It’s been forty years since the Roman conquest of southern Britannia. The hostile western regions are at last subdued and twenty years have passed since the cataclysmic Iceni Rebellion in the east. With tribal kingdoms assimilating into Roman culture and the province at relative peace, Imperial Governor Gnaeus Julius Agricola turns his attention north. The once-allied, now hostile Kingdom of Brigantes is divided between factions loyal to Rome and those of the usurper king, Venutius. Following a series of raids, and compelled to flee from imperial retribution, Venutius seeks the aid of a Caledonian chieftain named Calgacus. Calgacus hopes to use a conflict with the Empire to seal his claim as high king of the northern highlands.
In the southern coastal city of Portus Adurni, Gaius Artorius Armiger’s term as governor-mayor is coming to an end. Ten years have passed since Gaius’ last campaign during the Siege of Jerusalem. Ever the soldier, a summons to Londinium leaves him with an intriguing proposition. Knowing his reputation as a military leader, Governor Agricola offers Gaius a return to active service with command of the legendary cavalry regiment Indus’ Horse. Despite trepidation about leaving his wife and children and the lingering effects of old battle injuries, Gaius Artorius dons his armour once more as a soldier of Rome.
James Mace is a life-long historian and the author of twenty-seven books, including ten Ancient History best-sellers, and five South African History best-sellers. He penned the initial draft of his first novel, "Soldier of Rome: The Legionary", as a cathartic means of escapism while serving in Iraq from 2004 to 2005. His works span numerous eras, from Ancient Rome to the British Empire.
Kexen of the Outer Vale has made a unique splash in the Moorcondian palace and has captured the attention of Benedict, Lord Tentrees, a diplomat trying to make his mark. When a winter-long mission arises to negotiate a trading treaty with a foreign queen, Ben needs a wife by his side. Never having been attracted to women, he sets his sights on marrying the enticing Kexen. He means for him to be both a helpmate navigating court society and a shield against the flirtatious queen.
Because Kexen is someone who—by his own admission—is neither male nor female, he is intrigued by the idea of becoming Lady Tentrees and presenting entirely as a woman. Ben sweetens the offer with a lucrative trade deal between their families. Kexen will not ignore his duty while also being drawn to the virile diplomat who desires him. He cannot help but accept the proposal.
Their journey through both their diplomatic mission and marriage proves to be a rocky one. Kexen is not as experienced as his husband first believes, Ben is more driven by his career than Kexen appreciates and neither of them anticipates the intrigue waiting for them at their destination. The strength of their growing bond will be tested as they fight for their survival.
Excerpt
Benedict, Lord Tentrees of Northcliff, stood at the balcony’s rail and peered down at the colorful spectacle of the servants’ ball. Technically, he had no business being there. The ball season for the nobility had already ended earlier in the evening. These final hours were intended to benefit those who served the palace denizens so faithfully throughout the year. This was a grand gesture of thanks for their hard work and loyalty. Woe be it to anyone who didn’t give a servant these few hours to enjoy themselves with food, drink and merriment. The royal family had long made it clear that this was by decree. There would be some aching heads and sleepy eyes come the harsh light of the morning, but for now, the people twirling around the dance floor and taking liberties with each other in corners had no care in the world—or so it seemed to him. Not that his gaze landed on anyone for long, because he was there to find one person in particular.
It wasn’t difficult for him to spot his quarry. Even among the bright garments of the attendants, Kexen of the Outer Vale stood out. He was clothed in the colors of fall—deep red, bright orange and sparkling yellow. His daringly short doublet sported gathered sleeves that cascaded in folds down his slender arms while provocatively highlighting what lay behind the crotch of his almost obscenely snug trousers. His knee-high brown leather boots gave his legs an even longer look, while his elaborately braided hair swung with his every graceful turn. Kexen was not a tall man, but that was all to the good. The boy would fit perfectly with Ben’s own height. The vision of gathering him in his arms was captivating. His cock hardened at the thought of it, enjoying the spark of pleasure. With his demanding profession, there wasn’t much opportunity to slake his needs. Hopefully, that situation was about to change.
There was no reason to tarry any longer, so, stepping away from his vantage point, he headed toward the staircase that would send him into the midst of the revelers. He had intended to be as inconspicuous as possible, understanding that this was not his domain, that he was an interloper who might cause some alarm among the servants. His good intentions notwithstanding, the severity of his all-black clothing served to make him stand out among the festive outfits of those around him. There was a certain amount of startlement by those who saw and recognized his station, if not his identity, leading to smiles morphing into more respectful expressions. Some nodding of heads occurred, as well, in deference to his rank. Ben tried to convey that he was no threat to them, that he had no demands, not even any expectations—not from these people, in any event. Kexen was a different story altogether. If all went to plan, Ben would seduce the boy while judging up close whether they would make a good match.
