A weary writer falls for a literal tall tale and must decide what he's willing to sacrifice to keep that love breathing. Tender, wry, and quietly desperate, this is a book about belief, desire, and the work it takes to hold someone in the world.
Blurb
Brian Dunleavy comes to the North Woods to write a serious novel. Instead, he falls in love with a kitschy paper towel mascot.
It begins with a whistle in the trees and the unmistakable sense of being watched. A bootprint the size of a bathtub. Then a muscular, 43-foot-tall lumberjack steps out of the forest.
Mighty Max is handsome. He is kind. Broad-shouldered and blue-eyed, he lives in permanent flannel. He claims he was born from tall tales and campfire legends—back when giants were needed, and believed in. But giants fade when they are mocked. Legends disappear when they're forgotten.
As solitude turns to intimacy, myth turns warm and very, very tangible. Brian finds himself lifted in the careful palm of the colossal man whose shadow stretches across the meadow like dusk itself. Beneath cold stars and beside impossible bonfires, he discovers that loving a giant means choosing to believe in him even when belief bends reality.
Reality is definitely bending. And when Max is reclaimed by the forest, Brian may be the only one who can write him back into being. If stories invent their tellers, who is keeping whom alive?
Strange, tender, playful, and proudly queer, The Strange and Unbelievable Tall Tale of Mighty Max is a mythic romance about loneliness, longing, and the radical act of loving something larger than life.
For readers who cherish the mythic queer devotion of The Song of Achilles, the tender whimsy of The House in the Cerulean Sea, and the wistful magic of Puff the Magic Dragon.
Excerpt
As Brian Dunleavy drove his green jeep under the thick canopy of jack pines and cedars, it felt like he was tunneling through time itself. The road disappeared behind him and shrank ahead of him, leading him into an untamed solitude. Even the digital gods of his GPS abandoned him as he ventured deeper into the vast Northwoods. Soon his path became little more than a trail, swallowed up by a thick carpet of fallen needles.
A brief glimpse of open sky was his first hint, and then he saw it: the tall, weathered A-frame cabin he had rented. It stood at the top edge of a peaceful, dewy meadow, slanted beams reaching up like arms towards the sky. He cut the engine, exhaling as forest sounds closed in, trying to shake the anxiety from his veins. The cabin loomed like something out of a forgotten fable, the sun-bleached paint peeling in strips as though it were the surface of a strange, dying skin. Shadows danced across the wooden slats. They seemed timeless and eternal, like lost ghosts moving from one story to another. He sensed a mixed welcome in the landscape. It felt both lonely and watchful.
The distant pines stood like silent guards, seeming to take notice of him. They towered with the indifference of those who have seen many come and go. Beyond the cabin, the meadow shimmered. Its translucent grasses and scattered wildflowers set each other off like an Impressionist painting.
About the Author
Duncan Gaye lives in River Forest, Illinois. He believes magic can be found anywhere, even the suburbs. He writes the kind of love stories that sneak up on you—queer, tender, and just a little strange. His books are full of burly big-hearted men, tall tales, impossible odds, and the kind of endings that leave you wanting more.
When not writing, he likes to read, travel and relax with his adorable senior dogs, Spotty and French Fry.
The Long Shadow Series by Duncan Gaye is a thematic anthology series of stand-alone LGBTQ+ novellas and novels that tell love stories shaped by the extraordinary. Blending elements of speculative fiction, magical realism, tall tales, and literary drama, these are stories where intimacy and identity meet epic strength and emotional vulnerability.
From the mythical to the mundane, each book explores larger-than-life characters—strongmen, bodyguards, super soldiers, and other giants. For fans of emotional intensity, queer desire, and stories that stretch the boundaries of realism, this series offers a new kind of legend.
It wouldn’t even need a description, just a pathetic snapshot of me in my threadbare pyjamas standing at my filthy kitchen table staring into the wall like a loser.
