Discover Death & Coffee today and Enter the Giveaway!!

Title: Death and Coffee

Author: Lisa Acerbo

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/14/2025

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 362

Genre: Fantasy, Romance, paranormal, historical, urban fantasy, bisexual, lesbian, Death, reaper, witches, Salem

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Description

The end is a new beginning for Prudence. After witnessing her mother’s wrongful conviction as a witch in 1661 and wishing for death, she gets just what she asks for when recruited. In her new job as a reaper, Prudence must learn to navigate the delicate balance between the living and the soon-to-be-deceased. However, her duties as a harbinger of souls are only the beginning of her trials as she makes her way as an immortal through the centuries. With nothing else to care about, Prudence excels on the job, even with an ill-tempered horse demon to keep fed and jealous coworkers vying for her downfall.

Love arrives for this reaper with one of her soon-to-be-dead clients. Prudence is instantly smitten with hospital doctor Daxone, defies Death to save the woman, and pursues her desires. Unfortunately, immortals shouldn’t love humans. Worse, revealing Death’s secrets gets the couple banished to purgatory. Prudence settles in only to be yanked away to Salem, Massachusetts. Once there, she is forced to deal with another of Death’s deadly problems. Thrust into a world of witches and dark magic, Prudence must harness her innate powers and confront a coven plotting to overthrow Death. With the world’s fate and her lover’s life hanging in the balance, she must find her magic and understand her past to keep the love of her life and the entire planet alive.

Excerpt

Death and Coffee
Lisa Acerbo © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Hartford, Connecticut, 1661

A frigid wind slashed the outside of the building but the chill inside the dimly lit wooden church had little to do with the temperature. In the thick press of bodies, the smell of fear and anger assaulted my nose.

“Pray, pardon me.” I wormed my way deeper inside. Not a single compassionate glance or “Good morrow” came my way. The people who sat sermon with me and greeted me on the pathway a few days ago averted their gaze, tone hushed.

My father, coward, refused to attend the trial. Earlier in the morning, I’d asked him to bear witness to this day, but he claimed to be too ashamed of his family, meeting my gaze purposefully with his own.

When most attendees had seated themselves, jammed together on benches like barnacles, the minister glowered and declared, “It’s time.” He pointed. “Repent your wicked and reviling acts for your soul’s salvation.”

My mother hunched in the gloom, halfway hidden behind a burly guard. The man’s hand crushed her slight shoulder before she slid to the ground like a rag doll, exhaustion and pain creeping over her face and frail body. The audience gasped but for reasons other than the jailer’s brutality. They believed her collapse proved the devil.

The preacher hammered my mother with his words. “There is light in the darkness, Martha. Be repentant for the sins of your life. Ask forgiveness from God. Admit the devil afflicted you and commanded you to unleash wickedness on our community, and your soul can be free in death.”

“I’ve done nothing.” Mother’s gaze found mine in the last pew. Her once beautiful auburn hair, which rarely strayed from its cap, fell lank and greasy around her face.

“You have been a practitioner of poisoning in hand and deed, but in God’s house, no devil has power.” The minister’s voice boomed; his chin raised to the heavens. “It is the only way to possible salvation.”

Blinking back the tears forming, I knotted my hands. “Please stop this. I promise my soul, my life, anything demanded of me.” No one heard my whisper of pain. “If you exist, show yourself and give this horrible congregation something to fear.”

Those prayers elicited no response from the heavens. The two small, low-set windows failed to remove the shadows and darkness extending beyond the rafters and into the congregation.

“God will cast the wicked into Hell. He can most easily do so, and you will be next unless you tell the truth before all your brethren in attendance.”

His words were drowned in a cacophony of outrage from the spectators who packed the pews for this horrible show.

I stepped forward.

An almost imperceptible shake of my mother’s head slowed my feet.

Last week, on the only occasion Father allowed me to visit Mother in jail, she’d begged me to avoid her, fearing for my life. Heart empty, I had questioned if there was life waiting for me with her gone—she, the only person who loved me in this world. Her tormented sobs made me regret those words.

Clamoring voices thickened the air as her trial dragged. Someone in town had to stand up for her. Instead, the crowd grew louder and angrier. Few still loved and wished to protect her. And, no doubt, my former friends would happily turn me over to the minister if I said or did anything here.

Rumors about my mother started in the late summer. After church one day, our neighbor Bridget complained of stomach pains. My mother had sent me to her house with tea, but the herbs meant to help had only made it worse.

In Hartford, Connecticut, when a problem occurred, everyone prayed, but prayers often didn’t reach heaven, and divine intervention seldom arrived. My mother and her knowledge of natural remedies had been a quiet aid to the community for years. No one had said a word against it.

Even my father had allowed it.

However, Bridget’s condition worsened, and a fever struck her the day after she drank the tea. Not a week later, she died, arms and legs flailing without consent, screams of pain echoing from her house for all to hear. My mother had been restricted to our home first, then jailed until her trial.

Bridget’s death brought rumors of witchcraft to my door, and now, not even six months later, shouts of anger and fear assaulted the walls and my ears.

“You deserve to be cast into hell.” The words heaved from my neighbors like boulders. “Witch. Devil’s spawn.”

My mother’s desperate glance revealed the true horror of the ordeal; a stark contrast to the minister next to her and the pudgy magistrate who sat high on a bench, shrouded in black robes and stern expressions.

Bridget’s friends and family stood and faced the crowd as they recounted her illness and the supposed potion my mother provided that led the girl first to the devil and then to death.

It had only been dandelion tea. I’d helped prepare the draught, but fear of the community and that I’d be next to my mother in jail clamped my lips shut.

The flickering candlelight turned the magistrate, perched on his bench by the altar, into a demon. This man had been a guest in our home not only to share the word of God but to ask my mother for a cure for his headaches.

“You’re accused of witchcraft,” he said. “How do you plead?”

“I’m innocent. I never practiced witchcraft. I swear it on my soul.” My mother turned to Bridget’s parents when the room had quieted. “I’m no witch. I swear by all that is Godly. I’m innocent of all you proclaim.”

Charity, a friend of Bridget’s, spoke. “She bewitched Bridget and made her suffer. All should have witnessed the horror of her last moments. Her lips fumbled to make a sound, teeth gnashing and mouth foaming. Her body trembled and shook before her limbs flailed, unable as she was to control them.”

