Tag Archives: low steam

Blog Tour: I Am Not Your Chosen One by Evelyn Benvie

I Am Not Your Chosen One | Evelyn Benvie

Not Your Chosen One #1


Release Date: June 14th, 2022

Publisher: Mischief Corner Books

Cover Artist: Natasha Snow

Heat Rating: 1 flame

Length: 102,000 words

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IKell Hồ Sinh Porter is twenty-six years old and desperate to leave his unhappy life and his dead-end town. One night his wish is granted by a mysterious voice—though not in any way he would’ve imagined—and he finds himself in the semi-magical land of Allune where everyone thinks he’s the “Chosen One.”

Kell politely disagrees, and absconds from his duties. On the search for an adventure that doesn’t come with world-saving responsibility attached, he’s joined by companions. Every adventurer needs them, but his turn out to be Ansel, a sheltered fallen angel, and Fre, a half-orlk who wants to be a hero.

Destiny, bad luck, and the gods conspire against him. The Dawn Goddess wants him to take up his Chosen One mantle, which Kell is sure means becoming cannon fodder in an ancient divine war. The Lich King’s demonic minions carry out sporadic attacks in an attempt to kill him and prove he is not the Chosen One.

Temperamental elves, talking stars that aren’t all that helpful, image-conscious demons, maddening pieces of prophecy that everyone thinks Kell should already know, and his growing feelings for Ansel all mix in a frustrating stew as Kell tries to juggle his feelings, his duties, and all the things trying to kill him.

No one asked him if he wanted to be anyone’s Chosen One, and he can’t begin to understand why he was chosen. Kell needs to figure out who to trust and how to forge his own path before it’s too late for Allune and for him.



Kell woke up slowly. Awareness filtered back to him in pieces. Rough wood under his palms. The warmth of the sun on his skin. The low, tumbling murmur of gathered people. Something weighing hot and heavy against his ribcage. The scent of fresh baking and old sweat mixing on his tongue. He wrinkled his nose and blinked his eyes open.

He was lying on a platform near the middle of town, judging by the smell and the noise. That wasn’t necessarily troubling in and of itself. But the sky …

It was blue, yes, and the sun was midmorning high and bright enough to make his eyes water. But there were stars speckling the sky all above him, little pink pinpricks of light dusting what should have been a solid-blue backdrop. Kell stared at them hard for a long moment, then closed his eyes again.

Weren’t dreams supposed to end when you woke up? What was this, a dream within a dream?

Whatever it was, he didn’t feel up to dealing with it right now.

Apparently the world wasn’t going to give him a choice. Someone nudged at his leg, gently at first but with increasing insistence.

Someone, Kell thought, with perhaps an edge of bubbling hysteria, or something. He giggled a little, biting his lip to keep the sound in. God, what is with me?

Maybe he had heat stroke. It was unusually warm out now for only being March.

What had happened last night? Fuck it. He didn’t remember getting drunk enough to pass out in the middle of the street. He didn’t remember planning on drinking at all.

A throat cleared above him, polite but impatient. Oh, well. Time for him to get up anyway before he got cited for public drunkenness or whatever. Kell made an effort to lift his head, but it was hard, and he was tired, and staying here a little longer couldn’t hurt, right?

Was public drunkenness even a real crime?

“Oh for the love of Skuache …” someone muttered, and then Kell found himself being gripped firmly on either side and hauled upwards. He let out a yelp of surprise, flailing around as strong arms did their best to hold him steady. The world spun as he opened his eyes, and it took a moment to get his feet under him. He staggered a bit, keeping his eyes trained on his feet for balance until he felt he wouldn’t fall over at any moment. Not that his rescuers had any intention of letting him go any time soon, with the way they held onto his arms just this side of too tight.

Shouldn’t have wished for the cops last night if this is where it gets me.

“Really, goddess,” the person continued to mutter. They sounded close. And important in a kind of college professor way. The kind used to lecturing and looking down on failing students. Kell dubbed him Professor Throat Clearer and entertained a brief image of a stuffy man in tweed giving lectures on how to properly interrupt conversation with discreet noises. It sounded like a fun class. Kell would have taken it.

“I have faith in your efforts, I truly do,” Professor Throat Clearer continued, speaking low and to himself. “But I swear, these Chosen get worse every time.”

About the Author


Evelyn Benvie is the wooly jumper in a family of black sheep. Both a cynic and a romantic at heart, she writes diverse poetry and queer-positive spec-fiction with strong characters, quirky romances, and (almost always) happy endings.

Sometimes she’ll try to be funny, to varying results.

Social Media

Blog/Website | FacebookTwitter | Instagram



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Release Tour: Crown Court Killer by Dahlia Donovan

Crown Court Killer | Dahlia Donovan

London Podcast Mystery #3

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Release Date: May 27th, 2022

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Months after saving their flamboyant theatre friend from disaster, Dannel Ortea and Osian Garey are back with a thrilling murder investigation in the third London Podcast Mystery series novel.