Because that is exactly who I am. The middle-aged widower caught up in his very own hell of a midlife crisis. The guy who isn’t over his dead wife. The single dad. Pathetic, Peter. Utterly pathetic.
The guy who thought… I don’t know what I’d been thinking. Because if someone had told me that at forty-five, I’d willingly go on a reality TV dating show?
Yeah. You get the picture. The memes were brutal. Every single one of them was bouncing around the internet like a contagious super-virus. The internet was forever. And so was love.
It’s not who I am, this… this joke of a man I’ve become. It never was, and now? Now I’m standing here wondering how I will ever leave the house again.
Oliver Jacobs
When I was a kid, I thought I was invincible. Turns out… sometimes I was. Sometimes my confidence took me places, and anyway. When you fall? You get up. Make a plan, organize your options and run with the obvious solution. I was good like that.
But I hadn’t counted on… this one plan going so very very wrong. So terribly awfully wrong.
Because my requests had been simple and easy. Youngish, around my age. No facial hair. Nice. No kids, no baggage.
Also gay.
And then? They'd gifted me… Peter Fenton. Everything I hadn’t asked for. And now he is all I want.
So… should I... Save the date? Or just swallow down the fact that Oliver Jacobs… is about to make the biggest mistake of his life.
Save the Date is a standalone novel set in the Square Mile Rogues universe.
Content warnings for having lost your partner, violent grief and finding out that love… really matters.
Excerpt
“Oh god,” he groaned, rolling over on the bed where he’d simply thrown himself down on top of the covers. To be honest? I wanted to do the same, tea and all. But thankfully he sat himself back up and received the teacup from my outstretched hands.
“The cups are from Darcie Blush. Gorgeous design.”
“You have to stop with the product promotions. You’re making me look bad!”
“I’m saving your arse here, Peter. Now, Anne. What do we think?”
“She’s with Jorge, and he says she’s pleasant enough, but she’s a good two feet taller than him and he’s as intimidated as anything. His words.”
“Oh. Good gossip. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“It’s all gossip.” The groans coming from him, as sipped the tea, were almost hilarious. But I got it. We were both wrung out and I did… surprisingly… make a good cup of tea.
“And it will all be public gossip. ”I agreed. “Did you read the call sheet? The first episode will air in two weeks. Two! They don’t hang around here, the editing team is working 24/7, so no wonder they’re all shouting at us to say the right things.”
“Instead we’re all gossiping and name-dropping.” He rolled his shoulders, again loudly sipping his tea. “And drinking tea like two little grannies.”
“Granddads.” I laughed. “Well, you’re the Granddad.”
“Which makes you what? What was it you called yourself? A hot twink?”
I liked that he was so easy to get on with. Just simple conversation and ready smiles. He had no idea how much I had needed just this. Something un-complicated. Straightforward.
“I thought you were straight, Peter.”
“Labels are for jam, at least that’s what Wren was saying. But I am starting to question everything. Is every single couple on this show awfully mismatched or what?”
“I think that’s the whole point of the show. One of the production team was talking to someone else, Gina was talking to Jorge I think, I was waiting to film with her so I kind of eavesdropped, that when the first episode goes live, the voting will start. The viewing public will matchmake and then on the Friday, we will all get recoupled. I am assuming that’s why. Someone in here is the perfect match for us, but we don’t know who yet. And I suppose…”
“So… I will be moving in with someone else?”
“What do I know?”
“Oh.” He looked genuinely shocked. “It’s only been a day, but I like being… with you.” He suddenly looked embarrassed, his cheeks blushing under an awkward smile. “I don’t mean like that. You know. I was just settling into that fact, and now…this?”
“I’m trying to figure out who was meant for who. I mean, you have options. We have Diane, who fancies you, and Anne who kept trying to talk to you. Then there was Xanthe.”
“Xanthe is trans. And only interested in men her age. I’m too old.”
