Discover Jazz Bang Boom by Will Okati

Title: Jazz Bang Boom

Author: Will Okati

Cover Art: Bryan Keller

Genres: Action Adventure, Mystery /Suspense /Intrigue, New Releases, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Sci-Fi

Themes: Alternative Universe, Cyber-Punk, LGBTQ+ Gay, Second Edition

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 33

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Synopsis

Riot’s attempt to teach his pretty lover to behave himself doesn’t… quite… go as planned.

Jazz loves pretty things and things that go BOOM. Tyger, AKA Riot, is a man on a mission, searching for the bits and pieces that’ll repair his damaged, bio-constructed DNA. It only makes sense for the happily mismatched lovers to turn airship pirates and sneak, snatch or con what they need, right?

Right. One problem. Occasionally Jazz gets a little too fond of explosives, and Tyger gets a tad too focused on his quest. When that happens, they need to vent a little steam. So to speak.

Excerpt

Jazz Bang Boom
Second Edition
Will Okati
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2026 Will Okati

T-minus sixty seconds. Really, it was bad manners to blow up a tea party, but some society dames were just asking for it. Jazz landed in the ornamental rose bushes outside his hostess's parlor window, gathered his heavy silk skirts around his knees, and ran like hell.

Not that he was worried. Jazz knew his explosives like he knew his way around the three-dimensional differential equations of a projected illusory field.

And wine. And perfume. What? Jazz prided himself on having layers.

He ticked off the seconds in his head, listening to an internal countdown. Right about now the aforementioned queens of "polite" society (and those who knew Jazz knew far better than to push a particular argument on behavior becoming to a lady and the mind-boggling double-standards that -- oh, anyway).

Jazz did enjoy traveling to different worlds and sampling the finest wines, velvets, songs and yes, incendiary devices from the thousands of cultures that flourished around the galaxies, but the next time his honey, Riot, wanted to spend time where good manners were forbidden in favor of good times? No thanks.

Where had he been? Oh, right. Crap! Cue the fine ladies screeching, coughing and sneezing, the last of a harmless fog floating out the window he'd helpfully, er, opened by jumping through, and they might have regained enough composure after the flash and bang that went with the smoke to have started complaining and oh, right.

Five, four, three, two --

Jazz managed to free himself of the pannier hoops just in time to dive under the cover of a cluster of almost-certainly-sacred ancient oak trees, before -- BOOM.

If a thing was worth doing, it was worth doing properly. "Proper." See what I did there?

This time, however, the dainty device of detonation had not been hidden in Jazz's decolletage (quite convincing cleavage, if he did say so himself). He'd set the charges long before smiling politely and pretending to enjoy a coin-sized cress sandwich in the ladies' salon.

BOOM.

There, that was the ticket! One for distraction, two to cause confusion to his enemies, e.g. the people in possession of A Thing Jazz Wanted, and a third to blow the ever-living fuck out of irritatingly secure locks that otherwise prevented his honey from wholesale liberation of a few deliciously prized goods.

POOF.

Oops. He'd forgotten the fourth bomb in the salon. Well, that one had been a bit spur of the moment. And a leetle more powerful. Enough to, say, jar loose some ripe pickings of his own, if he were lucky. All he needed to do was circle back around, and --

The discreet two-way comms device concealed in the cunning shape of a rosebud earring spoke to him. "Overkill, Jazz. Overkill."

"Spoilsport," Jazz said, and sneezed. "Let he who has never enjoyed the smell of C4 in the morning cast the first stone in a glass house."

"Excuse me?" The voice on the comms sounded amused. "You're high on adrenaline again, aren't you?"

"Pish, tosh, nonsense, and absolutely, yes. Perhaps that was overkill. Others could say I was in the wrong, but I can't blame me."

"You are a ridiculous man," the speaker said fondly.

"I know." Jazz preened. He sneezed again. "Tch. Plastique is one thing. Debris coated in dust is quite another. What about you, tick-tock man? Did you get what you came here for?"

"Stop calling me that," Riot said, quite clear -- even over the comms -- that he didn't mind in the least, and even had a soft spot in his heart for the nickname. "Yeah, I got what I needed. And then some. Wasn't easy to find and I had to pay a price, but it was worth it."

Jazz enjoyed a ripple's worth of goosebumps. He anticipated all sorts of good things once back on board the Sarah-Jessica-No-Parking. A triumphant Riot made for a feisty Riot with his blood running hot and his body all-systems-go. He employed the same affectionate tone when he replied, "Tell that to the watercress and unspiced kimchi I had to eat to make nice with my hostess."

"The one you just blew up?"

"Unspiced kimchi," Jazz repeated.

"The trials and tragedies you face, darlin'."

"Darn right. This piece of the puzzle you went after -- tell me about it," he coaxed.

"Later. For the moment --"

"Yes, yes. Run and keep running until you swoop in to save the day, and clear out of here before the smoke does?"

"You read my mind," Riot said, very dryly indeed but pleased. Almost purring.

Consider Jazz's curiosity piqued.

"I'm on my way." Such a tragedy, but the skirts had to go. Almost a full bolt of silk! Still, a man had to do what a man had to do, even when he'd tricked himself out in the finest of ladies' clothing.

Probably more so at such times. Hmm. He'd have to think about that more later. In the meantime, business. Beautiful, sparkly, gloriously shiny business! Jazz retrieved the pouches of more easily liftable and valuable trinketry from the panniers and pushed them into his reticule.

"Jazz? When I said run, that wasn't a suggestion."

Oh! Right. "And what'll you be doing while I skedaddle? How will I know if I'm being rescued by the right man?"

"I'll be the one dangling out of an airship with a rope and a half-cocked plan."

"Easily recognizable," Jazz said happily. Wait. "How long a rope? How high do the airships go?" Wouldn't exactly Be Done to whip off the 3-D fooler facade, and on this steampunk aficionado's wet dream of a world the airships he'd seen before had to go quite high indeed --"Riot? How high?"

"High enough I'll make it worth your while to man up and climb. And," Riot purred, "when I say 'worth your while' I mean, 'I plan to punish you, then fuck you three-quarters of the way through the nearest flat surface.'"

"I am so on my way now."

"Fast?"

"Darling, you have no idea." Jazz kicked off his heels. Not the shoes, mind, those gorgeous soft-supple open-calf boots of fawn-soft suede. Just the heels and pattens. "After all, who do you think you're talking to?"

Oh dear. Jazz heard a set of mastiffs on their way. Here I go again. Skirts, knees, running feet, check. Go time.

Fast.

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Will Okati (formerly known as Willa) has lived through a few Interesting Times, but come out the other side a little grayer, a little wiser, and ready to get writing. Still as passionate about coffee, cats, and crafts as ever, but knowing that to your own self you must be true. Also still one of the quiet ones to watch out for, but life -- like storytelling -- is always a work in progress.

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Tour Stop: Will Okati's Amused and Amazed

Title: Amused and Amazed

Author: Will Okati

Cover Art: Marteeka Karland

Genres: Action Adventure, Box Sets, New Releases, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Urban Fantasy

Themes: 2nd Chance Romance, Alternative Universe, Elves /Dragons /Magical Creatures, LGBTQ+ Gay, Second Edition, Voyeurism & Exhibitionism

Book Length: Box Set

Page Count: 157

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Synopsis

Drag Queens and Superheroes To the Rescue!

