Trans Deus by Paul Van der Spiegel #giveaway

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Trans Deus

Author: Paul Van der Spiegel

Publisher: Perceptions Press

Cover Artist: Paul Van der Spiegel

Release Date: August 11, 2020

Genre: LGBTQ – Christian

Tropes: Trans Christ in modern day England 

Themes: Trans Christ persecuted by the religious, the transphobes, the haters; closeted Peter, terrorist Judas, addict Andrew, humanist Thomas.

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length: 75 000 words/ 249 pages

It is part 1 of 4 Queer Gospels – each one is a different take.

Goodreads

Buy Links

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

Trans Christ born in a modern-day, transphobic England

Blurb 

The Word was with God. The Word was God. Nothing was created apart from the Word. The Logos became a trans woman and she dwelt amongst us, full of grace and truth.

Four men have their lives changed forever: Jude, the terrorist sent to kill the transgender Christ; Peter, the repressed gay man grasping after a religion of certainty; Andrew, the slave to his sexual appetites; and Tom, the ardent atheist with crippling financial problems.

From the towns and moors of northern England to the shadow of the cross in the City of London… the light shone in our darkness and the consumer, military technocracy comprehended it not.

Excerpt

Tom Bauer scanned the myriad titles in the Selfish Help, Mind n’ Body, Religion, and Pop Psychology subcategories, publications propped and penny-stacked on white MDF shelves.

Pop Psychology? What’s the world coming to? Tom thought. What he wanted was Death Metal Psychology, Hip Hop Head-Help, Roland TB 303 Counselling: anything but fluff and bluff. He started to laugh, at book shops, at life, at himself for being such a useless sack of shit. How have I ended up here? he demanded of existence, desperate for a fix of some arsehole’s fake positivity? 

The woman stood next to him reading the inside cover of The Secret slid it back onto the shelf, then hurried away.

The man who didn’t believe in belief pulled a volume from the packed display and examined the recommended retail selling price printed beneath the barcode—the book was the same price as a leg of lamb, as three large chickens. How the fuck can I justify spending that? he thought.

There was enough money to last another couple of months. His personal account was overdrawn, as was the joint account. There was always the credit card and the emergency second credit card, the one that Kristin didn’t know about. The feeling of being overwhelmed, of drowning, washed over him. Tom was scared: scared that they could lose their house, scared that what had been certain, mundane, predictable was now fuzzy and nebulous.

He picked out a copy of the Selfish Help bestseller I can make you Bulletproof and tried to read the introduction, but the words expanded and went blurry against the paper. Kristin stepping up her working hours to full-time helped, but it wasn’t anywhere near enough to cover the shortfall in his wages: the choice was now which bills had to be paid. 

Tom knew that he was not on his own: across the Public Sector thousands of people were being let go, especially, it seemed, in the north of England. Every suitable vacancy had hundreds, thousands, of applicants. His mind flicked to the visit he had made to the Didsbury Job Centre that morning: there was nothing, not unless he wanted to be an amusement park squirrel on minimum wage. He had asked the stony-faced Employment Agency manager whether a drug habit was a mandatory requirement for the role. 

Some people have no sense of humour, he reminded himself.

Once he had been on an upward trajectory within society. Now, Tom visualised his family falling into the abyss of poverty.

Tom pushed I can make you Bulletproof with its free hypnosis CD back into the shelf. He stared at the rows of crack-lit books, at the dope publications, at the trash written by authors selling glass pipes and rocks to the vulnerable, pushers who peddled badly cut gear to existential junkies. Bluffers and bullshitters, he thought, the lot of youAnd yet, I want to buy your product, get high, face the inevitable come down, buy the sequel. The thought compounded his sense of despair. 

That was when Dave Lucas and Bob Nielson from the Salford Health Trust Planning Department strode past the end of the aisle and took their seats in the coffee bar. Tom had forgotten the two spreadsheet goons read manga and graphic novels for free during their lunchbreak. The last thing he needed was Dave—the Lurch lookalike in his X Files T-shirt—and Bob—his skinny anaemic monosyllabic sidekick—asking him how he was. And he certainly didn’t want to hear how things were going back at the office, didn’t want to see that “you-poor-bastard” smile, or, even worse, the sparkle of glee in the eyes of those spared the executioner’s axe. In Tom’s considered viewpoint, anyone who still believed in “love for your neighbour” need only set up a corporate redundancy programme to see the reality of the human: fuck thy neighbour lest thou too get fucked.

