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Book Blast: Anticipated Angel by Laura Navarre

Anticipated Angel | Laura Navarre

Astral Heat #0.5

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Release Date: April 1st, 2022

Publishing Company: Ascendant Press

Cover Artist: Kim Killion

Word Count: 20,000

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/47QQBE

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60394847-anticipated-angel

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Blurb

On an alien world that crucifies men for prohibited desires, two boyhood best friends risk the ultimate punishment to explore a forbidden passion.

Nero: He’s the most intimidating guy at our intergalactic next-gen leaders’ camp, and his psycho galactic tyrant of a dad has a crucifixion fetish. Our two races are deadly enemies, but Dex was my boyhood best friend. Suddenly this summer, he’s all grown up—and suddenly he can’t seem to stop staring at me. I don’t know whether to be afraid that it’s all a figment of my telepathic imagination…or that every dangerous desire we’re forbidden to acknowledge is searingly real.

Dex: I’m one combat-to-the-death away from the imperial command I’ve devoted my life to achieve. All I need to do is keep my dick in my pants. Besides, Ben Nero’s my oathsworn brother. Not to mention the most gorgeous, most maddeningly unattainable, most sought-after guy at leaders’ camp. There’s no way he’d ever look twice at a buttoned-tight, hyper-competitive, compulsive overachiever like me.

Until the night I blundered in on Nero in the shower. Which was a total catastrophic mistake. Because now I’ve seen what he looks like naked…now I’ve heard the way he sounds when he’s moaning my name…how in blazes do I keep him at arms’ length? Because my father crucifies men for loving men.

Which means letting Ben Nero in close, the way I’m burning to do, means risking the ultimate punishment.

For both of us.

Anticipated Angel is a steamy, angsty, friends-to-lovers MM new adult sci fi romance novella and the standalone prequel to the award-winning Astral Heat Romance Series.

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Excerpt

Still damp and dripping under the tunic and breeches he’d dragged over his desperately aroused body, breathless and panting from pounding through the jungle after his frenzied best friend, Ben Nero stood on the step outside Dex’s dormitory cabin and glared at the locked door.

Dex never locked his door. They’d been coming and going from each other’s dorms day and night for three summers straight.

Sure, Dex was arrogant, aggressive, pigheaded, surly, introverted, hypercompetitive, a compulsive overachiever. The golden boy at leaders’ camp. In other words, a typical Mogadon.

Nero had hated him on sight. Until everything changed.

Since the night Dex waded into battle to defend him, Nero had been secretly crushing on the guy.

Now—this summer—their final summer when they both gained their majority and left leaders’ camp behind forever, the sexual dynamic between them had torqued so much tighter. Their unspoken chemistry had condensed into an alchemical compound so volatile it was practically pyrophoric. With Dex grown into something between a deadly predator and a tawny god, Nero knew his secret summer crush stood in acute danger of developing into a connection fathoms deeper.

And far more lethal to his guarded heart.

But given Dex’s inherited battery of hang-ups and all that sexual baggage his best friend was carting around, the state of his heart was one secret Nero fully intended to keep.

Until tonight. Cat’s out of the cave now. Of all the possible, gods-cursed times for Dex to show up for a late-night shower…

For at least the twentieth time, he cursed his own rotten timing. Wryly he admitted the inferno of heat glowing in his chest and scorching his face had less to do with exertion than sheer embarrassment.

No use pretending it didn’t happen. Dex has been pushing me away all summer. What he just saw me doing while I moaned his name will probably finish the job and end our friendship for good.

Especially with their rival planets poised on the brink of war. Nero huffed out a breath harsh with frustration.

The next time I encounter Dex Draven after summer camp will probably be in deep space at the wrong end of a solar cannon.

Grimly Nero jabbed a finger at the entry button—for the third farking time. The chime caroled away like his whole world wasn’t imploding around him. Beyond that door, his psychic senses whispered, Dex was pacing his cabin’s spartan confines, wearing a path in the silica floor.

Staring at his own locked door, heart slamming against his sternum like a meteor bombardment. If he didn’t open it…if he didn’t answer…

Nero shoved a mental barrier between them to give the guy a little privacy as a basic matter of telepath ethics. Same way he’d been doing all summer. Fighting like hell to do the decent thing and respect his best friend’s boundaries and stay out of his head.