The Drag Queen of Faerie: The course of true love just won’t run smooth for hunk-next-door Will Taylor, who’s in search of that special someone. All that focused energy attracts the attention of Queen Mab’s less-well-known cousin Mabbey, the Drag Queen of the Faeries.

Straight Man and Coffee Guy: Straight Man is anything but -- he just doesn’t have a sense of humor. And in a city with so many superheroes there’s no one left to rescue, his power is attracting the freaks -- like Coffee Guy from the diner across the road, who has the power of the never-ending cup.

Misfits in a mad, mad, mad world, they’re pretty much perfect for each other.

Excerpt

Amused and Amazed (Box Set)
Second Edition
Will Okati
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2026 Will Okati
Excerpt from Straight Man and Coffee Guy

"So what would you say if I told you I was here to make every dream you've ever had come true?"

SM didn't even glance up from the magazine he was flipping through. Not that he'd been paying attention to the glossy pages. The skin magazine was designed for seriously lecherous and perverted types. Lots of pink, pouty things that kind of made his flesh want to shrivel up and his brain run away to hide. Still, better low-class reading material than none at all. Nothing else to do on the graveyard shift, was there?

"I'd ask if you were either AWOL from the City Genie conglomerate, wonder what you were selling, and pray you were the guy with the coffee I ordered --" he checked his watch -- "an hour ago."

"One out of three ain't bad." A cardboard tray smacked down on the hotel check-in counter. SM gladly abandoned his perusal of the so-called literature to reach up and grab a paper cup.

On his way, he spared a glance for the delivery boy. Not bad. Not bad at all. The kind of boy-next-door good looks that got his motor revving... or would if it weren't right around 3 a.m. Nothing short of an earthquake could get him excited enough to do much of anything this time of day.

He raised the lid and took a sip -- then choked. "This is cold!"

The delivery guy shrugged. "Well, you did it order a while back. Is it my fault it took this long to get away from the late-night crowd to bring the stuff over? And why did you order four cups, anyway? Have you got someone stashed under there?" He leaned over the counter, as if to check.

SM hastily knocked his magazine off into a trashcan. "No!"

"Come on, a hunk like you? There's someone under there." The coffee guy tilted up and over, resting his belly on the ledge, peeking. "Is that what I think -- no, just your shoe. Interesting. You dress like a wage slave drone, but those are some snappy sneakers."

"Sometimes I have to run to put out fires," SM replied dryly. Which was true enough. On more than one occasion, he had, especially when Combustion Man got too worked up. Oh, he didn't usually set more than the beds ablaze, but someone had to be quick on the draw with an extinguisher.

The truth was he wore the sneakers because they were comfortable, and it was one way of giving management the finger. Not that he'd admit it, of course, to a diner jockey.

He paused. "A hunk like me?"

"Well, yeah." Once he'd gotten up there, the coffee guy sat on the ledge, swinging his own sneakered feet back and forth. "You're a definite hottie. At least an eight on a scale of one to ten. Why do you think I waited to bring your coffee over myself?"

"To be annoying?"

"There is that," Coffee Guy agreed cheerfully. SM didn't see any harm in calling him that. It was neatly printed on his diner nametag, pinned crookedly on his tight-fitting T-shirt. "It's one of my better attributes."

"I'd hate to see the worse ones." SM took another sip of the brew. He blinked. "It's hotter."

"Thanks." Coffee Guy flexed his muscles. "I kind of thought so, myself."

"No, you dolt. I meant the coffee. It's not as cold anymore." SM took a careful sip and almost burned his tongue. He looked up accusingly. "Okay, give. How'd you do that?"

Coffee Guy shrugged. "It's a city full of real comic book heroes, right? Just about everyone and their brother has some kind of freaky power. I have dominion over the almighty bean, blessed be the name of Java. Behold." He pointed at SM's cup, which refilled the slight distance back up to the lid. "Talk about your never-ending pot."

"You're kidding me." SM drank again. "How'd you get a sweet talent like that?"

"As if it's special." Coffee Guy snorted. He started to flick through the check-in register. "All it gets me is the graveyard shift at a hotel diner. Or is this a motel? I can never keep it straight."

"Hotel. They have hallways and doors that open from the inside. Motels open onto the street."

"You learn something new every day."

"Keeps the brain active." SM peered at the cardboard tray with his other three, now steaming, cups of coffee. "Do you have the ability to summon cream and sugar as well?"

"Somehow I knew you'd be the kind of guy who had a sweet tooth." CG grinned at SM and reached into his pockets. "Wasn't room on the tray, but I came through in the clinch."

"Oh, God. You're an angel." SM groaned in pleasure as he cracked open two still-cool plastic cup-ettes of condensed milk and poured them in his cup. The sugar came next: three packets. "Swizzle stick?"

"They're not called swizzle sticks, moron."

SM cut CG a sharp look. "Oh, yeah? What's the right name, then?"

"Hell if I know." CG swung his legs a few more times while SM fixed his coffee to his pleasure. He even whistled a few bars of a tune, pretty badly off-key. In the middle of a bar, just as SM was recognizing the melody, he broke off to say, casually, "I kind of figured you to be the kind of guy who likes cream."

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Will Okati (formerly known as Willa) has lived through a few Interesting Times, but come out the other side a little grayer, a little wiser, and ready to get writing. Still as passionate about coffee, cats, and crafts as ever, but knowing that to your own self you must be true. Also still one of the quiet ones to watch out for, but life -- like storytelling -- is always a work in progress.

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Book Spotlight & Giveaway: Killing Motives by Reis Asher

Title:  Killing Motives

Series: Killing Games, Book Three

Author: Reis Asher

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 08/19/2025

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: M/NB

Length: 45200

Genre: Horror/Thriller, action/adventure, alternate universe, bisexual, civil war, dystopia, horror, nonbinary, transmasculine

Add to Goodreads

Description

Reis has spent a year trying to keep the spirit of Anver-Kasyova alive, running Rainbow Bridge, a grassroots rescue network smuggling civilians out of war-torn Anver. It’s all they and Edgar can do in the wake of the destruction of the cities’ connecting bridge.

But when the Kasyovan Bureau arrests Reis, what should be the end turns into an unexpected new beginning: an invitation to lead the very country they’ve been fighting to save. Inducted into the Shadow Government, Reis becomes a reluctant President, aware they’re a pawn, but powerless to say no. The Shadow Government has leverage…and a secret weapon: a powerful

AI named Oracle, whose capability even surprises Edgar.

As Reis takes the helm, they uncover a darker truth—Nation Builders, Inc. (formerly the Killing Committee) is operating out of the ruins of the former seat of government, the Pyramid, to manipulate global regimes. And they’ve built their own AI.

Now, Reis must outwit the puppet masters who shattered their home, confront betrayals on every front, and hold on to Edgar—and their dream of a free, reunified Twin City-States of Anver-Kasyova.

Excerpt

Killing Motives
Reis Asher © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Reis

Reis hit the ground as a bullet sank into the car door above their head, missing them by inches. Smashing into the concrete knocked the wind out of their lungs, and they gasped. Recovering quickly, they rolled underneath the vehicle, trying to buy themself a few precious seconds to think. Reis’s heart pounded. Blood roared in their ears, the din of their body complementing the rain hitting the car like a percussion backing track.