“Do you deny the accusations of witchcraft against you?” the magistrate asked.

“I’m a God-fearing woman, and I’ve harmed no one.”

My push forward parted air thickened with tension and sweat.

“The evidence against you is abundant,” the magistrate said. “You’re wicked. A consort with the devil. All to spell innocent people. Your potions and teas are well known in town. You deserve to be cast thither. Under the law of a righteous God, your eternal soul shall be condemned to hell.”

“I have done nothing wrong other than use what God has provided in nature. I’m innocent. This I swear in His name.”

The crowd reared like the head of a snake, the hiss loud and damning.

I bit my thumbnail to hold back a scream, and an iron tang met my tongue.

“Do not profane his name.” The magistrate called the minister over, and their conversation lasted less than a minute, but it felt like an eternity.

“You’ve been found guilty of witchcraft. The sentence of the court is death by hanging. Let this be a warning to all. The devil stands ready to seize our souls as his own.”

“I’ll die guiltless.” My mother yelped when the guard squeezed her arm to silence her.

The crowd held me back. Their slurs stalled me as much as their bodies. As they herded me out of the church, I reached out to touch my mother but stumbled as those gathered pressed back to the jail. My cry filled the air, unable as I was to offer support.

The sting of my last chance at a goodbye nettled.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Lisa Acerbo is the Director of General Education and Liberal Arts at Post University. Her short stories and poetry appear in Scarlet, Sagebrush Review, Moonstone Arts, Poor Yorick Literary Journal, Ripples in Space, Universe in a Bottle by Flying Ketchup Press, Whatever Happened to Hansel and Gretel? by Fathom Publishing (a finalist in the 2024 Best Books Awards in the category of Fiction: Anthology), and Birds of Vermont Museum. When not writing, you can find her walking in the woods with her rescue dogs.

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New Release Spotlight: Sapphic Seduction

 

NEW RELEASE: Sapphic Seduction Vol 2 by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985) #lesbianerotica #erotica #lesfic #eroticromance #shortstories #anthology

 

Blurb:

If you enjoy short, steamy tales of women getting together, then check out this collection from the pen of award-winning author Lucy Felthouse.

From Sapphic fun at the seaside to showing off by the pool, clearing out an old shed to getting the hots for musicians, and even a spot of voyeurism, this book has F/F goodness in spades. There’s something for everyone, and will have you eager to turn just one more page.

Enjoy fifteen titillating tales, over 50,000 words of lesbian lusciousness.

Please note: The stories in this anthology have been previously published.

 

📚Universal link: https://books2read.com/sapphicseductionvol2

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/62080394-sapphic-seduction-vol-2

Add to BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/sapphic-seduction-vol-2-a-lesbian-erotica-collection-by-lucy-felthouse

 

*****

Excerpt:

Hardware

Caroline and Della walked up to the shed door, paused, and exchanged a nervous glance.

Taking a deep breath, Caroline straightened her spine and pushed back her shoulders. “Come on, Dell, we’re almost there. This is the last big job we’ve got to do. Then we can move on to the fun stuff. Like decorating and building furniture.”

“I know,” Della replied, eyeing the wooden storage space with distaste, “but it’s also the most terrifying. We haven’t got a clue what’s in there. Could be dead bodies or rotting body parts for all we know.”

Rolling her eyes, Caroline replied, “It is the most terrifying, but you might be letting your imagination run away with you a bit. I don’t think the old boy was a serial killer, somehow. He was ninety, for Christ’s sake!”

“He wasn’t always ninety. He was our age once.”

“True, but if he’d been hiding bodies or body parts in his shed for decades, someone would have noticed. The smell, for starters. And flies. Rats.”

Grimacing, Della said, “Guess we’ll soon find out.”

Caroline twisted the key in the lock, then opened the shed door with a sense of trepidation. Unlike her girlfriend, she wasn’t expecting anything sinister to be lurking in the gloom. More a whole bunch of stuff they wouldn’t have a clue what to do with. They’d bought the property—their first, after renting for years—from the family of the old boy who had recently passed away. None of the family was local, so they’d offered a hefty discount on the house to compensate Caroline and Della for cleaning it out.

It hadn’t been all bad—they’d made a tidy sum from selling some of the stuff they didn’t want; including antique and handmade furniture, collectibles, and a considerable book and DVD collection. The latter, as well as piles of old photographs, which they’d forwarded on to the family, had given them a real insight into Ted’s life and the type of person he was. Which was why Caroline wasn’t worried about finding anything nefarious in the shed. He had been a nice bloke, by all accounts, fond of his family, his friends, and his work. Carpentry had been his vocation, not just his career—hence the handmade furniture they’d sold on. So, Caroline’s common sense was telling her the scariest thing they were likely to find was spiders.

She reached inside to undo the bolts holding the other door closed. After a little wrestling, but not too much, she pulled them free. It seemed old Ted had maintained the shed right up until his declining physical health had made it impossible. It must have driven him crazy to not be able to do all the things he used to. She flung both doors wide to let the light flood in and stood back.

Gazing into the cavernous space, both girls were silent for several long moments. Then Caroline turned to Della with a grin. “Well then, should we get started?”

Wide eyed, Della looked back at her. “Where the hell do we start? What is all this stuff?”

“God knows.” Caroline squinted at the piles of chaos. “Carpentry tools, at a guess. And, er, decorating stuff, and… just stuff. Normal shed stuff, see? Nothing dead or decaying in sight. It’s just a little bit dusty and very untidy. Looks like he was a hoarder. We may as well do what we did with the rest of the house—empty everything out and sort through it as we go. Figure out what we want to keep—if anything—what needs throwing away, and what we might be able to sell.”

“Not sure we’ll get much interest in ‘thingymajigs’ on eBay.” She pointed at a metal contraption with a circular blade. “I mean, what the fuck is that thing?”

Caroline stuck her tongue out at Della and stepped into the shed. “Don’t be so defeatist. Come on! The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll finish.”

Reluctantly, Della joined her girlfriend. “Okay, let’s get going.”

