire preacher.”
“Ugh. Probably one of my ancestors – or Zeke’s, anyway.”
Lee chuckled. “I think they were probably shared.”
“Yes, more’s the pity.” The meadow swept away to a sun-haze distance. The rough grass was awash with buttercups, giving back the dancing light with interest. In the centre of this dazzling space, a single megalith thrust skywards – one of the largest Gid had ever seen, held invisible from the road by the thick Cornish hedge and the rise, swoop and dip of the land. “I didn’t even know this was here.”
“Come and introduce yourself, then.”
They went hand-in-hand into the shadow of the giant. There was a sense of ceremony, of a vast presence somehow acknowledging his transient flicker of life. He doubted he’d have felt it on his own: Lee, no doubt, was on first-name terms with every great rock in the district. The wind blew strangely around this one, creating in his head an echoing song. Not questioning his impulse, he laid his free hand to the warm, lichen-rough flank. “Lee,” he said softly, “I love you. This is sacred land.”
“Yes, it is. You can see the top of Carn Brea from here, and the spire of St Buryan’s church, and the mound where Maze Quoit used to be. I love you, too.”
“Shit, though. It’s not gonna be sacred for long once that lot get done.”
They both turned in the direction of the farmhouse. A line of yellow police tape ran across the field’s far corner, and beyond that – lined up like a cavalry force – were nigh on two dozen JCBs, backhoes and caterpillar-tracked excavation machines. Lee shuddered. “The stone’s protected, though, isn’t it?”
“Yes, if it’s a scheduled ancient monument. I’ve been driving past here all my life, and I didn’t know it was there – maybe it’s slipped through the net.”
“That’s insane. It can’t have done.”
“Well, finding a body here will hold everything up. Not for long, though – the routine with cases like this is to take
the remains off-site and let everyone get on with their jobs. Why don’t you give your mate Jory from CAMS a call?”
“I will, just as soon as I’ve...” Lee had already taken his mobile out. He looked up reproachfully at the looming stone. “As soon as I’ve got a signal again. I am trying to help you, you know.”
Movement from across the field caught Gideon’s attention. There was so much light in the air that he struggled to focus, and although the woman making her way along the edge of the tape was familiar, it took him a moment to place her. “Looks like we’re not the only ones wasting our day off. That’s Lawrence over there.”
“Really? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her out of a business suit.” Lee scanned the far side of the drystone wall that bounded the farmhouse lane. “Hang on. I can see somebody else, and he is in his business suit. What’s going on here today?”
The four met up awkwardly by the gate to the farmyard. DI Lawrence seemed to have mislaid her usual brisk demeanour along with her suit, and it was Ezekiel who broke the windswept silence first. As Lee had pointed out, he was emphatically in uniform: shining dog-collar, jet-black suit. Having one of his crow days, as Gid called them, with the attitude to match. “I’d hazard a guess,” Zeke rasped, folding his arms on the top bar of the gate, “that I’m the only one here on legitimate business today.”
“Zeke, you know Detective Inspector Lawrence, don’t you?” Gideon laid a faint stress on the Detective. His own business here was debatable, but Lawrence was perfectly entitled to be poking about in her civvies if she wished. “DI Lawrence, this is my brother, the Reverend Ezekiel Frayne.”
“Of course. I remember you from Lee and Gideon’s wedding.” Lawrence put out a cordial hand, which Zeke took with equal grace. “Do you know the family here, Reverend Frayne?”
“No, although my father knew them well. I’m visiting a parishioner today.”
Something in Zeke’s formality awoke an old demon in Gid – hardly deserved these days, with a brother so transformed and ready for mischief of this own, but old patterns died hard. “You’re a long way out of your parish, Reverend.”
“So are you, Sergeant,” Zeke smartly returned. “Mr Penyar over there used to live up in Dark, and he still comes to my chapel there on Sundays. He called me last night to say he felt spiritually threatened after the discovery in the field yesterday.”
“Spiritually threatened?” Until now, Gid hadn’t noticed the skinny, beak-faced old man lurking on the far side of the lane. “Good day, Mr... Penyar, did you say the name was? I’m a police sergeant. Can I help you in any way?”