Dannel and Osian’s breakfast double date rapidly devolves into a murder mystery when a dead body is found in their solicitor friend’s car. Wayne is taken for questioning by police. He was last seen arguing with the deceased.

When Wayne’s tie is identified as the murder weapon, it’s hard to refute the growing evidence stacked against him.

Convinced of their friend’s innocence, Dannel and Osian throw themselves into the investigation. When Wayne’s boyfriend, Roland, finds himself suspended from the police, they realise powerful people are involved in the murder.

With a philandering crown court judge, two disgruntled wives, and an angry client as suspects, the clock is ticking for them to find the killer before Wayne winds up arrested—or dead.

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Since they’d both retired from emergency services, they’d focused on building their podcast and cosplay fabrication business. Osian hadn’t imagined a career other than as a paramedic. And yet, they were thriving.


Such a millennial word.

Yet, here we are, thriving.

Aside from the occasional murderer.

He did wonder if it might be easier and simpler to live in a quieter place. They’d have more time for building their businesses—maybe. Dannel might find life less stressful without the crowds and chaos of London.


Osian was jerked out of his thoughts. He turned to find Dannel fighting with the knot on his trainer laces. “Do you ever wish we moved away from London? Live somewhere in the country, maybe?”

“No.” Dannel’s response was immediate and emphatic. “Leave London? I love it here. Why?”

“No reason.”

He gave his shoelaces one last frustrated yank. “Weird question to ask out of the blue. Is this a neurotypical thing?”

Osian went over to take the trainer out of Dannel’s hand. “How do you bungle up a knot this badly?”

“Just cut the laces. I’ve got a spare set somewhere,” Dannel grumbled impatiently. “Inside voice?”

“Close enough.”

Over the years since Dannel’s official autism diagnosis, he’d learned to rely on others to help him not shout or whisper. He struggled to modulate his voice. Osian knew it greatly frustrated him.

Osian struggled with the knot before tossing the trainer back to Dannel. “Buggered those up, didn’t you? Have you superglued your laces?”

“Tired of the sodding things coming undone while I’m in the gym. I’ve only narrowly avoided tripping. These laces hate me. Grab the scissors, will you?”

After a bit of creative cursing and a quick snip, Dannel freed his trainers. He put in the new laces. Osian chuckled when he beamed the old ones into the bin with enough force to almost knock it over.

“You showed them.”

Dannel stood by the door and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for several seconds. “Okay. Let’s get fuel for the rest of the day.”

“Is cake fuel?”

“It’s usually enough of a fuel to get us motivated, if only to find more.” He made an excellent point. “Are you coming?”

CCK 4 me

Start the Series

Cosplay Killer

London Podcast Mystery #1

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Osian Garey and Dannel Ortea live together in a colourful flat in Covent Garden. They run a podcast and throw themselves wholeheartedly into Cosplay, video games, and musical theatre. This year, they’re all fired up to attend their annual convention with a group of first responders.

When Osian finds a paramedic friend murdered in the middle of the crowded venue, the police immediately turn their attention to him.

They have one question on their mind.

Is he the first witness on the scene or the killer?

As the mystery unfolds, Osian has to face the trauma of his last job as a paramedic. Somewhere in those memories, a killer waits to exact revenge. They’ll have to prove Osian’s innocence and fight for their own survival when the killer puts them both in their sights.

Ghost Light Killer

London Podcast Mystery #2

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Several months after their first brush with death, Dannel Ortea and Osian Garey are back with a thrilling murder investigation in the second London Podcast Mystery Series novel.

While helping their flamboyant neighbour with his play, Dannel and Osian discover more than a ghost haunting the stage at the Evelyn Lavelle theatre. It’s all fun and games until a friend is found kneeling over a dead body.

Is he the murderer or an unfortunate witness?

When one body turns to two, then to three, will the killer ever be found?

As Dannel and Osian work together to solve the mystery, the murderer focuses on them. Their drive to clear their friend’s name puts them centre stage. But not everything under the glow of the bright lights glimmers.

Will anyone be left when the curtain falls?

About The Author

Dahlia Donovan wrote her first romance series after a crazy dream about shifters and damsels in distress. She prefers irreverent humour and unconventional characters.

An autistic and occasional hermit, her life wouldn’t be complete without her husband and her massive collection of books and video games.

Social Media

Website: http://dahliadonovan.com

Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/1108750876162947/

Facebook: www.facebook.com/dahliadonovan

Twitter: https://twitter.com/DahliaDonovan

Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/dahlia-donovan

Newsletter sign up: http://eepurl.com/Q0n0X

Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/8184061.Dahlia_Donovan

Publisher Website: https://www.hottreepublishing.com/book-author/dahlia-donovan/

Amazon: www.amazon.com/Dahlia-Donovan/e/B00KFNZFHU

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

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CCK new release

Blog Tour: Tell Me Our Story by Anyta Sunday

Tell Me Our Story | Anyta Sunday

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Release Date: March 21st, 2022

Cover Illustration: Lauren Dombrowski

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Icy, standoffish Jonathan Hart always turned towards that laugh. Full-throated, uninhibited, addictive.