An hour and a half later, they stopped for a tea break. “Fucking hell,” Caroline said, blowing on the surface of her tea, then taking a sip as she surveyed the three piles—keep, sell, dump—they’d created. “There seems to be a ton of stuff out here, and yet looking in there,” she jerked her head towards the shed, “it looks as though we’ve barely scratched the surface.”

“It’s like the fucking TARDIS in there, isn’t it?” Della replied, shoving at a plastic paint tray with the toe of her shoe.

“Hmm…” Caroline regarded the insanity, then gave a wry smile. “But it’ll be worth it in the end, though. The shed itself seems sturdy enough, so we’ll have plenty of storage space for any tools we keep, plus any gardening paraphernalia we buy…” She tailed off, letting her words sink in. Given they’d only ever rented flats, gardening hadn’t been high on the agenda, and Della had often lamented the lack of having a green space of their own.

Narrowing her eyes, Della took a couple of gulps of her drink. “Yeah… I suppose you’re right. We’ll need a lawnmower, and a strimmer, a spade, a hoe—”

“We’ve already got a ‘ho’,” Caroline quipped, wiggling her eyebrows theatrically and pointing at Della.

“Hey,” Della exclaimed, punching Caroline playfully on the arm. “Bitch. That’s not very nice.”

Chuckling, Caroline shrugged. “What can I say? I’m not very nice.”

“True.”

Smirking at each other over the rims of their mugs, the pair finished their drinks in silence.

“Done?” Della asked, holding out her hand. “I’ll stick these in the kitchen.”

Caroline passed her empty mug to Della. “Thanks. Right, I’m going back in…”

Picking her way across the clear part of the floor, Caroline looked around, wondering what she should tackle next. Just then, she spotted a wooden stool with a coil of rope sitting on top of it.

All thoughts of clearing out the shed flew from her mind as a grin crept onto her face. She had a much better idea.

*****

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight, and The Heiress’s Harem and The Dreadnoughts series. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 170 publications to her name. Find out more about her and her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/linktree  

 

Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.

 

New Release Spotlight/Giveaway: Lady Troubles by Emily Carrington

Title: Lady Troubles

Author: Emily Carrington

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: April 8, 2022

Heat Level: 4 - Lots of Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 267 pages

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, Bisexual, Multiesexual & Pansexual, Elves Dragons & Magical Creatures, Transgender, Single parent/Pregnancy, Werewolves & Wolf Shifters

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Synopsis

Sonya’s straight. And terrified of wolves. So what's she doing falling for a trans werewolf?

Technical Difficulties: When Sonya’s forced to work with a male-to-female transgender wolf, the last thing she expects is to fall in love. And love with a werewolf means living in her pack, where first-time sex equals mating for life.

Practical Difficulties: Sonya’s pregnant, and she’s starting to wonder whether Maxine’s loyalties lie with her or her pack. It’s beginning to look like sabotage from all quarters.

Tactical Difficulties: Work and pregnancy are driving Sonya crazy, and Maxine’s overprotectiveness isn’t helping. But when Sonya’s kidnapped, she finds strength in their mating bond she never knew existed.

Publisher's Note: Lady Troubles Box Set contains the previously published novellas Technical Difficulties, Practical Difficulties, and Tactical Difficulties.

Excerpt

Copyright ©2022 Emily Carrington
Excerpt from Technical Difficulties

The dragon had been brutalized. As Medical Technician Sonya Johnson worked over the corpse, she couldn’t miss the signs. The poor dragon-in-human-guise was female. She’d given birth recently. Her distended stomach, open cervix, and other signs all bore witness to this.

Sonya whispered, “I think you were dead when most of these were inflicted.” She’d quickly discovered the cause of death: a crushed skull that had occurred while the dragon was in human form. Now all she wanted was to be done chronicling the postmortem atrocities and see to it that the poor soul had a decent burial.

Sonya smiled just a little. Thinking of any dragon as a “poor soul” was a little like calling a lion a kitty cat. Dragons, like werewolves, she thought with a shudder, were known for taking care of themselves. Both apex predators of the magical world, for slightly different reasons, they were treated with respect and almost obsessive politeness by other magical beings and the few humans unlucky enough to know about their existence.

“Humans like me.” Her smile was gone as she finished cataloging the last injury. Shaking her head, Sonya covered the body with a sheet and left the autopsy room. She locked the door before heading into her office.

All right, so it wasn’t technically “her” office any more than the autopsy room belonged to her. But she thought of both as her property because she spent more time in them than anyone else. That was thanks to the doctoral-level degree she was seeking from SearchLight Academy in Reptilian Magical Creatures: Treatment and Dissection. Unlike those who studied humans, magical creature experts were expected to have a wider knowledge base. The closest comparison Sonya could make was a general-practice physician. And even they weren’t responsible for both the living and the dead.

She had just finished her second year of postgraduate work. It was May. She had a blissful ten weeks off for the summer. Of course, she was still expected to work on her dissertation, so “rest” wasn’t in her vocabulary. But she wouldn’t be attending biweekly meetings with this or that professor to discuss her research. She might even have considered a week away from the city of Tampa, where she worked, and its lesser cousin, the city of St. Petersburg, where she lived. But she hadn’t scheduled any time off because she’d been too fixated on her dissertation to think beyond the next few days.

Someone knocked on the office door. Not closed completely and made of a light pressboard, the door opened a little more. Sonya caught sight of a skirt in a bold print and a tapered shoe. She called, “Come in.”

A woman stepped inside, saying simply “Sorry to disturb you” -- and Sonya’s mind went sideways. Not because there was anything particularly wrong with the voice. It was just that she wasn’t used to hearing a slightly male-sounding voice coming out of a woman’s body.

Transgender. That’s what they call themselves. And, on the heels of that, I hate it when someone says “they” about my people so I will not start out by thinking of this person as a part of “they.” She’s dressed as a woman. I’ll call her “her.”

“Um,” she said uncomfortably, “you’re not. Please sit down.”

The transgender person -- the woman, Sonya scolded herself -- didn’t sit. Neither did she shut the door. “Thanks, but…” She looked briefly discomfited. “I’m Agent Brown. Maxine.”

That surely wasn’t the name you were born with. Oh, shut the fuck up! She doesn’t want you staring, and you will get over yourself.