Ben caught sight of Kexen on the dance floor again. He was being whirled around in the beefy arms of a footman. Ben settled against the wall to stay unobtrusive as he waited with less patience than he would have expected from himself for the musicians to end their song. The moment the last of the notes were played, he launched into the crowd. Now he appreciated being shown respect as the partying servants cleared a way for him, making his journey that much quicker. He caught up with Kexen and his partner just as they were stepping out onto one of the balconies. The night was brisk but, in contrast to the heat of the ballroom, very refreshing—not that the cold air served to dampen his ardor. Seeing Kexen up close only increased his desire for the boy.
Exquisite.
Kexen’s face was lit with joviality as he gazed up at the footman, laughing at something the man had said. There was a coy look to the boy’s expression, as well. Ben was surprised at the spurt of jealousy he felt at the sight. He reminded himself that Kexen was not his and might never be so unless he proved to be worthy. Charging forth as if he were an enraged lover was hardly going to serve that purpose. Being a diplomat, he knew how to bank his emotions and measure his words and actions. By the time he reached the couple, he hoped he appeared friendly and casual.
Kexen was the first to spot him. His jubilance dimmed somewhat, although he looked more curious than apprehensive. He nodded his head. “My lord, is there something you wish?”
You. In my bed. Ben didn’t voice this desire out loud, of course. Instead, he said, “I would love a dance, if you would honor me.” Ben had the pleasure of seeing surprise flash across the boy’s face. He was delighted that the obviously confident young man could still be caught off guard.
Kexen reached to twist one finger around the chain of a small ruby pendant and dropped his gaze. “I am honored, my lord. But your pardon, this is the servants’ ball. It is not fit for a nobleman.” Just as Ben was appreciating the subtlety of the rebuke, Kexen looked up at him from under his lashes.
Cheeky boy, you’re interested. Ben stepped closer. “And a fine event it is. Please forgive the intrusion, but I have been anticipating the opportunity to meet you, Kexen of the Outer Vale. This seemed the best occasion to do so.”
Now Kexen showed open welcome, his lips curling in a beckoning smile. “Oh. You flatter me, my lord.”
The footman proved that his brains weren’t as big as his muscles. When the man opened his mouth as if to object, Ben stepped deftly between him and Kexen and stared the footman down. “If you don’t mind?”
They were matched in height, and while Ben wasn’t quite as broad, he could hold his own in a brawl as well as at the negotiation table—not that either skill was required in this event. He didn’t hesitate to convey his social position in his gaze to encourage the footman to find someone else to dally with. The man was confident but not entirely stupid, apparently. With a curt nod, he strode away.
Pleased with the outcome, Ben turned to Kexen and held out his hand. “They are playing a waltz…my favorite.”
Kexen managed to convey shyness, something his reputation belied. Ben didn’t mind the pretext. The boy’s ability to navigate the complex waters of a court was one of the things that Ben coveted him for. He hadn’t been worried about a refusal, but when Kexen put his hand in his own, the jolt of excitement Ben felt was a surprise. He prided himself on being cool and measured in his actions. Something about the feel of this boy, however, made him want to drag him off into a corner and do a different kind of dance—one that involved his cock sliding past those slightly tinted and lovely lips. The way Kexen closed the distance between them, wrapping his arm around Ben’s neck, told him that the boy had similar ideas. Such a temptation, but Ben schooled himself to be patient, because this night was not a one-time seduction. It was hopefully the beginning of a short courtship.
Ben took his dance partner by the waist and pulled him in close, letting Kexen feel the measure of his arousal. “Let us stay out here. I wouldn’t want my presence to impede the others’ enjoyment. I will endeavor to keep you warm.” So saying, he began to slowly lead the boy in circles.
Kexen tilted his head to look him in the eye. “You are succeeding admirably, my lord.”
“I’m gratified to hear it. I’m Benedict, by the way.”
“I know who you are, Lord Tentrees. I must confess to being surprised that you know who I am.”
Ben whirled them into the far recesses of the balcony, taking them away from everyone else. “You shouldn’t be. Who at the palace hasn’t heard of the valiant groomer of the Duchess of Vostguard? You helped to save Prince Soren from an ambush at grave risk to your own safety.”
Kexen dropped his gaze and shrugged. “Oh, that. It was all the Duchess’ doing. I merely went along to serve him, as is my duty.”