Apparently not. Penyar scuttled out of the shadows where he’d been lurking and made off down the verge without so much as a backward glance. “Great,” said Zeke. “Drive off my customers, why don’t you?”
“You said he felt threatened.”
“Yes, spiritually. There used to be a lot of local legends about witchcraft in this area. From what I can gather, the body that’s been found dates from around that time, and he’s disturbed about it, that’s all.”
“Well, let me know if somebody lobs a brick through his window. I might be able to help him then.”
A brief silence fell. Gideon turned to see Lee and DI Lawrence staring at him, bemused. “Gid,” Zeke said cautiously, “I haven’t done anything to upset you, have I?”
Of course not. Gideon wasn’t upset. His skin was prickling in the heat, and he could’ve used a good run, followed by a steak and nice solid fuck. “No. I’m fine. Lee and I were passing by this way, and we wondered...” He tailed off, not sure how he could really justify his presence to his brother or his boss. “It’s a bit of a strange case, I suppose. And old man Pascoe was very distressed last night.”
“So you came to check in on him,” Lawrence offered. “And maybe Lee thought he could have a look around, too?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Lee, who’d caught the habit from Gid. “I wasn’t sure you’d want me messing around this early in the investigation.”
“No, you’re very welcome. You know the drill for forensic hygiene – a lot better than some of our younger officers, sad to say. And the remains have already been taken away.”
“Have you heard back from the lab?” Gideon asked, trying to regain a civil tone and some kind of professional balance. “I know it’s early days, but...”
“Nothing, and to be honest we’re not likely to. It’s all very well being able to extract DNA, but a sixty-year-old corpse is highly unlikely to have got any of it registered anywhere, and dental records won’t help until we know who he is or where he’s from.”
“Er... I know who he is, ma’am.”
Lawrence turned to Lee in surprise. “Really?”
“Well – not exactly,” Lee corrected himself. “I think I know his name, that’s all, and that’s a different matter.”
“It’s still a hell of a step forward. Lee, I’ve seen enough of what you can do that I should’ve learned not to ask questions, but... how do you do this? How do you know?”
Lee shrugged. “Honestly? I have no idea. I dreamed about him, and the name was there. Just that, and the... the back view of him, walking away from me between hedgerows full of spring flowers. It’s this time of year, almost to the day, and...”
“Gideon!” Lawrence took an alarmed step back. “What’s happening?”
“Well, you did ask him how he did it,” Gideon said grimly, coming to take Lee’s arm. Zeke climbed over the padlocked five-bar gate with surprising agility and took up position on the other side. “He’ll be all right, though. Won’t you, love?”
“His eyes just changed colour. I saw it. They were green, and now they... they look like moonlight.”
Lawrence off-duty was a lot more easily fazed than the upright little martinet who ran Bodmin Police HQ. “It’s okay. It just means he’s having a vision,” Gideon said reassuringly, more for Lee’s sake than hers. Sometimes he throws up or has a seizure, and sometimes his heart beats so fast I’m afraid it’ll tear out of his chest. Sometimes he sees things that make him want to die, and I’m sometimes afraid that the good things of this world – the things I can show him – won’t be enough to make him stay. He held on tighter. Zeke, who knew about some of this, met his eyes, his silence a rough comfort.
Suddenly tension left the rigid arm Gid was holding. Lee sucked in an unsteady breath, trance breaking with a near-audible pop. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry, Marjorie. That’s all I’m getting anyway.”
“Well, good.” Gideon rubbed his back, and he and Zeke carefully let him go. “You are meant to be on your day off, you know. Er... who’s Marjorie?”
“I am. I’m Marjorie.” Poor Lawrence had retreated all the way to the edge of the taped-off trench. “It’s my first name, but I hated it, so I always used Christine. No-one knows that except my parents, and they’ve been dead for ten years.”
Alone, Lee stood by the window, looking out over the bleak hillside beyond. The moors around Dark were grim at this time of year too, but there were a hundred subtle differences. There—at Chy Lowen, at home—the land stretched out beneath the October skies with a wild, deep grace. Gave up its treasures of fox-copper bracken and the last scraps of gorse like an opening hand, to the wind and the rain-loaded sky.