Bob Nielson—a sadistic un-helpful prick in Tom’s opinion—was the man widely suspected of being the elusive Phantom Logger, that desperado of the digestive system who delighted in cooking up foot-long turds and depositing them in the men’s third-floor toilets and leaving without flushing. A closed toilet bowl lid was a sure sign that Nessie was back in town. Neilson had been spotted giggling outside Trap One just before one particularly unpleasant discovery. Maybe Bob n’ Dave took it in turns, Tom considered, competing in their own ghastly gastrointestinal game.

How had those two morons survived whilst he’d been cast aside? 

He needed to escape the book shop ASA-fucking-P. Tom knew that if he had to engage in any form of communication with Beavis and Butthead, he was liable to murder one, or both, of them; bash their heads in with a British Bake Off cookery brick. 

Option One was to hide in the stinking toilets for an hour like a junkie. Screw that, Tom decided, which left him with Option Two. 

Option Two was printed on the flyer that he had been given by a smartly-dressed woman outside Boots the Chemist on Market Street, a piece of paper that announced Manchester Cathedral were running a lunchtime programme of speakers with that day’s febrile attempt entitled, “The Myth of Eden—a new approach to Genesis.” Having someone attempt to defend the Great Book of Fairy Tales enraged and fascinated Tom at the same time. 

He decided that facing down a representative of a misogynistic, homophobic, corrupt organisation staffed by paedophile pensioners would take his mind off his financial woes, even if only for a short time. Tom wondered if he could get thrown out of church for heckling. Watch out all you bishops and kings, he thought, the Pale Rider is at your gate

He paid for a copy of The Times at the self-scanning machine, extended it to its full height, hid his head behind the newspaper, and strode through the main door. Once he was on Deansgate, he stuck his tongue out at Dave and Bob through the window. The two men didn’t notice, but an old man drinking a latte from a tall glass stared at him in surprise. 

It took two minutes for Tom to walk to his favourite place in the whole world, the John Rylands library. Tom loved everything about the building—the décor, the stillness and, most of all, the collection of ancient writings, works that covered every aspect of the human experience across three millennia: legal, medical, science, and the history of tribes and lost nations. He could spend his entire life in this one library and still only scratch the surface of the knowledge within. 

Plus, it was free admission.

Through the glass entrance, through the gift shop and café, up the modern staircase, past the Italian tourists, then into the red-stone vaulted cloisters, and up the stone staircase to the third floor where Thomas reverently entered the Reading Room. There, he was greeted by old friends: Luther, Milton, Shakespeare, Goethe, and Calvin, evidently no girls were allowed in Enriqueta Ryland’s library, apart from the lady herself. Tom sat at the mahogany table beneath the statue of Gibbon. Trusting in the presence of this enemy of Faith he read the newspaper, searching all the while for the one-liner that would transform his life.

Tom finished the easy, then started the medium difficulty, Sudoku puzzle. Thirty minutes later, he had ground to a frustrating halt. Checking his watch, he noticed he was late for the Genesis gig at God’s gaff. He had a choice to make—sack off scripture or go and put the righteous in their rightful place. Still holding the newspaper, Tom legged it from the library, dove down Deansgate, veered along Victoria, and arrived, gasping for breath, at the Cathedral doors. 

The presentation in the Saviour Chapel had already begun and all the black metal chairs had been taken. Tom edged right and stood, leaning against the cold stone wall. 

A blonde woman in jeans and a blue t-shirt prowled the front of the chapel. “Clothes are made from the cotton plant,” she said to her audience, “from animal hide, from nylon that is made from oil found under the seabed. Clothes are human constructs of naturally occurring materials. Gravity is a physical law, but our certainty that the universe is a matter machine is a human construct, a metaphor. Even when we are given fact, we fashion it into meaning to wear about our person.” 

“Amen,” a man in front of Tom said.

“For fuck’s sake,” Tom muttered, shaking his head, realisation dawning on him that he had made a dreadful mistake. 

“Our certainties adjust during our lifetime,” the woman said, “new knowledge and different learning become more important, people we love die, friends change, our pets grow old and die, the world around us changes, new roads are built, and our favourite breakfast cereal has a packaging redesign.”