Ben knew false modesty when he heard it, and this was decidedly not that. Kexen truly believed his actions weren’t worthy of special mention. Ben’s estimation of him increased. There was more to this boy than beauty and even bravery. Most people in his position would brag to anyone and everyone about such exploits, not caring if their words betrayed the secrets of those whom they served. Kexen’s humbleness and discretion were excellent traits in diplomatic circles. There was no doubt in Ben’s mind that he had made the right choice, even if it were really the only one afforded him.
“You don’t do yourself justice. I’ve attended a few meetings in the presence of the king. I assure you he feels quite differently.”
Kexen blushed despite the cold air swirling around them. “The royal family is very kind, my lord.”
“My friends call me Ben.”
“I am surely not that upon such a short acquaintance.”
“I should like you to be.” He let his passion show in his eyes. “Should we continue our dance somewhere more private inside?” He actually held his breath waiting for the reply. In theory, he could have his way whether Kexen wanted him or not. King Auden didn’t tolerate the abuse of servants, but pressure could be brought to bear quietly against even the most secure servants with little retribution, if one was careful about it. But that wasn’t how he intended this venture to go. An eager Kexen would be a far better prize than a reluctant and begrudging one.
Kexen rested his cheek on Ben’s shoulder. “I would like that very much.”
Ben wasted no time, ending their dance before tugging Kexen by the hand back into the ballroom. He skirted the crowd to leave through the nearest exit and led the boy to the first quiet alcove he could find. The palace had so many discreet places for assignations that he was inclined to believe it was by deliberate design. Part of him disliked being so public. He would have preferred to take Kexen back to his own apartment, but, despite his recent promotion in the diplomatic corps, he still didn’t have a room in the palace. Taking the time to dress for outside and head to his place in the city didn’t appeal to him. Plus, he didn’t want to burden Kexen with two trips—there and back—on such a cold and late night.
The moment they were out of the sight of prying eyes, he pulled the boy into a kiss. He’d intended to take it slowly, to do nothing that might alarm even an experienced person such as Kexen. One touch of their lips, however, had him devouring the boy’s mouth instead. His much-valued control snapped with a speed that alarmed him. Or, rather, it would have, if feasting on Kexen were not as delectable as it was. Within seconds, he was sitting on a tufted settee with Kexen straddling his lap. Their respective erections mashed against each other as much as their clothing allowed. Ben wanted nothing more than to strip those barriers away. He had to wrestle with himself to gain control over his passion.
Breaking the kiss, he peppered Kexen’s jaw with quick pecks. “We must slow down, my dear, or I won’t last much longer.”
Kexen giggled in a sweet voice. “Who says I want you to…Ben?”
Hearing his name spoken in a voice thick with need nearly sent him over the edge. He closed his eyes and nuzzled the side of the boy’s neck, breathing in the sharp scent of bergamot mixed with the more musky smell of his arousal. As Ben worried that his mind was becoming cloudy, Kexen slipped from his grasp and was kneeling between his legs before Ben knew what was happening.
“Let me make you happy.” That was all the boy said before undoing the laces of Ben’s trousers, freeing his cock.
What rational thought that was left in his mind fled in the next instance when Kexen swallowed him whole right down nearly to the root. It was an impressive feat based on his prior experience. No one had ever taken the entirety of his rather large dick, and few had been able to manage as much as Kexen was now. The intensity of being mostly encased in such tight, wet heat nearly undid him. Then Kexen worked his throat muscles to massage the top half of Ben’s shaft. That was all it took for him to double over from his orgasm, pressing his lips tight to keep from shouting his pleasure.
Kexen kept lavishing attention on Ben’s dick until it popped out of his mouth. The boy beamed up at him as Ben caught his breath. “Do you feel better now, my lord?”
By way of an answer, Ben hauled him back up to his lap with a swiftness that made Kexen gasp. “Not nearly enough. I want more.” He kissed the boy again, tasting his own bitterness. Far from being disgusted, he loved it, because it was a mingling of them both. He wanted to reciprocate the giving of such pleasure. But when he reached between them to cup Kexen’s erection, he found that the boy had already come from the cocksucking alone. Knowing that he’d had such a potent effect on him puffed up his chest. He wondered if he could do it again and found himself eager to try. There was plenty of time left in the night, and based on the way Kexen melted into his arms, he seemed just as eager for more.
This was proof that he’d been right all along. Kexen of the Outer Vale was the perfect bride for him.
Samantha Cayto is a Boston-area native who practices as a business lawyer by day while writing erotic romance at night—the steamier the better. She likes to push the envelope when it comes to writing about passion and is delighted other women agree that guy-on-guy sex is the hottest ever.