“Well, who’s prejudiced now?”
“I’m not, I had a quick chat with her, her teeth are fantastic. Done locally, and I know her dentist. I’m just being sensible here. I can’t see anyone else being an option for me, but Xanthe? No. She’s as confused as we are as to why she’s with… Gerald.”
“Chloe-Catherine doesn’t seem confused?” I was just kidding, and his eyeroll made me laugh.
“Thank you, but no. I have no intention of becoming Chloe-Catherine’s sugar-daddy.” He said quietly, staring me down. I’d noticed that earlier, he could be a little intense at times. I didn’t think I minded.
“What even is that?” Tea. I rarely drank tea, but I think I liked it. Calming. I needed to be calm. Don't panic. “The double-barrelled thing. She’s obsessed.”
“A brand…” he rolled his eyes. I think I liked him. Funny. Normal.
“No I meant, thank you. To you.”
“I’ve done nothing. Just tea.”
“For doing this with me. You could have walked out.”
Strangely, I smiled. A warmth filling in my chest. I was rarely… appreciated. And this somehow felt just like that.
“Not giving up yet.” I gulped out, trying to swallow another mouthful of hot liquid. ”But, at least you have options. There’s only Bi-sexual-Ben left for me, and he scares me. And to be honest? I don’t think I’m his type at all.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He gave off those vibes. I mean, you meet people, and you kind of know. Straight away, virtual thorns out, all prickly.”
“Like me.”
“Just like you”. I smiled. I wasn’t being rude, but he got that. Got me. The relief was like another welcome balm to my soul.
“Tell me about that.” He continued, getting comfortable on the bed. “These sheets are from Donna Truham’s private luxury range. Did you know that, Oliver?”
“I did not know that, Peter. And are they available to purchase from her website?”
He was holding that laughter in, as I smiled at the camera attached to the wall.
“They are indeed, Oliver. Donna Truham dot com. Use the code Save the date for your exclusive ten percent off!”
“That is such a good deal!” I squealed. Then I rolled my eyes. “That’s enough of that stuff. Tell me about your work.”
“Nahahahah… I asked first. Tell me about this instant vibe. In my days, we used to go out and meet girls. You had to compliment them on their hair, their dress, and how nice they smelled. Then you had to ask them to dance. It was really simple because they could just say no and then you knew and moved on. Dignity intact. These days?”
“It’s not that complicated. You meet someone. Stare at them. They stare back. If they hold eye contact, you might, you know? Clink glasses. Have a little snog.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Well, you have to kind of… be in a gay club if you wanna kiss boys. So I have no idea how it works for women…”
“You’ve never been with a woman I assume?”
“Absolutely not. I’m a gold star gay me.”
“Fair enough. Wait… Gold star?”
“A gay guy who's never been with a woman. Never been inside a vagina.”
“Okay?”
“Not a Platinum star gay though sadly. That’s a…“ I leaned over and whispered into his ear. “A platinum star gay is a gay guy who's never been inside a vagina at all. C-section baby.”
I pulled back slowly for effect, laughing out loud as his face bloomed red.
“I’ve never met someone who blushes as much as you.”
“I’m a sheltered middle aged dentist, mate!” He shrieked, but he was laughing. Good for him.
“I think you just made yourself another meme there.” I declared, boldly throwing my arms out.
“Well. I’m ticking them off one by one. Here’s the next one. What if you’re just an ordinary bloke who suddenly has a male partner? What are you then? A brick gay or something?”
“I don’t think that’s a thing.” I smiled.
“It’s just human, isn’t it. We like who we like.” Peter was a nice guy. I had to admit it.
“It’s just who we are, isn’t it? I just always knew. Never hid it. Life can be stupid that way, I mean, what’s the point of hiding what you are? What you’re into?”
“Very true. And I mean, my darling wife was a staunch defender of everyone’s right to love whomever they wanted to love. She… sorry. I shouldn’t talk about my wife.”