Underhill Cottage was the last lonely outpost of a half-dead mining town. Of all the places in the world that should have provided a spectacular haunting for Jack’s camera and Anna’s production schedule, this should have been it: not only was there Gwen and Johnny’s dreadful tale, but someone had knocked down a chapel to plant the concrete-poured 1950s bungalow on its unprepossessing site. Gravestones still scattered the hill. Too old to find care among the living, too young to have acquired the mossy charm of the Kernowek-Celtic churchyards by the sea—Victorian at the earliest, marking the remains of the tin and lead miners who’d poured out their souls into the soil long before their mortal remains had returned there—they tilted at crazy angles, a tale of neglect and abandonment he could read like the remnants of yesterday’s newspaper, getting trodden underfoot in the rain.
He made a stern effort to stop. If the ghosts were giving him a break, no need to seek them out. Gid and Zeke would be here any minute, and it couldn’t happen soon enough for Lee. A quick dash up the A30, and they’d be home. Gid had taken an afternoon’s leave to shop and set up, leaving poor Sarah Kemp to try and keep Tamsyn’s cork in as well as Lorna’s, Jenny’s and Brad’s. The stove in the kitchen would be lit, and the living room’s big open fire. The huge old house, full of people and candlelight, would come into its own.
He glanced at his mobile. It was unlike Gideon to be more than five minutes late without calling. Then, with the signal dropping out like this... He gave the handset a shake. The reception bars were vanishing, right to left, leaving only one sad little nub that dissolved as he watched into a small red cross.
That was strange. The wifi had been good enough that afternoon for Anna to stream footage from the Spirits of Cornwall website. He turned away from the window, and a piece of paper fluttered from the ledge to the floor.
The sill had been empty, he was sure. He held still. He wanted to stride into Gideon’s arms, give and receive a bone-crushing hug and go home, not open himself to the no-show undead who had failed to turn up for his hard-working crew, but if somebody wanted to talk... “Hi,” he said uncertainly. “Sorry I called you a tosser. It’s been a long day, that’s all.”
Nothing. The vibe of the room remained undisturbed. If the Nancarrows’ story held any element of truth, he should have no trouble picking up traces of the entity that had harmed them. A raging bloody monster, that would be, churning up the psychic airwaves like a sea storm off Hagerawl Point. He picked up the sheet of paper, turned it over. “Wow. Are you writing to me?”
Neat typescript, from an old manual machine. A single indented paragraph. He read the first sentence, and broke into bewildered laughter. The talented young clairvoyant looked in horror around the room. “Thanks,” he said. “Is that what you want me to do? Why would I be horrified?”
He’d noticed a second door, although he’d have sworn that there was only one. A gut-clutching sense of evil emanated from the oblong frame. Before he could move or cry out, the second door flew open! An unseen force seized the gifted young psychic like a rag in the jaws of a hound! Helplessly it snatched him off his feet, and swept him into the darkness beyond the door.
“Gut-clutching,” Lee echoed wonderingly. “No, I... I’m not feeling it. You know, I think this might work better if you don’t insist on my age and my job title each time you mention me. The exclamation marks are a bit much, too. And helplessly applies to me, really, doesn’t it, not the unseen force?”
Now the atmosphere did change. Less a sense of evil than... pique, was the best way he could describe it. A kind of whole-house pout.
Before he could move or cry out, the second door flew open.
*****
Gideon braked sharply to avoid a black cat that had just shot across the road, tail in a brush, left to right. A pumpkin rolled off the back seat and thumped into the footwell. Ezekiel glanced over his shoulder. “For heaven’s sake, Gideon. Half the Falmouth Halloween market seems to have come home with us.”
“I know. It’s great, isn’t it? And every scrap’s organic, biodegradable, recyclable or all three, so don’t look so po-faced about it.”
“I’m not commenting on your consumer habits. What worries me is...” He jammed a hand to the dashboard as another cat—not the same one, surely—whipped from verge to verge of the narrow lane, travelling in the opposite direction. “Really, whether you approach the matter from a godless Pagan angle or the heartless commercial rubbish we’ve inherited from the States, there’s not much in your planned celebrations tonight to feed our children’s souls or improve their moral outlook.”