She lives a typical suburban life with her husband, three kids and four dogs. Her children don't understand why they can't read what she writes, but her husband is always willing to lend her a hand—and anything else—when she needs to choreograph a scene.
Giveaway
Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.
An archaic evil hungers for him and will stop at nothing to possess the twenty-two-year-old and the coveted secrets that have been hidden from Alex his whole life.
All that stands in their way is a two-and-half-thousand-year-old spartan Commander named Nikos and his fellow guardian sidekick Jin; a pink haired descendant of the goddess Hekate.
Nikos will move heaven and hell to protect Alex even if that means protecting him from himself.
When boy meets man sparks fly and an instant bond is felt, a connection that feels as old as the fabric of time. But Alex must first learn to trust Nikos and Jin while fighting his anxieties that have controlled his life if he has any hope of surviving what's to come.
The Last Son Of Venus is the first in the fast-paced LGBT fantasy romance series of the same name featuring queer male characters, high fantasy creatures, magic and the true gods of old. The Last Son of Venus will take you on a long multi-series journey to a well-deserved HEA. So come and join Alex and Nikos and see what the Fates have in store.
Excerpt
Bitter wind violated my exposed flesh, sending a deep chill to the very core of my bones. Mother had warned me that London was cold, but I thought she meant cold like Melbourne in winter, not winter in Antarctica. If it wasn't for the fact that my jumpers were all packed down at the very bottom, I would have stopped and added an extra layer of protection. But I was cold and feeling far too lazy to reorder my bag, so I went without. Yes, I was an idiot.
As per the map’s instructions, I turned right onto Gillingham Street. It was becoming really
hard to focus on the map because the streets were barely lit. I cursed myself inwardly that I didn't just buy a portable phone charger, but I would be sure to rectify my error first thing tomorrow. My goodness, this would be a lot smoother if I was using my phone's Google Maps. Anyway, what was done was done.
For a Saturday, there was very little nightlife, which I thought was odd considering what I knew about Londoners and drinking, although I have to say my knowledge on the subject was like ninety-five percent based on Geordie Shore reruns. But still, there was not a soul on the street.
I could feel my anxiety grow; it wasn't helped by the fact that some random man told me someone was trying to kill me—though he wasn't some random man, was he? He knew my name. I felt a shiver run up my arms; I didn't think I could feel any colder. Maybe I should have stayed and heard him out before running away...again, if I had, maybe he had a portable phone charger.
Looking back down at the map, I estimated I had maybe another six-minute walk ahead, although I wished I had just paid for the stupid cab fare, but I really couldn't justify the cost for, what, maybe four hundred metres. I walked further every day on my morning run.
The light flickered in the lamppost above. How strange. It flickered again, but this time, it didn't light back up. I was plunged into darkness as the rest of the streetlights also extinguished.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
My anxiety started to peak, and my instincts told me to get out of there fast. All of a sudden, I felt eyes on me. Shit shit shit. My pace quickened into a slight jog, my bag swinging heavy behind me.
Why did it feel like the approaching darkness was watching me? I looked up to the sky where once a moon sat giving light to the sky, but now it was gone, shrouded by darkness. I started to shake uncontrollably; I couldn't tell if it was from the cold or my anxiety. Both seemed to be at war for dominance over my body and mind.
A sound emerged through the darkness, muttered voices. I started to run, every fibre of my body telling me to do so. My flight response was fully active, I flew down the street, but the voices seemed to be gaining on me. They were now close enough to hear what it was they were chanting. "Consumptura est lux tenebris." They repeated it over and over.
I crossed the street in mere seconds, but was stopped from going further by a gate of iron. I turned to go around, but to the left of me, I found that the men were closing in on me. Looking to the right, they were doing the same yet only metres away.
Fuck fuck fuck, my only option was to jump the fence. It wasn't very tall, so I knew I could make short work of it. I put my hands on the spikes and pushed down, lifting my body. I swung my legs up and jumped down. The hem of my shirt got caught on a spike, lifting my shirt up, trapping my arms. "FUUUUCK!" I yelled, trying to fumble myself free. I was shaking so violently, I could barely unhook it, the process taking minutes rather than seconds.
It came loose just as the men closed in. It was then that I realised my duffle bag's strap must have also gotten caught on the spike as it lay broken just on the other side of the fence, but I could clearly see the men's robes of red now. I hadn't the time to retrieve it. I'd have to let it go and hope I found it later after I had made it to a police officer.
Even the darkness seemed to draw dimmer. How was that possible? Turning, I started to run, pushing past plants and shrubs, pulling my shirt back down as I ran.