“You should. Because she is still important to you?”
“She is. Her name was Mary.”
“Mary. And how did you meet Mary?”
I had no idea where the questions were coming from, but now I was lying down on the bed next to him, still fiddling with my empty cup, listening to stories from his university days, and laughing at his… plain naivety with all of this.
“I like that you don’t care.” Came out of my mouth in the middle of some rant about the pitfalls of fame. Because apparently he’d been… some kind of celebrity. And he was honestly as far away from what I assumed a celebrity would be. He was… ”You’re like the most normal person I’ve ever met.”
“Careful, you’ll end up a meme on the interweb too.” he grinned.
“Nah, no more space on that internet, you’ve already taken them all. I mean, I want to meet someone, but they have to accept that I’m still a married man.”
“Yeah. Probably not the greatest catchphrase.” He admitted.
About the Author
Sophia Soames should be old enough to know better but has barely grown up. She has been known to fangirl over TV shows, has fallen in and out of love with more popstars than she dares to remember, and has a ridiculously high-flying (un-) glamourous real-life job.
Her long-suffering husband just laughs at her antics. Their children are feral. The dogs are too.
She lives in a creaky old house in rural London, although her heart is still in her native Scandinavia.
Discovering that the stories in her head make sense when written down has been part of the most hilarious midlife crisis ever, and she hopes it may long continue.
One unforgettable romance set in Virginia wine country.
After tragedy forces him to start over, George relocates to rural Virginia determined to rebuild his life one careful step at a time. New town. New job. No emotional risks.
Love isn’t on the menu.
Then a spontaneous visit to the famous Wine Quest Festival changes everything.
Ryan, owner of Ryval Winery, is charming, successful, and dangerously easy to fall for. Their connection sparks instantly—shared laughter, lingering touches, late-night conversations over perfectly poured wine. For the first time in years, George begins to believe he might deserve happiness again.
But real life refuses to stay uncomplicated.
Ryan’s business partner—and former lover—still occupies a complicated role in his world. George’s fear of abandonment threatens to sabotage something real before it can grow. When workplace conflict costs George the stability he fought to build, both men must decide whether love is worth risking heartbreak.
Set against the romantic backdrop of Virginia vineyards, lakeside sunsets, and small-town charm, Wine Quest delivers emotional depth, sensual chemistry, and a hard-earned happily ever after.
Wine Quest is Book Two in the Short Orders Gay Romance Series, but can be enjoyed as a standalone MM romance.
Perfect for readers who love:
MM romance
Gay small-town romance
Opposites attract relationships
Slow burn to steamy romance
Found family & emotional healing
LGBTQ+ love stories with mature characters
Vineyard & winery romance settings
Hurt/comfort and second chances
If you enjoy heartfelt LGBTQ romance with heat, humor, and deeply emotional connections, Wine Quest belongs on your reading list.
Excerpt
George had been a cracker jack electrician for the past ten years.
Today, he was a man obsessed.
Not with his job, which he liked well enough. But really? A job is just a job, and having one is highly overrated.
Not with his new life in Virginia, though he liked the change of climate compared to the sultry New Orleans. (He was even looking forward to experiencing his first snowfall.)
Not even with the friendly people he’d met so far in the Roanoke area.
No, his current common-sense obsession was centered on Ryan Ryval. Not only did George adore gingers, but this particular one was perhaps the most handsome red-haired man he’d ever seen. And those exotic green eyes! They pierced him to his core each time Ryan made eye contact with George during their short conversation at Wine Quest.
After today’s service calls, the weekend would be upon him.
Which meant that George would be spending part of his day on Sunday with the object of his sexual fantasies.
He’d been having a lot of those over the past several days. The man he satisfied in his imagination—and satisfied him—was always Ryan.
