Category Archives: Excerpt

Exclusive Cover + Excerpt Reveal: (Un)Masked rerelease by Anyta Sunday and Andy Gallo

Today on the site, we’re celebrating the re-release of (Un)Masked by Anyta Sunday and Andy Gallo, a gay paranormal NA romance, which was previously published by Dreamspinner Press but now has new editing and a new cover! Here’s the blurb:

Walker has two wishes: to perform the play of his dreams alongside his best friend at Wellington’s Tory Street Theatre, and to meet that special someone. Someone he’d go to the ends of the earth for. Someone who might only exist in fairy tales.

When Jay meets accordion busker Lethe Cross, it’s like living a dream come true. Lethe’s music captivates Jay, and he resolves to meet the man who plays so beautifully. But then he discovers Lethe’s life is more like a nightmare. The phrase “down on his luck” can’t begin to cover it. Determined to help, Jay does some snooping for answers—and winds up on the wrong end of a centuries-old curse. The good news is there’s a way to break it. The bad news is it might cost Jay his life.

Aaaand here’s the cover!

Buy it

But wait, there’s more! Check out this (long!) exclusive excerpt!

From the sidewalk, I spied Lethe cutting strokes through the rippling water. The gray glow of morning made it look as if he swam through satin waves. A cool breeze reminded me just how cold those satin waves would be. I zipped up my jacket, dropped the bag with my towel in it, and perched on the concrete wall.

His arms arched over his head in firm strokes, his head twisting for air on every third stroke. He stood up suddenly, whipping the water from his hair and running a hand through it. He searched the length of the beach several times before he caught sight of me.

He beckoned me over. Each move of his hands pulled me toward him.

“You’re here,” he said.

“Gristle just about killed me for waking him up so early. You always up at this time?”

“The beach is deserted now.” He glanced toward the sea, worrying his bottom lip. “Who’s Gristle?”

Flatmate,” I blurted a little too quickly. “My best mate.”

His shoulders loosened and he looked at me. “Did you come to swim or watch?”

I stripped down to my swimming trunks and tiptoed into the sea. “I should have stuck to watching.”

Lethe laughed and kicked water at me. “You would deprive your other senses of all this?”

I stared at the gently lapping water and not the rivulets of water dribbling down his bare chest. “This is quite the sensory feast.”

“Dive in before I pounce on you.”

“I’m not sure you understand how threats work, Lethe.”

“Who said it was a threat?”

My breath caught, and I waded toward his soft, beckoning smile.

When I reached him, Lethe kicked onto his back. His gaze flickered to me before landing on the clear sky above. His green eyes glittered. If one could see a soul, then his was deep, haunted yet determinedly hopeful.

It reminded me of Gristle at the zoo, living life to the fullest because he claimed death danced in his shadows.

I dove under the water, letting the shock of it numb a sudden shiver. I came up under him and tackled his waist.

Lethe twisted under water with me, bubbles bursting out of his smiling lips.

We messed about in the water for only a few more minutes before Lethe dragged us out. I’d grabbed my stuff and drifted to his towel.

Lethe scrubbed his face. “Haven’t done that for ages.” He smiled at me. “Thanks.”

I choked on my own thanks. I’d not had so much fun with anyone other than Gristle for, well, I couldn’t even remember when.

“Maybe we could do this again?” His voice wavered, and he vigorously rubbed at his hair.

“I am all about indulging in sensory feasts.”

Lethe grinned. “On the discussion of feasts. What about breakfast?” He gave me a once over, lingering at my scrawny waist. “You shouldn’t skip breakfast.”

I forced a laugh and hurriedly pulled on my top and pants. Grabbing my bag, I twisted the street. “See you, then.”

He clasped my shoulder and steered me back around. “I think it came out wrong.”

I raised a brow.

He looked at me, gaze flickering nervously from my eyes to my shoulder. “Will you have breakfast with me?”

* * *

I arrived earlier than the four previous mornings, in time to see Lethe wading into the sea. His muscles flexed with each step, and once he hit waist height, he dove under.

Dropping my bag and towel next to his, I followed after him. My body exploded in goose bumps as the first cold waves cuffed my ankles. Sand sank underfoot as the water dragged itself back in. I quickly dunked into the water and gasped from the cold.

Lethe caught sight of me and waved. I swam over. A hand glided over my back, and I jerked upright, treading water.

“Morning,” Lethe said, smiling, as he circled me. “What brings you here so early?”

You. “I wanted to repay the favor, so I made us breakfast this time. It’s more a picnic, but I wasn’t sure of your schedule. How long do you have?”

Lethe flipped onto his back. Water rippled around him, and I threaded my fingers through the tiny waves. “Have I told you the perks of working as a street musician? Other than the stellar pay?”

I laughed. “In that case, sign me up.”

Lethe splashed water on my face and pointed to the fountain. “Want to race?”

I kicked off, taking my advantage and swiftly made it to the fountain, not too far behind Lethe.

“You’re improving,” he said with a smile. “Another couple weeks, and you’ll be a match for me.” He ducked under the water, only to pop up on my other side. He sliced the top of the water with his hand so it sprayed in my face, then whacked my upper arm. “You’re it.”

I lunged after Lethe, managing to jump on his back halfway to shore. I dunked him under the water.

A rueful grin quirked his lips when he came up gasping for breath. Barely two steps away, Lethe leaped onto my back. His knees locked around my sides and hands pressed my head under water. He didn’t hold me under long, letting go with a little tap to my shoulder. Breathing out a bunch of bubbles into the water, I came up. Lethe remained jammed against my back, his chest expanding against me as he breathed.

When he loosened his grip, I twisted and faced him. Water dribbled down his hair, over his scar, plopping on his lips. I pulled my gaze away from his mouth and combed a hand through my wet hair, pushing the locks off my face. “Up for another race?”

He stared into my eyes and my heart exploded into a gallop. I imagined him leaning in, brushing his lips against mine with the murmured words I like you too, Jay.

I slammed my eyes shut and water stirred as Lethe backed up.

He stroked toward the fountain, and I followed, the ghost of his touch still curved against my back.

“You look hopeful.” Lethe stroked over to where I clung to a jutting edge in the fountain base. He latched a hand on the same edge and pulled himself closer.

Although salt water dominated my sense of smell, I detected a hint of something peppermint and spicy coming from Lethe’s hair.

Lethe tilted his head, watching me. “Really hopeful.”

I dipped my head forward and lightly pressed my lips against his. The taste of salt flowed into my mouth; he felt softer than I’d imagined.

