Shifting Forces Series: Protect and Serve 8 by Cassidy McKay New Release Blitz!

 #paranormal #fantasy #romance #steamyreads #sexybooks #shifterromance #changelingpress #actionadventurefiction #LGBTreads #gayromance @changelingpress

Title:  Shifting Forces

Series: Protect and Serve 8

Author: Cassidy McKay

Publisher: Changeling Press

Release Date: Sept 1

Heat Level: 4 - Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Female/Male (No Male/Male interaction)

Length: 70 pages

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal Women's Fiction, Action Adventure, Bisexual, Multisexual & Pansexual, Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures, Military, Veterans, and First Responders, Multiple Partners, Shapeshifters

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Aurora Monroe has detailed plans for her life -- and not one of them includes being barefoot, pregnant and under the thumbs of two decidedly alpha males. But what's a girl to do when she has two sexy shifters both trying to claim mating rights?

When two paranormals on opposite sides of the war save an injured human, they unintentionally mark her as their wife. Bonded by blood, fire and passion, the gryphon and phoenix shifters do everything they can to keep their new human mate safe.

Getting her to go along with the plan is a different matter. She has no intention of following their orders. Found in defiance of both human laws and paranormal traditions, the battle for their rights turns into a fight for their lives.

Sex between a human and her two shifters can be spectacular, but is it worth risking everything for a chance at forever?

Copyright ©2023 Cassidy McKay

Varick's Blog

"Paranormals are just like us. They deserve equal rights, equal status under the law, and no less than our full understanding and cooperation!" I watch from the outskirts, close enough to hear, but not a part of the crowd. A smattering of applause greets the pretty redhead as she finishes her speech on the stairs in front of the white columned government building.

A heated, spicy tingle warms my body as she steps down, her nipples tight and visible in the oh-so-proper sweater she wears over a blouse against the chill wind. Staid, gray slacks demurely outline her curvy figure. Mmm. Definitely my kind of woman... proper on the outside, but all fiery and full of fight on the inside.

Only a few dozen people brave enough to show up for the rally now stand in the square. It's mostly your typical malcontents and troublemakers, but there are a few who look like they might actually give a damn.

I can't decide whether the woman has balls of steel or is dangerously naive. More than likely, a little of both. A tall, unkempt man makes his way to the front of the group, standing on the concrete base of a light pole like a monkey, spouting obscenities and tossing crap about how humans are better than paras. The crowd grows, becoming restless as the man yells, gaining the attention of the cops outside City Hall.

I stay in the shadows of the storefront across the street, where I can watch without being seen. Easier said than done most times, but I've gotten good at it. Most of us have. Coming out as a paranormal isn't a fashionable, celebrity thing to do anymore. It's a life sentence. The government took care of that. So much for equality.

I'm Varick Gerard. Used to be a paramedic, but now I'm labeled a criminal. Just because I'm a shifter, I was legally forced out of my profession, my home, and the comfortable life I once lived. Phoenix shifters aren't inherently evil. Given the choice, I'd rather save lives than take them. I don't like to fight. While some of the other paras here live for nothing else, it just isn't my thing. I don't steal, I don't destroy things, and I don't kill people unnecessarily. I may have lost everything else, but I still have my principles.

Me, I'm a loner. It's a phoenix thing. Most of us are. I don't mind being around people, I'm just not into long-term commitments. Sex? Yeah, I'm definitely into that. I can burn up a bed like nobody's business. And that woman up there -- she'd be right at the center of my pyre of passion on most days.

But not today. Something's in the air, I can feel it. I've been chased out of more cities than I can remember, just because I choose to survive. What's left of the local police force musters in front of the building. Riot shields and batons at the ready, the leader shouts into a megaphone for the crowd to disperse. Chaos has a strong following in this town.

The cops advance in a restless, unsteady line -- a phalanx of toy human soldiers pitting themselves against the evil paranormals. Same shit, different location. That isn't what's bothering me, though. There's something else, just on the edge... It's like I can almost feel it, taste it, but it keeps slipping past me.

"Hey, phoenix-dude, come on! The goon-squad is coming out to play." A short, pimply vampire pauses, motioning for me to join the unruly mob gathering in the shadows, waiting for their chance to pick someone off.

He's annoying -- hangs around all the time, always trying to get me to kill something with him. I think he just wants to see what a phoenix can do. Lucky for him, I'm not really a joiner. "No thanks, I'm heading out. Good luck with that."

He shrugs and sprints off, his fangs standing at attention and ready to rumble. Idiot. Time to leave this burg. I don't need the cops on my ass or any more problems than I already have. It's not worth the trouble.

A woman's annoyed yell yanks me to attention. "Leave me alone! I haven't done anything wrong!" The redhead struggles against one of the officers, landing a solid whack on his neck where the protective gear doesn't protect.

My smile fights to break free -- the girl's a fighter, all right.

"Submit willingly, Miss, and you'll just be charged with disorderly conduct."

The cop doesn't look old enough to have graduated high school, let alone wear a badge. He can't seem to decide between juggling his shield, going on to a more willing arrestee, or grabbing his cuffs and taking his chances against the wildcat.

My bet is on the girl.

Changeling Press | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes | Smashwords

Cassidy lives in the beautiful state of Washington and is surrounded by mysterious rain forests, tempestuous oceans and enough gorgeous scenery to inspire stories for at least another two hundred years. She's been reading romances since she was thirteen, and writing them since she was fifteen. However, the serious writing bug didn't bite until much later in life, inspired by her talented husband (who is also a writer!).