Sonya realized Maxine was waiting for a response. Her small, delicate and frankly attractive nose was turning slightly red, just like Sonya’s did when she was embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she said, rising and extending her hand. “I’m Sonya Johnson, one of the medical techs.”

The moment their hands touched, the hair on the back of Sonya’s neck stood up. She pulled back rather quickly. “Um… um…” She looked away from the hand she’d shaken and into eyes that were startling in their beauty. Honey-brown and shadowed by long, thick lashes, they took Sonya’s breath away. She forgot for a moment that her neck was prickling and smiled. “How may I help you?”

Maxine, who had taken a step forward to grip Sonya’s hand, retreated at least that far. “Agent Wellington wants to see you when it’s convenient.” She hesitated before adding, “He’s the head of Werewolf Watch.”

Sonya shivered. She couldn’t help herself. She hated werewolves. They were the craziest, most terrifying -- Oh, get ahold of yourself. If you’re being called, you specifically… She met Maxine’s eyes. “You are looking for me, right? Because Jenny Davis could --”

“I’m sorry. He wants you personally.” She really did look empathetic. “If it helps, it will just be him, you, and me in a large conference room.”

Sonya’s particular skills were needed. She specialized in dragons and basilisks. What could she possibly do for a werewolf? Because Wellington had to be a werewolf. Unlike in the Department of Dragons, with which Sonya worked on a regular basis, Werewolf Watch was stuffed to capacity with, well, what else? Werewolves.

Shit. That probably means this woman is a werewolf. She looked directly into Maxine’s eyes, needing to know. “You’re a werewolf too?”

Maxine nodded. “Agent Wellington said to tell you he understands your circumstances, whatever those are, and that he wouldn’t call for you unless it was absolutely necessary. He also promises you can have a large conference room and it will only be the three of us; Agent Wellington, you, and me. We want to make you as comfortable as possible.”

Whatever those are. She doesn’t know. Sonya felt a little better. “Can he give me fifteen minutes to… to…” She glanced down at her report. To finish my work flashed across her mind, but it would take at least two hours to do that.

“I’ll tell him you’ll be up in thirty,” Maxine said gently.

Feeling a little more comforted, Sonya said, “Thank you. I’ll be up soon.”

Maxine left, closing the door behind her.  Black, like me. But transgender and werewolf. The three modifiers to the name Agent Maxine Brown hit one right after the other. Sonya sank into her chair and covered her face with her hands. If she was going to have a prayer of working with werewolves…

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender erotica. Seeking a world made of equality, she created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires.

Fantasy creatures not your thing? Emily has also created a contemporary romance world, called Sticks and Stones, where she explores being “different” in a small town.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

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Book Spotlight & Giveaway: The Harbringer

Discover the world of author Mary Eicher's new book, The Harbringer today and don't forget to enter the giveaway as well below.

Title:  The Harbinger

Series: Artemis, Book One

Author: Mary Eicher

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 15, 2020

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 99100

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, Contemporary, paranormal, family-drama, lit, lesbian, plague, bells, prophecy of death, fake religious cult, Hawaii, astronomy, mother/daughter relationship, Greek mythology, pandemic

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https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/53487961-the-harbinger

 

In a picturesque California town, the deafening sound of bells brings dozens of people to their knees. Three days later a horrific accident claims their lives. Among the dead is the twin brother of Artemis Andronikos, a beautiful attorney, who abandons the ill-fated vacation and returns home to grieve.

 

Her mourning is interrupted by Lucy Breem a reporter who suspects a connection between the strange bell sound and subsequent deaths. Disturbed by the possibility that the phenomenon had presaged her brother’s death, Artemis agrees to join forces with Lucy to investigate the mysterious premonitions. Utilizing her considerable physical and deductive talents, Artemis battles nefarious forces and seeks information from friends in high places. Their research takes them to various global venues. But the solution to the mystery proves illusive and the couple discovers that neither science nor religion can provide an explanation for what has become known as the Harbinger.

 

Excerpt

 

The Harbinger

Mary Eicher © 2020

All Rights Reserved

 

Artemis wiped her mouth with the back of a dirty hand. Rivulets of sweat slithered down her back, and heat from hours of exertion roiled off her. The dog-eared map indicated they had four more miles of steep terrain before they would reach the checkpoint. Glancing at a sun already low in the western sky, she folded the paper and shoved the map back into her pack. It would be a struggle to reach Lake Isabella before dark. A momentary breeze rippled her shirt, and she brushed dark, damp bangs from her forehead, savoring the momentary relief. Then, summoning fresh determination, she started up a brush-choked hill.

 

“Come on, Cab,” Artemis called back to the struggling man behind her. “We’ll get there faster if you get the lead out.”

 

Ichabod leaned on his walking stick and watched his sister’s long legs settling into an easy stride.

 

“Shut up, Temmie,” he shot back, annoyed by her effortless advance. “Trekking the Pacific Crest Trail was your idea, not mine. I need a steak, medium rare, and alcohol. You promised me beer, remember?”

 

Artemis turned and aimed pale-blue eyes at her twin brother. She tossed her long black ponytail and gave him a patronizing smile.

 

“Come on, Cab. Let’s just get there,” she encouraged him softly. “I need a bath.”

 

“Yes, you do!” he muttered, stumbling over a patch of loose rocks. She was doing it again, making him feel second best; a feeling that irritated him more than the roughness of the trail. He disliked having to push himself to keep up with her. He slapped at a bug that landed on his neck and stopped to catch his breath. He hated hiking. He hated everything his sister loved about it. He wondered how it was possible for twins to be so utterly different from each other. And why was she always, always better at everything?

 

An instant later, his head felt as if it was exploding in a cacophony of clanging bells.

 

“Ah, Jesus H. Christ!” He dropped the walking stick and sank to a knee, pressing hard against his ears with both hands. The discomfort of the trek disappeared as the painful ringing in his head blotted out any other sensation.

 

Artemis turned to see Ichabod writhing in the dirt. Her heart pounding, she raced back down the trail to see what had happened.

 

“What the hell, Cab?” she cried as she reached him, panicked at the thought he might be seriously hurt.

 

Ichabod cautiously released his grip on his head and slumped to a sit. Pale and confused, he leaned against the base of a tree and dug at his ears. Artemis knelt down and hugged him to her chest to check his head for any kind of injury.