It lasted less than a couple of seconds before I pulled away. “Really, really hopeful.”

His breath caught and he grabbed my arm and kicked a leg around mine. His mouth met mine again. Our lips parted, and a gentle tongue flicked against mine. A gasp left me, and Lethe’s lips curved into a smile.

I let go of the fountain, wrapping both arms around Lethe, and deepened the kiss. We sank under the water, limbs entangled, gripping at each other. Salt stung my eyes as I looked at Lethe underwater. His hair swirled upward around him and light glowed around him. We broke our kiss and stared at each other. A cloud of bubbles burst from Lethe’s mouth as he laughed, and it sounded like music.

We pushed our way back to the surface and both hauled in air. I sucked in a good third breath, and Lethe splashed water in my face. I spluttered and coughed. His merry laugh taunted me and I chased after him, dunking him under when I got a good hold.

“We’d better go in.” Lethe looked back toward the shore, a frown forming between his brows. “We’ve stayed out here too long.”

Grabbing our bags and towels, we dashed for the outdoor shower. Lethe hurriedly scrubbed seawater from his hair.

I stepped under the spray with him and tentatively touched his chin, lifting his head. Water beaded at the ends of his eyelashes and trailed over the tips of my fingers. “What’s going on?”

Lethe bit his bottom lip. “Nothing.”

“Nothing doesn’t hightail out of the water every morning.”

“Which eyebrow is my scar?”

I gently drew my thumb over the cut in his eyebrow and he sighed and leaned into me.

“What are you running from, Lethe?” I whispered into his ear.

***

Anyta is a big, BIG fan of slow-burn romances. She loves to read and write stories with characters who slowly fall in love. Some of her favorite tropes to read and write are: Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Clueless Guys, Bisexual, Pansexual, Demisexual, Oblivious MCs, Everyone (Else) Can See It, Slow Burn, Love Has No Boundaries.

Anyta writes a variety of stories, Contemporary MM Romances with a good dollop of angst, Contemporary lighthearted MM Romances, and even a splash of fantasy. Her books have been translated into German, Italian and French.

Member of Romance Writers of America.

Connect with Anyta: Website | Twitter | Facebook

Andy Gallo’s stories capture how he wished he’d spent his formative years, instead of how it really happened. Unfortunately for his characters, they find themselves infused with some of Andy’s less noble qualities.

A hopeless romantic, Andy writes seated next to a hundred year old Smith Brothers typewriter he inherited from his grandfather. He also dreams of superheroes and wizards and sees no reason why two men with superpowers can’t fall in love just like everyone else. Although not all of his stories have a paranormal bent, a touch of the supernatural never derailed a good read in his mind.

Married and living his happy every after, Andy helps others find their happy endings in the pages of his stories. He and his husband of more than twenty years spend their days rubbing elbows with other parents as they raise their daughter. Embracing his status as the gay dad, Andy sometimes has to remind others that one does want a hint of color even when chasing after their child.

Connect with Andy:  Website | Facebook

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Excerpt: The Love Song of Sawyer Bell by Avon Gale

Today on the site, we’ve got an excerpt from a brand-new contemporary f/f romance release, The Love Song of Sawyer Bell by Avon Gale, which is the first book in the new Tour Dates series! Music fans, do not miss out! Check out a little more info on the book:

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Victoria “Vix” Vincent has only two weeks to find a replacement fiddle player for her band’s summer tour. When classically trained violinist Sawyer Bell shows up for an audition, Vix is thrilled. Sawyer is talented, gorgeous, funny, and excited about playing indie rock instead of Beethoven. Their friendship soon blossoms into romance, even though Vix tries to remember that Sawyer’s presence is only temporary.

Sawyer’s parents think she’s spending the summer months touring Europe with a chamber ensemble. But Sawyer is in dire need of a break from the competitiveness of Juilliard, and desperately wants to rediscover her love of music. Going on tour with her secret high school crush is just an added bonus. Especially when Vix kisses her one night after a show, and they discover that the stage isn’t the only place they have chemistry.

But the tour won’t last forever, and as the summer winds down, Sawyer has to make a tough decision about her future—and what it means to follow her heart.

Buy it

And now, the excerpt!

As per instructions, Sawyer had one suitcase, a backpack, and her violin case. She was clutching the latter to her and searching in her bag, probably to fish out her wallet, maneuvering the case out of the way with the ease of long practice and tossing her hair back to keep it out of her way.

“Stare much?” Jeff murmured, appearing next to her.

Vix scowled up at him. “Shut up. I’m just wondering why she didn’t mention needing a ride.” That, and wow, Sawyer had an amazing pair of legs. She was also wearing cowgirl boots with her dress, which Vix appreciated. Once again, she couldn’t shake the feeling she’d seen Sawyer before. Had they gone to the same high school? It was possible, though Sawyer would have been at most a freshman when Vix was a senior. And Vix hadn’t exactly been social with her own classmates, much less anyone else.

Jeff shrugged, appearing unconcerned. “Dunno. But you probably won’t find the answer by staring at her legs like that.”

Maybe not, but it sure wasn’t a hardship to try.

They both watched as Kit walked over and grabbed her bag, and Sawyer gave him a grateful smile and finished up with the cabbie.

“Ugh.” Connor ambled over, his eyes heavy lidded and his face drawn in tired lines. “Why do we have to leave so early?”

Vix patted him on the arm. “Because you’re an idiot.”

“Um.” Connor blinked at her. “What? Why is that the answer?”

“Oh, sorry,” Vix said sweetly. “I was answering the question you should have asked, which was ‘Why did I drink so much and stay up until two in the morning when we have to leave at six?’”

Connor made a face as Sawyer approached, looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and way too awake. “What time did you go to bed?” Connor asked, clearly thinking the same. He sounded vaguely accusatory.

“Eight thirty.” Sawyer blinked her wide, pretty hazel eyes. “Why?”

“Like, eight thirty at night? That eight thirty?” Connor asked.

“Well, yeah.” Sawyer glanced at Vix with a confused expression. “It isn’t eight thirty in the morning yet.”

Connor groaned. “Great, you’re a morning person. I thought we got rid of the morning person. Is that, like, a fiddle-player thing?”

“Bryant was a morning person because he was hooked up to a 5-Hour Energy IV drip,” Vix pointed out.

“Unlike Miss Diet Coke here,” said Jeff, after he stowed Sawyer’s suitcase in the back. He nodded at Vix. “If you ever want to watch Vix lose her mind, steal her morning beverage of choice and prepare to die.”