So much for gathering evidence. They’d barely ventured a mile into Anver before being fired upon by an unknown sniper. Careless. Reis could hear Edgar telling them it was a bad idea, but they’d pleaded to go on this scouting mission. After receiving a report that the once grand technological powerhouse of Anver was now home to starvation, pestilence, war, and death on a scale befitting the apocalypse, they were determined to see it with their own eyes.

Anver’s people were dying, and Reis felt duty-bound to help. Sitting in relative safety on the other side of the river in Kasyova wasn’t cutting it. A soldier had to take action, not make statements and wish for the best. Fighting was in their blood, trained into them from an early age, and their skills were being tested once again.

Another shot made Reis jerk involuntarily as it shattered a window. Now wasn’t the time to indulge in reverie, with crystalline nuggets of safety glass raining down on the pavement like hail, inches away. Eventually, even the most amateur sniper would find their target, if only with a ricochet. Reis wouldn’t lie here and wait for the enemy to get lucky.

There was no way they could escape without being fired upon, so negotiation was the only option. Reis hoped they were dealing with a scared citizen instead of a mercenary from one of the many military contracting groups divvying up Anver like a pie.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Reis yelled out into the pouring rain. “There’s no need for us to fight. I’m on your side.” They closed their eyes, wondering if their voice carried over the sound of the rain. They were done here if they couldn’t use reason to talk their way out of danger. Their only hope was that their would-be assassin would run out of bullets, and they could make a run for it.

Reis jumped when a response came loud and clear. The sniper was closer to their position than they’d anticipated.

“I saw you emerge from the tunnel. Quit rubbernecking and go back to Kasyova where you belong!” The deep, husky voice held more than a tinge of sadness beneath its anger, and Reis could tell their adversary had been through more in the past year than they cared to consider. They were desperate. That was something Reis could use.

“I just want to talk. We have yet to learn what’s been happening since communications were lost. A flyover can only tell us so much. We need to hear from the people on the ground. People like you,” Reis explained. “I want to help. Please.”

“It’s too late for help. While you sat in your ivory towers, we died. There’s nothing left to save.”

Reis heard sloshing as footfalls kicked up puddles. Strong arms reached under the car and pulled Reis out. They looked up and saw a middle-aged man with a scruffy beard pointing a rifle at their head. All they could do was stay as still as possible, knowing that any sudden move could set off the stranger’s itchy trigger finger.

“Get up,” the man barked.

Reis rolled onto their side and used the car to crawl to their feet. They were wet and miserable, but this was the closest they’d gotten to engaging with a non-hostile in months. They reached out with one mucky hand, and the man grasped it with an equally filthy one and shook firmly. A warmth in his eyes seemed to radiate from beneath his war-weary cynicism, and Reis decided to rely on their gut instinct that this man could be trusted.

“I’m Reis. Reis Asher,” Reis said. “I’m with the Rainbow Bridge. We’re a non-governmental organization focused on helping people trapped here.”

“NGO? Hah, figures. Fucking government wouldn’t risk breaking a nail for Anverites. I thought Tony Anvas was a sad sack of shit, but he was right about one thing—Kasyova never did give a fuck about us.” He wiped the rain from his eyes with a frustrated, nasal grunt. His short black hair had grown out and hung over his eyes. He slicked it back in a motion that said he’d give anything for a decent hairdresser or, failing that, a pair of shears to lop it off himself.

“It’s complicated.” Reis wanted to defend the Kasyovan government, but they were as frustrated with the current stalemate as the stranger seemed to be. The government appeared to have fallen silent, allowing Anver to decay rather than risk a war with one or several of the factions fighting in the civil war—or, more likely, the nations backing them. The Anverite civil war was nothing more than a proxy war that had become a place for the wealthiest nations to air their grievances to one another without risking their citizens or territory.

“It’s not so complicated. Kasyova would have come to our aid if we were still the Twin City-States. They would have rolled the tanks in and stopped Anvas before he could kill the President.” The man sighed. “In the end, none of that matters. We’re way past politics now. All we can do is hope to survive. We take each day at a time, hoping that the big money will lose interest sooner or later and let a faction win. We don’t even care who at this point. Let it be the most fanatical separatist blowhards; I don’t give a shit. I want it to be over so we can start to rebuild. I’m Zach Fisher, by the way. I used to be a computer programmer. Now I’m just an idiot who knows a language nobody here speaks. I wish I’d become a doctor—we still need those.”

“My fiancé is a programmer,” Reis explained. “His name is Ed. We still need your skills—perhaps more than ever. You might not believe it, but we’re fighting for you. Maybe not with guns or tanks, but we’re fighting. Would you believe it if I told you that Tony Anvas is still alive, sunning it up on a private island? The assassination was a hoax. Without hackers, the world would still be hunting me down for his murder.”

“If I hadn’t heard your name before, I’d write you off as a conspiracy nut.” Zach spat. “But even if you’re telling the truth and not spewing some ‘truther’ bullshit, it’s not like it matters. This war isn’t about ideology anymore. The sides are all the same. It’s about foreign actors settling their grudges while padding their bottom line. I’m sure the world reacted to the coup with horror, right? Of course, they didn’t. It’s just one more war in a country they’ve never visited and can’t even place on a map.”

Reis nodded. Zach wasn’t wrong, and it hurt to feel cynicism ring true. “Come back to Kasyova with me. I’m sure there’s a lot you can tell us about what’s going on here. It’s been a while since we’ve encountered anyone willing to hold their fire long enough to talk.”

“It’s a little late to launch a rescue mission now. As you said before—it’s complicated.” Zach looked down at the ground, and Reis got the sense there was something he wasn’t telling them.

“Do you have a family? They can come, too, if you’d like. We want to help the people on this side, Zach. Let me help you.”

“I can’t accept your help.” Zach turned on his heel. “A year ago, I could have used you—but now. No. Just go back to your pretty little city on the other side of the river and forget you ever saw me.”

“I can’t do that,” Reis said. “I was born in Anver. Before the crisis, I was a Bureau agent. The citizens of Anver are my responsibility.”

“It’s been a year since the coup. A whole fucking year of hell on earth. A year of waiting for help that never came. Where have you been? What took you so fucking long to cross a three-mile-wide river with a tunnel underneath?”

Reis lowered their gaze. They’d been recovering. Finding themself. Putting their own oxygen mask on before they could assist the person next to them. It was hard to look at Zach—one of those left behind—and tell him the truth, but if they were to have any chance at success, they had to be completely honest.

“I was—there were some things I had to take care of. Hormones. Surgery. PTSD from the last few times I’ve been in fear for my life. I wasn’t exactly in a condition to scout out a war zone. I shouldn’t even be here now. I’d much rather be living in my ivory tower, planning my wedding, but I’m not. I wasn’t here for you a year ago, but I’m here now.”

“You’re trans?” Zach raised one eyebrow. “Heh. Go figure.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Reis asked, raising their defenses. It had been a long time since they’d encountered phobia of any kind, but who knew what had happened to Anverite society since being cut off.

“It means you ain’t the only one.” Zach kicked a puddle. “Thank fuck most of the effects of T are non-reversible—but not all.” He shook his head. “I’m forgetting my manners. It’s been so long since I needed ’em. Pronouns?”

“They/them,” Reis elaborated. “I’m transmasc.”