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@Terrajw brings you Buried Roots Release Tour! #NowLive @IndiePenPR

#terraweiss #buriedroots #violetmoonseries #romcom #romanticmystery #smalltownromance #heroineindanger

I might have found my own grave. Or not, but I don’t have time to figure it out because my sexy neighbor, Owen, is helping me restore an inherited historic estate. But the more we dig, the more my disturbing buried roots surface. I have to confront that grave... and my bombshell family secret. Readers who love Catherine Cowles, Colleen Hoover, and Nora Roberts will fall head-over-heels for Buried Roots by Terra Weiss, a steamy, small town, heroine in danger, cinnamon roll hero, forced proximity romantic comedy mystery.

Buy Now or Read for FREE with KindleUnlimited!

I might've found my own grave.

Or not, but I don't have time to figure it out. A perfect stranger willed me his neglected fifty-acre farm, and now, this New Yorker has two weeks to get it sell-ready. With a business to run, I can’t stay in this boondock town a second longer.

But I’ve got it handled—even after a series of suspicious property mishaps. Even after the threatening notes.

My veterinarian neighbor Owen Brooks shows up with a sledgehammer, a wicked sexy smile, and Demon, his appropriately named foster bulldog. But after losing my family, I only rely on myself.

That doesn't stop Owen and the town of Violet Moon from showing up for me. Maybe family isn’t just blood.

Owen and I can’t deny our magnetic connection as we restore the historic estate. But the more we dig, the more my disturbing buried roots surface. I have to confront that grave... and my bombshell family secret.

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Copyright 2023 Terra Weiss

Owen keeps showing up for me, something I didn’t know just how much I needed until now. I move my hand down to Owen’s and take it. His skin is warm, and I feel the roughness of his palm against mine. His fingers are long, but his grip is gentle.
I pull Owen in for another kiss, our mouths moving in synchrony. I’m trying to stay away—to protect my heart and his—but it feels almost impossible when I get lost in those eyes of his, part ocean, part storm cloud. I’m starting to think we’re two magnets incapable of getting close without drawing together.
We stand, just holding each other. The sun shining through the sky window warms my face, and I close my eyes, taking in the moment. When I open them, Owen has an expression that I’ve never seen before. His lips are slightly parted, his eyes almost mesmerized as he looks at me, like I’m the only one he sees.
He moves his hands up my arms and to my shoulders, bringing his lips up to my ear. His breath tickles as he whispers, “You deserve to know your roots. You deserve everything.”
His words fill a hole deep within me, and I turn and face him, just a breath away. When our mouths catch, his lips move slowly, gently, and calmness washes over me. I forget who I am, or who I might be, and how I don’t belong. How Owen lives here, and how I live somewhere else entirely.
His kiss deepens with more intensity and intention, and I take in every morsel of it. The mint on his breath, the silk of his lips, the scent of the air when he’s nearby. My grip tightens around him when I realize that this is where I belong.

Buy Now or Read for FREE with KindleUnlimited!

 

Terra Weiss is a romcom author with a knack for witty banter and gift for capturing authentic family dynamics. Readers love how her stories steer away from typical romcom cookie-cutter formulas and show how real-life people find real-life love.

When Terra's not spilling the tea on what happens in the big and small towns that live in her heart, you'll find her with her spunky daughter, mad scientist husband, wacky and wonderful mother, and the two six-pound dogs that run her house. She enjoys jogging at a snail's pace, reading from her iPhone, and piling bright orange mountains of squeezy cheese on her crackers.

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At the Ready by Sharon Michalove Book Tour!

 

August 28 - September 22, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

What happens when a hunky French-Canadian security executive falls for a feisty Chicago lawyer?

Micki Press and JL Martin both have complicated lives, but when they come together, the sparks are undeniable. Micki is trying to make it to the top of one of the most conservative corporate law firms in Chicago. JL is the CEO of WatchDog Inc., a successful security company, and is struggling with his own family complications. When Micki's former lover stalks her, JL steps in to protect her, and the two soon realize their feelings go beyond friendship. But with their complicated pasts and the struggles of the corporate world, are they ready to take the next step, or will the twists and turns have them singing the Chicago blues?

If you enjoy a story of complicated love and corporate ambition, you'll love At the Ready. If you enjoy fast-paced action, romance, and a dash of karaoke, you'll fall for At the Ready.

Book Details:

Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Coffee and Eclairs Books (self-published)
Publication Date: August 2023
ISBN: 978-1-7369187-6-0
Series: Global Security Unlimited, 3
Book Links: Amazon | Book Bub | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chicago, February 2014

One secret of success in life is for a man to be ready for his opportunity when it comes.—Benjamin Disraeli

Micki

Today’s the day. Best suit. Flawless hair and makeup. Every inch the polished senior associate. No four-inch heels, though. Frederick Lanscombe, managing partner, is a little sensitive about his height and this meeting is the crucial first step in the campaign to be the next partner at Miller, Lanscombe, Baker, Francis, Masters, and Hargrove.

The door to the small conference room is wide open, Fred at the head of table, eating a donut. My mentor, Rebecca Masters smiles and gives me a small thumbs up. Tyler Miller nods to acknowledge I’m there. More than there. After a hundred years, this firm is still a boys’ club but I plan to crack into top echelon and become just the second woman to make partner.

I fly through the door and end up on hands and knees when Hayden Forbes-Cartwright barrels into me. When I look up, Fred’s donut is poised at his open mouth. Rebecca’s hand is over her mouth. And Tyler laughs. “Great entrance, Micki.” The censure I hear pricks my balloon of confidence.

A snigger erupts from Hayden as his big hand reaches down to pull me up. “So sorry, Micki. Couldn’t put the brakes on in time.”