“Hello, Diet Coke was so high school. I drink Coke Zero now.” Vix tugged at Sawyer’s arm. “Come on, let’s get settled.”

“Do you need me to drive?” Sawyer obediently followed Vix to the van. “I mean, if y’all were up that late, I can take the first shift.”

“Nah, Jeff always drives first.” Vix was suddenly excited at the prospect of having another girl to talk to on the bus. Not that she didn’t love her band, but seriously, this was going to be awesome. “Besides, have you ever driven a van before? Like, one this size?”

“Ah. No.” Sawyer climbed in after her and bounced a little on her seat. She seemed to be two seconds away from clapping her hands.

Vix burst out laughing as she collapsed next to Sawyer, her phone, earphones, and Coke Zero already in her lap.

“What? Why are you laughing?”

“You look like you’re about to go to summer camp.” Vix smiled. Sawyer’s enthusiasm was adorable.

*****

Avon Gale HeadshotAvon Gale was once the mayor on Foursquare of Jazzercise and Lollicup, which should tell you all you need to know about her as a person. She likes road trips, rock concerts, drinking Kentucky bourbon and yelling at hockey. She’s a displaced southerner living in a liberal midwestern college town, and she never gets tired of people and their stories—either real or the ones she makes up in her head.

Avon is represented by Courtney Miller-Callihan at Handspun Literary Agency.

Connect with Avon: Twitter  |  Facebook  |  Newsletter  |  Instagram  |  Website

 

Excerpt Reveal: The Uncrossing by Melissa Eastlake

Exciting times on the site today! We’ve got an exclusive excerpt from Melissa Eastlake’s upcoming m/m YA Rapunzel retelling, The Uncrossing, which releases from Entangled Teen on October 2nd! Check this out:

Luke can uncross almost any curse—they unravel themselves for him like no one else. So working for the Kovrovs, one of the families controlling all the magic in New York, is exciting and dangerous, especially when he encounters the first curse he can’t break. And it involves Jeremy, the beloved, sheltered prince of the Kovrov family—the one boy he absolutely shouldn’t be falling for.

Jeremy’s been in love with cocky, talented Luke since they were kids. But from their first kiss, something’s missing. Jeremy’s family keeps generations of deadly secrets, forcing him to choose between love and loyalty. As Luke fights to break the curse, a magical, citywide war starts crackling, and it’s tied to Jeremy.

This might be the one curse Luke can’t uncross. If true love’s kiss fails, what’s left for him and Jeremy?

TBR it * Buy it

And now, the excerpt!

*****

Finally, feeling like a human tornado, he pulled out his phone and texted Jeremy: What a day

The reply took no time at all. Tired of talking about it. Tell me another joke?

He replied with the dumbest thing he could think of: Where did the general put his armies?

He waited, looking out the window at the piles of ash they’d left in the alley. The bird beat dumbly against the wall near Luke’s arm—he couldn’t control it, but it stayed close to him anyway.

The phone rang.

Luke thought, Fuck. He answered. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” He waited for Jeremy to say no. Just once, for someone else to show some sense.

“Where?” There was already laughter in Jeremy’s voice.

Luke touched the window. In the room’s weak air conditioning, the glass was warm. “In his sleevies.”

Jeremy laughed and groaned at once. “Oh, no.”

Oh, no. “Oh, yes.”

“Nope. No, no, nope.”

Stop it right now. “Yes. Say it. Say, ‘Oh, yes.’”

Jeremy was quiet for a long time. Luke opened his hand against the glass. Good, he thought. Hang up on me.

“Oh.” Jeremy paused. “Yes.”

Luke squeezed his eyes shut. “I changed my mind. Don’t ever say that to me again.”

“Yes?”

“Stop it right now. You will hang up your phone if you know what’s good for you, Kovrov.”

Jeremy didn’t hang up. “Can you not call me that?”

Luke put his forehead against the back of his hand on the window. There were lots of things he could have said, but the one he picked was, “Jeremy.”

Jeremy’s breath caught, a click through the phone. “You should hang up on me. I’m the one who, you know. All this. My family. Everything.”

“I don’t think I’m going to do that.” It had been a long day, but Luke hadn’t forgotten the beginning of it: that smile in the car. He’d known what he’d wanted before his vision and the attack, and he knew what he wanted now. “I think I’m going to kiss you.”

Jeremy was quiet. Luke could see him: gaze sliding everywhere, stretching his fingers out to tap his palm against whatever was near. His bed. Luke rolled his face up, putting his lips on the back of his hand.

“Yes,” Jeremy said.

*****

Melissa Eastlake’s debut novel, The Uncrossing, is coming in 2017 from Entangled Teen. She is a 2017 Lambda Literary Fellow and lives in Athens, Georgia with her partner and their dogs.

 

 

Excerpt Reveal: Lord of the White Hell by Ginn Hale

Queer Fantasy fans, rejoice! In honor of Ginn Hale’s upcoming release of The Long Past, out on October 3rd, she’s rebooting her Lord of the White Hell series today, and we’ve got an excerpt! Best of all? The book is on sale for just $2.99 this week only! (Buy links below.)

Kiram Kir-Zaki may be considered a mechanist prodigy among his own people, but when he becomes the first Haldiim ever admitted to the prestigious Sagrada Academy, he is thrown into a world where power, superstition and swordplay outweigh even the most scholarly of achievements.

But when the intimidation from his Cadeleonian classmates turns bloody, Kiram unexpectedly finds himself befriended by Javier Tornesal, the leader of a group of cardsharps, duelists and lotharios who call themselves Hellions.

However Javier is a dangerous friend to have. Wielder of the White Hell and sole heir of a Dukedom, he is surrounded by rumors of forbidden seductions, murder and damnation. His enemies are many and any one of his secrets could not only end his life but Kiram’s as well.

Buy It: Amazon * Smashwords

And now, here’s the excerpt!

“The White Tree is here.” Javier strode to the center of the circle of gnarled trees and dropped to his knees.

“But there’s nothing there.” Kiram frowned at grassy clearing.

“I’m here.” Javier smiled up at him and then lifted his hand to Kiram. His fingers were gashed. Streaks of his blood stood out like dark strokes against his pale skin. “You’re here.”

Kiram came forward and laced his fingers with Javier’s.

“Don’t let go,” Javier told him.

“I won’t.”

