Summary:
Dragons #4
A stolen amulet…
Jasper has spent his adult life trying to forget about the amulet that was stolen from his family years ago. He and his brother vowed never to discuss it. He never expected Armant to walk through the door of the jewelry store asking questions about it.
A secret kept…
Armant was looking for help on finding the amulet’s counterpart in order to stop Molpe from terrorizing the lives of the dragons, their mates, and their children. He sought the help of a skilled jewelry appraiser and found his mate instead.
When the search for the second amulet stalls, Armant wonders what his mate could be keeping from him and why.
This is a short (27,000 words), sweet romance with a HEA. It contains mpreg and is the fourth of the Dragons Series.
Summary:
What happens when a once-in-a-lifetime trip turns into something unexpected?
Tim is enjoying a spring break cruise when he meets someone intent on hampering his onboard activities. But Owen, an alpha who works on the ship, has misunderstood the omega’s objective, and his actions put the pair at loggerheads.
After an evening celebrating with Owen’s family, the omega orchestrates a stunt which forces both him and the alpha to consider their choices.
While Owen is incensed at his brother’s meddling, he can’t ignore his craving for intimacy. But his fear of change, pushes him and Tim further apart.
The alpha commits himself to a grand gesture, which dwarfs Tim’s earlier feat. But will it be enough?
Original Review April 2026:
I was looking for Easter-themed stories, which BTW there are not enough of them, and came across this mpreg by Colbie Dunbar and I immediately 1-clicked. This is a cute meet story which can always bring an extra layer of frun, even if it doesn't seem so cute at the moment, you just know the couple will be telling this story for years to come with all kinds of snark and cuddles. Mpreg is still relatively new to me in regards to the number of authors I've read so even though my library shelf is seemingly small, Colbie Dunbar has certainly earned their place there.
Could it have been better had there been more pages to dive into the mens' story? Sure but in truth, for an Easter holiday story, its the perfect length. Owen and Tim have a very snark and cuddle connection that may have been based on some miscommunication during their first meet as some moments afterwards as well. Miscommunication can sometimes be used as nothing more than a cheap plot ploy with little to no true understanding behind it but that is not the case with Tim and Owen.
The Omegas Sun-Drenched Easter is a delightful springy holiday short that you can't help but smile at and leave with a lighter heart. Just fun all around.
RATING:
Summary:
Mystics of Mistvale #3
A forest spirit protective of his home. A unicorn determined to befriend him. A slowly strengthening bond.
Alden
My magic had never failed me, and when it guided me to Silent Creek Park, I followed my instincts. The forest spirit who called the park home was shy and not very talkative, but my magic told me he was important, maybe the most important person I’d ever meet.
I didn’t care how long it took, I was determined to break his walls. I’d bring him as many cupcakes and sweet treats as it took. After all, wasn’t the way to a man’s heart through his stomach?
Elian
I’d been content with my life in the park I’d claimed as mine until I sensed his presence. A being as old as me, and maybe just as lonely in some ways. He was beautiful with his colorful mane and his chipped off horn, a unicorn worthy of being in my park.
I still couldn’t bring myself to talk to him, but when he started bringing me the sweetest, most delicious treats, I gave back in kind like the old times. Maybe having a friend wouldn’t be that bad, but what what if we could be more?
The Reclusive Dryad is an MM paranormal romance featuring a unicorn who is the last of his kind, and a reclusive forest spirit with a sweet-tooth. It features an ethereal romance between two magical beings connected to Mother Earth, tons of sweet moments, and the usual Mistvale mayhem.
Summary:
Monsters & Mates #3
Falling for a royal guard with glowing eyes and a lethal energy punch? Definitely not on my Terrafeara survival bingo card. But here we are.
I’ve spent over two years in this stitched-together world of monsters, rebels, and volatile rifts, doing my best to stay under the radar—mostly. That ends the moment an Aussie crash-lands into my life, half-dead and dragging the Glowranth crown prince’s attention with him. Apparently, this stranger is fated for more than just trouble.
To save him, I’m forced to team up with Kael—prince’s guard, Glowranth warrior, and six-foot-plus of brooding, blue-skinned temptation who makes my pulse race and my sarcasm sharper. He’s loyal, lethal, and infuriatingly irresistible… and somehow, he might be mine. If I let him.
Now we’re trekking through hostile terrain, uncovering truths about our bond, the rebellion, and something far worse: these rifts may not be accidents. Someone could be creating them on purpose.
Time’s running out. The Aussie’s dying. Enemies are circling. And Kael and I are falling fast—whether I’m ready for it or not.
Because in a realm ruled by power and prophecy, love isn’t just messy. It’s world-altering.
This is a monster-filled romantic fantasy packed with portal-hopping, fated mates, and the kind of enemies-to-lovers tension that comes with forced proximity and clashing personalities. Expect “mine” vibes, hurt/comfort twists, alpha-level danger, and a spark-filled collision between sharp-witted sass and broody, battle-hardened muscle.
Mismatched Mates #2
Captured, imprisoned, and…falling in love?
Arik is many things. Shaman, necromancer, a little on the snarky side…no one could ever accuse him of being boring. But one thing he never intended to be was imprisoned by angry werewolves. Maybe casting that love spell on the sexy alpha pack leader wasn’t such a great idea after all.
Matthew Armitage has a problem. Several of them, actually. And the biggest one is Arik. The shaman can’t be trusted. He’s dangerous enough to get the entire pack killed. Matthew knows that. But knowing doesn’t make it any easier to keep his mind (and hands) off Arik. Surely everything he’s feeling is a side effect of the spell…right?
It’s not long before enemies of the pack start circling—including one intent on claiming Arik as his unwilling mate. If they have any hope of surviving, Arik and Matthew will need to work together. And if they want a shot at happily ever after…well, they’ll just have to cross that bridge when they get to it.
If they get to it…
Captive Mate can (sort of) be read as a standalone, but works best when read in order as part of the Mismatched Mates series, beginning with The Alpha’s Warlock. This book contains a vivid memory of a sexual assault, but the assault occurs in the past and off-page and is not between the main characters. This series does not contain mpreg.
Dragon's Jewel by Jena Wade
Armant
I searched my desk for the paperwork I needed to take to the new appraiser at my jewelry store. Instead I found baby rattles, a few bottles, and a burp cloth that had God knows what, crusted on it. I picked that up carefully and dropped it into the trash, then grabbed a container of baby wipes and cleaned my hand. Maybe it wouldn’t bother me when it was my own child, but everything just seemed so… sticky.