Their chant suddenly changed, I could now hear their voices ringing in my head as if they were whispering right into my ears. "Arbores et plantae saxa animari, prohibere eum." Their chant had changed. It felt as if the trees were drawing closer, which couldn't be so.
Something grabbed my foot. I let out a scream as I fell to the ground hard. What was that? I looked around, but all I could see was grass. I must have tripped over a root or something, though I couldn't see one. Getting back on my feet, my left ankle felt swollen, and as I put pressure on it, I let out a loud scream. I hoped against hope that it was just twisted and not broken. I tried to run, but the pain was just too great.
CRASH. The gate lifted from the ground and flew into a tree. The robed men continued to follow me. FUCK.
"HELP! Someone, anyone, help me!" I shouted.
One of the men raised his hand at me, and my voice faltered. I tried to let out a scream, but my voice was gone. What in the name of Ursula the sea witch was this? All I could do was try limping away.
Roots lifted from the ground before my very eyes, spraying moss into the air, leaving the earth a maze of traps, clearly designed to stop my escape. What was I to do? I tried to hop over them, the pain forcing tears to fall from my eyes. But the pain didn't stop me. I continued to push myself, for my life clearly depended on it.
"Corrumpam vineam eius," shouted one of the robed men. Instantly, vines fell from the trees and launched themselves at me. I ducked and missed the first one, but the rest found their target, instantly forcing me to the ground, wrapping around me like dangerous pythons.
The roots curled up, pulling me to face the robed men, forcing me to watch as they approached. The men were dressed in robes of red. I could just make out a crucifix scar on one of the men's outstretched arms. Wrapped around their hands were what looked to be rosary beads, but something looked wrong. It seemed like the beads dug into their hands, drawing out a dark fluid.
The wind changed, and the smell of metallic ooze hit my sinuses, causing my nose to curl. That answered the question of what the fluid was: it was blood. I struggled with everything left in my body, but it was no use, the vines just grew tighter and tighter, almost to the point of breaking bone.
"Help me," I prayed inwardly. "Someone, please."
A man in the centre stepped forward chanting with the others, "Accipere auferat divina virtute." Something jabbed into me sharp like a needle, causing unimaginable pain to flow through me. I screamed and screamed, but no sound escaped me. Whatever it was it felt like it was crawling through my veins.
He continued forward towards me, chanting. Only a few feet away, I could now clearly make out his face that was hidden by a hood. He looked to be in his mid-fifties with a full white beard, long hooked nose, and beady black eyes. He kneeled beside me and raised his outstretched hand over my face. I tried to close my eyes, but they were forced open. The man squeezed his palm into the rosary beads, which I could now see were made of jagged barbed wire that cut into his flesh. As the man squeezed, blood fell like water droplets over my face. On impact with my flesh, it sizzled like acid; it smelled like it too. I was truly dead. My only thought was on my parents, hoping they would be able to get past my death. My vision started to fade to black. This was the end of me. My eyes finally closed. I had no strength anymore. Maybe death wouldn't be so bad? And with that thought, it all went silent.
BANG!
The earth reverberated. There was loud running, yelling, and what sounded like sandbags hitting a wall, but I couldn't open my eyes to see. They felt like they were welded shut.
"You must continue the chant!" shouted a voice that felt like spiders crying in my ears.
The chanting started again. "Accipere auferat—" But was cut off mid-sentence as what sounded like thunder struck the earth. I needed to run, move, get up, break the bonds holding me. My brain told me this, but it was as if I was buried alive.
Something dropped beside me. It radiated warmth. I wanted to lean into it. I tried to but failed. I wanted it closer. "Please come closer," I begged the universe, and by some grace, it did. I felt a hand on my cheek; it was warm to the touch. Who was this? What was this? Again, I tried to open my eyes but failed. I started to panic again. This couldn't be the end. My mind started to race. Mentally, I was thrashing back and forth, wishing my body to do the same. This feeling of disconnection was the scariest thing I had ever felt.
"By Zeus, Alex, gods fucking dammit, your lips are blue," growled a familiar voice. Was it the Adonis? It sounded like him, and for some unexplainable reason, I hoped it was him. I could feel his hands on me. Everywhere he touched, I felt warmth.
"Jin, we're going to need a recovery charm," he yelled at an unknown person.
"Babes, I am fucking busy if you didn't realise, you know, holding off the Priests of Bellum Sacrum," bit back an unknown, effeminate voice.
"Fuck it all to Hades, you couldn't have just come with me at the train station." The Adonis's voice turned gravelly. But I couldn't follow him at the train station because he was a stranger. I didn't know him; therefore, I couldn't trust him. But was he here now to save me? So maybe that meant I could trust him?