Upright, balanced a little precariously on my toothpick heels, my glare has the heat of the Milky Way. Not that Hayden pays any attention. His bogus concern is yet one more layer of deceit. Still, points to him. I’m the klutz and he’s the chivalric hero.“Have a seat, Micki, Hayden.” Fred gives each of us a once over. Dressing well is one of the unspoken rules. Hayden’s navy blue pinstripe is comparable to my silver gray jacket and matching pencil skirt—points even on wardrobe. My phone is in my lap and I pull up my spreadsheet. I’ve kept score since the first time we met. The advantage has seesawed back and forth, but we’re competing for the pinnacle in the stakes race, so I’ll have to up my game.

Hayden and I were adversaries from the get-go. We started here, on the same day eight years ago. Me half an hour early. Hayden fifteen minutes late strolling in with his uncle. All my muscles clenched when he looked me over with his trademark devil-may-care smile.

“I know you received the memo. With Sonny Philips’ retirement, the firm will promote one associate to partner this year. As the two seniors, you will be the leading candidates.”

Hayden stops fiddling with his Chicago Yacht Club tie. “Does that mean other associates might be considered?”

“Technically, yes, but in reality you two are the only ones qualified right now. The partners will evaluate you on several criteria besides the competencies you’ve shown in your time here.”

He pauses.

Hayden rushes into the short silence. “Does every partner get a vote?”

“You know they do,” Tyler chides his nephew impatiently.

“And are some votes weighted more heavily than others? Like seniority?”

“No.” Rebecca’s response is explosive. “Please go on, Fred.”

When I glance toward Hayden, he shows no embarrassment, not even a slight flush. We all learn to put on a neutral face. I permit myself a very small smile. Minus five to Hayden.

Fred looks at the sheet in front of him, then from Tyler to Rebecca. They nod. “The criteria include enthusiasm, treatment of others, the opinion of your mentor, maintaining personal control, commitment, successful building and protection of your reputation and that of the firm, consistent hard work, always available, constant improvement, and most important— being perceived as trustworthy.”

Hayden’s eyes dart like tiny silverfish, his tell when he’s scheming. on how to get the edge. While I put in the long hours and never turn down a request, Hayden skates by, taking credit for the work of junior associates. Boasting about staying late when he disappears in the middle of the day. When your uncle’s name is on the door, you have an extra pass. Tyler Miller will definitely push for Hayden to be the next partner.

Fred is still talking and I wrench my attention back to his droning monotone. “Besides the formal evaluation, the other piece will be assisting Rebecca with a high-profile insider trading case. It’s more than usually sensitive because our client is a candidate for a Senate seat. He says he’s been set up. Not necessarily a strong or provable defense. You’ll be combing emails, social media, accounts, and documents to see what evidence you find.”

Bucket of nightcrawlers? Come on, Micki, try to show some enthusiasm. Can’t jump up and down.

“What a great opportunity for us to show what we’re made of.” Hayden’s wide smile and crackling delivery is phony as a carney barker’s come on.

Our managing partner nods his head approvingly. Hayden is his favored candidate too. Fred and Tyler have some kind of mutual admiration society and Hayden benefits.

Yeah, he’s a suck up.

My turn. Say something but avoid the gush. “This is a amazing challenge. I really appreciate the chance to work on a case so important to the future and reputation of the firm and, potentially beyond, Fred.”

Rebecca produces a small smile, so I hope I’ve hit the right note.

As we walk out, she stops me. “Micki, I have a lunch appointment, but let’s have a drink after work.” She looks around but doesn’t see anyone in lurking mode. “We haven’t had a good chat for a while.”

“Great, Rebecca. Just come by my office when you’re ready to leave.”

Then I cancel my date for the evening. Work comes first, always.

*****

The Gage is lively at five thirty. After-work drinks have replaced the three-martini lunch, unless you’re Hayden Forbes-Cartwright. He indulges in both.

Rebecca manages to get us a quiet table in a corner near the tile fireplace. We won’t have to shout and have less likelihood of being overheard.

After the drinks are ordered, she pulls out a legal pad. “Thought we could go over some strategies for the work. My thought is that you’ll work on the emails, social media, anything online and whatever documents we can upload. That way, while you’re traveling, you’ll have plenty of material to access.”

“That would be great. I’ve been anxious about being away at such a crucial point in my career.”

The pencil between Rebecca’s fingers moves up and down like a seesaw. “Thanks to technology. Years ago we were tied to the office, the library. I’m glad you can go to the awards ceremony. Kind of like the Oscars for authors.”

“Yeah. Still five working days away…”

“Our new legal research assistant is already busy organizing everything as documentation comes in.”

A Paris Rose is put in front of Rebecca, who pushes her legal pad to the side, but not before a few drops splash onto the paper, leaving a light pink trail. My Jabberwock is in a coupe. She takes a sip just as the cheese board is deposited in the middle of the table along with a basket of fried pickles. Cheese is a magnet for me. My grabby fingers snatch some almost before the server gets the platter on the table.

“Simon Greenberg is an attorney with Talcott, Maier, and current Republican candidate for Senate from Illinois. The SEC received a tip claiming he made use of private information to trade stocks from several companies he represents. After an investigation, the Commission decided on civil charges. Unfortunately, because his candidacy has made him a public figure, criminal charges are pending as well. Maybe some questions about election finance too.”

“Wait. Shouldn’t Hayden be here?” Not that I want him, but if we’re a team, he deserves the same explanations.

“Hayden has already been briefed.”

Be professional. In control. Pretend it doesn’t matter.

“Oh. I see.” But I don’t. Not at all.

Rebecca takes a huge swallow of the pink liquid. “Not by me. After our meeting, Tyler and Fred took Hayden to lunch and briefed him there.”

How does she know? Or is this an assumption? My heated protest escapes before I can rein it in. “But it’s your case.”