Zach nodded. “Just masc here, all the way. Fine, I’ll come with you—but I need to get something first. Back at my house, right up the hill here.” Zach led Reis across a pock-marked street. Weeds pushed through the tarmac, breaking the road where grenades and IEDs hadn’t done the job. Reis followed Zach up crumbling steps to a decrepit house that was once a jewel of suburbia. It was only a few miles from where Reis and Edgar had shared a home once upon a time. Reis had often wondered if it still stood and what state it was in now.

“This was your house before the war?” Reis asked.

Zach nodded. “Yeah. My wife and I lived here. Now it’s just me.”

“I’m sorry,” Reis said.

“Don’t misunderstand. She isn’t dead. She left me for some prick who could offer her the food and protection I couldn’t. I should be bitter about it, but she wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t protect her. Couldn’t even protect myself.” Zach unlocked the front door and hustled inside. “Now I find out if you’re here to help me.”

Reis heard it, then. A baby’s cry echoed from upstairs. Zach’s eyes narrowed, and he stomped upstairs. The child’s screams fell silent. Reis kicked off their muddy boots and climbed the creaking stairs, not wanting to soil the dirty carpet any more than it already was. Decrepit or not, this was someone’s home. The door to the upstairs bedroom was open, and Zach’s binder lay on the bed. He held the baby to his chest, nursing it. Reis looked away, feeling like they were intruding on a private moment.

They hadn’t felt dysphoria since their top surgery, but there it was, loud and clear, and judging from Zach’s look, he felt it every time he fed the tiny infant in his arms. Reis backed up and waited outside until Zach emerged.

“I can’t imagine how hard this has to be for you.” Reis blinked back tears, suddenly angry that Zach was forced to be here, birthing and nursing a baby alone against his will.

“You get it. I’ll go with you on one condition,” Zach said. “You find a good home for her because I can’t do this anymore. I need to finish my transition. This should never have happened in the first place. It wasn’t supposed to happen, but I couldn’t get T after the war started and…” He leaned against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, gathering his composure.

Reis let him be for a moment, swallowing the lump in their throat at the nightmarish scenario. “Of course, we’ll help you. Adoption services, transition services, therapy… The Kasyovan government will fund all of it. They’ve been cutting the Rainbow Bridge checks on the down-low this past year because they do care. They can’t show it because their hands are tied by superpowers threatening to invade if they intervene in Anver’s ‘efforts for independence.’”

Zach sighed. “Whatever. I don’t care about politics. Just get me out of this hellhole. Please. Get me to where I need to be, Reis. If you can’t take us both, take her. Find her the family she needs.”

“You’re both coming. Pack the things you need. We need to move out before nightfall.”

“What about your contact?” Zach asked.

“They didn’t show up at the rendezvous,” Reis explained. “I’m going to assume they’re dead. Let me know what you need to pack, and we’ll get going.” They took a deep breath, steadying themself on shaky legs before muttering, “Fuck. How did things get so messed up in just a year?” They grabbed a bag and started packing things Zach laid out on the bed. Most of it was for the baby—Zach had done an incredible job, given his impossible situation. The child slept soundly, oblivious to the fact that she was going on a journey very soon.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Reis Asher (he/him) is a transmasculine author living in rural Pennsylvania with his husband and four cats. He loves video games, reading, technology, and of course, writing. He enjoys shining a spotlight on queer characters and their adventures in a diverse range of worlds, from the fantastical to the everyday. Catch him on Twitter where he’s happy to interact.

Giveaway

One lucky winner will receive a $50.00 NineStar Press Gift Code! 

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Discover Killing Motives by Reis Archer and a Giveaway

Title:  Killing Motives

Series: Killing Games, Book Three

Author: Reis Asher

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 08/19/2025

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: M/NB

Length: 45200

Genre: Horror/Thriller, action/adventure, alternate universe, bisexual, civil war, dystopia, horror, nonbinary, transmasculine

Add to Goodreads

Description

Reis has spent a year trying to keep the spirit of Anver-Kasyova alive, running Rainbow Bridge, a grassroots rescue network smuggling civilians out of war-torn Anver. It’s all they and Edgar can do in the wake of the destruction of the cities’ connecting bridge.

But when the Kasyovan Bureau arrests Reis, what should be the end turns into an unexpected new beginning: an invitation to lead the very country they’ve been fighting to save. Inducted into the Shadow Government, Reis becomes a reluctant President, aware they’re a pawn, but powerless to say no. The Shadow Government has leverage…and a secret weapon: a powerful

AI named Oracle, whose capability even surprises Edgar.

As Reis takes the helm, they uncover a darker truth—Nation Builders, Inc. (formerly the Killing Committee) is operating out of the ruins of the former seat of government, the Pyramid, to manipulate global regimes. And they’ve built their own AI.

Now, Reis must outwit the puppet masters who shattered their home, confront betrayals on every front, and hold on to Edgar—and their dream of a free, reunified Twin City-States of Anver-Kasyova.

Excerpt

Killing Motives
Reis Asher © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Reis

Reis hit the ground as a bullet sank into the car door above their head, missing them by inches. Smashing into the concrete knocked the wind out of their lungs, and they gasped. Recovering quickly, they rolled underneath the vehicle, trying to buy themself a few precious seconds to think. Reis’s heart pounded. Blood roared in their ears, the din of their body complementing the rain hitting the car like a percussion backing track.

So much for gathering evidence. They’d barely ventured a mile into Anver before being fired upon by an unknown sniper. Careless. Reis could hear Edgar telling them it was a bad idea, but they’d pleaded to go on this scouting mission. After receiving a report that the once grand technological powerhouse of Anver was now home to starvation, pestilence, war, and death on a scale befitting the apocalypse, they were determined to see it with their own eyes.

Anver’s people were dying, and Reis felt duty-bound to help. Sitting in relative safety on the other side of the river in Kasyova wasn’t cutting it. A soldier had to take action, not make statements and wish for the best. Fighting was in their blood, trained into them from an early age, and their skills were being tested once again.

Another shot made Reis jerk involuntarily as it shattered a window. Now wasn’t the time to indulge in reverie, with crystalline nuggets of safety glass raining down on the pavement like hail, inches away. Eventually, even the most amateur sniper would find their target, if only with a ricochet. Reis wouldn’t lie here and wait for the enemy to get lucky.

There was no way they could escape without being fired upon, so negotiation was the only option. Reis hoped they were dealing with a scared citizen instead of a mercenary from one of the many military contracting groups divvying up Anver like a pie.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Reis yelled out into the pouring rain. “There’s no need for us to fight. I’m on your side.” They closed their eyes, wondering if their voice carried over the sound of the rain. They were done here if they couldn’t use reason to talk their way out of danger. Their only hope was that their would-be assassin would run out of bullets, and they could make a run for it.

Reis jumped when a response came loud and clear. The sniper was closer to their position than they’d anticipated.

“I saw you emerge from the tunnel. Quit rubbernecking and go back to Kasyova where you belong!” The deep, husky voice held more than a tinge of sadness beneath its anger, and Reis could tell their adversary had been through more in the past year than they cared to consider. They were desperate. That was something Reis could use.

“I just want to talk. We have yet to learn what’s been happening since communications were lost. A flyover can only tell us so much. We need to hear from the people on the ground. People like you,” Reis explained. “I want to help. Please.”

“It’s too late for help. While you sat in your ivory towers, we died. There’s nothing left to save.”