"Fuck it, we'll have to swap," called the Adonis back to the person he called Jin, I assumed.
No, don't leave me! He can not leave me. Don't take the warmth away. I'm so very cold. As if he could hear me, he assured, "Don't worry, Alex, I'll be back." Then he was gone. The coldness set back in, his warmth only a haunting memory.
Thunder struck the earth again; there were more screams of pain and terror. The smell of metallic ooze grew almost too strong to possibly bear. A thud beside me. Was it the Adonis? It couldn't be because this person didn't radiate warmth like he had. Was he friend or foe?
"Queen, don't even stress, okay, I'm here to help you, boo." It was that voice again; it was distinctly fem, but like fem male, not a fem female. I assumed it was Jin, but I really wished I could open my eyes and stop all the guesswork.
"Álysoi kaí desmá nýn spázete." I felt warmth all over my body. Suddenly, I felt weightless like I was flying in the air. The darkness began to fade as a white light came towards me. I tried to meet it halfway.
Light burst into my reality as my eyes flew open, temporarily blinding me as my eyes readjusted. A man who couldn't be any older than myself stood over me, his hair fairy-floss pink, kept neat and short on the side with a front fringe that covered the tops of his brows.
"Is he awake yet?" yelled the Adonis from somewhere just out of my field of view. "Yes, fuck, give me a second, Miss Bossy Tiger," snapped the pink-haired man. He turned and spoke to me, trying for a soothing voice, but came off very condescending.
"Hi, Alex, my name is Jin. I'm going to need you to stand up. Can you do that for me, dolls?" But wasn't I tied to the ground by vines?
"Jin, get him the fuck up now. We need to move!" said the Adonis, running back into view. "I'm trying," he responded.
"Then try harder."
Before I could process what was happening, one of the robed figures instantly appeared
behind the Adonis, bloodied dagger outstretched ready to strike, going for the killing blow. "NOOOOOOOO!" I screamed, sending out a blast of energy that felt like it came from my
very soul. I couldn't let the Adonis die.
Gusts of power forced the robed man into the air, flying back with a loud crunching sound
into a tree. The dagger burst into smoke. It took me a moment to realise what it was I had done. My body retracted inwardly, instantly forming a ball. What had I just done? I started to rock
back and forth, tears falling from my eyes.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
I was a freak, and I may have just killed someone. I needed my mother to tell me it would be okay, but she wasn't there, so I didn't know what to do. I needed to know I didn't just kill someone. "Shhhh, calm down, it will all be okay," said Jin softly.
But it wasn't going to be okay; nothing was. It would never be okay again. "Right, fuck this. Get the fuck up now, idiot, before you get us all killed," growled the Adonis.
I just looked at him, like was he kidding? Like really, was he kidding? The rudeness. I was
going through something. Instantly, my anxiety and grief turned to anger like a light switch. I was standing up, pointing my finger at him. "Who the hell do you think you are? Do not EVER talk to me like that again, do you understand?"
The corners of his mouth turned up slightly; the barest whisper of a smile ghosted his face. "That got you up, now didn't it?"
About the Author . . .
Scottish Australian author Dion Marc lives and breathes queer art. Whether he is painting, writing, sewing or dancing naked in the moonlight he does it with pride. He is a practising Hellenistic polytheist who believes in healing the world one hug at a time and that drinking tea without a biscuit is a horrendous crime.
Dion has spent over eleven years working full time in film and television as a Makeup Artist, Hairdresser, Wig Maker and Costume Designer. For the last year Dion has been working on the award-winning theatrical shows Hamilton, Moulin Rouge and more recently full-time on Harry Potter and the Cursed Child as a hair and makeup artist.
Brooklyn Monti is dying. Or at least she thinks she is. Every since Brooklyn was diagnosed with Huntington's Disease at 19, she's used it to give up on herself. Huntington's has affected her career, her friendships, and her love life. But will she let it control her future? When Brooklyn meets the man of her dreams she must decide whether Huntington's is going to take away the one thing she's always wanted: a family.
Getting through life is no longer acceptable. It’s time to fall in love, chase dreams, and build a legacy. This story is smart, sexy, funny, and hopeful. Let's go on the journey with Brooklyn.
About the Author. . .
Tasha Hutchison resides in Texas where she owns and operates Wordy Writer, LLC to help other authors with their writing journeys. Tasha discovered her love for books at a young age when she would read with her mother before bedtime. Her love for writing was actually realized when her mother used writing as a tool to refocus her dramatic moments in more creative ways. Since then, writing has never been optional for Author Tasha Hutchison. Like eating and breathing, it's something integral to her existence.