My own child. That reality was getting closer and closer but still seemed so far away. I couldn’t wait to hold my own child, have my own mate.
I snapped myself back to the present.
“Merek, have you seen the drawings that Mason did of the amulet?”
Merek looked up from the book he was reading. “No. Are they under the receiving blanket?”
“What the fuck is a receiving blanket?” I asked.
Merek shrugged. “I don't know, that's what Gale called it.”
“Good Goddess, this place is overrun by baby crap. Didn't we build the playroom so all this stuff would stay in there?”
Merek turned back to his book. “Pretty sure that baby stuff just can't be corralled. It kind of overflows everywhere. There's three babies now, you know.”
“Yes, thank you. I can count.” My patience had reached its end. I wasn't one to lose my temper, but damn, I was getting close. My dragon had been restless for months, both due to the threat of Molpe—the evil rogue siren who has been trying to kill off mates for her own diabolical needs—and her damn vampire puppet and, though I was reluctant to admit it, since three of my closest friends had found their mates and I had not. Merek hadn’t found his yet either, but he didn't seem to let it bother him. Then again, I didn't ask. I suppose outwardly, it didn't seem to bother me either. But it had been grating on my nerves for some time now.
I picked up a blanket that appeared too small to hold any sort of child, but too big to be a burp cloth. “Is this a receiving blanket?”
Merek looked up with a roll of his eyes. “How the fuck am I supposed to know?”
I tossed it at him, and it landed on his head. He didn't even flinch, just pulled it off, then continued reading. He had been right, beneath it lay the drawings that Mason had put together for me. I picked them up, put them in a file folder, and carefully placed them in my briefcase, then shut it.
“Where’s Jay?” I asked. The young vampire we’d captured had been one of Peter’s—Molpe’s vampire puppet—creations that had escaped, though the way he had been living when I’d found him wasn’t exactly sustainable. Since we’d brought him here, the man had cleaned up considerably, but he was no more trusting. He seemed to have latched on to Mason though, and the plan was for him to go back with Jericho to live amongst the wolf pack once Jericho made it out to visit Mason and the new baby.
“He’s in his room. Said he wanted some space.”
“That was two days ago,” I said.
Merek shrugged. “He’s a guest here and he hasn’t had an easy time lately, Armant. I’m not going to require him to come out and socialize.”
A bit of remorse tugged at me. I hadn’t enjoy capturing him by force, but it had been necessary at the time to save Mason after he’d been kidnapped by Peter. He wasn’t our prisoner, but he had been taken by force. I hoped to one day make it up to Jay. “All right.”
“Are you heading out now?” Merek asked.
“Yeah,” I said. I should have left a few days ago. But I had enjoyed being around my friends and their children, even if the baby clutter did drive me insane at times. But with Molpe still on the loose, I shouldn't have been so lax with my ambitions. Suddenly, I couldn't wait to get out of the house. It was a two-hour drive to the store that I'd be visiting, and it opened at ten. If I left now, I'd get there about then.
“All right, man,” Merek said. “Good luck. Let us know if you find anything out.”
“It'll take some time for the appraiser to do his research. The man is quick and smart, but the results are still going to take time.”
“Have you talked to him at all?”
I shook my head. “No, he was hired a few weeks ago, and I just happened to recognize his name when the manager mentioned it to me. He's well-renowned in the field. Almost as good as I am.”
Merek snorted. “You have a bit of an edge, seeing as all you have to do is touch a gem to know if it’s real or not. Perks of being a jewel dragon.”
I shrugged. It was true, I could identify gems by touch alone. Although, unlike humans, I considered them all precious, but that was my own little indulgence. In the past two thousand years, being the only jewel dragon left, my hoard had grown to an immense size, to the point where I couldn't hide it anymore. It was only right that I share it with the rest of the world. So most of what I owned was on display at museums or inside one of my jewelry stores. Gems, diamonds and other precious stones needed to be seen and appreciated, although it did irk my dragon just a little bit that it wasn't well known that they all belonged to me. It was important for my dragon to let everyone know that those gems that were so admired by the public belonged to us. But that was a risk I couldn't take. People would start asking questions if they knew one person owned all those gems.
I said goodbye to Merek and left a note for everybody else in the household, so they would know I had left. Apparently, everyone was down for a morning nap, except for Keegan, Leonidas’s and Flint’s son, who seemed to be boycotting naps these days. Going from two a day to just one, which apparently was a fun transition time for parents.
I debated which car to take and opted for the BMW. I wanted elegant, but not necessarily flashy. So, the Jag was out. As I set off on my drive, anxiety set in and my heart rate increased. I wasn’t the most social of creatures, though I didn’t usually let anxiety hit me this hard. I tended to be a little cooler under fire, but something in my instincts told me to be aware. I wondered what I'd find in the city, what I could possibly be driving into.
The Omega's Sun-drenched Easter by Colbie Dunbar
Tim
“Hey!”
“What the hell?” Tim swung around and studied a pair of deep set blue eyes. He was struck by the guy’s rapid breathing, open mouth and the hand clamped on his shoulder. The omega winced as the stranger’s fingers dug into his flesh. But it was the primitive scent reminding Tim of his four-legged ancestors that had him taking a step back.
“I’ve got you, sir.”
Moments earlier, the omega had been leaning against the railing, the wind ruffling his hair and biting his cheeks as he squinted at the ocean stretching out to the horizon. Water sprayed on his face and after wrapping one hand around the railing, he’d got on tiptoes, and leaned out as far as he could.
Churning through the sea, the ship had left a white frothy trail in its wake. Tim had been peering at the turbulent water, hoping to see dolphins. He’d read the mammals loved to cruise through the ocean behind boats, and with a hand shading his face against the sun, he’d been staring at the backwash along with groups of fellow passengers.
Now, a guy with the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow, sunglasses perched on the end of his nose and dressed in the cruise ship’s uniform of light blue, short-sleeved shirt and white pants had spoiled the moment. Despite the ocean’s salty aroma and the wind whipping past his face, Tim shivered as he inhaled the man’s powerful fragrance. Alpha! The odor filled his nostrils, and a pleasurable tingling sensation spread over his body.
The omega peered at a tag on the alpha’s chest and made out the name ‘Owen’ as the alpha gripped his shirt and wouldn’t let go. Tim inspected Owen’s short fingernails before his eyes skimmed along the alpha’s muscular arm and then back to the face that trapped him in its gaze. “Get away from me!” He grabbed Owen’s hand and tried to pry it off.
“Whatever’s going on, help is available.”