Reis heard sloshing as footfalls kicked up puddles. Strong arms reached under the car and pulled Reis out. They looked up and saw a middle-aged man with a scruffy beard pointing a rifle at their head. All they could do was stay as still as possible, knowing that any sudden move could set off the stranger’s itchy trigger finger.

“Get up,” the man barked.

Reis rolled onto their side and used the car to crawl to their feet. They were wet and miserable, but this was the closest they’d gotten to engaging with a non-hostile in months. They reached out with one mucky hand, and the man grasped it with an equally filthy one and shook firmly. A warmth in his eyes seemed to radiate from beneath his war-weary cynicism, and Reis decided to rely on their gut instinct that this man could be trusted.

“I’m Reis. Reis Asher,” Reis said. “I’m with the Rainbow Bridge. We’re a non-governmental organization focused on helping people trapped here.”

“NGO? Hah, figures. Fucking government wouldn’t risk breaking a nail for Anverites. I thought Tony Anvas was a sad sack of shit, but he was right about one thing—Kasyova never did give a fuck about us.” He wiped the rain from his eyes with a frustrated, nasal grunt. His short black hair had grown out and hung over his eyes. He slicked it back in a motion that said he’d give anything for a decent hairdresser or, failing that, a pair of shears to lop it off himself.

“It’s complicated.” Reis wanted to defend the Kasyovan government, but they were as frustrated with the current stalemate as the stranger seemed to be. The government appeared to have fallen silent, allowing Anver to decay rather than risk a war with one or several of the factions fighting in the civil war—or, more likely, the nations backing them. The Anverite civil war was nothing more than a proxy war that had become a place for the wealthiest nations to air their grievances to one another without risking their citizens or territory.

“It’s not so complicated. Kasyova would have come to our aid if we were still the Twin City-States. They would have rolled the tanks in and stopped Anvas before he could kill the President.” The man sighed. “In the end, none of that matters. We’re way past politics now. All we can do is hope to survive. We take each day at a time, hoping that the big money will lose interest sooner or later and let a faction win. We don’t even care who at this point. Let it be the most fanatical separatist blowhards; I don’t give a shit. I want it to be over so we can start to rebuild. I’m Zach Fisher, by the way. I used to be a computer programmer. Now I’m just an idiot who knows a language nobody here speaks. I wish I’d become a doctor—we still need those.”

“My fiancé is a programmer,” Reis explained. “His name is Ed. We still need your skills—perhaps more than ever. You might not believe it, but we’re fighting for you. Maybe not with guns or tanks, but we’re fighting. Would you believe it if I told you that Tony Anvas is still alive, sunning it up on a private island? The assassination was a hoax. Without hackers, the world would still be hunting me down for his murder.”

“If I hadn’t heard your name before, I’d write you off as a conspiracy nut.” Zach spat. “But even if you’re telling the truth and not spewing some ‘truther’ bullshit, it’s not like it matters. This war isn’t about ideology anymore. The sides are all the same. It’s about foreign actors settling their grudges while padding their bottom line. I’m sure the world reacted to the coup with horror, right? Of course, they didn’t. It’s just one more war in a country they’ve never visited and can’t even place on a map.”

Reis nodded. Zach wasn’t wrong, and it hurt to feel cynicism ring true. “Come back to Kasyova with me. I’m sure there’s a lot you can tell us about what’s going on here. It’s been a while since we’ve encountered anyone willing to hold their fire long enough to talk.”

“It’s a little late to launch a rescue mission now. As you said before—it’s complicated.” Zach looked down at the ground, and Reis got the sense there was something he wasn’t telling them.

“Do you have a family? They can come, too, if you’d like. We want to help the people on this side, Zach. Let me help you.”

“I can’t accept your help.” Zach turned on his heel. “A year ago, I could have used you—but now. No. Just go back to your pretty little city on the other side of the river and forget you ever saw me.”

“I can’t do that,” Reis said. “I was born in Anver. Before the crisis, I was a Bureau agent. The citizens of Anver are my responsibility.”

“It’s been a year since the coup. A whole fucking year of hell on earth. A year of waiting for help that never came. Where have you been? What took you so fucking long to cross a three-mile-wide river with a tunnel underneath?”

Reis lowered their gaze. They’d been recovering. Finding themself. Putting their own oxygen mask on before they could assist the person next to them. It was hard to look at Zach—one of those left behind—and tell him the truth, but if they were to have any chance at success, they had to be completely honest.

“I was—there were some things I had to take care of. Hormones. Surgery. PTSD from the last few times I’ve been in fear for my life. I wasn’t exactly in a condition to scout out a war zone. I shouldn’t even be here now. I’d much rather be living in my ivory tower, planning my wedding, but I’m not. I wasn’t here for you a year ago, but I’m here now.”

“You’re trans?” Zach raised one eyebrow. “Heh. Go figure.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Reis asked, raising their defenses. It had been a long time since they’d encountered phobia of any kind, but who knew what had happened to Anverite society since being cut off.

“It means you ain’t the only one.” Zach kicked a puddle. “Thank fuck most of the effects of T are non-reversible—but not all.” He shook his head. “I’m forgetting my manners. It’s been so long since I needed ’em. Pronouns?”

“They/them,” Reis elaborated. “I’m transmasc.”

Zach nodded. “Just masc here, all the way. Fine, I’ll come with you—but I need to get something first. Back at my house, right up the hill here.” Zach led Reis across a pock-marked street. Weeds pushed through the tarmac, breaking the road where grenades and IEDs hadn’t done the job. Reis followed Zach up crumbling steps to a decrepit house that was once a jewel of suburbia. It was only a few miles from where Reis and Edgar had shared a home once upon a time. Reis had often wondered if it still stood and what state it was in now.

“This was your house before the war?” Reis asked.

Zach nodded. “Yeah. My wife and I lived here. Now it’s just me.”

“I’m sorry,” Reis said.

“Don’t misunderstand. She isn’t dead. She left me for some prick who could offer her the food and protection I couldn’t. I should be bitter about it, but she wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t protect her. Couldn’t even protect myself.” Zach unlocked the front door and hustled inside. “Now I find out if you’re here to help me.”

Reis heard it, then. A baby’s cry echoed from upstairs. Zach’s eyes narrowed, and he stomped upstairs. The child’s screams fell silent. Reis kicked off their muddy boots and climbed the creaking stairs, not wanting to soil the dirty carpet any more than it already was. Decrepit or not, this was someone’s home. The door to the upstairs bedroom was open, and Zach’s binder lay on the bed. He held the baby to his chest, nursing it. Reis looked away, feeling like they were intruding on a private moment.

They hadn’t felt dysphoria since their top surgery, but there it was, loud and clear, and judging from Zach’s look, he felt it every time he fed the tiny infant in his arms. Reis backed up and waited outside until Zach emerged.

“I can’t imagine how hard this has to be for you.” Reis blinked back tears, suddenly angry that Zach was forced to be here, birthing and nursing a baby alone against his will.

“You get it. I’ll go with you on one condition,” Zach said. “You find a good home for her because I can’t do this anymore. I need to finish my transition. This should never have happened in the first place. It wasn’t supposed to happen, but I couldn’t get T after the war started and…” He leaned against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, gathering his composure.