 

“Did you hear that?” he asked, glancing up at her, crystal-blue eyes wide with concern. “What was it?”

 

“I didn’t hear a thing, except you cursing.” She sat down beside him and tousled his shaggy black curls. “I can’t find anything wrong. Are you having a stroke or something?”

 

“No, I don’t think so. There was just this really loud noise in my head. Bells. Really, really loud bells. It hurt like hell.” He gave her a slight smile. “It’s over now. I can’t believe you didn’t hear anything. You’re the one who usually hears things. Not me.”

 

She helped him to his feet and made sure he was steady enough to heft his pack. He pushed her arm away and stiffened his back in a display of competence beyond what he actually felt.

 

“I’m okay. Come on. Let’s get to Lake Isabella so I can have a beer. You promised me, remember?”

 

The lake came into view as they crested a final hill. It sparkled in the slanted sunlight, and just seeing it gave the pair a sense of relief. The view before them was mystical. Streaks of pink and yellow from the setting sun reflected off the dark-blue water framed by an endless horizon of verdant hills. They gaped at each other and shared triumphant smiles. Ichabod put his arm around his sister’s waist.

 

“Okay. Sometimes it’s worth all the trouble,” he admitted. “Now, let’s go get that beer.” He hugged her and added, “You’re buying.”

 

All that remained was a downhill slope that melted away and they trudged the final half mile along dusty roads until they found the check-in station. An older man in a well-worn MAGA hat welcomed them, had them sign the register, and directed them to a nearby hotel.

 

Ichabod slung his pack to the floor as soon as he stepped into the room. He stretched stiff muscles and then sank into one of the two narrow beds. Artemis set her pack on the room’s solitary chair and did a leisurely tour of their Spartan quarters. Seeing an enormous bathtub in the otherwise cramped bathroom, she issued a little cry of delight.

 

“Go ahead, sis,” Ichabod told her, settling on the cot-like bed. “You can bathe first. I’m headed for a bar.” He rolled on his side and hugged a pillow. “In a few minutes.”

 

Artemis turned on the faucet and ran her fingers through the water, waiting for the stream to reach the proper temperature. She selected jeans and a reasonably clean tank top from her pack, stripped off the clothes she’d worn for three days, and stepped into the tub. Letting the warm water sooth her athletic body, she settled back to reflect on the trip so far.

 

She lathered a washcloth and drew it along her arms. The image of Cab writhing in pain flashed in her mind, and she drew in a heavy breath. Her brother was young and strong physically. He had recovered within minutes. Whatever had happened, Cab didn’t show any residual effect. She sank lower in the tub until the warm water was just below her chin. She would keep an eye on him, but she willed herself not to give in to needless worry.

 

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Meet the Author 

I live in Southern California with my two daughters. I have degrees in English and Psychology from the University of California and twenty plus years of writing experience from technical manuals to short stories. As an executive with a major computer firm, I managed customer documentation and field training and have traveled extensively. I have a passion for history, alternative theories about life’s mysteries life and dolphins. You can find Mary on Facebook. http://www.facebook.com/maryeicher

 

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Book Spotlight- D.F. Krieger's Eden's Garden

Eden's Garden by D.F. Krieger
Genre: Lesbian Romance/BDSM

My transient lifestyle as a government contractor makes it hard to have permanent relationships, especially when I prefer to spice my life up with BDSM. When my life-long friend, Rhett, introduces me to the local group, they welcome me with open arms...and a handful of women looking for a partner. There's shy Wynn, sassy Maya, Cami the Kitten, and playful Denisha.

As our lives become intertwined, like roses in a garden, I'm left wondering if I can live without any of them. Each beautiful, unique woman fills my heart with their own special addition to our group rainbow. But my contract here is temporary, and I don't know if I can handle the heartbreak of them fading out of my life, like everyone always does after I move.

Eden’s Garden Excerpt

I eyed the dark-haired beauty with the angular features and pegged her instantly as a Brat while she continued to pop her chewing gum in rapid fire succession. She’d be a handful to tame, and the thought of it thrilled me. She blew bubbles and snapped them with far too much enthusiasm, and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt she awaited rejection. To be the last pick of the team.

They all did.

The air of dejection that surrounded these women stirred a deep, unknown emotion in me. A fierce desire to protect them, to show them the acceptance they craved, rose up with a startling surge.

“I know this is a little odd,” Abe said as he slipped an arm around his wife’s waist. “But you’ve all come to me asking for help, and doing things different might be the solution.”

The girl with the gum blew another bubble and popped it. The sound ricocheted through the room like a gunshot, and a woman with soft blonde hair tipped in pink who sat at the end of the table with her gaze on the floor winced.

“Sorry, Wynny,” the gum girl said, and her tone implied a genuine apology.

“S’okay,” the blonde responded in a whisper.

Abe cleared his throat. “Why don’t we run through intros? Eden, would you mind getting us started?”

I smiled at him, and kept that smile as I swept my gaze across the four women in front of me. “Hello, ladies. I’m Eden. I’m down here from DC for a twelve-month work contract, and I’m hoping to find a play partner. I’m very flexible on what I like, and have been in the life for years. I am a Domme, but I promise I’m not an aggressive dominant. If you need references, there are several people in the group who know me from DC. Anything else, just ask.”

A heavy pause hung in the air, and I could feel them studying me. Weighing me to see my worth in their own heads. I gave them that time, sensing they needed it. Somehow, I held a sneaky suspicion these women were single for reasons beyond their kinks. Each one stood out as a bit of an oddity, which didn’t necessarily mean a bad thing.

“I’m Denisha.” The pink-haired girl I saw Boi coloring with earlier stuck out her hand, and I shook it without hesitation. Her warm, brown skin felt like silk against my palm. “I’ve only been around ‘bout a year. I’m a Little, and um…I guess that’s that.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Denisha.” I gave her an encouraging nod and shifted my attention to a quiet, auburn haired, petite woman next to her.

“Is it my turn?” she asked, glancing at me. “My name’s Cami. I… I like…” She stared at her lap as her cheeks turned an adorable shade of red. “I like to meow and stuff or be a maid. I work at a shelter, and I really want a Mistress who will pet me.”

