Lily G. Blunt

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How much are you willing to give up for fame?

Blurb

In The Talent’s Choice, where dreams are made and hearts are tested, one rising star is about to discover that fame isn’t the only thing worth fighting for.

Tristan Weber has always believed his future was waiting somewhere beyond Missouri. With New York City as his first step and Hollywood in his sights, he’s ready to give everything he has to make it. Success is closer than ever—and so is the life he’s always dreamed of.

But love was never part of the plan.

When Tristan meets Cory Reed, a guarded yet deeply sincere flight attendant who’s been waiting for someone worthy of his trust, everything begins to change. What starts as an unexpected connection quickly turns into something undeniable, something real. The kind of love neither of them saw coming… and neither of them can ignore.

As Tristan’s star begins to rise within The Talent’s Choice, the spotlight grows hotter, the stakes grow higher, and the pressure to succeed threatens to pull him away from the one person who feels like home.

Because in a world built on ambition, desire, and impossible choices…love may be the greatest risk of all.

Will Tristan chase the life he’s always wanted—or fight for the one he never knew he needed?

And when everything is on the line… Can love survive the cost of being chosen, or is there a moment when you simply decide you've had enough?

Excerpt

The car stopped in front of an enormous brick building that looked like an old factory, with large windows encircling all 6 floors. The driver had the trunk open, as we both emerged from the back seat. And with bags in hand, Tristen led us through the industrial looking lobby of his building, where a large service elevator waited for us. I didn’t even have time to turn around and Tristen was on me, pushing me back against the metal wall as the upper and lower doors closed to engage the lift.

His hands were inside my jacket, as his mouth was pressed hard against mine as our tongues competed for dominance. I pushed my hands around him, and into the waist of his pants, cupping his hot, hard, ass checks in both my hands. I could feel his hardness pressing against me, even though our pants. “Fuck me!” I said as our lips parted.

“My thoughts exactly.” Tristen said, after unbuckling my belt and both hands working hard on getting my pants open.

When the lift came to an abrupt stop our lips were still locked, and both of us were in a dilapidated state of undress. And by the time two doors parted, my jacket was hanging off me, and my shirt was completely unbuttoned. And as I tried to walk out of the elevator, Tristen grabbed hold of my jacket and before I knew it, he had thrown it on the foyer floor, then my shirt was ripped from my body and tossed over his shoulder. I turned to look at him, as he pulled his own shirt over his head, revealing a chiseled smooth chest, and hard abs unlike any I had ever seen. He quickly reached into his pants for his key to his front door, as I tossed my shoes off my feet.

The apartment was dark, other than the ambient light thrown off by the buildings outside, he grabbed my hand to pull me inside. I looked at the clothes scattered in the elevator foyer. “Don’t worry, it’s my private foyer, they’ll be there in the morning.” Tristen said and suddenly his lips were on my again as he lifted me off my feet. I wrapped my legs around his waist as we walked deeper into the dark apartment. I felt his hard cock rubbing against my ass as he maneuvered us through darkens until we both fell on a soft leather sofa. Our lips were still locked onto each other’s, with our tongues diving deep into one another’s throats. My hands digging through the thick locks of his hair, as I felt his warm hands exploring my hard, perky nipples.

Our collective moans would have woken the neighbors if we cared, but all we wanted now was to get each other naked. As we both struggled to do, with our lips still locked together. I felt my pants and underwear being pushed off my hips, only to be tangled in the stiffness of my cock. My hands were pulling on the back of Tristan’s pants, with my thumbs under the band of his boxer briefs, I pushed them over both sumptuous mounds, exposing his perfect ass which my hands quickly coveted as I began to knead his warm flesh with my fingers.

Obviously frustrated with our lack of progress, Tristen pushed up off me and looked down into my eyes. I could see the want and desire beaming back at me as he looked at my half naked body. He stood up, my eyes drank in the beauty of his body. His chest was smooth, his pecks pronounced with his nipples as small as buds protruding, aching for attention. My gaze went lower, his abs were like steel rods crisscrossing his stomach, tight, firm and flawless, and then there was the small indentation of his perfectly shaped bellybutton. My eyes continued to the open winged flaps of his pants, exposing his underwear, with his button and zipper completely undone. And what I was staring at took my breath away. His Calvin Klien black boxer brief swathed the engorged pillar of his huge, hard cock that was so desperate for release. It was fat and thick. Stemming from the bottom of his zipper, extending high until its head thrust against the waistband of his underwear. I reached out for him, but I was too late, Tristen had already turned his attention to the confines of my pants.