“Wow, Zeke. Godless and heartless?”
“Not you and Lee personally, of course. But do you take my point? This is a sacred time of year, when we try to remember our martyrs and saints at Hallowmass, and—”
“You’re a Methodist. You don’t celebrate Hallowmass.”
“I suppose I ought to be impressed that you knew that. However, John Wesley himself was very fond of the day. We don’t make foolish fetish objects of our martyrs in the Church, but we do respect their sacrifice.”
Gideon drummed his fingers on the wheel. After his Midsummer crisis of faith, Ezekiel was more than back on form. The chapel in Dark had been rebuilt, and he occupied its pulpit with a kind of thunderous humanity. Gideon kept up a dutiful front of irritation, but in fact found his brother’s griping more of a reassurance than anything else. “Right,” he said. “I suppose that means your little Toby and Mike won’t be coming along tonight for their dose of candy and corruption?”
A sigh shook Ezekiel’s frame. “Eleanor’s bringing them over at six. They don’t even know what Halloween is, but they do know they want it.”
“Costumes?”
“Two little werewolves.”
Gideon smiled, though Zeke’s answer had given him a small, odd shudder. “You really aren’t the very best advert for Christian austerity, you know. Did you manage to get through to Lee yet?”
“No. It’s odd—we’re right beside the Trescowe moor mobile mast, but I can’t get a signal.”
“Keep trying. We’re gonna be late, and I don’t want him to worry.”
“If you’re lost, have the grace to admit it.”
“I’ll have the grace to wallop the back of your head, when I can spare a hand.” Leaning forward, Gideon tried to focus through the drifting wraiths of mist catching the headlights. “Great. It’s nearly dark. I thought I knew all the back roads around Gotheglos.”
“Perhaps we should ask a policeman.”
“I swear to God, Ezekiel...”
Once Upon a Western Shore #9
The layby opposite Pascoe’s Farm wouldn’t be a bad spot for a picnic. The ochre-pink single-track was quiet but for the occasional tractor, the parking space turf-lined and broad in the shade of a spectacular Cornish hedge. Still, Gideon hadn’t meant to come here. “I don’t know. I really only thought about Lamorna because it seemed so beautiful last night, driving about through the lanes in the moonlight. How do you feel about it?”
“Well – not called as such, not the way I sometimes am. This guy’s been dead a long time.” He gave Gideon a sheepish grin. “Maybe I’m just on the lookout for my next Spirits of Cornwall script.”
“Sounds like it has potential. Want me call DI Lawrence and ask her to run some checks on that name?”
“Not yet. I’m not sure, and... we’re on our day off, aren’t we?”
Hanging around at a crime scene. Gideon shook his head. Still, maybe the distraction would be better for Lee than brooding about Tamsyn’s latest display. That too was on the board for discussion, for some reason harder to begin than it should be, as if a danger lay there, a source of conflict. That was ridiculous, of course. He and his husband disagreed about plenty of things, but when it came to their kid, they stood united. “Do you want to take a look? The field’s just through that gate.”
“Isn’t it taped off?”
“Just the section where the diggers unearthed our guy.”
“Any chance we’ll run into old man Pascoe and his shotgun?”
“I don’t think so. The police doc gave him a sedative last night, and he’s very fragile anyway. He’s probably tucked up in bed.”
Slowly they both got out. It was the kind of day that fostered unhurried movement, the stretch of car-cramped muscles in the fragrant wind, whose touch here felt powerful enough to lift you up into flight. Beyond a rise of land to the south lay the sea. Despite all these beauties, uneasy protectiveness surged through Gideon, and he ushered Lee across the quiet road like a true village bobby, opened the gate for him and gestured him through. Lee broke into laughter at these attentions. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing. Just looking after my investment, the famous TV psychic who’s gonna save me from a lifetime of pounding the beat.”
“Like you’d ever quit.” Lee grabbed his belt and pulled him in for a swift, electrifying kiss. He took a few strides into the field and looked around. “Oh, wow. That’s the one of the Drift stones, Gid.”
Gideon came to stand beside him. “The what? Oh, like the ones over by the A30?”