“I don’t need help. Especially not from you.” Tim glanced over his shoulder at the water. “You’ve ruined everything.”
“We’ve got people who will listen to you.”
“Listen to this! You fucked up and I’m pissed.”
Two burly security guards raced up to the pair and stood on either side of the omega. One placed a hand on his shoulder. “Come with us, sir.”
“What is this?”
“We can talk about it, but you need to come below.”
A shout from someone further along the deck had Tim growl, “Is it against policy to have fun?”
The alpha glanced at a group to his right and Tim took advantage of his distraction. He grabbed Owen’s thumb and twisted it back. The alpha yelped as the omega ducked and stumbled backwards.
Both security guards charged forward shoving Owen onto Tim. The omega’s back was bent over the railing and his inverted view of the world had him puzzling over which way was up. Two pairs of beefy hands grabbed him and hauled him upright while the alpha groaned and shook his thumb which was already swelling.
With Owen’s lips a hair’s breadth from Tim’s, the omega screwed up his face as the alpha’s tangy scent suffocated him. Owen’s groin was pressed against Tim’s, and the omega struggled to free himself, not only from the warmth of the man’s body, but also the aroma that battered his senses.
The Reclusive Dryad by Stella Rainbow
Alden
Iloved my friends dearly, but sometimes I just wanted to lock them all in a room and throw away the key.
Luckily for me, my friends were too busy with their lives to meddle in mine, which I was just fine with.
Vo had gotten himself hired by the human chef—Trick, he'd said his name was—a few days ago, which meant he was spending practically all his time at the human's place. Memphis, Quill, and I had a bet going about whether or not Trick was Vo's mate, but I was pretty certain he was.
With Neel and Pax at the packland for school, Memphis and Orion were holed up in their bedroom for some alone time, which made it easy for me to leave the house without getting bombarded by a hundred questions about where I was going.
Ever since my friends had realized I'd been visiting Silent Creek Park with some frequency, they'd started badgering me about what I was up to, especially after I'd stopped them from tailing me there.
I'd told them I went there to shift, which was an outright lie. I hadn't shifted yet at all, though I was planning to sometime soon. I knew they had a bet going about it—they wouldn't be my best friends if they didn't—but I had no plans of revealing my agenda anytime soon.
Running my fingers through my hair and pushing them into some semblance of order, I adjusted my glasses, brushed my fingers over the horn-tip hanging from a cord around my neck—a habit I'd developed ever since I started wearing it like that—and made my way downstairs. Being as quiet as I could, I opened the door, stepped outside, and slowly closed it behind me.
It'd rained earlier today, and the air was cool, the driveway and street wet. I debated over borrowing Memphis's truck but decided against it. They'd need it to go pick up the boys later, and I didn't want to lose track of time and leave them hanging.
Instead, I walked. I loved walking, and I'd done a lot of it in my life. I'd traveled across countries on my feet—sometimes two, sometimes four—and one of the drawbacks of settling down was the lack of opportunities for going on long walks. I made it work, though.
It was how I'd ended up at Silent Creek Park the first time. It'd only been a few days since we'd moved to Mistvale, and I'd been getting restless. So, I'd gone to the park to spend some time surrounded by Mother Nature, and that was when I'd sensed them. The forest spirit—or dryad, as some called them—had claimed the park as theirs, and suddenly what I'd heard about humans not being allowed into the park had made a lot more sense. Dryads, as a rule, hated humans because they were the number one reason behind the destruction of forests and the deaths of so many forest spirits.
As a unicorn, my magic sometimes gave me insights, gut feelings about things that I'd learned not to ignore. One such insight had insisted I return to the park, and so I had. And ever since that first time, whenever I leave the park, my gut insists I return as quickly as possible.
It'd been almost two years since I'd first been to the park, and I'd been coming back to it a few times a week ever since. At first, I'd just assumed it was the pleasant atmosphere that kept pulling me, the way the air and everything in the park was tinged with a hint of magic.
I'd only recently come to the realization that it wasn't something, but someone. Once Memphis found his mate, I'd realized that maybe, maybe the reason I kept wanting to go back to the park was because of the person it belonged to, the forest spirit who watched over the park and guarded it.
I had yet to meet them, despite the fact that I'd been at the park every day for the past two weeks. I got the feeling they weren't a fan of people, but I wasn't going to let that stop me, not if my gut feeling was right. And I knew it was because it'd never failed me in all my centuries.
At first, I'd struggled with the idea that the forest spirit might be my mate. I'd never expected to find mine, a little because I'd already spent such a long time without them, but mostly because I'd thought something was wrong with me. I knew better now, of course. Humans and their exploration into the facets of genders and sexualities had helped me understand quite a few things about myself, but even so, I hadn't expected to find my mate so soon after Quill and Memphis—and maybe even Vo, if I was right—found theirs.
Well, technically, if the forest spirit was my mate, I'd found them before Memphis and Vo, but since I hadn't even seen my supposed-mate yet...
Blinking hard, I realized I'd walked all the way to the park completely lost in thought. Shaking my head at myself, I stepped through the threshold, unmarked by anything except the outcropping of trees and bushes. While everyone in town knew what the park was called, there were no actual markers, and I wondered if that was the dryad's doing too. Had they scared off any humans who came close enough to put up a sign?
The moment I stepped into the park, the dryad's familiar aura surrounded me. Even though I'd never seen them, I got the feeling that they could see me, that they'd been watching me. I wanted to get them to come out and talk, but so far, I hadn't been very successful.
Their presence always felt stronger when I talked to the trees and plants around me, as if they'd come closer so they could hear me better, and yet they never spoke back, or gave me even a hint of their presence, other than their aura.
I wasn't accepting defeat, though. I'd spent two years trying to earn their trust, but it was a drop in the bucket for someone as old as us, and I didn't mind spending another few years showing them they could trust me, though I hoped it wouldn't take that long.
Elian
He was here again. Just like he'd been here yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before.
He'd told me his name a long time ago, introduced himself as if he could see me, as if he wanted to know me. I'd never revealed myself to him, partly because I didn't want to, and partly because I was afraid to. I'd spent so long hiding in my trees, my bushes, and grass, that I didn't know how to stop doing it. So, I did nothing.
I stayed concealed in the trees, in the ground...everywhere. This park was my home, but it was also me. We were the one and the same, and Alden seemed to know that too because he treated every part of the park with respect and care, unlike any other supe or the few humans I allowed into my park.