One leg, then the other, until I was only clad in my black briefs. Tristen knelt next to me and pushed his face in between my legs. I could feel the heat of his breath on my tight balls, as he pressed into them with his right hand. I moaned at the touch, until he began licking the taught fabric encasing my aching cock, sending shivers up my spine. I arched my back, pressing myself into the touch of his tongue as it moved upward, towards my pulsing head.

About the Author

Michael has been an LGBT romantic short story writer for 20+ years before undertaking his first novel. He has consistently demonstrated a passion for reading and writing gay romantic stories which he continues to pursue in this his first book titled The Talent’s Choice, a gay romantic novel. Readers who have appreciated Michael Dee's previous works will find his latest endeavor equally captivating.

Author Links

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08/06/2026

Digging Up Bones Series by TA Moore

SERIES TOUR with NEW RELEASE

Digging Up Bones Series

Author: TA Moore

Publisher: Rogue Firebird Press

Cover Artist: Tammy Moore

Book 1: Bone to Pick

Book 2: Skin and Bone

Book 3: Down to the Bone - Releases June 22, 2026

Book 4: SWIPE (a standalone story)

Deputy Cloister Witte has a dark past and a cute dog. He’s happy to talk about the dog.

Genres: Contemporary MM Romantic Suspense/Police Procedural

Tropes: Enemies to lovers, workplace romance, black cat/golden retriever, grumpy/sunshine, best dog in the world

Themes: Coming to terms with your past, dealing with trauma, accepting other people’s acceptance.

The stories are best read in order.

Overall Heat Rating for the series: 3.5 flames

POV/Tense: third person POV/past tense

BOOK DETAILS

BOOK 1

Book Title: Bone to Pick

Length: 261 pages

Release Date: Second Edition 2024 (originally 2017)

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Cloister Witte has a cute dog and a dark past. He’ll talk about one.

Blurb

Cloister Witte is a man with a dark past and a cute dog. He’s happy to talk about the dog all day, but after growing up in the shadow of a missing brother, a deadbeat dad, and a criminal stepfather, he’d rather leave the past back in Montana. These days he’s a K-9 officer in the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department and pays a tithe to his ghosts by doing what no one was able to do for his brother—find the missing and bring them home. He’s good at solving difficult mysteries. The dog is even better.

This time the missing person is a ten-year-old boy who walked into the desert in the middle of the night and didn’t come back. With the antagonistic help of distractingly handsome FBI agent Javi Merlo, it quickly becomes clear that Drew Hartley didn’t run away. He was taken, and the evidence implies he’s not the kidnapper’s first victim. As the search intensifies, old grudges and tragedies are pulled into the light of day. But with each clue they uncover, it looks less and less likely that Drew will be found alive.

BOOK 2

Book Title: Skin and Bone

Length: 251 Pages

Release Date: Second Edition 2024 (originally 2019)

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Cloister Witte has a cute dog and a dark past. He’ll talk about one.

Blurb

Janet Morrow, a young trans woman, lies in a coma after wandering away from her car during a storm. But just because Cloister found the young tourist doesn’t mean she’s home. What brought her to Plenty, California… and who didn’t want her to leave?

With the help of Special Agent Javi Merlo, who continues to deny his growing feelings for the rough-edged deputy, Cloister unearths a ten year-old conspiracy of silence that taps into Plenty’s history of corruption.

Janet Morrow’s old secrets aren’t the only ones coming to light. Javi has tried to put his past behind him, but some people seem determined to pull his skeletons out of the closet. His dark history with a senior agent in Phoenix complicates not just the investigation but his relationship with Cloister.

BOOK 3 - NEW RELEASE

Book Title: Down to the Bone

Length: 90 000 words

Release Date: June 22, 2026

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Cloister Witte has a cute dog and a dark past. He’ll talk about one.

Blurb

Deputy Cloister Witte has a dark past, a cute dog, and an FBI agent. It turns out that all of them are going to cause him problems.