Pet play as a cat? Adorable! “Hello, Cami. Nice to meet you.” I turned my attention to the dark-haired Brat.

Gum girl snorted at Cami and rolled her eyes. “Maya. Tease me, beat me, if you wanna teach me,” she sing-songed, and I recognized the underlying jingle from a kid’s show popular in my youth.

Oh, pretty girl. Do you even realize you are a Brat? “Hi, Maya. A pleasure.”

That left one more person to introduce herself. The timid blonde nearly hugged her knees. Her gaze never left the floor. If I’d labeled Cami as shy, this girl could be the epitome of agoraphobic. Maya gave her a gentle nudge and the girl started, as if the physical contact shocked her.

“I’m… I’m….”

“This is Wynny,” Maya supplied. From the way the blonde shot her a grateful look, I gathered Maya stepped in for her a lot. “She likes stuff like wax, feathers; that sort of thing. Isn’t that right?”

Wynny’s silent nod confirmed this.

They were all going to require the extent of my skills as a dominant in their own ways. The terrified blonde would need the most help learning to let go and enjoy herself, without a doubt. But all of them presented their own unique sets of challenges…and rewards.

“So, is this going to be like eenie meenie miney moe?” Maya asked.

I couldn’t let her get away with that snarkiness and establish dominance. If I did, it meant working double-time to earn her respect later. Easier to nip it before she managed a foothold to stand her cocky ass on.

“No, darling,” I said as I clasped my hands and rested them on the table. “This isn’t a school game where I pick the most popular or prettiest. If any of you want to give this a shot, we’ll set up dates and see how compatible we are in a one-on-one environment.”

“Any of us?” Denisha asked, her voice filled with surprise.

“Absolutely.”

That got their attention. They stared at me with varying expressions of shock.

“You do realize we’re the group rejects, right? The unwanted fuck ups. Why do ya want saddled with us?” Maya demanded.

Elle shifted, her body language turning nervous, and I noticed Abe give her arm a soft, reassuring squeeze from the corner of my eye. He watched me carefully, and I knew this moment could make or break my reputation and acceptance in this group.

“You’re not fuck ups,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “You are all beautiful women with a unique set of challenges that I’m excited to conquer with you. All that remains between us and that, is whether you’ll give me a chance to show you what you can achieve.”

Buy Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B082ZQ5SSJ

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Book Spotlight~ LV48

Title: LV48

Series: The Cassie Tam Files, Book Three

Author: Matt Doyle

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: December 10, 2018

Heat Level: 1 - No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 66400

Genre: Science Fiction, futuristic, lesbian, private detective, Sci-fi

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Synopsis

New Hopeland City may be the birthplace of Tech Shifter gear, but it isn’t the only place that likes to blend technology with folklore. Now, a new nightmare is stalking the streets… When PI Cassie Tam is attacked on the way home one night, she expects the police to get involved. What she doesn’t expect is to be forced into acting as bait to lure out a lunatic in a tech-suit that’s literally out for blood. But past actions have consequences, and doing so may be the only way she can get a clean slate from the city’s law makers. If only that didn’t mean having to face down a wannabe vampire.

Excerpt

LV48 Matt Doyle © 2018 All Rights Reserved “Nei hou gaau siu.” When Lori smiles like that, her eyes take on a slight twinkle, making their pale blue tone feel warm and welcoming. That being the case, it takes me a moment to realise I didn’t understand a word she just said. Am I so drunk already? “Uh, sorry. What?” Lori giggles and repeats, “Nei hou gaau siu.” When I stare blankly, she frowns and asks, “Is my pronunciation off? I was sure that was right.” “What were you trying to say?” “I was trying to tell you that you’re funny in Cantonese.” And at that, the laughter spills out of me, uncontrolled to the point I have to bury my face in the table to muffle the sound. If we’d been in our usual haunt, Northern Main Street’s late-night café-cum-alternative hangout Tourniquet, I’d have let loose uninhibited. The people there look like an odd bunch when you’re viewing things from the outside, but if you spend enough time there, you soon realise they’re all really nice people with tastes and hobbies that fall outside the mainstream. Seeing as we’ve opted for Cartwright’s on Dunstone Avenue, though, I’m trying to hold back. Honestly, I am. I’m just not doing a good job of it. The staff in Cartwright’s are lovely, but the clientele is a little less raucous than those at Tourniquet, and so I’m already drawing some confused looks by the time I wipe the tears from my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I say, “I’m sorry.” “I’ve never been much good at languages. Oh God,” Lori sighs and shoots me a now far more nervous smile. “Put me out of my misery. What did I say?” I shrug. “You probably told me I was funny in Cantonese.” Lori tilts her head and says, “Okay, now I’m confused.” “I don’t speak Cantonese.” “Yes, you do.” “I really don’t.” “You really do. I mean, you can’t seriously be telling me you’ve been using diu in the Taiwanese sense?” “No, no…,” I reply, waving my hands in frantic motions. “Wait. What does it mean in Taiwan?” “It was old slang for cool.” “Oh, right. No, I’m definitely using it the way you think.” “So you do speak Cantonese then.” “No, I swear in Cantonese. I couldn’t hold a conversation in it. My dad had a thing about me swearing. He hated it, even when I was an adult. It was the one thing that always made him roll his eyes at Mom. Anyway, he spoke Mandarin, English, and a little French, so my options for big kid words were kinda limited. I went to school with a guy named Tom Huang; he spoke Cantonese, so I got him to teach me the cool words. Dad probably got the gist of what I was saying, but I think he appreciated the ingenuity of it.” And now, Lori laughs and buries her face in her hands. She shakes her head and says, “I am such an idiot.” “Nah, it’s not like I’ve ever spoken Mandarin around you, so how would you know? Honestly, I know enough Mandarin to get by, but we always spoke English at home, so I just picked that up easier. Let’s see, though…you would have meant nǐ hěn gǎoxiào. Or if you wanted to be really over the top with it, nǐ jiӑng shénme dōu néng bӑ wŏ lè huài le. That’s ‘everything you say cracks me up.’” Lori shakes her head. “I think I’ll stick to English.” “I am sorry for laughing,” I say, taking her hand. “It was really sweet of you to try learning something in another language for me. Why that phrase, though?” Lori lets out a short, gentle laugh, and replies, “Every time we’re together, you either do or say something to make me laugh, so I figured it was something I could guarantee I’d get to use.” “I’ll get us another drink,” I blurt, and whip myself to my feet and away towards the counter. It was just a compliment, but still… Did I move quick enough to stop her seeing how red my cheeks are? “Nǐ hěn gǎoxiào,” Lori giggles in broken Mandarin. I guess I was too slow. Diu.