To his left was a disabled man in a wheelchair—twisted limbs, twisted face, thick oversized ears, and jam-jar spectacles. Tom averted his gaze. Poor sod, he thought. It would have been better for him, for his family, for society, if he’d never been born.

“That which is our reality, our certainty, is but a metaphor. It is unreal in the sense that it is a construct of a construct. All our certainties are torn down at our death. We arrive at check-in stark naked and shivering, belonging to no culture and belonging to all. Stripped of all that we have ever wrapped around ourselves, what is left?”

You’re shit-boring, love, Tom thought. Wish I hadn’t come now. Behind the altar, a huge red curtain hung from the roof. Tom was struck by how much the church resembled the 2-3-74 temple in Ultimate Negation 2—the first-person shooter game that had used a digitised version of the building as the backdrop for all-out war between the remnants of humanity and hordes of gun-toting alien invaders. The Church authorities had claimed on the TV news that their Cathedral was a “space for grace,” and the Japanese corporation who had produced the game had violated this sacred principle. Tom had never heard anything so stupid in all his life: most city-centre tourist attractions would give their right arm for that kind of publicity.

About the Author 

I am the author of Trans Deus, 7 Minutes, Parably Not, and A Particular Friendship. My stories are about the intersection of faith and sexuality. I am a William Blake obsessive, and I’m working on new books with Blake’s themes – sex and gender, revelation and rebellion – at the heart of the narrative.

Author Links

Blog   |   Twitter

Giveaway 

Enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway for a chance to win

one of two paperback copies of Trans Deus

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

New Release – Taking A Chance: Charity Anthology #giveaway

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Taking A Chance: Charity Anthology

Authors: D.G. Carothers, Toshi Drake, C.W. Gray, K.L. Hiers, Gianni Holmes, G.R. Lyons, KC Luck, Claire Marta & Abrianna Denae, Amanda Meuwissen, Shane K. Morton, Faith Ryan, Bretton Sans, JP Sayle, Lynn Van Dorn, Shannon West, Toby Wise

Cover Artist: Samantha Santana, Amai Designs

Release Date: April 23, 2021 (limited run – comes off sale July 22, 2021

Genre/s: Contemporary, Sci-Fi, MPreg, Action Adventure, Paranormal

Trope/s: Enemies to lovers, star-crossed lovers, friends to lovers, Second Chances, 

Themes: BDSM, Hurt/Comfort, Work Place, College, Age Gap, Size Difference, Rom Com

Heat Rating:  Varied from 0 to 5 flames     

Length: about 800 pages 

Add on Goodreads

Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

Come take a chance with us and help support the AIDs Healthcare Foundation in the process.

Blurb

Seventeen authors were challenged to take a chance to write something new and outside their normal box to help celebrate International Take A Chance Day. These authors went above and beyond by writing sixteen stories that span the gender and sexuality spectrum. They’ll make you laugh, cry, shout with joy as they take you on a journey through their contemporary, paranormal, science fiction, and adventurous stories.

 Desert Knight by D.G. Carothers

Taking A Leap by Toshi Drake

When Clyde Met Hay by C.W.Gray

Playing for Keeps by K.L. Hiers

Alien Attraction by Gianni Holmes

In the Twilight Hours by KC Luck

Evan’s Awakening by G.R. Lyons

Always and Only You by Claire Marta and Abrianna Denae

Silhouette by Amanda Meuwissen

A Dark Half by Shane K. Morton

Fated by Faith Ryan

The Sweetest Ache by Bretton Sans

Love’s Heart Print by JP Sayle

Catch Me If You Can by Lynn Van Dorn

Take a Chance on Me by Shannon West

Taking The Leap by Toby Wise

All proceeds will be donated to the AIDs Healthcare Foundation. AIDS Healthcare Foundation (AHF) is a global non-profit organization providing cutting-edge medicine and advocacy to over 1,000,000 people in 43 countries. They are currently the largest provider of HIV/AIDS medical care in the U.S.

This anthology will only be available for a limited time.