“Yeah. The remains of an alignment that ran through here from Madron and Tremethick and all the way down to Drift farmhouse. My dad and Jago said there was one right in our garden down there in my grandfather’s time, before it got blown up by a hellfire preacher.”
“Ugh. Probably one of my ancestors – or Zeke’s, anyway.”
Lee chuckled. “I think they were probably shared.”
“Yes, more’s the pity.” The meadow swept away to a sun-haze distance. The rough grass was awash with buttercups, giving back the dancing light with interest. In the centre of this dazzling space, a single megalith thrust skywards – one of the largest Gid had ever seen, held invisible from the road by the thick Cornish hedge and the rise, swoop and dip of the land. “I didn’t even know this was here.”
“Come and introduce yourself, then.”
They went hand-in-hand into the shadow of the giant. There was a sense of ceremony, of a vast presence somehow acknowledging his transient flicker of life. He doubted he’d have felt it on his own: Lee, no doubt, was on first-name terms with every great rock in the district. The wind blew strangely around this one, creating in his head an echoing song. Not questioning his impulse, he laid his free hand to the warm, lichen-rough flank. “Lee,” he said softly, “I love you. This is sacred land.”
“Yes, it is. You can see the top of Carn Brea from here, and the spire of St Buryan’s church, and the mound where Maze Quoit used to be. I love you, too.”
“Shit, though. It’s not gonna be sacred for long once that lot get done.”
They both turned in the direction of the farmhouse. A line of yellow police tape ran across the field’s far corner, and beyond that – lined up like a cavalry force – were nigh on two dozen JCBs, backhoes and caterpillar-tracked excavation machines. Lee shuddered. “The stone’s protected, though, isn’t it?”
“Yes, if it’s a scheduled ancient monument. I’ve been driving past here all my life, and I didn’t know it was there – maybe it’s slipped through the net.”
“That’s insane. It can’t have done.”
“Well, finding a body here will hold everything up. Not for long, though – the routine with cases like this is to take
the remains off-site and let everyone get on with their jobs. Why don’t you give your mate Jory from CAMS a call?”
“I will, just as soon as I’ve...” Lee had already taken his mobile out. He looked up reproachfully at the looming stone. “As soon as I’ve got a signal again. I am trying to help you, you know.”
Movement from across the field caught Gideon’s attention. There was so much light in the air that he struggled to focus, and although the woman making her way along the edge of the tape was familiar, it took him a moment to place her. “Looks like we’re not the only ones wasting our day off. That’s Lawrence over there.”
“Really? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her out of a business suit.” Lee scanned the far side of the drystone wall that bounded the farmhouse lane. “Hang on. I can see somebody else, and he is in his business suit. What’s going on here today?”
The four met up awkwardly by the gate to the farmyard. DI Lawrence seemed to have mislaid her usual brisk demeanour along with her suit, and it was Ezekiel who broke the windswept silence first. As Lee had pointed out, he was emphatically in uniform: shining dog-collar, jet-black suit. Having one of his crow days, as Gid called them, with the attitude to match. “I’d hazard a guess,” Zeke rasped, folding his arms on the top bar of the gate, “that I’m the only one here on legitimate business today.”
“Zeke, you know Detective Inspector Lawrence, don’t you?” Gideon laid a faint stress on the Detective. His own business here was debatable, but Lawrence was perfectly entitled to be poking about in her civvies if she wished. “DI Lawrence, this is my brother, the Reverend Ezekiel Frayne.”
“Of course. I remember you from Lee and Gideon’s wedding.” Lawrence put out a cordial hand, which Zeke took with equal grace. “Do you know the family here, Reverend Frayne?”
“No, although my father knew them well. I’m visiting a parishioner today.”
Something in Zeke’s formality awoke an old demon in Gid – hardly deserved these days, with a brother so transformed and ready for mischief of this own, but old patterns died hard. “You’re a long way out of your parish, Reverend.”
“So are you, Sergeant,” Zeke smartly returned. “Mr Penyar over there used to live up in Dark, and he still comes to my chapel there on Sundays. He called me last night to say he felt spiritually threatened after the discovery in the field yesterday.”