She waves the comment away. “He was so full of himself when he got back. Swanned into my office. ‘Simon Greenberg, huh. I wondered after the rumors flying around. Good for us.’ Then he laughed and walked out.” Her scowl could freeze the Chicago River. “I was sure Tyler at least would make sure he’s up to speed and I wanted to get you in the loop right away. I wouldn’t be surprised if Fred and Tyler didn’t give Hayden some instruction on how to handle things and he will take advantage of the time you are away in April.”

My cocktail beckons and I chug it down, sputtering slightly. “Should I cancel the trip?”

She ignores that. “You’ll meet the client tomorrow, so make a strong impression. You’ll have plenty of work to do while you’re out of the office. Get your laptop set up with VPN. It will be your lifeline to the firm. Video meetings will help too. Make sure you can report on progress every day. A strong impression while you’re in Paris will give you a leg up.”

We see the waiter in the distance and Rebecca catches his attention. Once we have refills, she takes a sip, then leans forward. “Show you’re dedicated to the firm and the case and that you can work without supervision. I’ll try to schedule the meetings first thing in the morning to mitigate the seven-hour time difference.”

“And the other complications?”

“Hayden is one, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. More in terms of your selection as partner. That will be decided long before the case is finished. But he’ll push for every plum he can pluck. The other is that because of the election cycle, Greenberg is pushing to get this cleared up or buried quickly. News of the pending charges will hit the papers tomorrow.”

Why haven’t they leaked already?

Rebecca must be a mind reader. “The papers are planning front-page splashes with stories, commentary, and reactions on at least two inside pages.”

I can picture the Tribune. Huge headline and photos on their broadsheet front page. Stories about the investigation, the campaign, lots of background on the candidate, a piece where the rest of the field comments. Then an editorial on the op-ed pages. Maybe a political cartoon. The Sun-Times tabloid format will be just as comprehensive in a more compact form. “Collusion?”

“Cooperation.” Her forehead wrinkles, brows touching. The corners of her mouth turn down.

“Keeping him from making incendiary comments is going to be a job in itself. We want as little coverage as possible while we work on clearing him—if we can. The damage to his reputation is a gift to the other contenders. He’s been the front runner, the poster boy for the party.”

In two swallows, the Jabberwock has disappeared. I order another, then cram more cheese into my mouth.

“Hey, guys. Didn’t get the memo.” Hayden pushes into the tufted leather booth and reaches for a pickle, almost knocking me to the floor. “Uncle Tyler thought you might be here, Rebecca. Said it’s your usual watering hole.”

“A casual afterwork drink.” Rebecca’s voice is flat.

Hayden reaches over and taps her legal pad. “Sure you aren’t strategizing?” The twinkle in his eye shows malice, not amusement. “By the way, I met Laney this afternoon. She’s a cutie.”

“Laney?” The name is unfamiliar.

With a leer, he says, “Our legal researcher. Fresh out of her paralegal program.”

The server comes by with my third drink.

“Are you running a tab?”

Rebecca nods.

“Two Satan’s Whiskers. Need to play catch up with these two.” His smirk makes my skin crawl.

“How appropriate.”

He snickers. My snarky comment bounces off his crocodile hide.

Before the drinks guy can take off, I hold up a hand. “I’d like to order something to go.”

Pad out, he looks a bit like a bird, head to the side.

“Shrimp cocktail with no sauce, and the Apple Salad. Just put the shrimp on top of the salad with the dressing on the side.”

“You got it.”

Hayden puffs out his chest like a pouter pigeon. “Me, I have a date as soon as I finish these truly spectacular drinks.”

“Drinks named just for you.”

He grins. “You know it. Scary but seductive. And I have some seducing on tap.”

Probably with our new researcher. I push the sour feelings back. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

Rebecca’s warning look doesn’t make any impression either. She grabs her coat off the empty seat. “Off to have dinner with my hubby. He’s cooking tonight.”

I trudge to the office, takeout container in hand, ready for a little research of my own.

***

Excerpt from At the Ready by Sharon Michalove. Copyright 2023 by Sharon Michalove. Reproduced with permission from Sharon Michalove. All rights reserved.

 

Sharon Michalove writes romantic suspense and traditional mystery as well as being a published historian. After growing up in suburban Chicago, she spent most of her life in a medium-sized university town, working as an academic professional as well as teaching history. She was married to a composer and frequently uses her knowledge of music, history, and food to enrich her novels. A hockey fan, Sharon moved back to Chicago in 2017 so she could go to Blackhawks games and spend quality time at Eataly Chicago.

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Buried Roots by @terraweissauthor Book Blitz! #BuriedRoots #terraweiss #instabooks #XpressoTours

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Buried Roots
Terra Weiss

Publication date: September 5th 2023
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Mystery, Romance

I might’ve found my own grave.

Or not, but I don’t have time to figure it out. A perfect stranger willed me his neglected fifty-acre farm, and now, this New Yorker has two weeks to get it sell-ready. With a business to run, I can’t stay in this boondock town a second longer.

But I’ve got it handled—even after a series of suspicious property mishaps. Even after the threatening notes.

My veterinarian neighbor Owen Brooks shows up with a sledgehammer, a wicked sexy smile, and Demon, his appropriately named foster bulldog. But after losing my family, I only rely on myself.

That doesn’t stop Owen and the town of Violet Moon from showing up for me. Maybe family isn’t just blood.

Owen and I can’t deny our magnetic connection as we restore the historic estate. But the more we dig, the more my disturbing buried roots surface. I have to confront that grave… and my bombshell family secret.

*Buried Roots is a grittier, heartfelt romcom mystery with adult language and steamy, open-door chemistry that will have you rooting for a happily-ever-after.

Goodreads / Amazon

I approach my car, and everything around me is echoey and out of focus. I just have to take one step at a time, the first being to get this car out of the ditch.