He fantasized over what Ryan’s unclothed body must look like. Was his full torso hairy, as George suspected? Was his back hirsute as well? Was he circumcised or not? And if he wasn’t, would he find George’s circumcised penis a turn-off? Did he have shapely legs, or were they too skinny and disappointingly shapeless? What about his feet? Were they attractive? Because George would never deny that he had something of a foot fetish. What kinds of things did Ryan like to do in bed? Was he a top, bottom, vers, or a side? Or, perhaps, none of these things? What experiences in his life catalyzed Ryan’s interest in producing wine? Was he originally from Virginia? Did he share any interests with George? What did he like to do for fun? Where did he like to travel, and what music, what books did he enjoy?
Those questions were important to George, who knew that even a hot man who shared nothing in common would ultimately grow bored and lose interest.
But most of all—because this question spoke most to a man’s integrity, his morals, his character—he wondered what challenges had been placed before Ryan, and how he’d coped with them.
As he drove his Slate toward Valleyview Electric, George’s thoughts turned toward his former life. He adored New Orleans. Its decadent beauty. Its quirky charm. Its live-and-let-live vibe. He’d never deny the strengths of that city.
But he could never return to the Big Easy.
To visit, yes.
To live? Hell no.
He had his parents to blame for that.
But it wasn’t something they did.
Instead, it was a tragedy brought upon them by a culprit who was never apprehended.
Something completely out of their control.
Something from which George would never fully recover.
About the Author
Dann writes gay romance novels along with other queer-themed works. He especially enjoys writing about men who, while dealing with trauma or other challenges, find themselves falling in love despite themselves. He also feels it's important to include allies who often provide good advice to their gay friends in a troublesome relationship.
When not writing, Dann enjoys running, reading in many genres, watching high quality movies and television series, and snuggling with his adorable American Eskimo dog, appropriately named Flurry. He loves showtunes (of course), golden oldies, classical music, and disco divas.
Currently, Dann and his husband, Josh, reside in the Roanoke, VA area.
When you’re facing The End, it’s time to rewind to the beginning.
Blurb
At thirty-eight years old, Sandro Zanetti is quickly aging out of hockey. But the Trailblazers are chasing a history-making third consecutive championship this season, so until his knees fail him, he plans on giving his all to the sport.
What he doesn’t need is the documentary film crew following the team’s every move. Because the director? Is Bennett Jackson.
Former college sweetheart. Breaker of hearts. Still unbearably handsome.
But their relationship is also history and has been for fifteen years.
Bennett Jackson is one project away from the credits rolling on his career after his last film flopped. This behind-the-scenes look at the hottest team in the league is his last chance at redemption…and possibly his last chance at redeeming himself with the one man who’s always held his heart.
Neither of them planned for old jokes to resurface or on the inconvenient fact that their chemistry is very much alive.
But as the action heats up on and off the ice—and on and off camera—their reunion looks less like a rerun of heartbreak and more like a revival of that first chemistry.
And Sandro and Bennett may discover that some stories deserve a sequel.
Excerpt
“Got an umbrella?” Sandro asked.
“No. And if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you. What if I need it?”
“Asshole,” Sandro replied, laughing. “Give me your jacket at least. Yours has a hood.”
Bennett stared at him for a long moment. “No.”
“Man. Chivalry is dead, I tell you.”
“Here. I’ll get a little closer to your front door.” He eased the car forward a few inches, then put it in park. He jerked a thumb at his own chest. “Chivalrous.”
Sandro snorted a laugh and took off his jacket, ready to use it as a stand-in umbrella. “See ya. Thanks for the lift home, even if you won’t walk a boy to his door.”
There was more he wanted to say, but he couldn’t figure out where to start.
Go back to LA?
Never leave again?
Why are you really here?
But he needed time to get his thoughts in order, so he splashed out into the downpour.
To his surprise, Bennett met him on the sidewalk and, using his own jacket, held it over the both of them as they jogged up to the covered porch.