“Spiritually threatened?” Until now, Gid hadn’t noticed the skinny, beak-faced old man lurking on the far side of the lane. “Good day, Mr... Penyar, did you say the name was? I’m a police sergeant. Can I help you in any way?”
Apparently not. Penyar scuttled out of the shadows where he’d been lurking and made off down the verge without so much as a backward glance. “Great,” said Zeke. “Drive off my customers, why don’t you?”
“You said he felt threatened.”
“Yes, spiritually. There used to be a lot of local legends about witchcraft in this area. From what I can gather, the body that’s been found dates from around that time, and he’s disturbed about it, that’s all.”
“Well, let me know if somebody lobs a brick through his window. I might be able to help him then.”
A brief silence fell. Gideon turned to see Lee and DI Lawrence staring at him, bemused. “Gid,” Zeke said cautiously, “I haven’t done anything to upset you, have I?”
Of course not. Gideon wasn’t upset. His skin was prickling in the heat, and he could’ve used a good run, followed by a steak and nice solid fuck. “No. I’m fine. Lee and I were passing by this way, and we wondered...” He tailed off, not sure how he could really justify his presence to his brother or his boss. “It’s a bit of a strange case, I suppose. And old man Pascoe was very distressed last night.”
“So you came to check in on him,” Lawrence offered. “And maybe Lee thought he could have a look around, too?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Lee, who’d caught the habit from Gid. “I wasn’t sure you’d want me messing around this early in the investigation.”
“No, you’re very welcome. You know the drill for forensic hygiene – a lot better than some of our younger officers, sad to say. And the remains have already been taken away.”
“Have you heard back from the lab?” Gideon asked, trying to regain a civil tone and some kind of professional balance. “I know it’s early days, but...”
“Nothing, and to be honest we’re not likely to. It’s all very well being able to extract DNA, but a sixty-year-old corpse is highly unlikely to have got any of it registered anywhere, and dental records won’t help until we know who he is or where he’s from.”
“Er... I know who he is, ma’am.”
Lawrence turned to Lee in surprise. “Really?”
“Well – not exactly,” Lee corrected himself. “I think I know his name, that’s all, and that’s a different matter.”
“It’s still a hell of a step forward. Lee, I’ve seen enough of what you can do that I should’ve learned not to ask questions, but... how do you do this? How do you know?”
Lee shrugged. “Honestly? I have no idea. I dreamed about him, and the name was there. Just that, and the... the back view of him, walking away from me between hedgerows full of spring flowers. It’s this time of year, almost to the day, and...”
“Gideon!” Lawrence took an alarmed step back. “What’s happening?”
“Well, you did ask him how he did it,” Gideon said grimly, coming to take Lee’s arm. Zeke climbed over the padlocked five-bar gate with surprising agility and took up position on the other side. “He’ll be all right, though. Won’t you, love?”
“His eyes just changed colour. I saw it. They were green, and now they... they look like moonlight.”
Lawrence off-duty was a lot more easily fazed than the upright little martinet who ran Bodmin Police HQ. “It’s okay. It just means he’s having a vision,” Gideon said reassuringly, more for Lee’s sake than hers. Sometimes he throws up or has a seizure, and sometimes his heart beats so fast I’m afraid it’ll tear out of his chest. Sometimes he sees things that make him want to die, and I’m sometimes afraid that the good things of this world – the things I can show him – won’t be enough to make him stay. He held on tighter. Zeke, who knew about some of this, met his eyes, his silence a rough comfort.
Suddenly tension left the rigid arm Gid was holding. Lee sucked in an unsteady breath, trance breaking with a near-audible pop. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry, Marjorie. That’s all I’m getting anyway.”
“Well, good.” Gideon rubbed his back, and he and Zeke carefully let him go. “You are meant to be on your day off, you know. Er... who’s Marjorie?”
“I am. I’m Marjorie.” Poor Lawrence had retreated all the way to the edge of the taped-off trench. “It’s my first name, but I hated it, so I always used Christine. No-one knows that except my parents, and they’ve been dead for ten years.”