A windowless white van slows to a crawl as it swerves around me. Nerves clench in my gut as the driver pulls onto the shoulder just up ahead. A stranger driving a kidnap van in this desolate place? Hell no! I already have a raging fear of the woods.

When the driver steps out, I grip the pepper spray on my key ring. So what if he’s got a killer bod and shock of black hair? Who cares if he’s wearing a faded t-shirt and rugged jeans, like some Hallmark movie hottie? I know better than to be fooled by looks.

I check the highway, scanning for other cars. Of course, this country road is empty. When he gets closer, I see the oily black streaks on his face, the filth on his hands, and the dirt on his clothes. And he’s wearing mismatched neon socks. That has to be ironic, no? But his smile is wicked sexy when he says, “Can I help you, ma’am?”

Ma’am? Is he for real? I force a smile and a wave when I say, “No, thank you. I’ve got it.” Translation: don’t come an inch closer.

“You’ve got it?” His voice is incredulous.

“Yup. All good.”

His eyes bulge as he stops and glances at my stuck tire. “All good? Looks like you’re in a bit of a pickle.”

On closer inspection, he has muscles everywhere, and the light scruff on his carved jawbone is annoyingly sexy. Which again, will not stop me from pepper spraying his fine ass. Hello, stranger danger—in the middle of nowhere. “Pickle? Nah.”

He rakes a hand through his hair. “Look, this isn’t a sexist thing. I have a mother and three sisters who could kick everyone’s ass. But this road doesn’t see much action, and I can’t leave someone out here.”

“I appreciate that, I really do. But I won’t be stuck long—I’m handy.” That’s a stretch. I restore homes, so I am handy, but with cars, I only know the basics.

He raises a brow as he studies my face. “Handy or not, getting a car out of a ditch is a two-person job. At least.” He cocks his head and hitches up his voice a notch when he adds, “Out here, there’s no Triple A.”

“I don’t need Triple A. But thank you.”

His lips quirk up as they appear to search for a response. “Once I leave, you might not see another car for hours.”

“I’ll figure it out. I’m a New Yorker.”

“Ah. That explains it.”

My hand lands on my hip. “Explains what, exactly?”

“Nothing.” His mouth curves in a patronizing grin.

His amusement pisses me off. It’s really hard not to sound condescending when I say, “I’m sure you’ve got places to be.”

He hesitates before he hitches his thumb over his shoulder. “Okay, then. I’m leaving.”

Our gazes lock, like we’re in a game of eye-chicken. That’s fine, bring it—I don’t mind studying his. They’re part ocean, part storm cloud—sparkle tinged with despair. Like mine. I don’t look away, don’t blink when I say, “I see that, and good for you. Enjoy your day.”

He steps away in defeat. “I’m really leaving this time. You’ll be out here in the backwoods. All by yourself.” Another step back. “When you could have a mechanically inclined, super handy guy give you a hand.”

I put my palms up. “Again—mechanically inclined, super handy hands right here.” I wiggle my fingers and paint on a smile. “Sir.”

“All righty, then. Good luck.” That grin is back. “Ma’am.”

I hate to admit it, but damn it, smug is sexy on him. Our gazes lock again, and I enjoy looking at his smile, looking at him. Forget eye candy—this country boy… or man, with distinguished light creases on his temples—is more of an exquisite eye confection.

And now, I’m staring. I attempt to run my fingers through my auburn hair, which I’ve forgotten is bobby-pinned. My hand gets stuck, and I try to play it off as a head scratch.

He waves. “I’m Owen Brooks, by the way. It was nice meeting you.”

“You too.” I’m not giving him my name. I point at his feet and say, “Nice neon socks, by the way.”

That smug grin is back when he runs a hand over his dirt-stained tee. “Pulling this look together wasn’t easy.”

I smile, and for the first time, it’s genuine.

Terra Weiss is a romcom author with a knack for witty banter and gift for capturing authentic family dynamics. Readers love how her stories steer away from typical romcom cookie-cutter formulas and show how real-life people find real-life love.

When Terra's not spilling the tea on what happens in the big and small towns that live in her heart, you'll find her with her spunky daughter, mad scientist husband, wacky and wonderful mother, and the two six-pound dogs that run her house. She enjoys jogging at a snail's pace, reading from her iPhone, and piling bright orange mountains of squeezy cheese on her crackers.

Want a FREE ebook? Sign up for Terra's newsletter and get one as a thank you! http://www.terraweiss.com

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Borders Between Empires Series: A Luxor City Novel Sasha Hope New Release Blitz! @ninestarpress @indigomarketingdesign @ninestarpress @indigomarketingdesign #LGBTQIA+

 

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Title:  Borders Between Empires

Series: A Luxor City Novel

Author: Sasha Hope

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 09/05/2023

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 57600

Genre: Fantasy, Romance, paranormal, crime, gay, shifter, Alpha/omega dynamic, organized crime, police/detective

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Detective Hanni Nassar finds himself in enemy territory while investigating a string of robberies. After accidentally crossing the Central Empire’s borderline, he comes face to face with Jaemin Yi, a high-ranking Alpha of the Southern Empire’s Elite.

A cop and a gangster, both Hanni and Jaemin are suspicious of each other at first. Jaemin wants to know what Hanni’s doing on Southern turf, and Hanni wants to know if Jaemin’s notorious boss has any involvement with his case. Their initial meeting is tense, but soon Jaemin starts pursuing him for his own dissolute reasons.

Despite the clandestine rumblings through the streets of Luxor City, this isn’t about a case anymore.

Jaemin Yi is persistent. He thaws Hanni’s frigid airs and shows him there’s nothing wrong with caving to his more primal desires once in a while. As an Omega working in an Alpha-dominated field, Hanni has buried the Omegan side of himself, and Jaemin seems keen to draw it to the surface.