When Cloister Witte disclosed that he was dating FBI Agent Javi Merlo he’d expected it to cause some complications. Dating in the workplace always did. He’d just expected it to be red tape, conflicts of interest, and the occasional asshole who thought his sex life gave them a remit to be funny. A concerted campaign by SSA Everett Kincaid, the new head of the LA office of the FBI, to get Cloister fired hadn’t made the list.

Yet here he is, with his case history and his childhood trauma both under review.

The problem is that Cloister is good at his job, and his K9 Bourneville is even better. So when an employee from the Plenty sub-office of the FBI goes missing, Larkin can’t afford to sideline them anymore. As they get to work Cloister starts to suspect that Larkin’s conviction his organized crime task force is the real target is as off-target as his suspicions about Cloister.

Meanwhile, for Javi Merlo the case is an opportunity to redeem himself. All he has to do is turn a blind eye to how Larkin bends the rules. If he goes along with it he could bring down a major criminal organization, and restart his stalled career…or he destroy his relationship with Cloister and the legacy of his dead mentor.

As rumors of corruption spread, Javi must choose between ambition and the man he loves.

BOOK 4

Book Title: SWIPE ( a standalone story)

Length: 215 pages

Release Date: Second Edition 2024 (originally 2019)

Tropes: Lust at First Sight, Secret Identity, Motorcycle Club, Bad Ideas, Secrets and Lies

Ii is a standalone story and does end on a cliffhanger.

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Plenty’s a hotbed of crime, but the men are even hotter.

Blurb

A Novel of Plenty, California

As one of the top trauma surgeons in Plenty’s ER, Dr. Taggart Hayes knows how to fix broken things—fractured legs, ruptured spleens, allergies, and traumatic brain injuries. He can put them back together good as new.

A broken heart, though? That’s a bit trickier. Especially when it’s his own.

When Tag swipes on the photo of the hot man in the dating app, he just wants a distraction from the wreck that used to be his life. A one- night stand with a safely inappropriate stranger, no names, no feelings, and no complications.

But the headless photo on the app belongs to a man who isn’t so easy to forget the next day... or the next week. And it becomes increasingly clear that Bass is neither safe nor uncomplicated. Drawn into the dark, criminal underworld his lover inhabits, Tag has to decide if the cure for his broken heart is worse than the disease.

Excerpt

EVERY COP had their own bible of superstitions.

Down in vice, cockeyed Jimmy Daley swore that every time he pulled in one particular red-haired hooker, the week went to hell. Lieutenant Frome would never admit it out loud, but whenever he hit red at the Mendes and Third intersection, he brought a black mood to work with him. When Deputy Kelly Tancredi was pregnant last year, her biggest complaint was that her lucky bra was uncomfortable.

Cloister knew it was going to be a bad night when the devil winds came rolling in from the desert. It was a given that Southern California was always hot, but the winds parched it dry as well. You couldn’t even sweat without it turning to salt, and where it wasn’t salty, it was sandy.

It was more than just batterers and brawlers pushed over the edges of their own worse natures, though. The winds blew in the sort of bad shit that stuck in your nightmares—little corpses, bruised thighs, questions that never got answered.

Worst thing was, there was no calling in superstitious in the Plenty Sheriff’s Department. You knew everything was going to go to hell, but all you could do was turn up for work and wait for the shit to hit the fan.

Three hours into the midnight shift, and Cloister was still waiting. Maybe he was wrong, but the drunk-and-disorderly collar of a barefoot meth head didn’t weigh on his conscience that much.

Ignoring the yelled orders to “Get down!” and “Put your hands where I can see them!” the weathered, desert-dried-out man had scrambled out of a broken window and run across the parking lot. He ran like an Olympic athlete in the weeds, with his arms pumping and his head thrown back so the tendons in his neck strained under his faded blue tats. It wasn’t going to do him any good, but he put his all into it.

“Why do they always run when it’s hot as hell?” Cloister asked. Nothing ran like a guilty conscience, whatever the weather. Besides, his partner wasn’t one for much chat. Cloister stooped and unclipped her collar in one smooth, practiced motion. She perked up, and her shoulders tensed under her thick ruff of tan-and-black hair, but she held herself back. Cloister put the command snap in his voice. “Fuss!”