Then Javier placed his free hand on the ground and bowed his head. He whispered a Bahiim word again and again. White sparks flared over his fingers. Where they struck Kiram’s skin a hot, pulsing sensation flared up but then faded at once to a dead cold. Javier’s entire body tensed and his voice grew rough with the force he pushed into each word.

Above them the jays shrieked and swirled and then, as a mass, they dived. Kiram hunched over Javier, shielding his face. If Javier noticed he gave no sign.

Kiram felt the wind of hundreds of wings descending and steeled for their impact. A single sweep of talons clawed across his bowed neck and then an explosion of white fire ripped up from Javier. A wave of intense heat washed through Kiram. The jays screamed and then went suddenly silent. All around Kiram the world burned away and strange forms rose from the waves of power emanating from the white hell.

A curling gray smoke hung where brambles had once formed dark walls. Where twisted oaks had stood, now thirteen tangled black knots loomed up. Like crooked fingers opening from huge fists they unfurled the way the simple letters of Calixto’s diary had opened. But these trees were far more complex. Every twig and branch twisted into forms of script. Roots erupted and surged forward like black eels, all of them swimming straight for Javier’s extended hand.

A blinding white symbol glowed from beneath Javier’s fingers. As Kiram watched it grew more intense, turning Javier’s flesh luminous as a paper lantern and casting shadows of the bones of his hand. A trembling, electric sensation shot up from Javier through Kiram’s arm. The sensation grew painfully hot but Kiram hung on.

Cold, black roots slithered over Kiram’s feet and ankles as they swarmed up over Javier’s outstretched hand. They writhed up his arm and for a horrifying moment Kiram thought they would engulf Javier, but as they touched his skin, light scorched along their tangled lengths and shot up into the surrounding trees.

In moments all thirteen trees were ablaze with light. Their writhing branches traced glowing golden script into the air and the symbols seemed to take flight, spreading over the brambles and woods, then filling the sky. The symbols shone like stars and then fell like snowflakes.

One drifted down to Kiram’s arm. It looked like the symbol for protection. It felt like the lightest kiss against his skin, and then it melted away leaving Kiram feeling somehow safer and stronger, despite the fierce heat rolling over him.

All around the symbols settled, illuminating the surrounding wilderness, and suddenly Kiram realized that this was the White Tree: the entire glade, lit and luminous with blessings.

Still kneeling at his side, Javier didn’t seem to see anything. Kiram felt tremors of exhaustion rocking his muscles.

“Javier, I think it’s done. We should go.” Kiram tugged at Javier’s hand. “You can stop now.”

Javier raised his head. The black shadows of his skull and teeth showed through his luminous, pale skin. Blinding white fire filled the hollows of his eyes. It was as if the face of death leered up at him.

Kiram jumped and almost lost his hold on Javier’s hand.

“Javier!” Terror lifted the pitch of Kiram’s voice. “Close the white hell! Close it!”

The jaw of the skull dropped as if to speak but only white vapor rose from the gaping mouth.

*****

Award-winning author Ginn Hale lives in the Pacific Northwest with her lovely wife and their ancient, evil cat. She spends the rainy days admiring local fungi. The stormy nights, she spends writing science-fiction and fantasy stories featuring LGBT protagonists. (Attempts to convince the cat to be less evil have been largely abandoned.)

Connect with Ginn: Twitter  |  Facebook  |  Instagram  |  Author Site

Excerpt Reveal: Say Yes by JR Gray

Today on the site we have a sexy teaser from JR Gray’s newest m/m BDSM release, Say Yes, which just released on July 24th! Check it out:

James failed.
He tried to be what they wanted.
He tried to deny it.
He tried to be a good Catholic boy…but it’s become too much.
He craves pain, submission.
He’s denied himself far too long, and it’s eating him alive.

Charles thrives off the exchange of power. He knows the world revolves around control. It’s given and taken like currency, in business and in pleasure. He won’t get attached, though, or so he tells himself, until James turns his world upside down. He’s defiant and snarky, but Charles can taste the submission on him.

Charles holds the key to his salvation but James has to Say Yes.

Buy it: Publisher | Amazon

“It’s my job to get you out of your suit, not for you to get me out of mine.” His dark green eyes shone in the low light behind rectangular glasses. He had such a thing for glasses. Charles knew he was being toyed with. It was an unusual sensation for him as he usually did the toying.

“It’s not going to be any work at all for you to get me out of my suit. I think yours will be the challenge.” He undid his belt, and James’ eyes went to his groin. He’d known James was into men. He had a sense for these things.

“You’re not going to get me out of mine.” So cocky. It would be fun to break him of it.

“We seem to be at an impasse.” Charles pulled his belt from his loops and halved it in his hand. He could already see the marks on James’ pale skin.

“It appears so.” He surprised Charles and took the belt from his hands as he stepped past. “This belt looks so worn. Let me find you a stiffer model.” James flashed another smile, showing large canines and a mouth full of gleaming white teeth before he exited the room.

Charles gripped himself. There was only one thing he loved more than submission: having to work for it.

***

Scarlett rolled her eyes. “What has you so tense?”

If he didn’t get out of his funk he was going to have to call a professional. “You don’t want to know.”

She raised one of her dark brows into a perfect arch. “A female has you this way?”

“No.” He didn’t elaborate.

“Mister Walton, you have a Mister Bennet here to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment, but he says he has a tie for you?”

Charles groaned. “Everything with her is a question,” he said to Scarlett before he remembered what she’d been calling about. He perched forward to press the intercom. “Send him in.” He looked at Scarlett again. “Out.”

She pulled back, giving him a look. “Interesting.” She looked James over as she slipped past him to leave the office.

James was in light gray slacks. He strolled into the office like he owned the place. Another thing only wealth could instill. Breeding. He was comfortable here, not at all intimidated. He was an enigma.

“Your tie, as promised, Sir.” James laid a box on his desk with a knowing smirk.

Charles shifted in his seat, suddenly wishing he wasn’t so disheveled from his lunch break. “I was starting to wonder.” He didn’t move to take the box. “What do I owe you?”

James shook his head. “I wouldn’t hear of it.” He turned to go.

“Leaving so soon?”

“I have to get back to the lower west side. I have a class.” He wore a wolfish grin.

So cocky for someone so young. He was dressed subtly today, slacks and a button down but no tie. It was a shame.

“Class?” Charles leaned back and crossed an ankle over his knee.

“At NYU.”

“You’re a professor?” He knew they didn’t get paid much, but still to sell suits on the side? It didn’t make much sense. Another layer he needed to pull back to figure him out.