Giveaway 

Enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway for a chance to win an

Amazon Fire HD 8″ Tablet + $50 Amazon Gift Card

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/4c3bdc7f8/

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

Follow the tour and check out the other blog posts and reviews here

New Release – The Prodigal Prince’s Fake Fiance by Thursday Euclid & Clancy Nacht

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: The Prodigal Prince’s Fake Fiance

Authors: Thursday Euclid & Clancy Nacht

Publisher: Eine Kleine Press

Cover Artist: Clancy Nacht

Release Date: February 9, 2021

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romance, trans man romance, m/m trans #ownvoices

Trope/s: Secret Royal with a Fake Relationship, Stranded with Only One Bed, a Fling in Europe leading to Unrequited Love and a Second Chance, and ultimately a Return to Hometown for a Playboy Prince as True Love mends a Fractured Family

Themes: found family, claiming identity

Heat Rating:  4 out of 5 flames     

Length: 73 000 words/182 pages

It is a standalone story.

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US   |  Amazon UK 

Will a trans prince’s fake engagement end in love?

Blurb

His Royal Highness Morgan Schuyler, an aggressively toppy trans man, wants nerdy Lin Callahan the moment he sees him. When a hurricane in the Atlantic grounds their flight, Morgan seizes the opportunity to share a hotel suite with his petite, cis lust object. Their torrid fling ends with the flight to New York City, but a coffee shop run-in reveals they’re attending the same posh fine arts grad school.

While they’re both still daydreaming about that weekend together, neither will admit it. Feelings are awkward, and Morgan refuses to have them for anyone but his childhood best friend, Carmen. As for Lin…his ex-boyfriend has moved cross-country in an attempt to rekindle a romance that doesn’t hit the same since that weekend in France.

When Morgan’s forced to choose between an arranged marriage and presenting his parents with a fake fiancé, he’ll need to navigate his attraction to Lin without catching feelings. How is it possible to want someone so much and yet be so terrified of their emotional intimacy? Maybe that’s why Morgan still hasn’t told Lin he’s royalty…

This 73k contemporary m/m trans #ownvoices romance combines perennial favorite tropes such as the Secret Royal with a Fake Relationship, Stranded with Only One Bed, a Fling in Europe leading to Unrequited Love and a Second Chance, and ultimately a Return to Hometown for a Playboy Prince as True Love mends a Fractured Family.

Excerpt 

As it turned out, though, his row mate wasn’t in the bathroom but with the pilot, and when he emerged, Morgan couldn’t help staring.

On the shorter side of average, certainly. Shorter than Morgan. Straight, sandy hair worn long, curling up where it met his button-down collar. Surprisingly fashionable though, really, even if it was super cazh. Skinny jeans, chukkas, the button-down layered over a graphic tee Morgan couldn’t quite make out between the open plackets. His puppyish brown eyes crinkled deeply at the corners in the most precious possible way.

When he caught Morgan staring, he blushed. Actually blushed. And hid behind the messenger bag he carried crossbody but cradled like a baby, as if he was too awkward to cope with being eye-fucked.

God, Morgan wanted to eat him alive. He squeezed his thighs together and willed himself to stay cool, but he was already getting hard. Biting his lip, he inhaled sharply through his nostrils and turned his attention toward the window to look out at the boring expanse of tarmac.

He’d been in Lidonia too long. Months. No parties, no cutting loose, no hookups. Now Morgan was sitting next to this delicious dork for seven hours, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about the throbbing ache inside him.

He needed a fuck. Just…so badly.

And a drink.

Where were the cabin crew? There should’ve been four attendants waiting on them. Could they really all be in the galley?

As Delicious Dork fidgeted at the corner of Morgan’s vision, he turned his head fully, looked up at where DD still hadn’t sat down, and asked, “Is something going on in the cockpit, or were you just visiting?”

“Oh, um…” DD wrapped one hand around the strap of his bag. The other pushed his hair behind his ear as he looked back toward the cockpit. “Well, it’s um, the flight’s not going to happen. There’s an…um…weather event in the Atlantic, so nowhere to land.”

DD looked up and around, then toward the back of the plane. “I was going to grab my bag and um… figure something out.”

He appeared strangely guilty, as if the weather event was his fault, which, okay. Maybe he was Catholic? Morgan could relate.

Then DD abruptly headed to the baggage compartment.