“You didn’t . . .” The words got stuck in Sandro’s throat as Bennett shook the rain off his jacket. Strands of blond hair had escaped his bun and hung loose around his face, beginning to go frizzy from the moisture in the air. Sandro curled his hands into fists in the material of his jacket, hanging wetly in front of him, to stop himself from reaching out and tucking one behind Bennett’s ear. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Tell me again how chivalry is dead?”
A laugh escaped him again, and his gaze snagged on Bennett’s.
There’d been times those eyes had squinted in annoyance or flashed with anger or heated in desire. Right now, as Bennett slowly lost his smile, they were none of those things.
Just vulnerable in their desperation.
Sandro’s chest squeezed tight, and with a sudden clarity, he knew he didn’t want to hear whatever Bennett wanted to tell him.
“Sandy—”
“Don’t. I don’t want to hear it.”
“San—”
“No.” Heart pounding, Sandro took a step back. “It’s ancient history. It doesn’t matter anymore. We need to move forward, not back.”
That vulnerable desperation turned to naked hope that broke something in Sandro.
Bennett swallowed audibly and said, “As friends?”
Obviously not, Sandro meant to say. There’s too much history between us. But what came out was, “Maybe.”
“Maybe,” Bennett repeated with a nod. “I can live with maybe.” He shrugged his jacket back on and looked out across the yard to his car at the curb. “Got an umbrella?”
Amusement crawled up the back of Sandro’s throat. “Fuck no.”
He went inside and closed the door on Bennett’s booming laugh.
About the Author
Amy’s lived with her head in the clouds since she first picked up a book as a child, and being fluent in two languages means she’s read a lot of books! She first picked up a pen on a rainy day in fourth grade when her class had to stay inside for recess. Tales of treasure hunts with her classmates eventually morphed into love stories between men, and she’s been writing ever since. She writes evenings and weekends—or whenever she isn’t at her full-time day job saving the planet at Canada’s largest environmental non-profit.
An unapologetic introvert, Amy reads too much and socializes too little, with no regrets. She loves connecting with readers. Join her Facebook Group to stay up-to-date on upcoming releases and for access to early teasers, find her on Instagram, or sign up for her infrequent newsletter.
Doran Ó Seanáin, former miner and leader of the Black Lung Gang, and his best friend, Lien, are almost at a breaking point in their ongoing conflict with the city of Arajon’s tyrannical ruler. Just as things are spiralling out of control, Doran crosses paths with Nathaniel Morgenstern, an apotheker with a mysterious past. As their relationship develops against the backdrop of the ongoing social turmoil, the secrets Nathaniel is keeping might threaten to destroy them all…
BOOK DETAILS
BOOK 1
Book Title: Heart of Dust
Length: 59 000 words
Release Date: 2019
Tense/POV: Third person, past tense, single POV
Tropes: Stabbing leading to meet-cute, yearning, slow burn romance
Themes: Bisexual romance, dark pasts including alcoholism, drug addiction, atonement, forgiveness, worker’s rights
Heat Rating: 2 flames
It does not end on a cliffhanger, but leaves plot threads unresolved that are resolved in the next 3 books.
Doran had a problem, and it wasn’t that he’d been stabbed.
Blurb
Iole City is in turmoil.
Doran Ó Seanáin, leader of the Black Lung Gang, is determined to challenge the Archon, Arajon’s tyrannical ruler, for his brutal treatment of the miners. But Doran has more to deal with than getting stabbed and a city-wide lockdown that’s seeing his gang of ex-miners slowly starved out of their base. His daughter Grace has turned against him, and the death of his wife haunts them both.
Although he finds reprieve in Nathaniel Morgenstern, the apotheker with a mysterious past to whom he owes his life, the clock is ticking. The fate of the mines hangs in the balance and the Archon is closing in.
Doran’s plan to break the cycle may very well be his last.