“Nope, I’m a student there.”

Charles looked at him again. Was he really that young? “You can’t be.”

“Do I not look smart enough?” James looked out his window. The office was the penthouse with quite a view of the park and city.

“You don’t look young enough.”

“I’m nineteen.”

Charles kept himself still with some effort. “I would have guessed twenty-seven at the youngest. Tell me what a college student at NYU is doing selling suits.”

“You don’t think my job is good enough?” “I never said that.”

“Maybe I’m a design student there.” Charles laughed. “I don’t think so.”

He shrugged, and Charles knew getting anything out of this one was going to be difficult.

“But you don’t know, do you?” James turned abruptly and headed for the door. “Have a good afternoon, Mr. Walton.”

He got to his feet. “I didn’t properly thank you for the tie.”

James looked over his shoulder, letting his gaze drift down Charles’ form. “I think you will. I’m just not going to make it easy for you.”

In the span of minutes, James had seemed to do what no one else ever could to Charles: figured him out.

*****

When not staying up all night writing, J.R. Gray can be found at the gym where it’s half assumed he is a permanent resident to fulfill his self-inflicted masochism. A dominant and a pilot, Gray finds it hard to be in the passenger seat of any car. He frequently interrupts real life, including normal sleep patterns and conversations, to jot down notes or plot bunnies. Commas are the bane of his existence even though it’s been fully acknowledged they are necessary, they continue to baffle and bewilder. If Gray wasn’t writing…well, that’s not possible. The buildup of untold stories would haunt Gray into an early grave, insanity or both. The idea of haunting has always appealed to him. J.R. Gray is genderqueer and prefers he/him pronouns.

Connect with J.R. Gray: Website | Twitter – Personal | Twitter – Books | Facebook | Facebook Group | Tumblr | Mailing List | Amazon Author Page

Cover Reveal: Team Phison by Chace Verity

Today on the site we’ve got a brand-new cover reveal: Team Phison by Chace Verity! And not only are we exclusively revealing the cover, but we’ve got an excerpt, too! First, of course, some info on the book:

For 55-year-old Phil Hutton, finding a new boyfriend is tough, especially since he’s still hurting from his ex leaving him for a younger man. Online dating has been a soul-crushing experience for the restaurant owner. Too many meat-haters interested in microbreweries or something called geocaching. His matches in the multiplayer for his favorite video game have been equally sucky too.

One night, he encounters a newbie who is so helpless, Phil can’t help showing him the ropes. It doesn’t take long for Phil to become interested in his enthusiastic teammate. 28-year-old Tyson Falls from Georgia loves working as a server in a rinky pizza joint and sees the best in everything. As Phil’s online dating matches get worse and his in-game matches with Tyson get better, he finds himself wanting to pursue the easygoing chatterbox with a thick, sexy drawl.

But Phil can’t get past the fear that Tyson could possibly want a fossil like him. If his brain doesn’t being so damn insecure, it might be game over for his heart.

And now, the cover!

But wait, there’s more! Check out this adorable excerpt!

Tyson’s the sort of guy who needs to talk all the time with everyone about everything. It’s a quality I don’t think anyone should have, but his genuine affection tickles my ribcage. He keeps trying to bring our various team members into our discussion, and he pouts when they don’t respond to his question.

Sometime in the middle of a “Defend The Flag Holder” mission, while Tyson takes the scenic route to our base, curiosity consumes me. Probably because I’m two drinks deep and pleasantly buzzed for once instead of annoyed. But it couldn’t possibly hurt to learn more about him.

“Say, Tyson, where’re you from? Georgia?”

He chuckles. “Did my accent give it away? You’re right. Athens. What about you, Phil?”

“Massachusetts.”

The screen flashes green after Tyson plants the flag in our base, causing him to erupt in a high-pitched cheer. The screeching doesn’t bother me though. I’m distracted by the memory of our last conversation. Are his eyes as green as our victory screen?

“Hey, Tyson. Did you ever figure out what color your eyes are?”

“Huh? Oh. No, I didn’t.”

Good grief. He’s pretty hopeless.

“Send me a pic, and I’ll tell you.”

A long and painful pause ensues. My cheeks burn, surely because of the alcohol. I shift in my chair and rub the back of my neck.

“Is there a camera on the system? I don’t see one.”

Oh, God, he looked. He wants to send me a picture. This isn’t the whisky making my head spin. I’m experiencing, uh, what’s that emotion called?

Embarrassment.

He exits the game, pushing me to new levels of uncomfortable. We’re still in a party so we can keep talking to each other.

“Message me your phone number,” Tyson says. “I’ll text it to you.”

My brain says no, but my traitorous fingers send him my number in no time flat. What’s the worst that could happen? He can’t steal my identity with it or anything. I think.

I’m not doing a lot of thinking right now, am I?

I exit the game as well and glance down at my iPhone. Waiting. Waiting.

My phone lights up, alerting me to a new text from an unknown number. Hardly a second passes before I open it.

He has small, beautiful brown eyes.

Tyson’s definitely in his late 20’s. Can’t quite gauge his height since it’s an awkward bathroom selfie, but he’s a bit soft around the edges. Probably has a beer belly. Sun-kissed skin. Dark, shaggy hair. Hasn’t shaved in a few days. Didn’t bother taking off his headset.

Goofiest fucking smile ever. And I kind of like it.

***

Is that not the most adorable?? Here’s where you can preorder it!

Smashwords | Kobo | Nook

(Amazon coming soon!)

***

 Chace Verity (she/they) is publishing queer as heck stories with a strong romantic focus, although queer friendships and found families are important too. Chace prefers to write fantasy but dabbles in contemporary and historical fiction as well. An American citizen & Canadian permanent resident, Chace will probably never be able to call a gallon of milk a “four-liter.”

If you think Chace Verity and Chasia Lloyd look suspiciously alike, you might be onto something.

Exclusive Excerpt: When We Speak of Nothing by Olumide Popoola

Today on the site we have an exclusive excerpt from When We Speak of Nothing, a newly released novel by Nigerian German author Olumide Popoola about being Black, male, and queer in London that commemorates 50 years since the partial decriminalization of homosexuality in the UK: 

Best mates Karl and Abu are both 17 and live near Kings Cross. Its 2011 and racial tensions are set to explode across London. Abu is infatuated with gorgeous classmate Nalini but dares not speak to her. Meanwhile, Karl is the target of the local “wannabe” thugs just for being different.