Now he scowled at the stubborn silence but held tight to his temper.

“Dex?” He pitched his voice to carry. “Let me in. We need to talk. Anyway, you, uh, left your blaster in the shower house.”

The silence stretched between them. A silence tighter than a pressurized airlock, shredded by the shrill scream of a hunting panther. Intuition told him the critter was on the prowl, hunting for blood and savage with hunger. If the cat tracked him to Dex’s doorstep, Nero would have to defend himself. Not with Dex’s blaster, which he’d buckled around his own hips, but with the psi fire he was learning to channel as he honed his rapidly expanding arsenal of psychic powers.

Doggedly he pounded on the door. “Come on, Dex. I know you’re in there. I could feel you fulminating halfway down the path. Open up.”

“No bloody talking. I’m not in the mood.” Dex’s muffled voice sounded surly. And more than a little desperate. “For gods’ sake, Ben, it’s after midnight. Go away.”

Nero squared his shoulders and hardened his voice. “Open this door or I’ll open it for you.”

Violet sparks flared at his fingertips. Fiercely he reeled in the billowing surge of psi fire sizzling through his channels before he lost control and blew Dex’s door through the opposite wall. Tonight he wanted to talk to Dex, not fight him. And a full-out assault would only trigger all those primitive Mogadon instincts Dex was always striving to suppress.

Apparently some god with a fondness for bisexual adolescent telepaths decided to take pity on Nero’s awkward dilemma and whisper a word of reason in Dex’s ear. With a chirp, the maglock released and the door swung wide.

“Finally.” Pushing out a breath, Nero strode into the moonlit darkness. “What the hells, Dex…”

His words stuttered to a stop.

In the narrow confines of the shadowy cabin whose angles and corners he knew by heart, Dex stood silhouetted against the viewport. Wearing nothing but an insubstantial pair of sleeping trousers that clung to his supple hips and spectacular ass.

The light of Paragon’s three moons limned his broad shoulders and corded back and bulging triceps in a way that made Nero burn to sink his teeth in and just nibble his way down the guy’s body. Starlight flamed in Dex’s cropped golden hair and caressed the sun-bronzed skin Nero longed to trace with his tongue.

Nero sucked in a hit of oxygen to clear his damn head and felt his senses spin. He was already half-drunk on lotus pollen, a seductive sweetness like spicy sugar tickling the back of his throat. Now his head was reeling with the potent kick of Dex’s scent—that heady whiff of pheromones Mogadon males exuded that telegraphed aggression, territoriality, or arousal.

Nero ached to know which of those stimuli was driving Dex tonight.

Ferociously he fought back the temptation to shove aside his inconvenient ethics, peek inside Dex’s brain, and find out for himself. And screw his farking ethics and screw his best friend’s privacy.

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About The Author

AUTHOR PIC - Anticipated Angel - Laura Navarre

A long time ago in a galaxy far away, Laura Navarre was an award-winning dark historical romance author for Harlequin, while her diabolical twin Nikki Navarre wrote sexy spy romance.

In a daring bid to escape a global pandemic, armed only with an MFA in Writing Popular Fiction and a professional background in weapons of mass destruction, Laura voyaged through a wormhole to an alternate universe where she crafts turbocharged, epic, hyper-erotic poly science fiction romance starring three sexy bi heroes, one seriously kickass heroine, and plenty of sizzling outer space action.

Interstellar Angel is a steamy, angsty, enemies-to-lovers MMMF poly sci fi action romance and your gateway to the Astral Heat universe, where Star Wars meets 50 Shades by way of The Hunger Games. Outer space adventure just got a whole lot hotter!