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Meet the Author

Matt Doyle is a speculative fiction author from the UK and identifies as pansexual and genderfluid. Matt has spent a great deal of time chasing dreams, a habit which has led to success in a great number of fields. To date, this has included spending ten years as a professional wrestler, completing a range of cosplay projects, and publishing multiple works of fiction. These days, Matt can be found working on multiple novels and stories, blogging about pop culture, and plotting and planning far too many projects.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | eMail

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Book Spotlight: Bitten by Her

Buy Links: Amazon US | Amazon UK

Length: 43,000 words approx.

Cover Design: Natasha Snow

Regent's Park Pack Series

Book #1 - Bitten By Mistake - Amazon US | Amazon UK

Book #2 - Bitten By Design - Amazon US | Amazon UK

Book #3 - Bitten By Desire - Amazon US | Amazon UK

Book #4 - Bitten By The Alpha - Amazon US | Amazon UK

Blurb

Brought together by fate, torn apart by family.

Rachel Tregarrak, Penwith pack beta and daughter of the alpha, has always called the rugged Cornish coast her home. With its beautiful landscapes, bracing sea air, and vast spaces to run, she can’t imagine living anywhere else.

After years of living with her mother in her grandfather’s pack, Sara Gallen returns to Penzance to be with her alpha father and her brothers. She wants to build their relationships, get to know the rest of her family better than occasional visits allow.

When their paths cross on the full moon, the attraction is immediate and instinctive. But Sara’s father refuses to allow such a union and forbids any further contact. Sara finds solace with her grandmother in her alpha council residence, and Rachel is sent to a London pack to keep her out of trouble. Both women feel the desperate ache of an uncompleted bond, but unless they find a way to be together, it’ll fade to nothing and their connection will be lost.

Annabelle Jacobs lives in the South West of England with three rowdy children, and two cats. An avid reader of fantasy herself for many years, Annabelle now spends her days writing her own stories. They're usually either fantasy or paranormal fiction, because she loves building worlds filled with magical creatures, and creating stories full of action and adventure. Her characters may have a tough time of it—fighting enemies and adversity—but they always find love in the end.
Twitter – https://twitter.com/AJacobs_fiction
Website – www.annabellejacobs.com
Email – ajacobsfiction@gmail.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/ajacobsfiction 

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Book Spotlight and Giveaway~ Ibuki

Title:  Ibuki

Author: Kathryn Sommerlot

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: January 29, 2018

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 26000

Genre: Fantasy, LGBT, lesbian, fantasy, cleric/priestess, magic users, abduction, royalty

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Synopsis

Ibuki: the gift of healing through breath. Chiasa has possessed the ability since childhood and shares it with her father as they care for their Inuru community. Chiasa has never doubted the stability of her simple life. That is, until Namika, a water-gifted priestess, shows up outside the Ibuki shrine gates with information promising Chiasa’s doom. With Namika’s help, Chiasa is determined to find the secrets behind the ritual that will claim her life, but her growing feelings toward the other woman reach beyond her control, adding to the confusion. Time is rapidly running out, and Chiasa can’t seem to sort out the lies woven through the magic of Inuru and its emperor. Caught in a tangled web of immortality, betrayal, and desire, Chiasa must find the right people to trust if she hopes to stop the ritual—or she will pay the consequences.