When Karl finds out his father lives in Nigeria, he decides that Port Harcourt is the best place to escape the sound and fury of London, and connect with a Dad he’s never known. Rejected on arrival, Karl befriends Nakale, an activist who wants to expose the ecocide in the Niger Delta to the world, and falls headlong for his feisty cousin Janoma. Meanwhile, the murder of Mark Duggan triggers a full-scale riot in London. Abu finds himself in its midst, leading to a near-tragedy that forces Karl to race back home.

Buy it: Amazon * B&N * Book Depository 

Excerpt:

It was hard enough to stay level with this much newness. The sounds, the smells, the colourful outfits interspersed with sports and business wear. He felt lost. And scared. How to fit in here? How to even try?

But this part, immigration, produced even more dizziness. This was only sweat. Nothing else. No question mark, no slow trying to catch your feet. Just bare panic. He closed his eyes for a second. Breathe man, just breathe. He could hear Abu. The visa was approved, the Port Harcourt address verified. All he needed was for it to go quick. No overzealous immigration officer, aka gender police in the making.

Karl took out the mobile again.

heat man!!! no rain in site. @ passport control. Im here. Cant believ it. All gud so far. wish me luck

An officer in a beige uniform walked along the queue that was forming. What his role was supposed to be was a bit difficult to see. The foreigners from the plane were lining up with Karl. It was easy to spot the lot of them, either white or light-skinned, like Karl, almost as if they were carrying signs: really not from here. They were all older than Karl, mostly male, travelling by themselves with little luggage. Their faces were getting sweaty, like Karl’s, but theirs were changing to much deeper red tones. There was a general wiping going on, a couple of chequered handkerchiefs, back of the hand wipe – that sort of thing.

Uncle T had disappeared to the other end of the small hall.

Karl’s eyes followed the officer who stood next to a burly bloke with one large bag hanging over his shoulder. They were shaking hands and a few notes were slipped from one palm to the other. The officer caught Karl staring and Karl focused on his trainers instead. The burly man proceeded to the raised immigration booth and exchanged a few words with the officer behind the glass before leaving the queue and the airport altogether.

‘You have something for me?’ The man in beige appeared next to Karl.

Karl shook his head. ‘Sorry?’

The line was moving faster than he had thought. A lot of the white men in the queue had someone waiting for them, someone in uniform who would fast track them down the line, past the raised booth and out.

The officer looked at Karl. ‘What did you bring for me?’ ‘I’m sorry.’ Karl swivelled around. Where was Uncle T when you needed him?

‘Anything.’

‘I’m sorry? I don’t understand. It’s my first time. My uncle …’

The officer didn’t hide his pity and waved him forward. He had arrived at the raised booth and the man took his passport from his shaking hand and gave it to the man inside the booth. Another officer. He took the passport, looked at the picture, looked at Karl. Karl made himself scarce, pulled himself away from his skin, disappearing inside his bloodstream so that nothing on the outside could touch him. But the guy was still looking. Staring. No bloody subtleness at all, just full-on fixation. Curious and shit but unmoved, no smile, no softening, no invitation to exchange a few pleasantries. Nothing. Then waved to the supervisor behind him, who disengaged from the guy he was chatting with, in slow motion. Before he could make it to them, officer number three arrived, a guy who had been inside the building, further down, closer to the exit. Number three placed his folded arms on the rim of the small cubicle. He was about to tell officers number one and two, the one walking Karl over and the one in the box, something funny. You could see that because he was already smiling about it, like he knew this was a real good one. When he opened his mouth officer two shoved the passport in his face.

‘Ah ah, they no know how to dress demselves. Dis one, no be woman …’

Officer number three, unimpressed, still smiling, licked his lips. Looked at the picture, but didn’t really. Didn’t care one single bit.

‘My friend, leave am now. No be our problem.’

Karl smiled. That shy, I’m so damn unaware of my charm but I’m throwing everything your way smile. Because right now I need it to work, I need that charm to charm you out of asking me too many questions, out of extending this, making it obvious for everyone around. Embarrassing me. Hurting me. Making this unbearable.

And dangerous.

That’s it. Someone had sense, he would be moving on in no time, just like most of the white dudes who had been in the queue before him. All he had to do was get some damn oxygen into his body so he wouldn’t collapse right here. Before he had officially made it to Nigeria. Breathing in, breathing out, one two, one two. Focus on pairs instead of the throng of officials shuffling around the little cubicle. Officer number two was flipping through the passport pages, thumb cinema-like. Officer one was casually looking at it and then at Karl again. Only Spain, otherwise no other country had ever seen this gathering of well-stitched pages.

The supervisor arrived.

Four of them now; officer number three still shrugging his shoulders, ready to move on, finally drop that story. Who cared about whatever it was; it was a long time until they were off; why make life harder by winding yourself up like that? And right at the start of their shift?

‘Wetin worry you? Leave am now. De family will tell am.’

Karl looked at Uncle T, who had walked through the Nigerian citizens’ line and was now far ahead. A questioning look. Karl quickly shaking his head, vigorously. Number four, the supervisor, followed his glance.

‘Your father?’

‘Uncle.’

The officer looked back and forth between them.

‘But my father is waiting for me,’ Karl added, the word unfamiliar, almost sideways in his mouth. The puddle of sweat on his lower back was descending, trickling between his cheeks into his underwear. Father. Even more foreign than his first experience of the country. ‘He is outside.’

Number four’s face stopped doing what it was doing midway, the expression frozen. And like his face, time was now freezing over, sucking out all movement until everything became unreal, dangerously flat, a wall that would collapse and bury you in its debris.

Number three was looking around, trying to find someone else to chat with because this was defo no chatting whatsoever. Not what he had in mind when he had come over. Number two was still staring at Karl. At the long T-shirt that was hanging over his jeans. The trainers that were holding the jeans up, as it seemed. Number one? Had nowhere else to be, nothing else to do.

It was a bit much. The attention. The waiting. The not saying much. A whole group of people, yet again focus on Karl.

‘Your father is outside?’

Number four seemed to have recovered. Karl nodded, eyes sending nothing cute and charming any more just good old please. Pleading. But number four was already reaching inside the booth. Fumbled around. Then a quick stamp. Officer two shook his head. Supervisor handed the passport to Karl, ‘Welcome to Nigeria’, ignored everyone else and walked off.

Officer two annoyed. Disapproving. ‘Na crazy, dis one.’

But there was nothing else to be done. The group dispersed.

Karl was through and out the other side.