"I think Vo found his mate," Alden said, settling on a fallen tree before lying down, his arms crossed under his head as he gazed up at the sky. An unfamiliar temptation to approach him, to lie over him and wrap my arms around him, coursed through me, and I pushed it back, instead focusing on the words coming out of his mouth. "He's a human, and a chef. He has a kid too, I think."
Alden talked about his family a lot. It was clear he loved them, and through him, I felt like I knew them all too. Quite a few of them visited the park too. Not as often as Alden, but enough that I remembered most of their names. If I truly met them someday, I'd know quite a lot more about them than they knew about me.
I wondered if Alden talked to them about me the way he talked to me about them. Probably not. What would he say? I talk to this dryad every day who never says anything back?
l could sense that we shared a connection of some kind, but I didn't know what it was. I'd spent so long as nothing but a part of my park that a lot of the emotions I should feel were...muted. Like I was underwater and my emotions were sunlight. I could see them, but I couldn't feel them, and I knew the only way to feel them properly was to take a physical form instead of just existing in the ground and trees of the park, but I hadn't been able to convince myself to do so yet, not even for the blond-haired unicorn who visited me almost daily now.
Alden chatted with 'me' for a few hours before leaving, and I spent the rest of the evening drifting through every bit of foliage in my park, making sure they were all healthy and flourishing.
The next day, when Alden returned, something was different. He'd brought something with him.
"Hey, sorry about this. I promise I won't litter. I skipped breakfast today and then realized I was hungrier than I'd thought," Alden said before taking a bite of a bread-like food with something colorful on top. It had been a long time since I'd eaten human food—I didn't need to eat. My plants kept me healthy—but something about the colorful bread Alden was eating looked mighty edible.
"I wonder if you'd like cupcakes," Alden mused as he chewed, and I wondered if that was what it was called. Then again, if I focused, I could remember some of the other supes who liked to eat at the park talking about cupcakes and pastries. I remembered thinking they looked delicious even then, though I wondered what they were made of. There were a lot of things I didn't eat, after all.
As if reading my mind, Alden continued speaking. "How about this? I'll leave one for you here before I go, and if it's still here when I come back tomorrow, I'll take the hint. Oh, and I figured you might not eat eggs and/or milk, so it's vegan, okay? You don't need to worry about that."
As I watched, Alden finished eating his cupcake before wrapping the last one in brown paper and placing it on the log of wood he'd been sitting on. "I suppose an animal could get to it too, but I think you'd stop it if you really wanted to try. I guess we'll see."
After Alden left that day, it took me a while to convince myself to leave my hideout and take a physical form. I made sure there was no one else in the park before stepping out of a tree close to the log where Alden had left the cupcake. I'd taken my human form because it was better at tasting things, and it felt strange to look at myself and see smooth brown skin and small fingers.
Reaching for the cupcake, I grabbed it quickly and stepped close to the tree, pressing my stupidly smooth back against the rough bark. My grip on the cupcake was almost too hard, and I realized I'd damaged it a little as I unwrapped it to see the smushed lump that looked a lot different than it had when Alden had wrapped it.
Carefully, I took a small bite, and my eyes widened at the explosion of sugariness on my tongue. I'd tasted the sweetest of fruits, but nothing compared to this delicacy. The cupcake was gone before I realized, and I found myself scraping the last of the creamy topping from the paper it'd been wrapped in.
Alden had given me such a delicious gift, and I realized I needed to give back. It was the right thing to do, the way things had been done in the olden days.
Carefully, I folded up the paper and placed it on the ground, laying a small rock over it so it wouldn't fly away in the breeze. Then, I sank back into the tree and traveled through the roots to the tree I was looking for. I'd hidden away all my favorite trees in a copse deep inside the park where no one else was allowed. If a human or supe came close, they saw the edge of the park instead of the copse and turned right around, but this was where I grew my food.
Stepping out of a tree in my true form, I reached up and grabbed a ripe-looking apple, carefully detaching it from the tree. Because of my magic, I could grow any plant here regardless of the season, and I made full use of that by cultivating my favorite fruits and vegetables.
I ran my palm over the apple tree in silent thanks before making my way to the log Alden preferred. There, I shifted into my human form so I could wrap the apple in the brown paper, and then I placed it on the log right where he'd left the cupcake before melting back into a tree. Now, all I had to do was wait for the new day. And Alden.
Kael by Becca Seymour
Chapter One
Every damn time the lightning flashes through the green sky and cracks this world apart, I wince. On the inside obviously. Not a chance in hell that I’ll let any of these fuckers see even a hint of weakness.
Being a “fragile” human got old fast the day I got dumped unceremoniously into this world. It’s why it’s been my mission to toughen the hell up. I barely hold back my snort, thinking my dick-for-brains “uncle,” a.k.a. my mum’s latest loser bogan boyfriend before I was purged from Earth, would be proud.
I’d put up with over a year of being called every homophobic slur under the sun, complete with all the “effeminate” bastardisations he could come up with. If only back then I had the skills I have now. Not a chance the piss-poor excuse for a man would utter a word if he saw me on the training mat, let alone got up close and personal with the newly formed muscles I hadn’t thought I’d been capable of developing.
I suppose that was the thing with being vulnerable and legit the weakest species in this dimension. I’d quickly figured out it was a kill-or-be-killed world. Or at least, toughen up and survive—no matter what it takes. Day five of being here all those months or years (fuck if I know how many exactly) ago, I’d lost count of the number of times I’d almost been eaten or murdered, and all it took was a chance run-in with Varek for me to know I didn’t want to die.
And yes, by “chance run-in,” I absolutely mean the Riftborn Rebels’ group leader took pity on me and saved my arse. I’d been wedged behind a rock, trying to escape an eyeless monster I’d since discovered was a nullmaw.
As it turns out, those little suckers might be blind as a bat, but it’s as easy for them to scent out a quivering human as it is for me to head into Woolworths—a big-arse supermarket in Australia (that’s assuming they’re still in business)—and buy myself a cooked chicken on my way from work.
Fuck, now I want roast chicken. I wouldn’t even mind chasing after one and plucking the damn thing myself. Ask anyone: Chasing food, hunting, preparing, cooking—it’s most definitely not in my skill set. But I suppose the point is moot since Terrafeara is a dimension without our tasty feathered friends. Which means, once again, I’ll be stuck eating whatever Decca and Molsi have cooked up for us.
“You beautiful bag of dicks, what’s cooking?” I greet as I enter Dathanor’s mess hall. Okay, when I say “mess hall,” think less “insert whatever popular Hollywood Army movie here” and more Dungeons & Dragons had a baby with Insterstar Trek, or whatever it’s called. Listen, I hated sci-fi and especially monster-slash-horror movies when on Earth. I’m just impressed that I know what Dungeons & Dragons is—courtesy of a deliciously geeky ex–fuck buddy of mine.