Broken Petals is Tasha’s first novel with a focus of giving readers hope in any situation in an unforgettable way.
Sugar flows through Calla Taylor’s veins, so owning her own candy shop is her dream come true. She has independence and the chance to surround herself with her passion… candy. But life in Avenel, a small island town, has its challenges. The summer’s hurricane season hit her hard, and now that winter has begun, she’s not sure Calla’s Candy can hold out until the warmer temperatures lure tourists back to the beaches.
Ash Singh has it all: good looks, a charming personality, and a pile of money that just continues to grow. He also has a broken heart. Because of the hellish way his last relationship ended, he wasn’t sure he could ever love again. But meeting Calla changed everything. It started small. When she smiled, the jagged edges of his heart found their match and sealed together. Her laugh revived a pulse that sent need and desire through his soul. But when he held her in his arms as they danced, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Hope.
But one thoughtless act cuts Calla to the core and threatens the hope that took root in Ash’s soul. He sets out to not only save his relationship with Calla, but he vows to save Calla’s Candy too.
About the Author. . .
Karen Tjebben lives in central Georgia with her wonderful husband and twin daughters. She loves traveling the world. Whether it's to the heights of Yosemite, the white sands of the Caribbean, or even Down Under, she's always ready to pack a bag in search of inspiration. She enjoys creating worlds filled with unique characters that will delight and raise goose bumps on her readers.
During the Great War, in a German-occupied Red Cross hospital in Brussels, Belgium, there are three British nurses who will risk everything to save the lives of those in their care. These are the stories of The War Girls.
Saving the Rifleman - British Red Cross nurse Maria Hunt lives in daily fear that the German soldiers who regularly inspect her hospital will uncover her secret: she helps wounded British soldiers escape German hands.
Enticing the Spymaster - Judith Goddard is hiding in plain sight. A dual citizen with family ties to Belgian royalty and the British military, she works as a Red Cross nurse in a German hospital, learning what she can, ever fearful her true allegiance will be discovered.
Aiding the Enemy - Rose Culver is in grave danger. For months the Red Cross hospital head nurse has been aiding Allied soldiers caught behind enemy lines, helping them flee into neutral Netherlands. It's only a matter of time until she's caught.
The War Girls is composed of three previously published novellas. This is
the first time they have been published in one volume.
Excerpt
Chapter One
Brussels, Belgium
November, 1914
“Maria.”
Alarm rippled across Maria’s nerves, jerking her attention from the supply record book she was writing in.
Her teacher, mentor, and matron of the hospital on Rue de la Culture stood at the window, staring out at the street, her back straight and stiff.
“Rose?” Maria took a step toward her, but Rose’s voice stopped her before she could take another.
“Please take an inventory of the bandages in the closet on the second floor.” Her words were spoken with a deliberateness that should have been reassuring. It wasn’t. The other woman held herself too still, too rigid. “We’re about to have another friendly visit.”
“Germans?” Maria whispered, dread tightening its coils until she could barely breathe. “Again?”
Regular soldiers didn’t make her too uncomfortable; they appreciated the nurses who looked after their wounded countrymen, and they knew they could end up at this hospital and in her care. But the officers were another thing altogether. They looked at Maria and Rose as if the two of them were convicted criminals of the worst sort.
As if they were dirty.
Rose nodded.
“Lord preserve us.” The words slipped out before Maria could stop them. “When will this madness stop?”
Rose turned then, a rueful smile on her face. “I wish I knew. Go now and stay out of sight if you can.”
“But—”
“I’ll be fine. Dr. Geoff is still here. He’s as irritated with all these inspections as we are. They’re a constant interruption, and we have little enough time for our work as it is.”
Herman Geoff was a German doctor, but he treated Rose and even Maria with the utmost respect. His uncle was a high-ranking officer. Very high. As long as Dr. Geoff supported them, they would most likely remain safe.
If they did nothing to irritate or anger the local German troops. Something Maria feared she’d already done.
She rushed to the back stairs and climbed them quickly. Rose would be safe. The second daughter of minor gentry, she had demonstrated time and again her diplomatic skills were more than up to the task of dealing with arrogant, suspicious German officers.
Maria had none of those skills or family background.
The second floor was filled with bedrooms, now used as wards for their patients. There was also a room where the nurses slept—Rose, herself, two Belgian nurses and one German nurse who worked with them. A closet near the back stairs had been converted into a storage area for bandages and other medical supplies.
Perfect for a woman to hide in while waiting for their German visitors to leave.
She opened the door, prepared to enter…
But the closet was already occupied—by a soldier complete with pack, sidearm and rifle. The weapon wasn’t what snared Maria’s gaze and held it.