Reis let him be for a moment, swallowing the lump in their throat at the nightmarish scenario. “Of course, we’ll help you. Adoption services, transition services, therapy… The Kasyovan government will fund all of it. They’ve been cutting the Rainbow Bridge checks on the down-low this past year because they do care. They can’t show it because their hands are tied by superpowers threatening to invade if they intervene in Anver’s ‘efforts for independence.’”

Zach sighed. “Whatever. I don’t care about politics. Just get me out of this hellhole. Please. Get me to where I need to be, Reis. If you can’t take us both, take her. Find her the family she needs.”

“You’re both coming. Pack the things you need. We need to move out before nightfall.”

“What about your contact?” Zach asked.

“They didn’t show up at the rendezvous,” Reis explained. “I’m going to assume they’re dead. Let me know what you need to pack, and we’ll get going.” They took a deep breath, steadying themself on shaky legs before muttering, “Fuck. How did things get so messed up in just a year?” They grabbed a bag and started packing things Zach laid out on the bed. Most of it was for the baby—Zach had done an incredible job, given his impossible situation. The child slept soundly, oblivious to the fact that she was going on a journey very soon.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Reis Asher (he/him) is a transmasculine author living in rural Pennsylvania with his husband and four cats. He loves video games, reading, technology, and of course, writing. He enjoys shining a spotlight on queer characters and their adventures in a diverse range of worlds, from the fantastical to the everyday. Catch him on Twitter where he’s happy to interact.

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Book Spotlight/Giveaway: Black Leather Night by Willa Okati

 

Title: Black Leather Night

Author: Will Okati

Cover Art: Bryan Keller

Genres: Action Adventure, Box Sets, Dark Fantasy, Mystery & Suspense, Paranormal, Romance, Sci-Fi

Themes: 2nd Chance Romance, Alternative Universe, Dark Romance, LGBTQ+ Gay, New Adult, Second Edition, Vampires, Voyeurism and Exhibitionism

Series: Dante's World (#6)

Book Length: Box Set

Page Count: 299

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Dante’s World. A dystopian off planet colony where life is hard and the supernatural exists side by side with everyday drama -- or not so everyday. Joy and pleasure must be paid for at a high price, and to feed from a human means death -- or worse.

But sometimes the line is crossed, and vampires fall in love with mortal men -- or men lose their hearts to the nightwalkers. Anything can happen, and often does…

Publisher’s Note: Black Leather Night and Other Tales includes the previously published novellas Black Leather Night, Into the Shadows, The Hunter, Tale of the Night, Memory, Don’t Look Now, Sixty-Nine Reasons, and Missing Pieces.

Excerpt

Black Leather Night and Other Tales
Second Edition
Will Okati
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Will Okati

Gods damn it.

It was, so far as the vampire Robhain could tell, very early in the evening, barely past dusk, yet his human employees, Del and Byrne, had already arrived for business. Del, yawning widely enough to show off all his white teeth, clutched a cup of the expensive cafe imported from Terra, likely bought from a street vendor. Still laughing a little at some joke the boy must have made, Byrne shrugged off his street jacket to hang it on the post by his desk.

Watching the pair, Robhain knew he should only be proud of them. They were, after all, expecting an important shipment of magical artifacts at any time that night, and they needed to be ready with both warding spells and records of what they'd netted. But watching them from his office, behind a tinted window -- protection against occasional bursts of light as day approached -- Robhain's teeth began to grind.

Let the gods have mercy. Byrne! He wore his favorite pair of ass-hugging leather pants for the second night in a row. Hurrying to arrive early enough, he must have taken his motorcycle to the stores and left it parked up top, above the basement showroom.

Watching him, Robhain's expression soured. Byrne. Fresh off the street and every inch a contradiction with his prim, rimless glasses and helmet-mussed hair, starched linen shirt and painted-on pants… didn't he realize how tight they were? Molding as they did to his legs and the too-damn-perfect curve of his shapely ass? Leaving nothing to the imagination?

Especially when, as a vampire, Robhain could smell what he'd been doing, wearing them.

Who was she? he seethed. Some bit of blonde fluff from one of the flesh-parlors, all dazzling smile and tight ass or generous tits? Even across the room, he could smell that Byrne reeked of come.

Robhain's mouth worked, and he swallowed. By rights, that come should belong to him. Should flow into his mouth alone. But what was he but a coward? Unable to approach his very human mage-employee, or to make but the meekest suggestions that were blithely misunderstood as innocent… Fool. As if a vampire could ever be innocent.

His molars were beginning to creak ominously and his small, pointed fangs cut into his lips. Reluctantly he loosened his jaw. Facts were facts. Humans did not mingle willingly with the vampire-kind. It stood as miracle enough that Byrne worked with him in the business. Likely it caused him no little loss of caste in human society.

Not for the first time, he wondered why Byrne chose to work for him. The man's talent could have secured him a place in the Suzerain's palace. Instead he chose to work as mage and record-keeper in a secondhand artifact store, where lesser magicians and warriors came to buy enchanted goods.

Robhain would never, on that level, cease to be grateful for Byrne's assistance. Able to detect the slightest nuance of malicious spell-craft on a weapon or artifact, he was damned good at what he did. Robhain could not do without him -- most such charms were made to harm those of his bloodthirsty ilk, and did not care whether he drank blood fetched from the slaughterhouses or from the hot human vein. With his magics, Byrne had saved his hide a hundred times over.

Watching him, Robhain laid a hand on the glass, as if he could touch the man as he flipped through papers on his overloaded cubby desk. Not that he had never felt the warmth of that skin before, of course -- their hands had brushed, their hips had bumped -- just enough contact to entice him, to send him to daylight slumber with his cock so hard and ready that barely a touch brought him to a scorching completion.

And then, other times, they had actually embraced in relief when a spell turned out a success. Hip to hip, pounding one another's backs. Each time, holding that slender body to his, Robhain had burned for more. To take that slim face between his hands, tilt it just so to one side, and press their lips together…

Well. Byrne was the sort of temptation that could cause a centuries-old creature to shame himself by soiling his own trousers with a climax as soon as he reached the safety of his office.

Not for the first time, he tried to puzzle out why. Byrne was nothing special. An ordinary man -- but ah, with such an extraordinary face, his eyes blue as the sky Robhain had not seen for so long, blue as the ocean, blue as lapis lazuli. His smile -- rarely seen, for he was seriously-natured -- warming as the long-forgotten sunlight on Robhain's skin. To luxuriate in those eyes and smile were more than he dared dream on.

And ah, such an impossible dream. For a vampire to force himself on an unwilling human meant death from those who handed down laws saying what a vampire could or could not do. They must not drink from the vein. They must not antagonize the humans. And not to be forgotten, they must not molest the humans in any way. Their tolerance was zero and justice swiftly delivered. While he knew Byrne to be faithful and fond of his employer, he was also a proud and powerful man. No doubt he would never suffer unwanted advances without immediate retribution.

Yet he taunted Robhain constantly, unconsciously, with his very presence, and in particular on days when he wore those thrice be-damned leather pants.

Crossing the room, Byrne glanced at him behind his window and threw up his hand, smiling in greeting. Robhain nodded in return and discreetly, behind his back, snapped a stylus in half.

That man would be the second death of him.

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Will Okati (formerly known as Willa) has lived through a few Interesting Times, but come out the other side a little grayer, a little wiser, and ready to get writing. Still as passionate about coffee, cats, and crafts as ever, but knowing that to your own self you must be true. Also still one of the quiet ones to watch out for, but life -- like storytelling -- is always a work in progress.