But back to the hub of Dathanor. It’s a second-floor cave—above ground level—and the only one that has good airflow out the back for fire pits. But the bioluminescent green-and-blue veins here do also channel some sort of energy that can be used to cool as well as heat. Or so I’ve been told. Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past either Decca or Molsi to have made that shit up.
Decca flips me off with all four of her middle fingers—something I take great pride in having taught her. And just to be clear, yes, she does have four hands. And arms. Molsi, though, they arch their super-pointed monobrow at me—again, something I taught them to do—before they scrunch their nose, saying in perfect English (they even manage a touch of exasperated affection), “Sonny, I’m not sure ‘a bag of dicks’ can be used as a term of endearment.”
“No?” I step close to the large plank used as a countertop here—a barrier between the Riftborn and Decca’s sharp knives she’s threatened me with more than once. “I beg to differ. If someone handed me a bag of dicks right now, I’d be pretty fucking set for the night.”
Molsi’s scrunched nose remains in place. “A bag of severed dicks would give you… joy?”
The fuck?
I backtrack quickly. “Fuck no, Molsi. Bloody hell. Who said anything about severed dicks?” My already-soft cock shrivels in my pants. “I was thinking more like dildoes. Vibrators, you know?” I slam my mouth shut, because of course Molsi doesn’t know what a vibrator is.
Like 99-point-whatever percent of the population here in our rebel hideout, Molsi is not human. Nor is Decca or the majority of individuals I feel like I have something in common with. Or at least who I can shoot the shit with.
At the moment, there are a staggering six humans, including myself—though I did hear that another two have joined us. I have exactly zero more details than that since they pretty much left again as soon as they arrived. At some point this morning, the newcomers joined Shanae—a badass Southern woman who, quite honestly, I could fall in love with if I wasn’t, you know, gay and if her mate wouldn’t eat me if I looked at Shanae wrong—on some sort of mission. No doubt because of that massive lightning rift that had me wincing earlier.
And the other four humans… unsurprisingly, they’re wrapped up in their mates, stuck like glue to their bonded. And if I sound petulant, that’s because fuck yes, I am. Being the exception to every damn rule is not my idea of a good time.
Varek has this theory that all humans who’ve crossed the rift into Terrafeara have a destined mate just waiting to be discovered and bonded to. Everyone except me that is. And it’s not even like it’s down to a waiting game. Every other human here—and other humans who Varek, Shanae, and literally every creature and species here have come across—have met their fated within a week of the rift.
So that either means my mum’s scumbag boyfriend was right (that I’m a cunt, destined to be alone) or my fated mate is dead. Okay, so there is, I suppose, the very real possibility that I’ve already met them, and when they realised who they were going to be tied to, they ran as fast and as far as their furry, maybe even clawed feet could take them. Which, I think, technically, would lead me back to the first explanation.
But also, fuck all that.
Or at least, back to me fucking a bag of dildoes. Now, wouldn’t that be something special? But it’s best I keep these thoughts to myself, especially if I want something decent to eat that’s not going to turn my hair orange (a story for another time—never). Plus, if anyone knows anything about the newcomers and why they went off with Shanae and her crew, then Decca or Molsi does.
They hear and see everything. Well, they seem to get all the good gossip at least. And since my duties here are pretty basic and I still haven’t got to swing a sword or pummel a monstrous beastie or even anyone from the royal guard who are enemy number one—not for lack of trying, I will pointedly add—I have enough time on my hands to hear all the juicy goodness usually before anyone else.
“Let’s go back to ‘what’s cooking,’ both in that pot over there and where Shanae’s headed off to.” I flutter my eyelashes, which, to be honest, rarely works with most folks, but Decca loves that shit. Not having eyelashes or brows herself makes her think my fluttering is sweet, so obviously I use it to my advantage.
Decca lets out a snort and stirs the bubbling pot with one of her many hands while another tosses a handful of something red and wriggling into a sizzling pan.
“Tonight, we’re having a lovely stew of krigworm and arlak root,” she announces. “Nice and thick. Should keep your human belly full for a few hours.”
Molsi adds, “And fried silkstalks. Don’t worry, we drained the venom first.”
“Comforting,” I deadpan. “Just what every growing boy needs: protein, starch, and the ever-looming possibility of food poisoning.”
Decca cackles as she stirs, the thick brownish-green sludge in the pot making a noise that I refuse to describe. My stomach is already on thin ice.
“Speaking of digestible horrors.” I lean in, resting my forearms on the wooden plank. “What’s the deal with the newcomers? Two humans, yeah? And some other species?”
Molsi gives me a sharp look, their pale silver eyes glittering under the bioluminescent glow. “Shanae took them out with two others. One Pyronox, the other… unidentified.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Pyronox?”
Pyronoxes aren’t exactly common. I’ve only met one in my time here, and he was a walking inferno with muscles to match. Massive, skin like molten rock, bright bloody red, and capable of setting an entire camp ablaze with a sneeze. Pyronoxes are basically the last creatures you want to invite to a bonfire unless you want the whole damn forest to go up with it.
“And the human? The adult one?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual.
Molsi tilts their head, considering me. “Mated to the Pyronox.”
There goes that hope.
Not that I was about to run off and throw myself at the guy, but still, I wouldn’t mind a nice, simple “down to fuck” situation. Instead, it looks like he’s already wrapped up in an infernal love story. Lucky bastard.
“They left almost immediately,” Decca chimes in, flipping whatever she’s frying. “Hours ago, actually. Apparently, they’re searching for evidence of the latest rift and whatever came through it.”
My gut tightens.
Of course, I can’t help but wonder—hope, even—that whatever slipped through might be my mate. But that thought is fucking ridiculous, and I hate myself a little for even considering it.
Still, I tap my fingers on the counter, frowning.
“Any clue what the unknown creature is?” I ask. Though, in truth, it could be a whole town, not just one unfortunate bastard.
Molsi shakes their head. “No details. But it must be important if Shanae took them all out there herself.”
Interesting. Shanae is no fool. If she’s personally escorting them, something about this situation is worth investigating. Saying that, the lightning storm seemed to last longer than usual.
“So, what you’re saying is, I should be prepared for some fresh chaos?” I muse.
Decca grins, all teeth and mischief. “Aren’t you always?”
Fair point.