A moment later, the pilot’s voice crackled over the speakers. “Hurricane Eileen has grown to a category five in the mid-Atlantic. She’s scheduled to make landfall in New York in the next day or so, and until that resolves, it’s just not safe for us to continue our scheduled flight. My apologies. It’s an act of God, as I’m certain you understand. You all have the JetShare app, and we’ll send a push notification when our flight is rescheduled. It may be tomorrow, but considering the potential weather ramifications of Eileen on New York City, it may be a couple of days. Stay tuned. We’re taxiing back to the terminal now, where the cabin crew will help you with your baggage so you may disembark and enjoy sunny Nice a little longer. Thanks for flying with us.”

The other passengers groaned and grumbled amongst themselves. Morgan wasn’t thrilled either.

Then DD returned, rolling his bag behind him, and took his seat as the jet taxied from the runway back to the private terminal. His face was turned away toward the window as he talked on the phone, making arrangements for somewhere to stay.

Capital idea, really, and several steps ahead of everyone else on the jet.

Morgan produced his own phone and then floundered. Who should he call? Where would he stay? No way was he going back to Lidonia. It was a short trip, but… no.

Besides, the weather might clear up tomorrow, and he’d have to extricate himself from the familial grasp all over again. No, thank you.

So somewhere local to NCE. Sure, that’d be easy. Nice had a zillion suitable hotels…

Which a quick peek at Morgan’s travel guide app informed him were entirely booked. Like, booked solid. Because of some goddamned festival, combined with peak tourism season, which…

Morgan understood. The Côte d’Azur was gorgeous, and of course people flocked here from all over the world. It was almost as beautiful as Lidonia—not that Morgan was biased—but far more accessible to the average traveler.

Out of bloody-minded curiosity, Morgan changed his app settings to show three-star hotels. Still nothing.

Despairing, he removed the restrictions.

A few shady looking establishments appeared to have rooms, but Morgan couldn’t bring himself to stay somewhere like that. He liked living the ordinary life, but he wasn’t certain it was safe for someone of his particular needs to stay overnight somewhere with such limited security.

His parents would, frankly, demand he come home and never leave again if they found out. Which they might well do, considering establishments like that weren’t known for discretion with their celebrity clientele.

While Morgan had managed to stay out of the public eye thanks to living in the States—and the tireless efforts of the palace PR professionals—sometimes people still recognized him. He hadn’t changed his name, after all, and while most people never put it together, this close to his native soil….

Well.

Goddamn it.

He just couldn’t risk it. It would destroy him if it got out, squelch any hope of blessed anonymity. His Serene Highness Rodolfo would recall him to the Lidonian court, and that would be it for Morgan’s private life. From there on out, he’d be a pawn of the Principality.

As the jet came to a halt, DD unbuckled and started to slip from Morgan’s metaphorical grasp, and that was just not going to happen. If he had a room…

Well.

Morgan’s groin tightened pleasantly. They could certainly make use of a room together.

Rushing to follow, Morgan fell into step behind DD and placed a light hand on his shoulder to get his attention. “Hello, Delicious. Listen, is there any chance you could wait for me to get my luggage? I’d like to talk to you for a moment before we part ways.”

“Oh, um…” DD looked panicked “Yeah. Listen, I’m really sorry about the flight. Just, fuel’s really, you know, it can only hold what it can hold, and diverting is a nightmare. Safer to, um, you know…”

The business set shot DD dirty looks as they passed by. He stepped aside and took a seat, as much of an answer as Morgan was likely to get.

Cabin crew stood at the doorway to storage, matching luggage with annoyed passengers, apologizing as if it was their fault.

Morgan claimed his vintage trunk and turned to face DD. They were the last passengers on board. “I wasn’t blaming you for the flight being delayed. Perish. No, rather, I was curious about your accommodations. It sounds as if you already secured a room, and I am, sadly, without such.”

Approaching Delicious with a wicked little smile, Morgan raised a brow. “Think you could help me?”

About the Authors

Together, Texans and platonic life partners Thursday Euclid and Clancy Nacht write queer novels that span genres, with intense romances and a seamless shared narrative voice.

They published their first co-written novel, the m/m rock star romance Black Gold, in 2010, and now have over a decade of award-winning collaborations under their exquisite belts. Recent titles include the twisted romance His Fake Prison Daddy and the Phisher King series, in which an uptight federal agent and a bratty hacker go from enemies to lovers while solving a hate crime.