Website | Facebook

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Blog Tour Stop/Giveaway: Immortal Heat by Kira Stone

Title: Immortal Heat

Author: Kira Stone

Genres: Action Adventure, BDSM, Box Sets, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal, Romance

Themes: Alternative Universe, Dark Romance, Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures, LGBTQ+ Gay, Multicultural & Interracial, Vampires

Book Length: Duet/Box Set

Page Count: 237

Synopsis

Three vampires battle the lives they left behind to build a future out of the ashes of their pasts.

Immortal Steps: Tain, a renowned Celtic dancer, has bitter memories of his first crush and the trainer who left him without a word. For years he's flung himself from one brief romantic encounter to another, the subject of tabloid gossip and speculation, always insisting he's not gay. When Kyle, Tain's old mentor, comes back into Tain's life, the last thing Tain wants is to give the man, or the vampire, a place in his heart.

Hidden Depths: Pat's devoted his life to locating the wreck of The Pelican's Flight, sunk in 1692, along with forty other ships, when the infamous town of Port Royal slid into the Caribbean. Jamie lost more than his lover when The Pelican went down. Pat offers Jamie hope at finding his ship, along with a chance at rediscovering love. Will the secrets they share bring them together? Or tear them apart?

Vampires In Heat: Humans in Seattle are dying as a result of domestic cat vampires and demonesses working together. The latest victim is Erron's neighbor and best friend. Nolan, the leader of Seattle's Pacifistic Vampire Clan, and Erron, an albino who is commonly mistaken for a vampire, team up with the cat vamp leader to find the rogues who are killing needlessly and trying to discredit vampire-kind. And just maybe, between them, they'll find more than a remedy for this vampire scourge -- like love!

Publisher's Note: Immortal Steps, Vampires In Heat, and Hidden Depths have been previously published as stand alone novellas.

Excerpt

Immortal Heat

Kira Stone

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2025 Kira Stone

Excerpt from Immortal Steps

Alone, Kyle Lohan entered his private balcony at the Grampian Theater in Edinburgh, Scotland. As he sat down, the house lights dimmed briefly to signal a two minute warning before the show began. The box smelled faintly of sex, although he doubted anyone without a vampire's heightened senses could detect the erotic scent. Regardless, it was his own fault for sneaking in to watch rehearsals the previous evening. He'd been unable to resist tugging his cock in time with the heavy beat of the dancers as they practiced.

Okay, not all the performers excited him. Just one.

Tain O'Halloran.

Tonight Kyle had better prepared for the public performance, or so he'd thought. The quick release during his shower should have calmed his libido enough to sit through the performance without a hard-on. But as the first strains of a flute solo poured across the stage, the anticipation proved to be more than his body could resist and his cock rose to an aching fullness.

Tain. On stage. His stage.

How long had he waited for this? Worked for this? Dreamed of this? Sometimes it seemed like forever. And yet, very soon, the moment he'd been preparing for would arrive. One way or another, he would finally end his long pursuit.

He adjusted the fit of his tuxedo pants as the chorus sprinted across the stage. Their shoes hit the wooden floor in rhythmic, staccato beats, flirting with the notes. Kyle couldn't stop his own feet from scuffing against the floor in a pale imitation of the dancers' fancy footwork. Had his heart been prone to beat, it would have been racing as fast as the music.

A few more seconds...

Then, appearing out of a flash of light and smoke, bam! There he was. Tain O'Halloran. The male lead's long, sleek black hair floated behind him as he bounced in perfect synchronization with the little blond at his side. His grey eyes flashed with pure joy and a little arrogance. A smile curved his thin pink lips. And what that black leather did for his ass...

Kyle groaned softly as his cock twitched with longing, but he refused to slake his lust. Privacy wasn't an issue, even during a public performance. No, nothing mattered more than soaking up every moment of this night to tuck away in his memories. If the evening didn't go as planned, this could be all he had left to remember the talented young man come morning.

The first dance ended, and Kyle felt the tightness in his chest ease as Tain exited stage right. He'd reappear several times throughout the performance.

Kyle itched with anticipation for the next time, and the next... and the next... By the second act, Kyle could pick out Tain's unique sweat from the morass of odors permeating the air. The scent teased his cock like nothing else. His whole body tensed as he imagined jumping over the balcony's rail to land on top of the dancer's young bones, then fucking him to within an inch of his life, claiming him on stage for all the world to see.

Well, that's one way to announce that you're back in his life, Kyle thought with a rueful shake of his head. Definitely not one of your brightest ideas though.

If anything, such a bold, stupid move would get him thrown out of Tain's life for good. Kyle's goal was quite the opposite. If he had his way, nothing would separate him from Tain ever again.

The show ended with a roar of applause that pulled the dancers back on stage for a second encore. Vibrant and smiling under the lights, Tain looked like he could hold out for a third reprise if the director let him. However, the rest of the troupe wasn't fairing as well, so when the curtains closed again the house lights came up.

The show was over, but Kyle's performance of a lifetime was about to begin.

Purchase at Changeling

Meet the Author

Kira Stone lives in a warm cave tucked away in the remote Scottish Highlands, where a small band of ever-changing heroes serves as company. As they relax in front of a roaring fire, demons dance in leather pants and angels stroke tunes from the harp strings, while the Fae stop in to share tales from other worlds. Bound by pen and imagination, these are the folk who wait to greet you from the pages of Kira's stories. Visit Kira's Website.

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One lucky winner will receive a $10.00 Changeling Press Gift Code! 

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New Book Spotlight/Giveaway: Black Leather Nights by Willa Okati

Title:  Black Leather Night and Other Tales

Series: An Off World Dark Fantasy Vampire Adventure

Author: Willa Okati

Publisher: Changeling Press

Release Date: Jan 12, 2024

Heat Level: 4 - Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 299 pages

Genre: Romance, Thriller/Suspense, Action & Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal Women's Fiction, Vampires, Voyeurism & Exhibitionism, Gay, Alternate Universe

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Dante’s World. A dystopian off planet colony where life is hard and the supernatural exists side by side with everyday drama -- or not so everyday. Joy and pleasure must be paid for at a high price, and to feed from a human means death -- or worse.

But sometimes the line is crossed, and vampires fall in love with mortal men -- or men lose their hearts to the nightwalkers. Anything can happen, and often does…

Publisher’s Note: Black Leather Night and Other Tales includes the previously published novellas Black Leather Night, Into the Shadows, The Hunter, Tale of the Night, Memory, Don’t Look Now, Sixty-Nine Reasons, and Missing Pieces.

Excerpt

Black Leather Night and Other Tales

Second Edition

Willa Okati

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2024 Willa Okati

Gods damn it.

It was, so far as the vampire Robhain could tell, very early in the evening, barely past dusk, yet his human employees, Del and Byrne, had already arrived for business. Del, yawning widely enough to show off all his white teeth, clutched a cup of the expensive cafe imported from Terra, likely bought from a street vendor. Still laughing a little at some joke the boy must have made, Byrne shrugged off his street jacket to hang it on the post by his desk.

Watching the pair, Robhain knew he should only be proud of them. They were, after all, expecting an important shipment of magical artifacts at any time that night, and they needed to be ready with both warding spells and records of what they'd netted. But watching them from his office, behind a tinted window -- protection against occasional bursts of light as day approached -- Robhain's teeth began to grind.