I grab a wooden bowl as Molsi ladles some of the questionable stew into it. As I take my first hesitant bite, my mind is already turning over the possibilities. New rift, new creatures, and two more humans added to our ranks. One of them, at least, definitely not mine.
But what about the other?
And why do I get the feeling that everything is about to change?
A sudden commotion outside makes me pause, spoon halfway to my mouth. Heavy footsteps thunder through the hall, voices rising in an urgent, tangled mix of Glowranthian and English.
“Sonny!” A tall Trefite bursts into the mess hall, breathless. Their dark scales shimmer under the glow of the cave’s veins. “A human has been taken to headquarters.”
My stomach clenches. Headquarters isn’t here—it’s a short trek away, hidden but more exposed than our rebel accommodation.
“Taken?” I ask, standing. “By who?”
“They were found unconscious. Strange clothing—no pants, like many humans seem to favour. Shanae’s party found them. She went ahead with the majority of her crew. Sent two back with the unconscious human.” The Trefite pauses. Up close I recognise him as Dreink. “Varek sent for you.”
A sharp thrill rushes through me. I’ve been waiting—practically begging—for a real job here. Something with purpose, not just the usual errands or menial tasks that keep me from going insane. Back in Sydney, I worked as a nightclub promoter, which, let’s be honest, was mostly talking my way into free drinks and making sure drunken idiots didn’t vomit in VIP lounges.
Not exactly a skill set that translates well to surviving a rebellion in a monster-filled dimension. It’s why I’ve thrown myself into training, pushing my body, learning to fight. If war ever comes—hell, it’s already on the horizon—I want to be ready. Because as a human, a Riftborn, I’m a target. The ruling realm’s queen sees us as property, assets to be used however she damn well pleases. Captured, enslaved, experimented on.
No fucking thank you.
I slam my bowl down, appetite forgotten. “Let’s go.”
Decca and Molsi exchange a glance, but they don’t stop me or even ask me to clear up after myself. They know better. And yes, that means I’d sulk pretty phenomenally if I’m delayed.
“Thank you,” I throw over my shoulder as I follow Dreink out into the tunnels, my pulse thrumming.
A new human. Found unconscious. Taken to headquarters.
Something tells me this is exactly the kind of excitement I’ve been waiting for.
The tunnels twist and shift, damp air curling against my skin as we move. Bioluminescent veins pulse gently along the rocky walls, casting eerie blue-green shadows that flicker with each step we take. The path is familiar—I’ve made the trip to headquarters a handful of times—but there’s always a sense of unease travelling this far from the heart of our makeshift town.
Once we’re out of the tunnels, we’re exposed. Not just to the creatures that lurk beyond the cavern walls but to the ruling queen’s spies.
“You got any details?” I ask, my voice hushed despite the steady crunch of my boots against the stone floor.
Dreink glances at me, their overlong tongue flicking out briefly, tasting the air before we leave the confines of the covered tunnels and step into the daylight. “Only what I told you. The human was found unconscious. No obvious injuries, but their arrival is… odd.”
“Odd how?”
They hesitate. “Fredole, who brought them back to base, mentioned their body temperature was lower than normal. Plus, there was a dead Dlanwik nearby.”
I frown. “Strange.” Sure, there’s a lot of heat in this part of Terrafeara, but there are snowcapped mountains in the distance. I’ve never got close to them myself, but Shanae told me the snow is almost identical to that on Earth. The main difference is the flakes are more like tiny shimmering crystals, almost translucent in the sunlight, rather than the soft, fluffy flakes we know.
A dead Dlanwik close is also bizarre. They’re venomous creatures, and if one had bitten the human, they would definitely be dead rather than just unconscious.
Does that mean the human managed to kill it? Impressive as hell if they did.
But hold on. Did Dreink say they weren’t wearing trousers?
I roll my shoulders, anticipation tightening my muscles. The human’s unconsciousness could mean anything. Not everyone coming through the rift handles it well. Some freak out, others attack whatever they see, and a few just go into some kind of stupor, completely zoned out. Me? I wasn’t exactly graceful. Those first five days of trying to survive were a mess. I’m pretty sure I spent half that time hiding in a bush, shaking like a leaf, and trying not to get eaten by whatever local wildlife thought I looked tasty. But hey, at least I eventually figured out the whole “don’t die” thing.
This poor bastard? Seems like they didn’t get the chance to figure it out.
As we break through into the open field leading to headquarters, my eyes land on the structure in the middle of it all, and as always, I have to suppress a laugh.
The fucking bowling alley.
Of all the places that could’ve been ripped from Earth and spat out into Terrafeara, it had to be this. A dated, neon-lit, old-school bowling alley straight out of an American suburban fever dream. The first time I’d seen it, I thought someone was screwing with me. A piece of Earth wedged into a monster dimension. But now? It’s headquarters. A beacon in the underground. A joke and a safe house all wrapped into one.
We step inside, past the dusty reception counter and the ancient vending machines filled with nothing but dust balls and rust. The place is dimly lit, the blacklight glow catching on the scratched-up walls where neon lights still flicker. The lanes have long been repurposed, except for one—most are now training spaces, while other areas have been turned into war rooms and makeshift quarters for those being assessed.
At the far end, past the gutted snack bar, a small group is gathered outside the door to the small healing quarters. Varek stands at the centre, his imposing frame making the others look small in comparison. His vibrant purple skin shifts slightly under the glow, his silver eyes sharp as he turns to face me.
“Sonny,” he greets me, voice a deep rumble. “Good. We need to talk.”
My attention snaps to the cot inside the room.
A man.
He’s stretched out, unconscious, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. His dark hair is damp, clinging to his forehead, and his skin is pale—too pale. His lips are also chapped. But the thing that catches me most?
No trousers.
Not in the fun, sexy way. More in the “I got yanked through a rift mid-something” kind of way. He’s wearing a thin vest and boxers. I squint. Are those snow-boots?
I step closer, my curiosity outweighing caution. “They’ve been unconscious this whole time?”
Varek nods. “We checked for injuries. There are none. No bruising, no marks. But something isn’t right.”
I glance at the others in the room—a scout; Aeroth, our medic; and Reat, one of Varek’s trusted advisers. All watching. All waiting.
Something about this feels… different.
I swallow hard, pushing away the strange sense of familiarity crawling up my spine. “What do you need from me?”
Varek exhales, crossing his arms. “Shanae isn’t here. You understand humans better than anyone. We need you to talk to them when they wake.”
Excitement flares in my chest. It doesn’t matter that I’m the second choice. This is a real job. A real purpose. Something more than running messages or helping cook whatever the hell I just abandoned in the mess hall.