His eyes were green. A brilliant emerald green.
Her breathing stalled as she stood in the doorway and stared into those wide, pale eyes and at the blood spattered across his face and uniform.
His British uniform. In a Belgian hospital full of enemy German soldiers.
Good God.
Voices floated up the back stairs a few feet away and she opened her mouth to caution him.
Before she could utter a warning, before she could blink, his hands reached out, grabbed her, and yanked her into the closet, pulling the door closed behind her.
Fear and shock crushed her throat as she found herself pressed against the soldier’s body, one of his hands over her mouth, the other a steel band behind her back.
She couldn’t move and the closet was so dark it might as well have been a tomb. Blind and restrained, the unfamiliar scents filling her nostrils took over her senses.
Mud, blood, and man.
***
Lieutenant John Bennet held the woman in his arms tightly enough to keep her from crying out, but not enough to harm her.
He’d hoped to find someone to help him, preferably a nurse, but this wasn’t how he’d anticipated meeting such a woman—staring into her frightened face then pulling her into a dark closet. He couldn’t even tell her she was in no danger from him. Any noise would likely be overheard by the men now standing on the other side of the door.
He held himself still despite the pain from his wound and the unfamiliar weight of the woman in his arms. How long had it been since he’d held anything so soft? Weeks? Months?
He sucked in a breath and the scent of evening flowers filled his head, driving out all others. His cock stirred in response to the feel of her curves along his flank. Her chest rose and fell erratically under his arm as she tried to breathe through what must be a terrifying situation.
Yet there were no tears, no sobs, or cries.
He tore his focus from the delights of her body to consider her movements for a moment. She’d stopped struggling for the most part and now stood relatively docile in his arms.
Maybe she realized how dangerous his predicament was. If she was a nurse, she might feel some sympathy toward him, some care.
Energy surfaced from some unknown well inside him, heating his muscles. He couldn’t give up hope, not now. He had to find a way out of Belgium, a way to report what he’d seen. There were more lives at risk than his, thousands more. Including the nurse in his arms.
A man was giving orders in German in the hallway, from the sound of it, only a few paces from the closet door. Orders to search the hospital for the British soldier. Orders to find and detain for questioning the second British nurse. The woman John no doubt held in his arms.
The woman now in as much danger as he.
Poor girl. It was one thing to tend wounded men in no shape to offer offensive behavior, but quite another to be taken captive in a dark closet. He was lucky she hadn’t screamed herself hoarse or fainted.
Somehow, he needed to communicate his lack of intent to harm her. He’d been told this hospital was a place of safety for British soldiers caught behind German lines. The last farmer who’d sheltered him just outside of Brussels told him the matron of this hospital could help him, had already helped many others like him. She might even be able to supply fake identity papers and an escape route out of the country.
Warm, soft, and sweet-smelling, the woman in his arms could be the key to his survival. And what he knew was the key to Britain’s defense.
His spine solidified, transforming into steel.
She didn’t know it, but he was prepared to kill to protect her.
About the Author. . .
Retired medical lab technologist, Julie Rowe writes stories that plunge you directly into chaos and adrenaline from the first page & don’t let up until the end.
Praise for Julie Rowe
“Read Julie and you get it all, the suspense, steaming chemistry and
a story that doesn't let you put it down." - Ayekah, Goodreads
“I love this authors writing style. She writes balls to wall, edge of
your seat, page turning thrillers." - Cindy, Goodreads
"This is one of the best books I've read this year because of the
complex and dramatic life and death storyline and the sizzling sexual
chemistry." -Diane, Goodreads
Campbell Grey is getting her life back on track after escaping a difficult past. She has a job she loves, friends who have become family, and has returned to the college classroom—where she unexpectedly connects with handsome Scott, her literature professor.
Scott Mayhew has been alone for far too long. Though devoted to his daughter, family, and career, he’s ready to meet his match. But he never imagined a student would capture his attention—that’s not allowed. Still, the sparks he and passionate, beautiful Campbell share can’t be ignored.
Other books in the Timing is Everything Series:
Last Time We Loved
Timing is Everything Series, Book 1
Can they free the past to have a future together?
First Time We Laughed
Timing is Everything Series, Book Two
Will timing be on their side for a real chance at love?
Christine Miles loves writing and reading so much she has two degrees—one in English and one in Creative Writing.
She now calls Albuquerque, New Mexico, home.
When not writing, she enjoys reading romances with sassy heroines and swoony heroes, as well as the occasional mystery and thriller, listening to music, and binge-watching guilty-pleasure shows on Netflix, Hulu, and HBO Max.