Though Elder Millennial trans man Thursday and Gen X gender outlaw Clancy live three hours apart, they are inseparable. Their friendship is a perfect example of the Grumpy/Sunshine trope, which makes Thursday very happy. Clancy thinks it’s all right.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website  |   Twitter  |   Instagram  |  Spotify Playlist

Follow the tour and check out the other blog posts and reviews here

Book Blast – Earnest Ink by Alex Hall

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Earnest Ink

Author: Alex Hall

Publisher: Nine Star Press

Published: October 14, 2019

Cover Artist: Natasha Snow

Genre/s: Queer Spec Fic, Sci-Fi/Fantasy, Thriller/Suspense

Trope/s: Found family

Themes: Mystery/adventure

Heat Rating:  1 flame

Orientation: Asexual, Pansexual

Identity: Cisgender, Trans

Warning: Depictions of Trauma, Blood, Violence, Murder,

Eating disorders, Body hatred, Transphobia, PTSD, War

Length: 72 100 words/244 pages

It is a standalone book.

Add on Goodreads

 

Blurb 

While twenty-year-old FTM Hemingway is making an excellent living as a tattoo artist in a near-future version of Hell’s Kitchen, the rest of the country is splintered and struggling in the wake of a war gone on for too long. Technology has collapsed, borders rise and fall overnight, and magic has awakened without rhyme, reason, or rule, turning average unwitting citizens into wielders of strange and specific strands of magic.

Hemingway’s particular brand of magic has made him a household name. Not only is he a talented artist, but his work comes to life. Literally.

When NYC’s most infamous serial killer—the East River Ripper—abducts Hemingway’s best friend, Grace, he has only days to save her. Hemingway teams up with his stoic cop roommate to hunt for the killer and rescue Grace before she becomes the Ripper’s latest victim. But as the duo chase clues to the serial killer’s identity, Hemingway begins to fear the magic he and the Ripper share might eventually corrupt him too. 

 

Buy Links

NineStar Press  |  Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

Smashwords  |  B&N  | Kobo

 

Excerpt 

Earnest Ink

Alex Hall © 2019

All Rights Reserved

I work without speaking because that’s the way I prefer it. The vibration of my machine, the softer buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead, the tap of my foot on the pedal—it’s the best music in the world.

When I hit a ticklish spot, the girl I’m working on gasps, jolting in my chair.

“Don’t move,” I say. And then, with a salesman’s false cheer: “Almost done!”

The girl is sweating down the crook of her neck. She’s got silver glitter paint on her eyelids and cheeks, a new fashion trend I just can’t quite get behind. Under my lights the mix of perspiration and makeup looks like a blurry constellation.

She wanted a bee inked onto her collarbone, one of those tiny honeybees you find on good tequila bottles. Easily done, and she met the cash requirement. She’s eager, nervous, and breathing in and out in little puffs.

I can’t remember her name, but that’s fine. Customer relations is Eric’s job.

There’s another kid leaning over my glass counter, watching eagerly as I work. “Does it hurt?” he asks. “When the magic happens?”

The bee’s fat yellow thorax wriggles from side to side as it begins to wake, fighting the pressure of my needle, hungry for life.

“It looks like it hurts,” the kid says. I ignore him.

One minute more and—thanks to my peculiar magic—this bee will fly free.

I’m perched on a swivel stool, a wet paper towel in my hand to wipe away ink. It’s too hot in my studio, even with the industrial fans whirling overhead and the door propped wide open. Evening light slants in through the door and the north-facing, floor-to-ceiling window panes that look out onto West Forty-Sixth. It’s muggy, too warm for New York in October, and all of Hell’s Kitchen is wilting, including my client.

“What does it feel like?” the kid demands. He’s leaving greasy fingerprints on the surface of the glass as he strains to get a better look at what I’m doing. I study him out the corner of my eye, wiping sweat off my nose with the back of my wrist before it drips on my customer. He looks like one of the street punks who have taken to running in packs near the cruise terminals, sleeping in old, abandoned cargo containers and panhandling up and down the marina.

He’s skinny and tall, hair dyed an unsettling violet and styled into spikes all over his head. He’s got a silver ring in his septum and more hoops in his ears; his eyelashes are coated with purple mascara to match his hair. Green glitter paint sparkles on his lids. His T-shirt and jeans are torn and dirty, and he’s got a pack of black-market cigarettes rolled into one sleeve against his upper arm.

 

 

 About the Author 

Sarah Remy/Alex Hall is a nonbinary, animal-loving, proud gamer Geek.