“I can do that,” I say, my voice steady.
Varek studies me a beat before he nods. “Find out what you can and keep them calm. I want to know who or what killed the Dlanwik.”
I bob my head. “I can do that.”
Without another word, he retreats, and I’m left with Aeroth, whose language—a bunch of clicks and hums—I can’t decipher. She can speak English, as well as Glowranthian, but I understand why she doesn’t like to if hand gestures can do just as well.
Time crawls as I sit by the unconscious man, watching for any sign of movement beyond the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. Nothing. Not even a twitch of fingers or a flutter of eyelids.
The only thing that shifts is my patience.
I risk a test, pressing the back of my hand against his forehead. An icy chill clings to him. His skin is so much cooler than mine, but his lips aren’t blue. That has to be a good sign, right?
With a sigh, I push to my feet. No point in hovering. Aeroth will let me know if something changes.
I step out, leaving the dimly lit room behind, and wander towards the back of the bowling alley, where the seating is actually comfortable. If I’m going to wait, I might as well do it with a book.
I barely have time to settle into a battered old chair, cracking open the latest novel I scavenged from one of the storage rooms, when a commotion stirs in the main area. Raised voices. Heavy footfalls. The unmistakable tension of something important arriving.
Peering around a small partition, I take in the newcomers.
A man. A kid—maybe ten, maybe fourteen? I’ve never been great at guessing ages. They’re accompanied by a Pyronox, the glow of their ember-like skin unmistakable, and a creature I’ve never seen before.
But what really grabs my attention are the two Glowranthian figures.
I suck in a sharp breath, my gaze falling on the shorter one first. Light blue skin, almost pearlescent under the dim lights, intricate symbols marking his uniform—royalty. Likely one of the princes.
Holy fuck. What the fuck is a prince doing here?
My heart kicks up a notch, but I don’t have time to dwell on it before my attention shifts to the Glowranthian beside him. This one is huge—towering and broad. His glowing bioluminescent markings are subtler than the prince’s, nearly hidden in the shadow of his massive frame.
A bodyguard.
Everything about him screams danger, from the way his nostrils flare as he scans the room to the way his muscles tense beneath his dark armour. The effect is both hypnotic and infuriating.
Before I can dwell on that thought, the human man turns and starts walking towards the room where the unconscious one is being kept.
That’s when it happens.
The Glowranthian bodyguard’s gaze snaps to mine, luminous eyes locking onto me with an intensity that pins me in place.
What the fuck?
Something sharp flickers across the prince’s expression, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then the bodyguard’s eyes flare slightly before his entire posture shifts, his muscles tightening as his expression darkens. He turns to the prince, murmuring something low in their native tongue, and then—just as quickly as he met my gaze—he looks away.
Pointedly.
My stomach twists.
Well, fuck you too.
But the interaction stirs a deeper unease in me, a reminder that since arriving in this world, royalty—the realm itself—has been my enemy. Our enemy. And yet here they are. Here, in our supposedly hidden headquarters.
What the hell is Varek doing letting them in here?
Captive Mate by Eliot Grayson
Being chained up in a basement wasn’t as bad as being chained up in a cave, an outhouse, or a condemned poultry-processing plant. What did it say about my life that I could draw that comparison? Some might’ve pointed out that I ought to stop doing the shit that led me to be chained up, period.
I disagreed. That was victim-blaming, if you asked me. What was a little necromancy, anyway? Like, the guy I’d turned into a giant wolf-zombie-thing the other day was a complete asshole to begin with. I might’ve even improved his personality.
Not that anyone had asked me. As usual, I’d been ignored other than being locked into spelled manacles and dumped onto the floor of a secured room like so much dangerous trash — the radioactive waste of the supernatural world. Too hot to touch. Too toxic to discard in the open. Nearly worthless if I didn’t cooperate, but still with some potential to be used, if my captors figured out how.
First they’d try to get some magic out of me. Then, when I refused, they’d rape and beat me — they’d get some entertainment that way, if nothing else.
At least, that’s how it had gone before, more than once. Who knew what addled, bullheaded Matthew would do to me, or let his pack do to me, while under the influence of my spell? I’d never been raped by someone who thought he loved me before. Maybe this time I’d get a new experience. Broaden my horizons. Let another fraction of the miniscule bit of faith in humanity I’d held onto all these years shrivel and die. Not that I’d had much to begin with. I had faith in myself. Everyone else was a threat or a mark, and often both.
For now, though, I reclined on the beat-up orange shag carpeting, inhaling the acrid dust of decades that puffed out of it every time I shifted my weight. I closed my eyes, finding my center as well as I could with chains wrapped around me and cutting off my magic, the one thing I’d ever been able to control — other than the occasional undead monster.
I was Arik. I held on to that — the one, unshakable foundation of my identity, the name I’d been given by the only person I’d ever loved.
I was a shaman. A little quiver of ironic laughter there, because I hated that title as much as every alpha I’d ever encountered craved the use of someone who held it.
Sam Kimball was dead.
That allowed me a flicker of a smile.
And lastly, I had the Armitages’ alpha pack leader by the balls. And if he thought he could use me without reciprocation, he was about to have a rude fucking awakening. Chains, torture, and even fucking shag carpets couldn’t break me. Nothing could break me.
I was Arik, shaman and necromancer and survivor. I did the breaking.
Deep breath. I’d repeat that until I believed it.
I had the chance to repeat it several dozen times before anything happened to disturb me. Footsteps — several sets of them, it sounded like. Fucking yay. Maybe it would be all three of the stooges this time, instead of just Ian Armitage, Matthew’s brother, who’d come downstairs once the day before to growl and shout at me.
I’d ignored him. Then he’d shouted more. Then his mate, that little fucking asshole warlock Nate Hawthorne, had stomped to the top of the stairs and shouted at Ian about how they’d agreed he was going to deal with me himself. Really, I’d had better conversations.
By the time the door to the staircase opened, I’d managed to prop myself up into a half-seated sprawl against the end of an ancient ratty plaid couch. Couldn’t they have put me on the couch? No, of course not, but given how gross it was I was probably better off on the floor anyway.
I stopped short of laying the back of my hand against my forehead like a Victorian lady with the vapors, mainly because my arms wouldn’t stretch like that with the length of my chains. But I thought I probably got the point across. Limp arms, labored breaths, fluttering eyelashes, check check and check. That love-struck fool Matthew didn’t stand a chance. He might take his anger out on me at some point, or let his pack do it for him, but that would serve a purpose too. The more pathetic I looked now, the more guilt he’d store up for me to tap into later.