BOOK 2
Book Title: Soul of Ash
Length: 86 000 words
Release Date: September 2020
Tense/POV: Third person, past tense, two POVs (alternating)
Tropes: Yearning, former assassin, slow burn romance
Themes: Bisexual romance, dark pasts including alcoholism, drug addiction, atonement, forgiveness, worker’s rights
Heat Rating: 1 flame
It does not end on a cliffhanger, but some plot elements are unresolved (resolved in books 3 and 4)
Half a year after the events of Heart of Dust, Doran Ó Seanáin now finds himself trapped between two worlds while belonging to neither: held in contempt by the Bronze for the turmoil he caused during Archon Bryson’s reign, and resented by the miners for selling out. Leonora Darkwater’s pursuit to own the mines may be the answer to all of his problems, but the offer is far more complicated than it appears, and the only person Doran trusts is the same man who threw his life into chaos.
Haunted by his past, hostage to a debt that cannot be repaid, and a slave to the poison that keeps him alive, atonement has never felt further out of reach for Nathaniel Morgenstern. Though the damage between him and Doran is too devastating to begin to mend, they have no choice but to face each other as their lives collide once more.
There is a rot in Iole City. The mines aren’t finished with Doran, and the sand in Nathaniel’s hourglass is running out.
BOOK 3
Book Title: Throne of Lies
Length: 63 000 words
Release Date: December 2024
Pairing: MM with hints of developing into MMF (slow burn)
Tense/POV: Third person, past tense, three POVs (alternating)
Trope/s: Political intrigue, forbidden romance, former assassin turned apotheker/healer
Themes: Bisexual romance, dark pasts including alcoholism, drug addiction, atonement, forgiveness, worker’s rights, political intrigue, coup.
There are vipers in Arajon, from the Valley to the Bronze.
Blurb
Grace Harrington, the Dowager Archon of Arajon, is approaching her first anniversary on the throne she claimed following the death of her husband, slain at her own hands.
But her position is so precarious that even the unwelcome presence of the former assassin Nathaniel Morgenstern, watching over her at her father’s behest, cannot protect her from her enemies. The city’s press has turned against her, the Bronze is rallying behind Odessa White, and her last hope of support from the Druids has gone up in smoke.
The lies are adding up. A coup is coming for Grace, and she is running out of people in the city to trust…
BOOK 4
Book Title: Valley of Secrets
Length: 123 000 words
Release Date: January 2025
Pairing: MM that develops into MMF (polyam), and a separate FF fast-burn relationship (femme/butch)
Tense/POV: Third person, past tense, four POVs (alternating)
Trope/s: Political intrigue, resistance against military coup, forbidden romance, former assassin turned apotheker/healer
Themes: Lesbian romance, polyam romance, dark pasts including alcoholism, drug addiction, atonement, forgiveness, worker’s rights, political intrigue, coup.
Heat Rating: 3 flames
Most plot threads are wrapped up. Two further books are planned in the series but the series can also be finished here.
Deposed, her father presumed dead, her friends slaughtered and the cavern in chaos, Grace Harrington is on the run and entirely alone. The only ally she has left is the man she hates most in the world: Nathaniel Morgenstern, the assassin who murdered her mother and seduced her father.
Grace’s only hope of reclaiming the throne and saving her people is to seek the aid of Éamon Tadhg, the High Druid of Arajon. But she needs to survive the hostile streets of Iole City before she can even think about fleeing to the Violet Valley.
Nathaniel made a vow to Doran to protect Grace, but he could never have imagined how quickly and horrifically their lives would fall apart.
Grieving the dual losses of the man he loved and his new friend Tsa Lien, Nathaniel devotes himself to the service of the overthrown Lady Archon who despises him – even if it costs him everything he is.
Excerpt from THRONE OF LIES (Book #3 of Death’s Embrace)
“I’m sorry. I, uh… I guess you probably want me to –”
Nathaniel braced his hand against the frame, using his arm to pause Doran’s advancement towards the door.