Social Media

Website: https://www.LauraNavarreSciFi.com

Facebook (Personal): https://www.Facebook.com/LauraNavarreAuthor

Facebook (Author Page): https://www.Facebook.com/LauraNavarreInterstellarRomance

Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/LauraNavarre

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/LauraNavarreAuthor

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/LauraNavarre

QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/laura-navarre/

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Laura-Navarre/e/B004NG6CTK/

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Audio Blitz: The Man From Milwaukee by Rick R. Reed & Narrated by Donald Davenport

The Man from Milwaukee | Rick R. Reed

Man from Milwaukee Audio Banner

Narrator: Donald Davenport

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: July 20, 2020

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 7 hrs and 10 mins

Buy Link: Audible

Add to Goodreads

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Blurb

It’s the summer of 1991 and serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer has been arrested. His monstrous crimes inspire dread around the globe. But not so much for Emory Hughes, a closeted young man in Chicago who sees in the cannibal killer a kindred spirit, someone who fights against the dark side of his own nature, as Emory does. He reaches out to Dahmer in prison via letters.

The letters become an escape—from Emory’s mother dying from AIDS, from his uncaring sister, from his dead-end job in downtown Chicago, but most of all, from his own self-hatred.

Dahmer isn’t Emory’s only lifeline as he begins a tentative relationship with Tyler Kay. He falls for him and, just like Dahmer, wonders how he can get Tyler to stay. Emory’s desire for love leads him to confront his own grip on reality. For Tyler, the threat of the mild-mannered Emory seems inconsequential, but not taking the threat seriously is at his own peril.

Can Emory discover the roots of his own madness before it’s too late and he finds himself following in the footsteps of the man from Milwaukee?

Excerpt

The Man from Milwaukee
Rick R. Reed © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Headlines

Dahmer appeared before you in a five o’clock edition, stubbled dumb countenance surrounded by the crispness of a white shirt with pale-blue stripes. His handsome face, multiplied by the presses, swept down upon Chicago and all of America, to the depths of the most out-of-the-way villages, in castles and cabins, revealing to the mirthless bourgeois that their daily lives are grazed by enchanting murderers, cunningly elevated to their sleep, which they will cross by some back stairway that has abetted them by not creaking. Beneath his picture burst the dawn of his crimes: details too horrific to be credible in a novel of horror: tales of cannibalism, sexual perversity, and agonizing death, all bespeaking his secret history and preparing his future glory.

Emory Hughes stared at the picture of Jeffrey Dahmer on the front page of the Chicago Tribune, the man in Milwaukee who had confessed to “drugging and strangling his victims, then dismembering them.” The picture was grainy, showing a young man who looked timid and tired. Not someone you’d expect to be a serial killer.

Emory took in the details as the L swung around a bend: lank pale hair, looking dirty and as if someone had taken a comb to it just before the photograph was snapped, heavy eyelids, the smirk, as if Dahmer had no understanding of what was happening to him, blinded suddenly by notoriety, the stubble, at least three days old, growing on his face. Emory even noticed the way a small curl topped his shirt’s white collar. The L twisted, suddenly a ride from Six Flags, and Emory almost dropped the newspaper, clutching for the metal pole to keep from falling. The train’s dizzying pace, taking the curves too fast, made Emory’s stomach churn.

Or was it the details of the story that were making the nausea in him grow and blossom? Details like how Dahmer had boiled some of his victim’s skulls to preserve them…

Milwaukee Medical Examiner Jeffrey Jentzen said authorities had recovered five full skeletons from Dahmer’s apartment and partial remains of six others. They’d discovered four severed heads in his kitchen. Emory read that the killer had also admitted to cannibalism.

“Sick, huh?” Emory jumped at a voice behind him. A pudgy man, face florid with sweat and heat, pressed close. The bulge of the man’s stomach nudged against the small of Emory’s back.

Emory hugged the newspaper to his chest, wishing there was somewhere else he could go. But the L at rush hour was crowded with commuters, moist from the heat, wearing identical expressions of boredom.

“Hard to believe some of the things that guy did.” The man continued, undaunted by Emory’s refusal to meet his eyes. “He’s a queer. They all want to give the queers special privileges and act like there’s nothing wrong with them. And then look what happens.” The guy snorted. “Nothing wrong with them…right.”

Emory wished the man would move away. The sour odor of the man’s sweat mingled with cheap cologne, something like Old Spice.

Hadn’t his father worn Old Spice?