Saturday's Series Spotlight
Bestselling British author Harper Fox has established herself as a firm favourite with readers of M/M romance. Over the past four years, she’s delivered eighteen critically acclaimed novels and novellae, including Brothers Of The Wild North Sea (Publisher’s Weekly Best Books of 2013), Stonewall Award-nominated Scrap Metal and the enduringly popular Life After Joe. Harper takes her inspiration from a wide range of British settings – wild countryside, edgy urban and most things in between – and loves to use these backdrops for stories about sexy gay men sharing passion, adventure and happy endings. She also runs her own publishing imprint, FoxTales.
Harper has recently returned from Cornwall to her native Northumberland, and already the bleak moorlands around her home are providing a wealth of new ideas for future work.
GOOGLE PLAY / SMASHWORDS / B&N
EMAIL: harperfox777@yahoo.co.uk
Underhill #8
B&N / KOBO / SMASHWORDS
Once Upon a Western Shore #9
Release Blitz: The Selkie Prince and His Omega Guard by JJ Masters
Title: The Selkie Prince and His Omega Guard
Author: JJ Masters
Series: Royal Alphas #2
Genre: M/M Romance, Mpreg, Paranormal
Release Date: October 6, 2018
Cover Design: Megan Parker of EmCat Designs
Summary:An alpha prince ready to find his fated mate. A Selkie who wishes he wasn’t omega-born...
Unlike his brothers, Prince Adrian, the dutiful second-born son to the King of the North, looks forward to finding his true mate and producing an heir. Until he stumbles across a beta guard with an enticing scent.
Del never wanted to be an omega. All his life, he’s only wanted one thing: to serve as a Royal Guard. Though forbidden, he found a concoction to mask his omega scent and was successful until his dwindling supply caused the alpha prince to discover his deception.
Rian not only breaks every cherished royal tradition, but ends up hiding Del until he can figure out the reason for the attraction between them. However, one selfish mistake puts them in a precarious position they can’t escape. Their reckless actions have them worried they’ll be banished from the Selkie community. Rian needs a plan to convince his father to accept his mate before he has to risk everything he’s ever known and loved for their future. Because, no matter what the king says, Rian will not give up Del.
Note: A 60k-plus word m/m shifter mpreg story, this is the second book in the Royal Alpha series. Due to the “knotty” times in this book, it is recommended for mature readers only. It can be read as a standalone and, of course, has an HEA.
Prince Adrian, the second born alpha son to the King of the North, frowned. As he stood near the throne where his father sat with his four brothers flanking him, his gaze bounced off the six omegas that had their foreheads pinned to the stone floor and their naked asses presented in the air.
He sighed quietly in disappointment. Not one of these omegas was his fated mate. The Selkie Seekers had gathered these males from good families all over the world, but none of the half dozen presented today belonged to him.
Rian—as his brothers liked to call him—glanced over at Luca who stood with his pup, Dylan, at the back of the Great Hall, bouncing the baby in his arms to keep him from fussing. He reminded himself that it had taken his oldest brother, Kai, several presentation ceremonies until he found his fated mate.
This was only Rian’s first. But still...
Unlike Kai, Rian had always preferred the Selkie traditions and he looked forward to finding his true mate and producing an heir. He was tired of rutting with the betas they had at their disposal. And to even think about rutting with a human...
He wrinkled his nose. His brothers may very well enjoy the sexual release the human males brought, but Rian refused to join them. He was a Selkie prince. He would rut only with another Selkie.
He found humans to be boring and figured none of them would be able to take his size anyway. As his brothers liked to point out time and time again, Rian was big. Most alphas were, but his was... extraordinary. As his younger brother Zale liked to call it... a dinosaur bone.
Not even all the betas could accommodate him. He knew which ones could and tended to use them for relief when needed.
He wrinkled his nose again, but this time it was for another reason. A sweet scent pulled at him. And it wasn’t coming from any of the omegas kneeling on the ground before him.
His eyes flicked back to Luca. Then he twisted his head and glanced over his shoulder at Kai. “Is Luca due to come into oestrus soon?”
Kai’s blue eyes narrowed as his gaze shot to his omega mate then back to Rian. “No.”
Rian inhaled deeply trying to pinpoint what the smell was and where it was coming from. “Do you smell that?”
Before any of his brothers could answer him, this father, the king, loudly pounded the end of his scepter onto the floor at his feet.