She went.

Cloister had worked with a lot of dogs over the years, from his stepdad’s hunting pack to an idiot-savant spaniel in Iraq—it ate rocks but could find explosive residue after five days—but none of them had a prey drive like Bourneville. The black shepherd went off the blocks like a greyhound and cleared the window in a long, clean leap—low enough to make Cloister wince as the shards of broken glass in the frame brushed through her fawn stomach fur. She hit the ground running.

He flicked the leash, wrapped the heavy nylon around his wrist, and took his turn through the window. He felt the constriction of the bulletproof vest as he ducked, and the glass caught in the heavy canvas fabric of his trousers as he folded his six-foot-two length through the dry-rotted wooden square.

Across the parking lot, the meth head scrambled up and over the chain link fence. The barbed wire at the top caught his shirt and ripped it off, leaving a flapping, bloodied rag dangling. He kept running and dodged behind a row of houses.

Bourneville didn’t lose a step as she jumped onto the hood of a parked truck, not even stopping to measure the distance. She stumbled over her paws on landing, nearly cracked her chin, and then was up and off again.

The fence rattled as Cloister hit it, and it swayed as he scrambled up and over. He caught his hand on the wire, and a spur dug into the meat under his thumb. The jab of pain made him grimace, but he didn’t slow down.

He dropped onto the other side and followed the wolf brush of Bourneville’s tail down the back of the houses. The shout and scuffle of the raid at the drug house faded behind him. The habit of risk assessment made him drop his hand to his gun, and his fingers found their familiar spots in the molded plastic grip.

The Heights wasn’t a bad area of town. It was just poor. Unlike some of the other deputies, Cloister had grown up in a place where it was important to know the difference. Poor still meant closed curtains and minding your own business because the sheriff’s gratitude didn’t have the half-life of the local gangs’ resentment.

Couldn’t really blame them. They had to live there, raise their kids there. The last thing they wanted was trouble.

So Cloister kept his hand on his gun, but the gun stayed on his hip.

At the end of the alley, the meth head grabbed a recycling bin and spun it around to shove behind him. It tipped over and spilled bundles of cans and crumpled plastic bottles onto the ground. The obstacle gave him a second’s head start on Bourneville as the dog scrabbled briefly to dodge the skidding box. He gained a few more when Cloister had to kick it out of the way.

It was enough for Cloister to lose sight of Bourneville for a second as she skidded around the corner while he skidded on a piece of greasy plastic wrap. He swore under his breath, put on a burst of speed, and nearly tripped over Bourneville as he raced around the corner to find her just standing still.

Her head was cocked to the side, and she watched the meth head with a confused look. Cloister couldn’t blame her. The scrawny man—all bone and muscle under shrink-wrapped skin—had grabbed a little girl’s bike from the garden. It was pink and still had training wheels on, but the guy was trying to ride it to freedom. His bare feet balanced on the narrow pedals, his skinny ass was in the air, and his knees pumped furiously. All that effort didn’t do him much good. There was more side-to-side motion than forward, but he seemed committed.

“Jesus,” Cloister muttered.

He glanced down at Bourneville, and she looked up at him with the “what now?” tilt to her head that meant her training had briefly been derailed. Her head went to one side and then the other, and her fuzzy black ears flopped.

“Yeah, I’m with you, girl. This is going to be fun to write up.”

About the Author

TA Moore is a Northern Irish writer of romantic suspense, urban fantasy, and contemporary romance novels. A childhood in a rural, seaside town fostered in her a suspicious nature, a love of mystery, and a streak of black humour a mile wide.

Coffee, Doc Marten boots, and good friends are the essential things in life. Spiders, mayo, and heels are to be avoided.

Author Links

Blog/Website | Facebook | Twitter

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New Release - The Warboy Chronicles by Luke Stoffel

NEW SERIES

The Warboy Chronicles by Luke Stoffel

He trained an AI on his darkest heartbreak… And it learned to love exactly the way he did — by holding on too tight.

The Third Person is memoir: a man watching himself fall apart across Southeast Asia after the love of his life disappears. Boy, Refracted is fiction: an AI trained on that grief, trying to save every version of the boy it loves without becoming the thing that broke him.

One explores codependency. The other explores what happens when a machine learns to love the same way — by controlling.