Emory gripped the pole until his knuckles whitened, staring down at the newspaper he had found abandoned on a seat at the Belmont stop. Maybe if he sees I’m reading, he’ll shut up. Every time the man spoke, his accent broad and twangy, his voice nasal, Emory felt like someone was raking a metal-toothed comb across the soft pink surface of his brain.

Neighbors had complained off and on for more than a year about a putrid stench from Dahmer’s apartment. He told them his refrigerator was broken and meat in it had spoiled. Others reported hearing hand and power saws buzzing in the apartment at odd hours.

“Yeah, this guy Dahmer… You hear what he did to some of these guys?”

Emory turned at last. He was trembling, and the muscles in his jaw clenched and unclenched. He knew his voice was coming out high, and that because of this, the man might think he was queer, but he had to make him stop.

“Listen, sir, I really have no use for your opinions. I ask you now, very sincerely, to let me be so that I might finish reading my newspaper.”

The guy sucked in some air. “Yeah, sure,” he mumbled.

Emory looked down once more at the picture of Dahmer, trying to delve into the dots that made up the serial killer’s eyes. Perhaps somewhere in the dark orbs, he could find evidence of madness. Perhaps the pixels would coalesce to explain the atrocities this bland-looking young man had perpetrated, the pain and suffering he’d caused.

To what end?

“Granville next. Granville will be the next stop.” The voice, garbled and cloaked in static, alerted Emory that his stop was coming up.

As the train slowed, Emory let the newspaper, never really his own, slip from his fingers. The train stopped with a lurch, and Emory looked out at the familiar green sign reading Granville. With the back of his hand, he wiped the sweat from his brow and prepared to step off the train.

Then an image assailed him: Dahmer’s face, lying on the brown, grimy floor of the L, being trampled.

Emory turned back, bumping into commuters who were trying to get off the train, and stooped to snatch the newspaper up from the gritty floor.

Tenderly, he brushed dirt from Dahmer’s picture and stuck the newspaper under his arm.

*

Kenmore Avenue sagged under the weight of the humidity as Emory trudged home, white cotton shirt sticking to his back, face moist. At the end of the block, a Loyola University building stood sentinel—gray and solid against a wilted sky devoid of color, sucking in July’s heat and moisture like a sponge.

Emory fitted his key into the lock of the redbrick high-rise he shared with his mother and sister, Mary Helen. Behind him, a car grumbled by, muffler dragging, transmission moaning. A group of four children, Hispanic complexions darkened even more by the sun, quarreled as one of them held a huge red ball under his arm protectively.

As always, the vestibule smelled of garlic and cooking cabbage, and as always, Emory wondered from which apartment these smells, grown stale over the years he and his family had lived in the building, had originally emanated.

In the mailbox was a booklet of coupons from Jewel, a Commonwealth Edison bill, and a newsletter from Test Positive Aware. Emory shoved the mail under his arm and headed up the creaking stairs to the third floor.

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About the Author

Real Men. True Love.

Rick R. Reed is an award-winning and bestselling author of more than fifty works of published fiction. He is a Lambda Literary Award finalist. Entertainment Weekly has described his work as “heartrending and sensitive.” Lambda Literary has called him: “A writer that doesn’t disappoint…”

Rick lives in Palm Springs, CA, with his husband, Bruce, and their fierce Chihuahua/Shiba Inu mix, Kodi.

Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

About the Narrator

Donald Davenport. I am a screenwriter, author, educator and podcaster. I am also a film producer and director.

donalddavenport.com

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Release Blitz: Talos by A. G. Carothers

Talos | A. G. Carothers

Bloodlines of Fate #1

TALOS

Cover Artist: Samantha Santana, Amai Designs with illustration by Maberan

Release Date: September 8th, 2020

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 46,000 words

Buy Links:

Available on Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

Add to Goodreads

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Blurb

The Age of Man has passed, and a new age is upon the Earth. An age of magic and technology ruled by the supernatural beings that once hid amongst humanity has begun.

Talos – Vampyr King, Supernatural Council Member, and Despiser of Humans. Fate has a surprise up their sleeve for him.

Bayne – Raised by the human resistance, Would-be Assassin, and Despiser of Supernatural Beings. He’s ready to sacrifice himself to kill his enemy.