The first one through the door was Ian. He’d ripped the head off of Sam Kimball, leader of the Kimball pack, in the pack battle two nights before. The goons who’d lugged me down to the basement had made a point of bragging about it. Not that Sam had really been a Kimball anymore, not after the magic I’d laid on him. Either way, no loss there. If the goons thought I’d be crying over Kimball’s death, they didn’t know much.
Of course, it was obvious they didn’t know much. I doubted they knew how to tie their own shoes.
Ian was fucking huge, had an even bigger chip on his shoulder, and hated my guts. I wasn’t going to waste my focus on him, because I already knew how he’d react to any given stimulus: ripping off heads, etcetera. Boring and predictable.
Next came Nate, his mate, the bitch who’d knocked me out with a water bottle of all fucking things. Even in the dingy light of the one bare bulb on the ceiling, he looked better than he had the last time I’d seen him. The other night his dark hair had been matted with filth, his baggy clothes torn up, his face a pale rictus of terror and misery. Now he just looked mildly exhausted and was wearing jeans that fit, if you liked jeans that cut off the circulation to your dick. His brown eyes gleamed with wary suspicion, and he stayed close to Ian.
Matthew was last.
Matthew, with his broad shoulders, intense blue eyes fixed on me like he couldn’t look anywhere else, and a fucked-up mix of longing and loathing written all over his square-jawed face. My only hope for getting out of this alive.
When I’d cast that love spell on him, it’d been at Kimball’s suggestion. Or rather, Kimball had ordered me to get Matthew in line somehow, intending for me to tie Matthew directly to him. The love spell had been my…elaboration. Having Matthew attached to me, rather than to Kimball, had been my ace in the hole. It’d ended up screwing Kimball over, since Matthew had thought he’d been helping to ‘rescue’ me when he brought Kimball’s plans, and barn, down around his head.
Remembering how he’d thrown everything away to make sure I was safe made it a little harder to plan to use the spell against him…but his feelings were fake anyway. He didn’t get credit for them.
And besides, it’d helped me then and it’d help me now. I loved it when I planned ahead.
“Hello,” I whispered. My voice was so hoarse and scratchy I sounded like a three-pack-a-day hooker trying to attract a john. Hopefully they didn’t make that comparison. “Did you forget to bring breakfast again?” I put as much pitiful confusion into my tone as I could, and let my head loll back as if my neck simply couldn’t hold it up. That also had the effect of baring my long, pale throat to Matthew’s no-doubt interested alpha gaze. “What day is it?”
“It’s afternoon,” Nate snapped, just as Ian said, “Go fuck yourself.”
Matthew’s head whipped around so he could glare at his brother. “What the hell?” he demanded. “You told me he’d been looked after. That you were taking care of everything. He’s chained up on the floor and you haven’t even been fucking feeding him?”
I ducked my head — making it look like I was drooping the other direction with hunger and despair, but really to hide a triumphant smile. Score. Discord sown. First volley to me. “I don’t remember when they fed me last,” I said quietly. Sadly. Meekly, even.
Heavy footsteps shook the floor and I braced myself for a hit. “Hey.” Instead, a huge, warm hand wrapped around the back of my neck, the fingers tangling in my long hair and caressing gently under my ear. I glanced up through my lashes. Matthew’s brows were drawn together, and his eyes were soft with worry. “It’ll be all right, Jonah. We’ll get you out of these chains, get you a real meal and a bed, and you’ll be fine. You were confused. That bastard Kimball was threatening you. You’re safe here, I promise.”
Oh, thank fuck, that made for good hearing, even though the sound of the stupid fake name I’d chosen when Kimball’s shaman Adam asked for one three months before made me wince. This was going to be even easier than I’d thought. Matthew was wrapped around my tattooed little finger.
A second later, Matthew’s eyes rolled back in his head, the hand on the nape of my neck went limp, and he toppled to the floor, his head knocking a puff of filthy dust into the air as it thumped into the shag carpet.
Jena WadeJena began writing in January of 2013 as a New Year's Resolution--and so far she has stuck to it!
She lives in Michigan. By day she works as a web developer, and at night she writes. Born and raised on a farm, she spends most of her free time outdoors, playing in the garden, or riding her horses. She also helps run the family dairy farm.
She lives in Michigan. By day she works as a web developer, and at night she writes. Born and raised on a farm, she spends most of her free time outdoors, playing in the garden, or riding her horses. She also helps run the family dairy farm.
My characters are sexy, hot, adorable—and often filthy—alphas and omegas. Feudal lords with dark secrets, lonely omegas running away from their past, and alphas who refuse to commit.
Lurking in the background are kings, mafia dons, undercover agents and highwaymen with a naughty gleam in their eye.
As for me? I dictate my steamy stories with a glass of champagne in one hand. Because why not?
Stella Rainbow is the pen name of a twenty something woman from India. Her heart is too full of rainbow colored stories to be limited by the lack of awareness in her home country.
Stella spends her days cuddling up with her cat, typing out new stories, daydreaming and reading all the books she can get her hands on.
She loves talking to her readers and other book lovers, so don't hesitate in contacting her on any of her socials or emailing her at authorstellarainbow@gmail.com.
Becca SeymourBecca Seymour is the #1 gay romance best seller of the True-Blue series. Known for “steamy and endearing” and “emotionally profound love stories” (InD’tale Magazine) her books have been nominated for multiple RONE Awards.
Becca lives and breathes all things book related. Usually with at least three books being read and two WiPs being written at the same time, Becca’s life is merrily hectic. She tends to do nothing by halves so happily seeks the craziness and busyness life offers.
Living on her small property in Queensland with her human family as well as her animal family of cows, chooks, and dogs, Becca appreciates the beauty of the world around her and is a believer that love truly is love.
Steamy books with delicious tension, heart-wrenching pining, and a hefty dose of action and adventure have always been Eliot’s jam as a reader and author.
Find out more about Eliot’s books or sign up for an occasional newsletter on her website, or come follow along on Instagram. Happy reading!
Colbie Dunbar
Stella Rainbow
WEBSITE / NEWSLETTER / AUDIBLE
CHIRP / AUDIOBOOKS / PATREON / B&N
EMAIL: authorstellarainbow@gmail.com
Becca Seymour
Eliot Grayson
Dragon's Jewel by Jena Wade
The Reclusive Dryad by Stella Rainbow
Kael by Becca Seymour
Captive Mate by Eliot Grayson
AUDIOBOOKS / CHIRP / RB MEDIA