Excerpt

Ibuki Kathryn Sommerlot © 2018 All Rights Reserved When Chiasa first saw the young woman standing outside the shrine, her throat seized in fear around a single thought: the emperor is dead. A moment later, she realized the woman appeared far more nervous than grief-stricken, and she relaxed, only to wonder why a seseragi priestess would be on her doorstep before the sun had fully risen. The woman was unmistakably one of the water-chosen. Her hands were fidgeting and pressing tiny creases into the telltale blue of her silk robe, its pale folds hanging uneven above her shell-lined sandals, and above the short collar, a silver clip in the shape of an ocean wave held her hair in two overlapping plaits. She glanced down either side of the empty road, shoulders bowed, before starting up the stairs. Chiasa hung back to observe. It took the woman a minute or so to climb the steps that led to the small fountain, and with the shrine deserted, her footsteps echoed through the grounds. Her hair seemed to have been hastily done as an afterthought—long strands had come free and hung down her back like splatters of black ink across parchment. She did manage a jerky half bow when she reached the slotted board holding the wooden ladle, though most of the water she then tried to pour over her hands ended up splashing onto the front of the blue silk, a testament to the shaking in her arms. Chiasa let her continue without interruption until she reached the top of the stairs and clapped her hands together before the silver bell. Any farther, and the seseragi priestess would make her way inside the sanctuary, to where the ibuki power-stone was held, and the thought was unsettling enough to push Chiasa forward. “If I can help you with something,” Chiasa began, slipping out from her hiding spot between the side of the sanctuary and the hall of worship where she spent many hours praying in solitude. The young woman started, nearly tripping on the hem of her robe. One hand went to her mouth as she stared far longer than was comfortable, and then she bowed again, the force of the action throwing the loose tendrils of hair over her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t send word, and…well, I know it’s strange for me to be here, but I must speak with an ibuki priest, please.” Chiasa took a step back, one corner of the hall’s intersecting wall panels jabbing between her shoulders. “My father is the head priest, but he’s not here. He’s out with the herbalist to tend the sick. If you wish, I can leave him a message for when he returns—” “It’s urgent,” the other woman whispered. “Please.” At a loss, Chiasa looked around the shrine grounds she knew by heart. There was no one else to summon. Her father wouldn’t be back until much later, perhaps even after midnight, and old Isao was seldom of much use anymore, relegated to menial groundskeeping tasks and selling talismans. As the morning breeze broke through the tree line and nipped at the exposed skin of her cheek, she felt acutely alone. Chiasa tried to imagine what her father might do were he present as the young woman, still bent in an awkward bow, began to shake with the exertion of it. Chiasa, afraid she would topple over entirely, sprang forward and dropped the broom she was holding, the tool clattering noisily across the pathway. “He’s not here,” Chiasa repeated, though she wanted to help the woman when she was in such a state. “But please don’t panic, I will not send you away. If you’d like, I could make you some tea?” “Yes,” the woman said. Her hands went to her face, cupping cheeks that were tinged with an uneven smattering of powder. As Chiasa watched, her gaze seemed to get lost in nothing, until she finally blinked and focused once again, settling on Chiasa’s face. Again, there was something sparking in her eyes that Chiasa couldn’t entirely read. The woman lowered her hands and nodded. “Yes, I would appreciate it. I’m sorry to intrude.” Chiasa thought briefly of disagreeing, but it felt best to avoid lying. Instead, she led the seseragi priestess into the hall of worship and through to the small back room where they kept a low, small table and supplies unrelated to the shrine itself. There was a heavy iron kettle, which was so old that one side of it was slightly lower than the other, making the whole thing lopsided. Chiasa placed it onto the small fire in the center of the room with care and waved the smoke up into the open flume built into the roof’s small, soot-blackened bricks. Her strange guest knelt at the table, smoothing her silks beneath her knees. “I don’t know when my father will return,” Chiasa apologized as she waited for the water to bubble. The other woman deflated somewhat, her shoulders curving in and over on themselves as she ran a finger over the grain of the table. “Is there no one else?” she asked. Then, a half second too late, her eyes snapped up, wide and frightened. “I didn’t mean… I meant no offense. I’m sure you are quite capable at the breath—” Chiasa waved her apology away. “I’m not offended. But I am afraid there is no one else. It’s only my father, myself, and old Isao.” “Then, your father is part of the emperor’s circle?” the woman asked. The expression on her features changed from nervous to suspicious, and Chiasa couldn’t follow the reasoning behind it. Her guest tapped her fingers against the tabletop as she pursed her lips together, and her gaze shifted away from Chiasa and the teakettle. “Perhaps it was unwise to come here. I thought there were more in the ibuki shrine.” The kettle whistled its completion, and as she poured the fragrant hibiscus blend, Chiasa frowned, puzzled by the transformation in both the conversation and the woman’s demeanor. “My father is not advising the emperor today,” she said, again, in case it had been missed, as she handed the other woman the small teacup of hollowed bone. Her guest held the cup between her fingers, but didn’t sip from it. Her gaze seemed lost again, her eyes focused on something far beyond the table and the crackling fire pit, in a place Chiasa could neither see nor touch. After quite some time, the woman raised her head once more. “My name is Namika. I suppose with your father too close to the source I should not have asked for him at all. You are the youngest within the shrine?” “Yes,” Chiasa answered, though she regretted doing so in the next heartbeat when the oddness of the question fully registered. Namika’s brow furrowed as her fingers knit together around the bone cup. “Then I must tell you of my discovery.” “Discovery?” Chiasa repeated. “I’m afraid it’s not good news,” Namika said and grimaced. “I was tasked with sorting through our cellar, where many of the old texts and records are kept. The majority of them are simply logs of visitors to the shrine and the actions our priests performed at the emperor’s command. But within the piles, I discovered what seemed to be a set of entries detailing the truth behind the emperor’s longevity.” “The gods have seen fit to bless him with immortality,” Chiasa said, but she felt suddenly very cold, crossing her arms over her chest and running her hands over her sleeves. The small room seemed to constrict even further around them, squeezing the air from Chiasa’s lungs until she was gasping for it. They should not even be discussing the emperor. They were far too young and unimportant to think they had more wisdom than a man who had been ruling Inuru for nearly three hundred years, and despite their solitude within the shrine, Chiasa got the distinct feeling someone, somewhere, could hear them. The sensation sent toe-curling shivers down her back. “No,” Namika said. She leaned forward, like she, too, was reacting to the sudden chill permeating the air. “It’s unnatural, his lifespan— He is stealing it, all of it; he is stealing his life.” “That’s impossible,” Chiasa snapped. “No magic could grant a mortal so much time.” Namika shook her head and set the cup of tea down, still just as full as when Chiasa had handed it to her. “He is stealing it through blood. He’s drinking blood to absorb the life within it and add it to his own.” Chiasa stood so suddenly that the table shook, splashing tea across the surface. The scent of steeped flowers and herbs grew even stronger. “You’re lying,” she said through clenched teeth, hands curled into fists at her side. The flash of indignation that flared up beneath her skin came from a source she couldn’t identify, but she knew from years of practiced obedience that it was necessary. “My father is on the emperor’s circle, and he would never allow such a thing, even if it were possible.” “But that is why I had to come!” Namika exclaimed. “It’s written in the documents, by the seseragi high priest himself. I swear to you I did not come here with a lie!” Chiasa wove her hands through her hair, tugging bits of it free from the tortoiseshell clasp holding the twist snug at the nape of her neck. Her father couldn’t possibly be implicated in such a monstrosity—and beyond that, the insult to the emperor weighed like a stone within her gut. The emperor protected them all. The emperor loved them all. “It’s impossible,” Chiasa said, letting her hands fall back down to her sides. “What blood could possibly grant such—” “Those with the breath!” Namika cried out and then sat back on her heels, cheeks flushed and pink. As Chiasa stared at her across the table, the unwanted and uninvited woman with the poison-tipped tongue of lies inhaled deeply and then pushed the air back out, slowly, through red lips. “He is drinking your order,” she said. Her voice was far quieter, filled with something that sounded an awful lot like sympathy. “He is drinking the blood of ibuki priests.”

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Meet the Author

Kathryn Sommerlot is a coffee addict and craft beer enthusiast with a detailed zombie apocalypse plan. Originally from the cornfields of the American Midwest, she got her master’s degree and moved across the ocean to become a high school teacher in Japan. When she isn’t wrangling teenage brains into critical thinking, she spends her time writing, crocheting, and hiking with her husband. She enjoys LGBTQ fiction, but she is particularly interested in genre fiction that just happens to have LGBTQ protagonists. You can find Kathryn on her Website.  

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