Their work can be found in a variety of cool places, including HarperVoyager, EDGE and NineStar Press

 

Author Links

Blog/Website  |  Twitter: @sarahremywrites 

 

Follow the tour and check out the other blog posts and reviews here

 

New Release – Penetration Test (The Phisher King Book 3) by Thursday Euclid & Clancy Nacht #KindleUnlimited

BOOK BLAST

Book Title:  Penetration Test: The Phisher King Book 3

Author: Thursday Euclid & Clancy Nacht

Publisher: Eine Kleine Press

Cover Artist: Clancy Nacht

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romantic Suspense

Trope/s: Enemies to lovers, workplace, forced intimacy

Themes: Transgender

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 83 000 words/316 pages

Add on Goodreads

 

Blurb

Sequel to Rainbow Award-winning gay romantic thriller The Phisher King and its sequel False Flag.

For years, brainy, charming FBI techie Sam Dupre has helped Hunter Walsh and Cal Riggs solve their cases. He’s also become one of Hunter’s closest friends, someone Hunter counts on when things get tough. 

After the events of False Flag, Riggs is no longer the agency’s golden boy, so when Hunter suspects a gay couple has been murdered in a hate crime in an exclusive gated community in Olympia, he takes the tip to Sam instead. While Riggs and Hunter contend with workplace politics and Riggs’s recovery, Sam Dupre drives the case forward, even securing a partner for his undercover field work: handsome, popular recent transfer Rob Crawford. 

Crawford’s a seasoned field agent who doesn’t bat an eye at posing as a gay married couple, but Sam can’t help feeling like Crawford’s mocking him. They rub each other in all the wrong ways in private even as they pretend to be a doting married couple in front of the neighbors…at least, until they start rubbing each other the right way. 

Sam’s dysphoria-and his HIV status-has held him back, but as he bonds with Crawford, he starts to feel seen for who he truly is. Surrounded by mystery and danger, now is not the time to blur professional lines, but how can Sam help himself?

Featuring: An #ownvoices trans character feeling his oats, a dreamboat foreign terrorism agent trying his hand at a domestic (teehee) case, and a supercute adopted housecat. With a special appearance by Callum Riggs, excessive trolling by Hunter Walsh, and, of course, a happy ending!

 

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

 

Excerpt 

 Meeting Crawford’s piercing green gaze, Sam steeled himself and said quietly, “We suspect religiously motivated White Nationalists could be involved. Whitewoods Olympia’s mission statement is one big conservative dog whistle for ‘old fashioned family values’ and my insider once toured the area looking for a home only to be given the cold shoulder when introducing a black family member to the mix. You may know Olympia is eighty-plus percent white with a two percent black population. Combined with its status as state capital and a cultural center, it’s an ideal location for racial purists to establish a religious enclave close to the seat of power.”

How Crawford took that news would speak volumes. Often the foreign terrorism agents didn’t take domestic terror as seriously, too wrapped up in their administration-sanctioned Islamophobia to acknowledge the clear and present danger of far-right extremists.

“Sounds like a case for Riggs.” Crawford sat back, brows furrowed again as if assessing the situation. Then he nodded seemingly to himself as if the pieces were coming together. Crawford was sufficiently political to understand why Riggs wouldn’t or couldn’t take the case right now.

“So you think someone in the enclave did away with the Millers? Sounds more like old fashioned neighbor murdering than domestic terror, but we do consult on cases of the murdered or the missing. Could just be some nutjob who somehow thinks queers in the neighborhood could lower property values.”

Sam bristled at Crawford using the word “queers” like it was his word to use. Sure, that was often how Sam described himself, but Crawford was a bro. He had no business using it. He bit back a keep that word out of your mouth and grunted instead, acknowledging the probability.

“Riggs is still recovering from the white nationalist attack from the group Weisse Drache, or I’m sure he’d be all over this. It’s definitely his wheelhouse.” Sam kept his voice as even and authoritative as he could, despite his urge to lash out. It was that self-control that had allowed him to climb so high in the Seattle office. “Even if it’s not White Nationalistic domestic terror—which I’m not theorizing; it’s what my anon suggested—it sounds very much like a hate crime. But…”

Sam trailed off, studying Crawford and doing his best to mask his irritation. Then he asked, “The other disappearances… What’s behind those?”