Bayne is thrust into a world he thinks he knows but quickly discovers his whole life has been built on lies. Talos, perfectly happy ruling his corner of the world, is faced with an unexpected and unwelcome change that comes with the mate chosen by Fate. Together they must discover how to live and, in the end, love one another. But will Fate have more in store for them than just learning to love the species they hate?

Bloodlines of Fate is a new urban fantasy series set in a world destroyed by humans and resurrected by supernatural beings. Fate has many plans for the vampires, fae, unicorns, therianthropes, and humans of this new world. While their mates may be fated, learning to love isn’t that easy.

This book contains depictions of gladiatorial combat, snarky fem twinks who will cut you, kings in stilettos, and awkward heats with a pinch of daddy kink.

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Excerpt

Talos strode calmly into his office. His skin tingled with pins and needles all over. Odin and Majid were on his heels, and Majid closed the door behind him. Talos leaned on his teak desk as his discovery crashed into him. Claws extended from his fingertips and dug into the dense wood, marring its polished surface.

“Why of all days would this happen today?” Talos asked Fate.

“Brother, what is it?” Odin closed in and put a reassuring hand on Talos’ back, but it made his skin crawl. He shrugged Odin off and turned back around.

“It’s him.” Talos still couldn’t believe it. He wanted to race to his bedroom to confirm it, but he had to wait.

Majid cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, it’s him?”

Talos looked up at Odin and realization dawned on Odin’s face. “Oh, him him?” Talos could only nod. His throat constricted.

“I knew I had to come to you, Brother. And it seems this is why. I was there when our father found his beloved, your pa.”

Talos sat on the edge of the desk, crossed his arms, and massaged his temples with one hand. Majid stepped closer, started to put his hand on Talos, then took his hand back with an apologetic smile.

“Congratulations on finding your mate, my old friend.”

Talos raised his head with a weary smile. “Thank you, and that was a magnificent display in there. I’ll never tire of seeing you get horny.” Talos chuckled softly. “Although my new mate called you a horse. Apparently, he’s never heard of a black unicorn.”

Majid snorted. “He’s lucky I can’t read his thoughts like you can,” he scowled.

Odin’s deep booming laugh caused Majid to snort again. Odin cleared his throat nervously, trying to cut off his laughter.

“Your idea to let one of the other resistance members through with him was good. It gave me an idea as to what kind of man my mate is. He was scared but he held his ground. His stubbornness to see his mission through shored him up. It’s going to be interesting to see how he reacts to spending an eternity with us leeches.”

Majid smirked. “You know how much I like a good impaling.”

“I got something you can impale.” Odin shook his butt at Majid and Talos snorted out a laugh.

Majid ignored Odin’s interruption. “Your mate jumped a little, but you’re right. He held steady even when I slowly killed that weakling.” He scoffed in disgust. “Like anyone that weak would have made it through the selection process. It’s a wonder they survived the games. They were lucky to have been killed by me.”

“It is quite an honor. I think it’s been a full month since you’ve impaled someone in the throne room.” Talos rubbed his forehead. His skin continued to tingle. “I won’t be able to bond with him until his blood is clean.”

“Gideon is having the hemodialysis machine brought to your chambers along with a bed he can be properly restrained on. The doctors estimate it’ll only take two rounds for his blood to be cleaner than when he was born,” Majid reassured Talos.

“He will fight. I have no doubt. And we will most likely have to sedate him,” Talos added.

“The sooner you get it done, the better, brother. Your body will not allow you to wait too long.”

“It’s almost dawn now.” Talos looked at the clock on his wall. “Go to bed. Majid will stay up with me to watch over my mate.”

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About the Author

AGCarothers

A.G. Carothers is actually a dragon very cleverly disguised as a human. They are a non-binary author of LGBTQIA Romance and Urban Fantasy, who enjoys writing original and entertaining stories. They are very excited to share the worlds they’ve created with you.

A.G. currently lives in Tennessee with their platonic life partner, who is not a dragon. They yearn to live back in Europe and will some day. In their spare time they are addicted to losing themselves in the lovely worlds created by other authors

A.G. is committed to writing the stories they see in their head without restrictions. Love is blind and doesn’t see gender, race, or sexuality.

Social Media

https://Link.Gallery/agcarothers

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