*****

London-based Nigerian-German Olumide Popoola is a writer, speaker and performer. Her publications include essays, poetry, the novella This is not about Sadness (Unrast, 2010), the play Also by Mail (edition assemblage, 2013), the short collection Breach, which she co-authored with Annie Holmes (Peirene Press, 2016), as well as recordings in collaboration with musicians. In 2004 she won the May Ayim Award in the category Poetry, the first Black German Literary Award. Olumide has a PhD in Creative Writing and has lectured in creative writing at various universities. She is available for live studio interview.

Exclusive Excerpt of Avon Gale’s Coach’s Challenge!

Avon Gale fans, rejoice! We’ve got an excerpt of her newest novel in the Scoring Chances series, Coach’s Challenge! Here’s the info on the book:

It’s been decades since blackmail forced Troy Callahan to retire from playing professional hockey, and he’s built a successful career behind the bench. When he’s offered the opportunity to coach the Asheville Ravens—the most hated team in the ECHL—he’s convinced that his no-nonsense attitude is just what the team needs to put their focus back on hockey. But Troy is disheartened when he finds that the Ravens have signed Shane North, a player known for his aggression—especially when Shane’s rough good looks give Troy inappropriate thoughts about a player, even if Shane’s set to retire at the end of the season.

Shane’s career in the majors never quite took off. Wanting to quit on his own terms, Shane agrees to a one-year contract with the Ravens and finds himself playing for a coach who thinks he’s an aging goon and with a team that doesn’t trust him, the coach, or each other. Despite his determination to not get involved, Shane unwillingly becomes part of the team… and is just as unwillingly drawn to the gruff, out-and-proud coach. As the Ravens struggle to build a new identity, Shane and Troy succumb to the passion that might cost them everything.

Buy it: Dreamspinner * Amazon * B&N

And now, the excerpt!

The Ravens were nervous on opening night, and Troy couldn’t blame them. The team he watched on those tapes deserved every bit of the ire directed at them, but Troy would be damned if that would be his team. Which is what he told his players in no uncertain terms in his pregame address.

“This is the first game of the season, and there’s a team who really wants to beat you waiting on the ice. To be honest I watched those goddamn game tapes and I want to beat that team too. But luckily we’re not that team anymore.” That wasn’t a question, so Troy kept talking. “But they don’t know that. Our fans don’t know that either. And the only way they’re gonna learn is by us going out there and showing them. And the only way you can do that? You need to do more than just understand that this isn’t the same team. You need to believe it. You need to breathe it. You need to bleed it.” He held up a hand. “That’s a metaphor, guys. Before anyone takes me fucking literally. But that concept needs to be as familiar to you as the skates on your feet and the ice beneath you. I don’t think we’re there yet, but what I need to see tonight from all of you? I need to see the potential that we can get there. Do you understand me?”

They nodded, and Troy could see it in their faces, could sense it beneath the nerves. Buried deeper in some of them than in others, but that fierce need to compete—to compete fairly, to win because they were the best—was still there. He smiled. “Ravens are goddamn smart birds, or so I hear. Now go play smart hockey.” He glanced at Xavier. “Captain Matthews? You want to say anything?”

Matthews stood up. He looked tragic and hot in his uniform, his blond hair still slicked back off his face. Out of all of them, he wore his determination closest to the surface, like the Raven on his uniform. “This is a different team, and we’re going to play like it.” He glanced briefly at Shane North and then cleared his throat. “Caw!”

Troy’s eyebrows went up, but his team knocked their sticks on the floor and caw’d right back. So that was something.

Avon Gale wrote her first story at the age of seven, about a “Space Hat” hanging on a rack and waiting for that special person to come along and purchase it — even if it was a bit weirder than the other, more normal hats. Like all of Avon’s characters, the space hat did get its happily ever after — though she’s pretty sure it was with a unicorn. She likes to think her vocabulary has improved since then, but the theme of quirky people waiting for their perfect match is still one of her favorites.

Avon grew up in the southern United States, and now lives with her very patient husband in a liberal midwestern college town. When she’s not writing, she’s either doing some kind of craft project that makes a huge mess, reading, watching horror movies, listening to music or yelling at her favorite hockey team to get it together, already. Avon is always up for a road trip, adores Kentucky bourbon, thinks nothing is as stress relieving as a good rock concert and will never say no to candy.

At one point, Avon was the mayor of both Jazzercise and Lollicup on Foursquare. This tells you basically all you need to know about her as a person.

Avon is represented by Courtney Miller-Callihan of Handspun Literary Agency.

Connect with Avon: Website | Twitter | Facebook | FB Group | Newsletter

Exclusive Cover Reveal + Excerpt: The Longing and the Lack by Cal Spivey

Excited to have the second of two Cal Spivey cover+excerpt reveals on the site today! If you missed the first one, for novella “The Traitor’s Tunnel,” make sure you check that out here!

Today we’ve got The Longing and the Lack, an adult paranormal novel releasing September 19th and starring the bisexual Lucinda Hightower. For some info on the book:

Lucinda Hightower is no stranger to death.

Since she was a child, Lucinda has been haunted by rabid dogs, suicidal crows, and the ghost of a woman in white. All are omens signaling someone’s imminent demise—except Lucinda’s friends and family are still breathing.

The omens follow her to Ireland and the quiet university in her father’s hometown, increasing in strength and frequency once she meets Damien Reed. A handsome third year student, Damien thrusts himself into Lucinda’s life almost immediately and caresses away the unsavory reputation that shadows him.

It’s not until the ghost sinks her nails into Damien that he reveals his secret: the death omens are for him.

They’re the manifestations of a curse that claims the life of the eldest Reed son every generation. Damien’s time is nearly up. If Lucinda is to save him, she must solve the mystery of her family curse, and lay a spirit’s rage to rest.

Buy it: Amazon

And now, the epic cover!

Cover by Ash Ruggirello/Cardboard Monet

But wait! There’s also an excerpt!

“Why do they call them catacombs?” she asked.

“Because of the walls, the stone. And because they’re haunted,” he replied. She laughed, and he quirked an eyebrow at her. “You don’t believe in ghosts?”

Something in the way he said it captured her attention, and she looked at him with more interest. There was a brightness in his eyes that seemed to belie his casual, almost teasing tone. She got the sense that her answer was sought in earnest, that it mattered to him whether or not she believed in ghosts. She had been about to tell him that of course she didn’t—she had been about to lie—but she paused now. He watched her, patient; he took a step toward her, then another, and her heart fluttered though he was still several feet away.