But where did his sudden interest come from? And will the lines crossed be too much for Hanni to handle or will adversarial passions heat up the borders between Empires?

Borders Between Empires

Sasha Hope © 2023

All Rights Reserved

Crossing Borders

Being an officer of the law in a gang-run town like Luxor City was an admitted contradiction. Hanni Nassar had accepted this fact as soon as he’d decided to join the force. The entire experience had been what some might call a bit of a rough ride, but he’d survived the salacious comments about his small Omegan build, his cute curls, and his lovely tan. He flew through basic training and even surpassed some of the Alphas on his final scores. It was an accomplishment very few Omegas could attest to.

Years later, he was still one of only two Omegas in his precinct. Exhausting as it was trying to prove day in and day out that as an Omega he could hold his own in even the most Alpha-dominated environments, Hanni stuck it out.

After the academy and basic training, he took an assignment at the Central Empire’s Southern Border Precinct and had been working there ever since. He was a Central Empire brat, born and raised, proud to serve his community. However, with every business on every street corner being owned or operated or protected by Luxor City’s old crime families, in reality, Hanni served the Central Empire first and the law second. His work and the work of every officer in the Central Empire was to protect the interests of the Empire and its Alpha leader, Dominik Wesa.

The job paid well, but Luxor City wasn’t an ideal place to fight crime. The list of actual laws the police could meaningfully enforce was short to say the least. Some laws were obvious, of course: break-ins, theft, vandalism, speeding…but even then, if you stopped the wrong car and a member of the Wesa Family stepped out, well, that was asking for trouble.

As the leader of the Central Empire, Dominik Wesa’s interests were typically aligned with those of the police force. He didn’t want drug dealers on his streets, neither did they. He didn’t want disorderly conduct running rampant, neither did they. He didn’t want thieves stealing from his businesses…and that’s where they’d run into serious issues lately.

Through hard work and perseverance, Hanni had moved up through the ranks and was now a detective for the Southern Border Precinct. His jurisdiction extended over a strip of the Central Empire that ran across the island, coast to coast, just north of the Southern Empire. There had been a spate of robberies in the area at a few of the bars in the Central Empire’s lower downtown. Over the course of two months, more than a hundred thousand dollars had been stolen. It was pennies to a man like Dominik Wesa, but as the Alpha of the Central Empire, he had been very firm in letting the police force know he was going to make sure his interests were protected one way or another.

“I don’t think I need to explain that the police force doesn’t have any sort of monopoly on violence in this Empire. So if we don’t want Dominik Wesa and his lot handling this, we’ve gotta get on it,” Hanni’s police chief, Noor, had said as she handed him a file. “Consider it a mercy if we can get these guys behind bars before they end up in a heavy, metal shipping container a few thousand leagues under the sea.” She had chuckled before patting him on the back and leaving him with the case.

At least Hanni could be tempered by the fact that he was never bored on the job. He sighed as he looked over the case file. Scrolling through the tablet, he saw the main suspect of the three hadn’t been quite good enough at asymmetries in his disguise to block his appearance from the AI security systems at the last place they hit up. Using footage from the heist, Hanni was easily able to uncover the suspect’s identity and track him to his place of work on the edge of the border.

Hanni spent a few tedious days at his desk staring at holo-screens, tracking the man’s comings and goings. The video surveillance footage followed the man from his work to his car to his home. Running a security algorithm showed Hanni that with only five percent deviation his suspect went to work then went straight home except on Thursdays. On Thursdays he went somewhere the cameras couldn’t track him before returning home much later that night.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough of a lead to give Hanni something to do other than sit at his desk staring at grainy security footage. And so that next Thursday, he took the logical step and followed the suspect from work to the unknown location.

Hanni waited until the end of the day and parked a few blocks from the factory where the suspect worked. The sky was overcast, pitch black, and the streetlamps barely lit the alleys Hanni was traveling through to keep out of his suspect’s sights.

Like every previous Thursday, the suspect left his work walking with a casual ease. Whistling to himself, unaware he was being followed, he made his way through Luxor City’s back alleys.

Hanni twisted and turned through the dark, tailing the man across the city for a good half hour. The suspect walked into a dead-end alley and his whistling stopped.

Hanni froze in the shadows. The alley was barely lit by the red glow of a set of bulbous neon lamps hanging outside a small import-export business at the far end. The crimson glow hardly brightened anything in the shadows between buildings.

Standing between the mouth of the alleyway and the dead end, the suspect glanced around quickly before opening a door and dipping into a ramshackle old building. A warehouse of some sort. It sat tucked away and probably was being used to house something illicit. Hanni planned to find out just what that something was.

A broken window, open just a crack, allowed him to see his suspect walking into a room where a few others had clearly been waiting for him. Their voices reverberated through the big empty space as they spoke, making it hard to distinguish their words. Hanni leaned into the window, trying his best to get close enough to hear.

“Took you long enough,” one man huffed.

“Some of us have to work,” his suspect replied.

A third man chuckled. “Huh, well, you’ll be able to quit that shitty day job of yours once all of this is done. I heard we’re going to hit up something bigger than Wesa’s little bars next month.”

“Oh yeah?”

Hanni frowned upon hearing those words. Next month they were changing tack? What could they be planning?

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Sasha Hope is a lover of story, art and design based in Canada. As a writer and an artist, she enjoys having the opportunity to create new characters and build new worlds for readers to explore. Having studied linguistics and a myriad of languages from a young age, she is passionate about including characters of different backgrounds in her work. Whether the setting is fantasy or reality, she believes that a diverse cast with diverse languages and cultures is a wonderful thing. 

Crafting stories that embrace MM romance and erotica is her modus operandi. When she is not creating new worlds she is travelling this one looking for inspiration or enjoying her career in the videogame industry.

Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest | Tumblr

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Reckoning by Baron Birtcher Book Tour!

 

September 4 - 29, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

Ty Dawson is a small-town sheriff with big-city problems, in this riveting crime thriller from the award-winning author of Fistful of Rain.

As lawman, rancher, and Korean War veteran, Ty Dawson has his share of problems in the southern Oregon county he calls home. Despite how rural it is, Meriwether can’t keep modernity at bay. The 1970s have changed the United States—and Meriwether won’t be spared.

A standoff looms when the US Fish & Wildlife Service seeks to separate longtime cattleman KC Sheridan from his water supply—ensuring the death of his livestock. If that’s not enough trouble, a Portland detective is found dead in a fly-fishing resort cabin. Though the Portland police, including the victim’s own partner, are eager to write off the tragedy as a suicide, Ty has his own thoughts on the matter—as well as evidence that points to murder. His suspicions soon mire him in a swamp of corruption that threatens nearly everyone around him. Turns out that greed and evil are contagious—and they take down men both great and small . . .

Praise:

"Combines the mystery and honesty of Craig Johnson’s Longmire with the first-person narration of a fiercely independent Oregon character."
~ Sheila Deeth, author of John’s Joy

"A masterful work of a time gone by . . . Ty Dawson is a cowboy, lawman, father and philosopher like none other."
~ Neal Griffin, Los Angeles Times–bestselling author of The Burden of Proof

"Outstanding... Readers will crave more from Dawson."
~ Publishers Weekly

Book Details:

Genre: Neo-western crime thriller
Published by: Open Road Integrated Media
Publication Date: June 2023
Number of Pages: 300
ISBN: 978-1-5040-8280-8
Series: Sheriff Ty Dawson Series, #3
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | Open Road Media

Read an excerpt:

Prelude:

A TRANSITIVE NIGHTFALL

NO CHILD IS brought into this world with any knowledge of true evil. This they learn over the passage of time. In my experience as a Sheriff, and as a rancher, I have found this precept to be true.

Time passes nevertheless, even if it passes slowly. Here in rural southern Oregon, sometimes it seemed as if it hadn’t moved at all, advancing without touching Meriwether County, except with glancing blows.

That is, until the day it caught up with us all, and came down like a goddamn hammer.

CHAPTER ONE

ORDINARILY, AUTUMN IN Meriwether County would come in hard and sudden, like a stone hurled through a window. But this year it snuck in slow and mild, lingered there deceitfully while we waited for the axe to come down.

The sky that morning was turquoise, empty of clouds, the altitude strung with elongated V’s of migrating geese and a single contrail that resembled a surgical scar, the narrows between the high valley walls opening onto a broad vista of rangeland some distance below. I had expected ice patches to have formed on the pavement overnight, but the weather had remained stubbornly dry, even as temperatures closed in on the low thirties. I tipped open the wind-wing and let the chill air blow through the cab of my pickup as I stretched, and drank off the last dregs of coffee I had brought for the long southward drive from the town of Meridian.

I had received a phone call at home the night before from an unusually distressed KC Sheridan. I had known KC for as long as I can remember, a pragmatic and taciturn cattleman whose family history in the area dated back to the late 1800s, much like that of my own. Three generations of Sheridans had stretched fence wire, planted feed-grass and run rough stock across deeded ranchland that measured its acreage in the tens of thousands, and whose boundaries straddled two separate counties, one of which was my jurisdiction.

But the decade of the ’70s thus far had not been any kinder or gentler to cowboys than to anyone else, and KC and his wife, Irene, had found themselves increasingly subject to the fulminations and intimidation of both local and federal government. While the Sheridan ranch had once numbered itself among a dozen privately held agricultural properties in the region, KC now found himself surrounded on three sides by a federally designated wildlife refuge that had swollen to encompass well over three hundred square miles; a bird sanctuary originally conceived under the auspices of President Theodore Roosevelt’s white house. All of which would have been perfectly fine and acceptable to the Sheridan family, given the understanding that the scarce water supply that ultimately fed into the bird sanctuary belonged to the Sheridans by legal covenant, as it had for nearly a century.

I turned off the paved two-lane and onto a gravel service road, headed in the direction of the ridgeline where KC sat silhouetted against the bright backdrop of clear sky, mounted astride his chestnut roping horse. KC climbed out of the saddle as I parked a short distance away, switched off the ignition and stepped down from my truck. KC trailed the horse behind him as he moved in my direction, took off his hat and ran a forearm across his brow, then pressed it back onto his head. His hair and his eyes shared a similar shade of gunmetal grey, and the hardscrabble nature of his existence as a rancher had been recorded in the deep lines of his face.

“What the hell am I supposed to do about these goings-on, Sheriff?” KC asked, and cocked his brim in the general direction of a reservoir that was the size of a small mountain lake. Two men wearing construction hardhats were surveying a line on the near shore where a third man studied a roll of blueprints he had unfurled across the hood of his work truck.

“Is that who I think it is?” I asked.

“They aim to fence off my water. My cows won’t last a week in this weather.”

“Have you talked to them, KC?”

He nodded.

“’Bout as useful as standing in a bucket and trying to lift yourself up by the handle. It’s the reason I finally called you, Ty. I didn’t know what else to do.”

The vein on KC’s temple palpitated as he cut his eyes toward the foothills and spat.

“I’ll have a word with them,” I said. “You wait here.”

A wintry wind had begun to blow down from the pass, pushing channels through the dry grass and the sweet scents of juniper and scrub pine. A harrier swept down out of a cluster of black oaks and made a series of low passes across the flats.

I averted my eyes as the sun glinted off the US Department of Fish & Wildlife shield affixed to the driver side door of a government-issue Chevy Suburban. The man studying the blueprints didn’t bother to lift his head or look at me as I stepped up beside him.