“Inconclusive.” Crawford stared, almost seeming to challenge Sam. “At least per the local PD. We could go in, see if we can draw some conclusions. If you really think it’s a hate crime, we could go in undercover. Either way, if we infiltrate the community, we can see what’s what.”

“We go in undercover,” Sam echoed, disbelieving. “We ‘infiltrate the community’.” Really, that was Crawford’s go-to?

After a beat, Sam grimaced, letting it all sink in. “That would be one way to access their information infrastructure and surveil the environs. The family is maintaining the house for the missing Millers, and from what I’ve heard they’d cooperate and let us use it as a base of operations for our efforts. You’ve got the green light to pursue this?”

“I was told to check it out, so that’s what I’m doing. Checking it out.” Crawford turned to his computer and put in his password along with the security dongle code. “Doesn’t need to be really deep cover. We could claim to be part of the family, housesitting, but make ourselves really at home. See what we can see.”

“Have you tapped someone to partner with you in the field?” Sam pulled out his phone, ready to plug in their third’s data, and looked up to meet Crawford’s eyes expectantly.

“We,” Crawford gestured between the two of them. “Can check this out. I really just need you there to give the appearance of a gay family. You can come in to work as usual if you need. The rest of my crew’s still in Turkey. It could take weeks to get another agent—if they’d assign another at all right now. By then, I may be off again.”

“You want to pretend we’re a gay couple?” Sam’s voice came out much squeakier than usual, and he cursed internally, hating how pubescent he sounded. “You want to replicate the Millers’ situation and see if there’s a bite?”

Technically Sam could do most of his work remotely, but pretending to adore Crawford was not a viable career choice. What the shit?

Then he thought of Hunter’s worried face, remembered how hollow Riggs seemed at Sunday dinner. They weren’t in any place to investigate this, even if Riggs could get the go-ahead, and the last thing Hunter needed was to be separated from Riggs right now. Or rather, the last thing Hunter needed was to go undercover himself, because he’d done enough of that, and Sam was over it, officially.

“Is that coffee done yet?” It sounded more plaintive than Sam had hoped, like he was in desperate need of caffeination, but he was. God, he really was.

“Sure.” Crawford turned and moved the press closer and pushed the plunger down steadily, big meaty hand on the top. “Listen, as a field agent who often works undercover, it’s not my first gay rodeo. Though, I’ll admit, it’s why I can’t just call just anybody in to help. You know, some people around here…”

Crawford leaned in as if taking Sam into his confidence, also implying that he was a cool kid somehow for not being squeamish about doing his job. “Particularly lately. We can just go in say we’re more or less housesitting until the Millers come back, leave it open ended but make ourselves at home, if you know what I mean. See what the mood is. If it’s nothing, we’ll just leave, no need to make a big deal of it until there’s something actionable.”

He pushed the finished coffee closer. “Sound like a plan?”

 

About the Authors 

Thursday Euclid

The Thursday Euclid is a strange and elusive creature dwelling in the Texas Gulf Coast region. Frequently mistaken for Bigfoot, Chupacabra, or the monster of the week, he is, in fact, a 30-something black sheep with a penchant for K-pop, geekery, and hot and sour soup. When he’s not playing Dragon Age or SWTOR, he’s probably watching B-movies or talking to his best friend and frequent collaborator Clancy Nacht. You can find him on Facebook, Twitter, or email him at thursdayeuclid at gmail dot com.

Author Links

Blog/Website

Facebook

Twitter

Instagram

 

 Clancy Nacht

 Clancy Nacht is a bisexual genderqueer person who lives in Austin. Clancy has published several bestselling romances. Many of her books have been honored with Rainbow Awards; Le Jazz Hot won for Best Bisexual/Transgender Romance & Erotic Romance. In 2013, Black Gold: Double Black was a runner-up for a Rainbow Award. In 2015, Gemini won an Honorable Mention for Gay Erotic Romance and in 2016, Strange Times won an Honorable Mention for Science Fiction. Wyatt’s Recipes for Wooing Rock Stars was a finalist in the highly competitive William Neale Award for Best Gay Contemporary Romance. The Phisher King won second place in the Rainbow Award for Romantic Suspense, 16th for Gay Book of the Year.

Author Links

Blog/Website

Facebook

Twitter

 

Follow the tour and check out the other blog posts and reviews here