“I think there are few ghosts who belong to the population at large,” she said. “I think most ghosts belong only to a select few, and are only visible to them.”

“And, therefore, the odds of danger to you in these catacombs are small.” The man’s smile widened with his chuckle. “An interesting theory.”

“Do you?” Lucinda asked.

He tilted his head. “Do I what?”

“Believe in ghosts.”

He laughed as he approached. Lucinda stayed still as he stopped within a foot of her, as he gazed upon her face. His expression changed from wry amusement to something more difficult to read: a slightly furrowed brow, parted lips. Her breath shortened under his scrutiny. She wrestled to maintain an appearance of calm until, at last, he glanced beyond her down the hall, and his smirk returned.

He leaned closer, and whispered in her ear, “Was that door open when you came down here?”

Lucinda turned. A door at the end of the hall did indeed now stand ajar, when it had been firmly shut before. She frowned, then looked back to the man, who was walking away. “Wait,” she said. “What’s your name?”

He paused. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he smiled at her over his shoulder. Her heart skipped a beat.

“My name is Damien Reed,” he said. 

*****

Credit: Redhawk Photography

C.M. Spivey is a speculative fiction writer, author of high fantasy From Under the Mountain and the paranormal series, “The Unliving”. His enduring love of fantasy started young. Now, he explores the rules and ramifications of magic in his own works—and as a trans-masculine panromantic asexual, he’s committed to queering his favorite genres. In his spare time, he plans his next tattoo (there will always be a next tattoo) and watches too much Netflix. Anything left over is devoted to his tireless quest to make America read more. He lives in Portland, Oregon, with his darling husband Matt and adorable dog Jay.

Exclusive Excerpt Reveal: The Wishing Heart by J.C. Welker

One of the most frequent requests for recommendations I get is for f/f YA fantasy, so I’m thrilled to be bringing you an excerpt from one coming out on May 1! Before we get to it, here’s a little more on The Wishing Heart by J.C. Welker:

TheWishingHeart500With a book in her bag and a switchblade in her pocket, Rebel’s been thieving her way through life while hoping for a cure to fix her ailing heart.

But when the bejeweled vase she just tried to hawk turns out to be a jinni’s vessel, Rebel gets lost to her world and dragged within another. Now every magical being in the city wants the vase for himself.

Thrust into a game of cat and mouse in a world she never knew existed, Rebel must use her uncanny skills to find a way to free Anjeline the Wishmaker.

But wishes have consequences. And contracts. Anjeline’s freedom could unravel a love like Rebel has never known, or it could come at the cost of Rebel’s heart…

And now, the excerpt!

“Hand it over, pigeon.” The officer gestured to her bag.

Rebel sighed. How ironic. Could her life get any worse? “As you can see, I’m poorer than a vagabond.” She gazed down at herself. “There’s nothing in my bag except my hopeless dreams.”

“Is that why it looks so heavy?” His lips curved into a grin, and his teeth gleamed against his beard. He was a beast of man, his vast shoulders pushing the uniform to its absolute limit. “Don’t be foolish. Give it here, girl.”

Woman. You hobnocker,” she spat, in no mood.

A chuckle vibrated in his throat. “Skinner said you were a spitfire and a slippery grift.”

Rebel stiffened as awareness caught up to her, the satchel heavy at her side. He was no officer. Even worse, this had trap written all over it. But was it Skinner’s trap, or whoever had been on the other end of that phone call— someone even more brutal? Her eyes darted about, scouting an escape. Nothing good ever happened when a girl was snatched off the streets from a henchman twice her size.

The man glanced at her satchel. “I’ll be taking that now.”

When in doubt, distract. “Fancy outfit just to rob me of a vase? You’re not overcompensating for something, are you?”

“Don’t play stupid. The vessel’s not the prize, we want what’s inside it.”

Rebel squinted. “There’s nothing inside it, you tool.”

“Wrong answer.” He growled, sounding more animal than man, and something changed in his features. His eyes glowed amber in an extremely inhuman face.

“What the…” She lurched back, her nose twitched at an odd scent, and dizziness emerged. Now wasn’t the time for her heart to hamper reality. “This has got to be the weirdest panic attack.”

“No attack, unless you refuse.” The man inched closer.

“Touch me and I’ll carve Repent on your chest.” Rebel fumbled at her belt, grasping the bone handle of her switchblade. She never actually used it on anyone, never wanted to.

“All’s we want is the vessel,” he warned. “There’s no need for it to go there.”

“You don’t want it to go there,” said another.

Shadows moved out from behind the man.
 A young female appeared, followed by a male version of her, both cloaked in animal-hide coats. The twins’ blood- red hair spilled over their shoulders like lions’ manes, the girl’s pelt trimmed in fur of equal shade. As they moved, between one second and the next, they shifted into a wave of rippling fur. Bones snapped out of place, and jet-black muzzles emerged from their faces, until they formed into four-footed shapes. Their backs contorted, and slowly, bone plates elongated down their spines like an armadillo’s shield.

They were not human. Not even close.

Werewolves.

“Wolves?” she voiced it aloud.

“Lycanthrope,” the man corrected. His eyes burned like embers as his ears tapered skyward, and his vastness seemed to increase compared to the others. Obviously, the alpha. “A thief knows a thief as a wolf knows a wolf. Didn’t legends ever teach you about the big bad one?”

Buy it:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Wishing-Heart-J-C-Welker-ebook/dp/B06Y5WFY1C
Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/Wishing-Heart-J-C-Welker-ebook/dp/B06Y5WFY1C
Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/d/Wishing-Heart-J-C-Welker-ebook/B06Y5WFY1C
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Wishing-Heart-J-C-Welker-ebook/dp/B06Y5WFY1C
B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-wishing-heart-jc-welker/1126186821?ean=9781633759398
iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-wishing-heart/id1225391034
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-wishing-heart

JC Welker Author PhotoJ.C. Welker is a YA author who’s been, among other things, a fashion designer, a filmmaker and a kickboxer (seriously). Her short documentaries, which focused on homeless Iraq veterans and lgbtq+ issues in the military have been featured on CURRENT TV, and her debut novel won first place in the paranormal category of the 2016 YARWA Rosemary Awards. She continues to work towards giving a voice to stories that are needed, while facing magic and monsters along the way.

Website: http://www.jcwelker.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/officialjcwelker
Twitter: https://twitter.com/jcwelker
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jcwelker/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15906616.J_C_Welker
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/J.C.-Welker/e/B06ZYD89TT
Newsletter: http://www.jcwelker.com/about