“Douglass! If Prince Adrian cannot identify any of these omegas as his fated mate, then let’s get this wrapped up.”
His father’s asshole assistant fluttered down the steps from where he’d been standing behind the king, and approached Rian.
Rian frowned at the weasel-faced beta servant. “What?”
“Has none of them caught your fancy, Your Highness?”
Rian let his gaze wander over the six naked males all bent over in a line. “None of these are my omega, Douglass. You may dismiss them all.” He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but it was a struggle.
With a nod of his head and what curiously looked like a satisfied expression, Douglass clapped his hands, had the omegas rise to their feet, and herded them out of the Great Hall.
Rian couldn’t help but take one last look at the naked males. All were from acceptable families, all very handsome and some were even hung very well for an omega, but even if he was sexually interested in any of them, he was forbidden to rut with them.
Doing so could throw an omega into heat and with heat came pregnancy and then Rian would be stuck with an omega who was not his intended fated mate.
All for a quick dalliance.
Rutting for pleasure with an omega would also ruin the omega’s reputation. Omegas didn’t have to come to their mate with their corona membrane intact, but no matter what, they couldn’t rut with an alpha unless it was their mate. To do so was illegal and could mean imprisonment. Or worse, banishment.
He sighed quietly in disappointment. Not one of these omegas was his fated mate. The Selkie Seekers had gathered these males from good families all over the world, but none of the half dozen presented today belonged to him.
Rian—as his brothers liked to call him—glanced over at Luca who stood with his pup, Dylan, at the back of the Great Hall, bouncing the baby in his arms to keep him from fussing. He reminded himself that it had taken his oldest brother, Kai, several presentation ceremonies until he found his fated mate.
This was only Rian’s first. But still...
Unlike Kai, Rian had always preferred the Selkie traditions and he looked forward to finding his true mate and producing an heir. He was tired of rutting with the betas they had at their disposal. And to even think about rutting with a human...
He wrinkled his nose. His brothers may very well enjoy the sexual release the human males brought, but Rian refused to join them. He was a Selkie prince. He would rut only with another Selkie.
Not even all the betas could accommodate him. He knew which ones could and tended to use them for relief when needed.
He wrinkled his nose again, but this time it was for another reason. A sweet scent pulled at him. And it wasn’t coming from any of the omegas kneeling on the ground before him.
His eyes flicked back to Luca. Then he twisted his head and glanced over his shoulder at Kai. “Is Luca due to come into oestrus soon?”
Kai’s blue eyes narrowed as his gaze shot to his omega mate then back to Rian. “No.”
Rian inhaled deeply trying to pinpoint what the smell was and where it was coming from. “Do you smell that?”Before any of his brothers could answer him, this father, the king, loudly pounded the end of his scepter onto the floor at his feet.
“Douglass! If Prince Adrian cannot identify any of these omegas as his fated mate, then let’s get this wrapped up.”
His father’s asshole assistant fluttered down the steps from where he’d been standing behind the king, and approached Rian.
Rian frowned at the weasel-faced beta servant. “What?”
“Has none of them caught your fancy, Your Highness?”
Rian let his gaze wander over the six naked males all bent over in a line. “None of these are my omega, Douglass. You may dismiss them all.” He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but it was a struggle.
With a nod of his head and what curiously looked like a satisfied expression, Douglass clapped his hands, had the omegas rise to their feet, and herded them out of the Great Hall.
Doing so could throw an omega into heat and with heat came pregnancy and then Rian would be stuck with an omega who was not his intended fated mate.
All for a quick dalliance.
Rutting for pleasure with an omega would also ruin the omega’s reputation. Omegas didn’t have to come to their mate with their corona membrane intact, but no matter what, they couldn’t rut with an alpha unless it was their mate. To do so was illegal and could mean imprisonment. Or worse, banishment.
J.J. Masters is the alter-ego of a USA Today bestselling author who writes hot, gay romance filled with heart, humor and heat. J.J. became fascinated with mpreg romance as soon as she figured out what mpreg stood for. She loves to write about "knotty" men!
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The Selkie Prince and His Omega Guard #2
The Selkie Prince's Fated Mate #1
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