Let the gods have mercy. Byrne! He wore his favorite pair of ass-hugging leather pants for the second night in a row. Hurrying to arrive early enough, he must have taken his motorcycle to the stores and left it parked up top, above the basement showroom.

Watching him, Robhain's expression soured. Byrne. Fresh off the street and every inch a contradiction with his prim, rimless glasses and helmet-mussed hair, starched linen shirt and painted-on pants… didn't he realize how tight they were? Molding as they did to his legs and the too-damn-perfect curve of his shapely ass? Leaving nothing to the imagination?

Especially when, as a vampire, Robhain could smell what he'd been doing, wearing them.

Who was she? he seethed. Some bit of blonde fluff from one of the flesh-parlors, all dazzling smile and tight ass or generous tits? Even across the room, he could smell that Byrne reeked of come.

Robhain's mouth worked, and he swallowed. By rights, that come should belong to him. Should flow into his mouth alone. But what was he but a coward? Unable to approach his very human mage-employee, or to make but the meekest suggestions that were blithely misunderstood as innocent… Fool. As if a vampire could ever be innocent.

His molars were beginning to creak ominously and his small, pointed fangs cut into his lips. Reluctantly he loosened his jaw. Facts were facts. Humans did not mingle willingly with the vampire-kind. It stood as miracle enough that Byrne worked with him in the business. Likely it caused him no little loss of caste in human society.

Not for the first time, he wondered why Byrne chose to work for him. The man's talent could have secured him a place in the Suzerain's palace. Instead he chose to work as mage and record-keeper in a secondhand artifact store, where lesser magicians and warriors came to buy enchanted goods.

Robhain would never, on that level, cease to be grateful for Byrne's assistance. Able to detect the slightest nuance of malicious spell-craft on a weapon or artifact, he was damned good at what he did. Robhain could not do without him -- most such charms were made to harm those of his bloodthirsty ilk, and did not care whether he drank blood fetched from the slaughterhouses or from the hot human vein. With his magics, Byrne had saved his hide a hundred times over.

Watching him, Robhain laid a hand on the glass, as if he could touch the man as he flipped through papers on his overloaded cubby desk. Not that he had never felt the warmth of that skin before, of course -- their hands had brushed, their hips had bumped -- just enough contact to entice him, to send him to daylight slumber with his cock so hard and ready that barely a touch brought him to a scorching completion.

And then, other times, they had actually embraced in relief when a spell turned out a success. Hip to hip, pounding one another's backs. Each time, holding that slender body to his, Robhain had burned for more. To take that slim face between his hands, tilt it just so to one side, and press their lips together…

Well. Byrne was the sort of temptation that could cause a centuries-old creature to shame himself by soiling his own trousers with a climax as soon as he reached the safety of his office.

Not for the first time, he tried to puzzle out why. Byrne was nothing special. An ordinary man -- but ah, with such an extraordinary face, his eyes blue as the sky Robhain had not seen for so long, blue as the ocean, blue as lapis lazuli. His smile -- rarely seen, for he was seriously-natured -- warming as the long-forgotten sunlight on Robhain's skin. To luxuriate in those eyes and smile were more than he dared dream on.

And ah, such an impossible dream. For a vampire to force himself on an unwilling human meant death from those who handed down laws saying what a vampire could or could not do. They must not drink from the vein. They must not antagonize the humans. And not to be forgotten, they must not molest the humans in any way. Their tolerance was zero and justice swiftly delivered. While he knew Byrne to be faithful and fond of his employer, he was also a proud and powerful man. No doubt he would never suffer unwanted advances without immediate retribution.

Yet he taunted Robhain constantly, unconsciously, with his very presence, and in particular on days when he wore those thrice be-damned leather pants.

Crossing the room, Byrne glanced at him behind his window and threw up his hand, smiling in greeting. Robhain nodded in return and discreetly, behind his back, snapped a stylus in half.

That man would be the second death of him.

It was too early for customers as yet -- they rarely came until full dark -- so Robhain chose to remain in his office, going over letters and transmissions informing him of possible new sources of booty. Mercifully Byrne sank out of sight behind the piles of paper on his desk, rummaging around with his beloved books. Still, he could hear that warm, human-accented voice calling snips of information out to Del, diligently dusting and polishing braziers and daggers.

Del. A handsome lad, with ebony hair far too long and eyes far too bright green. Robhain was certain he had some Fey blood in him. Perhaps third or fourth generation. He passed as human, at any rate, but would certainly stand on their outskirts. Reason enough for him to be glad of a job with Robhain. He did well enough at it, though he was flightily-natured.

More than once, he had considered bedding the boy instead of fruitlessly aching for Byrne. He would likely be willing, and given his heritage, there would be no repercussions. But though he tried, he could barely raise his staff to half-mast over the thought of Del's nimble flanks and flashing grin. Not when there was Byrne.

Neither paid him any attention as they went about their business, thank the gods that holy men claimed had long since turned their backs on Robhain.

Determined, he returned to the business at hand, ignoring the men as they ignored him. Ignoring Byrne, and those leather pants. Leather. The stylus slipped from Robhain's hand and bounced heedlessly on the floor as he stared out, hoping to catch a glimpse. Really, the man showed shocking ignorance or tremendous nerve to wear them a second day. Once was bad enough. Robhain could control himself and his shock over the pants one day at a time. But two days running of the slick, soft leather, black as night, clinging to Byrne's shapely ass…

Leather called to him. It sang a bewitching melody that brought out his inner beast. Life had been given for that fabric, and when Byrne wore it, the sound became a siren's song.

His cock jumped and twitched within his own linen trousers, wanting to play.

Behave, he told it sternly.

Unfortunately it was not in the mood to listen.

Come what might, it would be better for him that day if he remained inside his office. Yes, hiding, and what of it? Hiding behind his good, solid desk. With a book on his lap. A heavy book. To be on the safe side. Yes.

But as he settled the book into place, Byrne stood and stretched, leather clinging to his thighs. Robhain's stubborn prick, with a mind of its own, swelled half-hard. Perhaps sheer willpower could…

Of course. And he could also fly.

He propped the book in front of the impromptu tent in his trousers to conceal it, and with a great effort, he composed his expression. If Byrne were to come in, he wouldn't be able to smell Robhain's arousal, but surely he'd notice the ravenous look on his face.

Calm. He had to calm down. This was lust. Not unlike the blood lust he sometimes felt when he forgot to feed. This was leather lust. Nothing more.

But as he began to read the tiny script of the heavy book, his mind -- evil thing -- drifted away, sketching out dream after delicious dream. Taking Byrne up against that bookcase in the showroom. Pinning his wrists above his head. Nuzzling deep into his neck. Rubbing his dripping cock between the cleft of Byrne's ass. Or Byrne, bent over the desk, Robhain dragging that leather down over his ass. His hands scrabbling for purchase as Robhain stroked, cupped, and pinched. Sliding his hand deeper and brushing against a cock hard as…

… his own.

Robhain groaned, shutting the book. So much for that plan.

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Meet the Author

Willa Okati (AKA Will) is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray cat hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for winter weather, a little more coffee, a whole lot of flowering plants and a lifelong love of storytelling. Will's definitely one of the quiet ones you have to watch out for, though he -- not she anymore -- is a lot less quiet these days.

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