“Care to tell me why you and your men are trespassing on private ranch land?” I asked.

The man sighed, scrutinizing me over the frames of a pair of steel-rimmed reading glasses. He had a face that put me in mind of an apple carving, and a physique that resembled a burlap sack filled with claw hammers.

“Who the hell are you now?” he asked.

“Ty Dawson, Sheriff of Meriwether County. That’s the name of the county you’re standing in.”

He took off his reading glasses and slipped them into his shirt pocket, hitched a work boot onto the Suburban’s bumper and offered me an approximation of a smile.

“Well, Sheriff, I’m with Fish and Wildlife—that’s an agency of the federal government, as I’m sure you’re aware—and I have a work order that says I’m supposed to put up a fence. And that’s exactly what me and my crew are doing here.”

I gestured upslope, where KC Sheridan stood watching us, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“You’re on that man’s private property,” I said.

The government man made no move to acknowledge KC.

“I don’t split hairs over those types of details, Sheriff. The work order I’ve got lays out the metes and bounds of the line, and me and my crew just install the fence where it says to. It ain’t brain surgery.”

“Scoot over and let me have a look at that site map.”

“I oughtta radio this in.”

“You do whatever you think you need to,” I said. “But do it while I’m looking at your map.”

He lifted his chin and looked as though he was conducting a dialogue with himself, then finally stepped to one side. I studied the blueprint for a few moments, looked out across the rock-studded range and got my bearings.

“Looks to me like the boundary line for the bird refuge is at least a hundred yards to the other side of this reservoir,” I said. “Your map is mismarked.”

“The agency doesn’t mismark maps, Sheriff.”

“They sure as hell mismarked this one. You need to stop your work until this gets sorted out.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Care to repeat that? There’s clearly been a mistake.”

“No mistake. You need to step away, Sheriff.”

“Let me explain something to you,” I said, removing my sunglasses. “It’s the law in the State of Oregon that the water that comes up on Mr. Sheridan’s property belongs to Mr. Sheridan. Period. If you fence off his reservoir—especially this late in the season—you’re not only stealing his water, you’re murdering his herd.”

The agency man lifted his foot off the bumper, set his feet wide and faced off with me. He slid both hands into the back pockets of his canvas overalls and rocked back on his heels.

“Now it’s my turn to try to explain something to you, Sheriff: I been given a job to do, and I intend to do it. If you don’t walk away right this minute and leave me to it, I will be forced to radio this in. Long and the short of it is, the guys who will come out here after me will have badges, too. And their badges are bigger than yours.”

“I won’t allow you to trespass onto private property, steal this man’s water and kill his livestock.”

He glanced at his two crewmen staking the line then turned his attention back to me.

“You going to arrest us?” he asked.

“What is it with you agency people? Why is it that your first inclination is to slam the pedal all the way to the floor?”

“When me and the boys come back out here, it won’t just be the three of us no more.”

“I’m finished talking about this,” I said. “Pack up your gear and go.”

I could feel his eyes boring holes into the back of my head as I picked my way back up the incline where Sheridan stood waiting for me.

“I can tell by your stride that you had the same kind of dialogue experience I had with that fella,” KC said.

“Bureaucrats with hardhats.”

“I ain’t no cupcake, Dawson. But, you know that those sonsabitches have been tweaking my nose for years.”

“Those men are part of a federal agency, KC, make no mistake. If you’re not careful, they’ll try to roll right over the top of you.”

“What do you call what they’re doing right now? I don’t intend to lay down for it.”

“I’m not saying you should.”

“What, then?”

“Get on the phone and call Judge Yates up in Salem,” I said. “Ask him if he can slap an injunction on these clowns until we get it sorted out.”

Sheridan’s horse pinned back his ears and began to shuffle his forelegs, responding to the tone our conversation had taken. KC calmed the animal with a caress of its neck, dipped into the pocket of his wool coat, snapped off a few pieces of carrot and fed it to the gelding from the flat of his palm.

“I’ll do it, Ty, but I swear to god—”

“KC, you call me before you do anything else, you understand?”

***

Excerpt from RECKONING by Baron Birtcher. Copyright 2023 by Baron Birtcher. Reproduced with permission from Baron Birtcher. All rights reserved.

Baron R Birtcher is the LA TIMES and IMBA BESTSELLING author of the hardboiled Mike Travis series (Roadhouse Blues, Ruby Tuesday, Angels Fall, and Hard Latitudes), the award-winning Ty Dawson series (South California Purples, Fistful Of Rain, and Reckoning), as well as the critically-lauded stand-alone, RAIN DOGS.

Baron is a five-time winner of the SILVER FALCHION AWARD, and the WINNER of 2018's Killer Nashville READERS CHOICE AWARD, as well as 2019's BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR for Fistful Of Rain.

He has also had the honor of having been named a finalist for the NERO AWARD, the LEFTY AWARD, the FOREWORD INDIE AWARD, the 2016 BEST BOOK AWARD, the Pacific Northwest's regional SPOTTED OWL AWARD, and the CLAYMORE AWARD.

Baron's writing has been hailed as "The real deal" by Publishers Weekly; "Fast Paced and Engaging" by Booklist; and "Solid, Fluent and Thrilling" by Kirkus.

"YOU WANT TO READ BIRTCHER'S BOOKS, THEN YOU WANT TO LIVE IN THEM" -- Don Winslow, NYT Bestselling author

"BIRTCHER IS PART POET, PART PHILOSOPHER, AND A CONSUMMATE WRITER" -- Reed Farrel Coleman, NYT Bestselling author

"REMINISCENT OF THE LATE, GREAT ELMORE LEONARD" -- Shots Magazine (UK)

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