Soft smiles encouraging him over swing bridges. Hearty chuckles dancing around a ballroom. Wobbly grins. Double-glances. Eyes that brightened the world. His world.

From the moment he met David O’Hara, Jonathan started forming a smile of his own.

And then O’Hara left.

One lingering look.

No last goodbye.

Seven years later, that laugh again.

Full-throated, uninhibited.


O’Hara. Still all fire and flame, still drawing Jonathan in.

And now he wants Jonathan paired with him in a seven-week social influencing challenge.

Now, he wants to finish melting his heart…



Jonathan sat at one of the dozen tables for the opening dinner and willed himself to hold it together. His first ICon. Months of mental preparation, and still he sweated. Willed himself not to search out the bright, full-throated laughter that rippled through the dining area. Willed himself not to scan the hundred-plus crowd for him.

But all during dinner, Jonathan’s ears had been filled with that uninhibited laughter. Like a wet umbrella popping open in his face, covering him forehead to chin in fresh rain. It tickled. Made him shiver.

He needed it. He needed to escape it.

Key-card cutting into his palm, he dashed to the lobby and pressed the up button between two brass-doored elevators. He’d go to his room. Call it in for the night.

Movement caught his peripheral vision. His nape prickled; his limbs locked together.

“I thought you lived in Sydney?” came a creamy female voice.

“Couldn’t miss out on all the naughty fun that happens at night.” That laugh. “Come on. Show me your room.”

“You’re determined, O’Hara.”

“I prefer charming.”

Both sets of elevator doors dinged and opened. Jonathan hurriedly slid into the fuller one, alongside another couple and their massive suitcases. He jabbed at the button for the 12th floor and the doors blessedly began to close.

“Quick, Mira. Let’s catch that one.”

“But the other one is empty—”

“Hold the doors!” O’Hara called jovially.

The middle-aged woman next to Jonathan immediately unfolded her arm and the doors buckled open again.

Jonathan dropped his gaze to the floor as they squeezed in. A glittery red dress and strappy heels pushed past him, followed by tight, monotone grey jeans and a darker grey jersey, artfully distressed at the hip.

A braided leather wristband caught his eye. O’Hara dropped his hand from the panel of floor buttons and a whoosh of air breezed against Jonathan’s arm. There was a slight hitch in the air. A hesitation.

Quiet acknowledgment.

Jonathan’s focus froze on the panel. No new number had lit up. Either O’Hara and Mira were on the same floor as the couple, or they were at the top like him.

The elevator creaked and groaned as it ascended, and Jonathan’s key-card bent under his squeezing grip. The floors took forever to pass.

O’Hara shifted, bumping into the couple’s suitcase. A thump had him crouching with cheerful apologies, and just like that they were talking about where they’d been in Australia so far, and where they should go, and joking about O’Hara’s accent—neither Kiwi nor Aussie despite his having lived in both countries, but it didn’t bother him, because everyone loved an unusual accent. It started many a conversation, just look.

The elevator reopened and the couple pushed out with their luggage, waving happily and wishing O’Hara and Mira a wonderful evening.

Jonathan looked quietly toward O’Hara’s black ankle boots, one crossed over the other. He couldn’t deny, O’Hara had always been skilled at forging connections.

The elevator clattered upwards again with a sway. He touched his fist to his mouth and focused rigidly on the floor numbers counting up, ignoring the whispers and flashes of twirling red and grey as O’Hara hummed Johann Strauss. That song. Was he . . . trying to say something?

“I thought the dancing was all made up,” Mira murmured.

“An old friend had ballroom-champion parents. He taught me . . . everything.”

Jonathan closed his eyes and squeezed his key-card.

Mira sighed. “Do you twirl everyone you meet?”

“It puts a smile on their faces, so why not?”

“A smile on their faces. Yeah, that’s why you do it.”

O’Hara didn’t respond, but there was another twirl of red and grey.

Jonathan shut his eyes—

The elevator groaned and stopped.

—he shot them open again.

The lights above died, and the doors weren’t opening. He drew in a deep breath and shoved the key-card into his pocket before he snapped it. Power cut. Probably due to the storm.

Any moment, it’d kick back on.

It would.

Keep it together.


About the Author

A bit about me: I’m a big, BIG fan of slow-burn romances. I love to read and write stories with characters who slowly fall in love.

Some of my favorite tropes to read and write are: Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Clueless Guys, Bisexual, Pansexual, Demisexual, Oblivious MCs, Everyone (Else) Can See It, Slow Burn, Love Has No Boundaries.

I write a variety of stories, Contemporary MM Romances with a good dollop of angst, Contemporary lighthearted MM Romances, and even a splash of fantasy.
My books have been translated into German, Italian, French, Spanish, and Thai.

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Contact: http://www.anytasunday.com/about-anyta/

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