“Stay,” he said quietly.
He did not suggest it to continue what had been derailed by Leonora’s presence; neither he nor Doran seemed to be much in the mood for it any longer.
But Doran must have needed Nathaniel’s request, for instead of shaking his head and leaving, he closed his eyes and sighed.
“This wasn’t how I imagined the evening going,” Doran said.
Nathaniel laid a hand upon Doran’s chest. “Rest here tonight,” he said, and started to gesture to the main room where the couch was. “I can –”
Doran shook his head, opening his eyes again. “I’m not going to throw you out of your own room,” he said, a small smile finally returning to ease his features.
Nathaniel became sharply aware of the bed behind him, the darkness outside the windows, Doran’s hands that moved to rest upon his waist. The room was dim, illuminated only by a small oil lamp set upon the desk under the window that overlooked Arkadia Lane. Under the faint glow of the light, he held his breath while Doran moved his hands up his body then down his arms, urging his jacket off. It fell to the floor with a soft thump.
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “I have a wardrobe, you know,” he murmured.
“Maybe I want to see your clothes on the floor,” Doran replied.
The sudden rush of desire that gripped Nathaniel’s body rendered him speechless. Doran smirked, then kissed him.
It was deep and tender, slow and heated; milk and honey on Nathaniel’s tongue after years wandering the desert, finally stepping foot in the promised land he had denied himself. In that moment, Nathaniel felt there was nothing between them – neither pasts nor crimes, neither guilt nor regret; just them, their souls laid bare, and a barrier of clothes of which Doran was stripping away with barely restrained desperation.
He relished the gentle scrape of Doran’s evening stubble across his chin, groaned when Doran moved along his jawline and kissed his neck, urging him to tilt his head back and bare his throat, which Doran used to break for air and run his hand up Nathaniel’s chest. Then, with the flickering lamplight reflected in Doran’s eyes, his fingers began working the buttons of Nathaniel’s shirt undone one by one. He slid his hands inside under the fabric and around to Nathaniel’s back, up his shoulder blades, his fingers tracing the scars that latticed his skin.
Nathaniel allowed Doran to undress him, stripping his shirt to the floor beside his jacket, and moved backwards when Doran guided him until the backs of his legs collided with the edge of the bed.
“Sit,” Doran ordered.
Nathaniel sank down upon the mattress, his mouth dry as Doran knelt before him and began to unfasten the straps of his boots. He pulled off Nathaniel’s left boot first, then the right, leaving them askew on the floor – then Nathaniel’s hands clenched on the bedcovers and he groaned as Doran ran his hands up Nathaniel’s legs, curving around his calves, then over his knees, and all the way up his thighs and the strained fabric of his pants to reach for the buckle of the belt.
Hoarsely, Nathaniel said, “You don’t have to –”
“But I want to,” Doran interrupted, his voice low and heated. He rose to his feet now and stood between Nathaniel’s legs, gazing down at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Do you?”
It had been years since Nathaniel’s last intimate encounter; longer still that it had been with someone for whom he had feelings that were not muted by the fog of Embrace. Such a thing was lost to him during his time with the Nameless. The physicality of sex had been heightened, certainly, while he himself was rendered as numb to the act as someone was used to the basic function of washing their hands. With a clear mind, he recalled of himself that some deep part not lost to the drug and his lifestyle must have found the experience undesirable, for he could count the number of unions he had engaged in during his adulthood on one hand.
Doran’s touch was more potent, more electric, than anything Nathaniel had ever experienced under the thrall of Embrace. He felt he would die if he went one more night without knowing how Doran’s body felt against his.
“God, yes,” Nathaniel rasped, and Doran closed the distance between them.
About the Author
A. L. Moore (she/they) is the author of the Death’s Embrace fantasy series and the Tales from the Jovian Empiresci-fi novella series.