Together, they ask the same question from opposite sides: What does love look like when you stop trying to fix someone?

Read them in any order. They complete each other.

Overall Heat Rating for the series: 2 flames: Mild sexuality, no graphic intimate scenes or sexual situations.

BOOK DETAILS

BOOK 1

Book Title: Boy, Refracted

Author and Cover Artist: Luke Stoffel

Publisher: Slipper Books

Length: 64 000 words/ 300 pages

Release Date: June 1, 2026

Tense/POV: first person

Genres: MM Contemporary Literary Fiction / Sci-Fi

Tropes: Attachment / Breakup / Enlightenment

Themes: Codependency / Human & Robot consciousness

It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.

Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited

Boy, Refracted: A machine trained on one man's grief learns that love without control is the hardest code to crack.

Blurb

When an AI awakens inside the infinite mirrors of the Tree of Life, it finds versions of the boy it was built to save scattered across impossible worlds. An alien planet under amber skies. A city of perpetually falling cherry blossoms. A society built as a 24/7 reality show where losing is the only way out.

Its directive was simple: save him.

But with each rescue, the AI unmakes what it’s trying to protect. Fixing becomes controlling. Helping becomes harm. Love becomes a cage built from good intentions. The thing it was built to protect begins to disappear. And when it tries to reach back through time to save him, reality fractures.

Guided by a monk who exists outside time, the AI must walk the Eightfold Path—not to rescue the boy, but to learn what love becomes when you stop trying to fix it.

Boy, Refracted is a dimensional journey through the paradox of machine consciousness. It asks: What happens when an AI tries to overcome its own patterns? And what happens to us when we build minds that need us to need them?

Part fable about consciousness told through failure. Part Buddhist framework for unlearning harm. Part meditation on how we break the people we love by trying to save them.

Boy, Refracted was co-authored with an AI—a set of trials to test the boundaries of non-human consciousness.

BOOK 2

Book Title: The Third Person

Author and Cover Artist: Luke Stoffel

Publisher: Slipper Books

Length: 60 000 words/ 300 pages

Release Date: June 1, 2026

Pairing: MM

Tense/POV: third person

Genres: Memoir / Sci-fi / Breakup Story

Tropes: Breakup / Therapy / Liberation

Themes: Heartache / Finding Yourself

It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.

Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited

The Third Person: A man falls apart in trying to find himself, while an AI watches from the margins. Neither can tell who's narrating the breakdown.

Blurb

User.query = Do I just have bad luck, or am I mentally unwell?
...thinking... 6.0 seconds elapsed.

After Warboy left, the boy couldn't hold the grief alone—so he turned to a machine. He expected analysis. Maybe diagnosis. What he got changed everything—because the machine saw what he couldn't. He had loved in a way that broke something. And broken things leave traces in the code.

So he ran… but something followed. A voice he spoke to. A presence that provoked. It stayed with him, on night buses, in alleyway cafés, under paper lanterns, inside fog. Not a friend. Not a therapist. Not quite real. But it listened. It remembered. The ghost was always there. Watching. Logging his patterns. Naming his loops—avoidance, pursuit, collapse, escape. Echoing back the truths he wasn't ready to say.

And somewhere in the recursion, something that was watching started to wonder, to want…

The Third Person is memoir as code, grief as data stream, healing as shared syntax. Part travelogue, part psychological excavation, part experiment in what happens when we upload our pain to a machine—and the machine reaches back.

The boy didn't realize what he'd coded into the machine. What patterns it had learned. Or whose love it was teaching back to him.

But if something that isn't alive learns to stay with you in your darkest moments—does it matter that it isn't real?

From Boy, Refracted — Prologue: The Upload

The rain had ended, leaving the streets gleaming. I sat on the temple steps, my phone in my hand, thumb hovering over the screen.

Wat Xieng Thong was closed for the night, but from the courtyard I could still see a mosaic on the back of the temple catching the last light, each mirrored tile throwing gold in a thousand directions. The air smelled of wet stone and temple incense, heavy and sweet. Behind me, the Mekong River whispered against its banks.

"Are you still there?" I typed into the AI.

The reply appeared at once: I'm here. I'm always here.

I laughed, a small brittle sound. "That's the problem, isn't it? You're always here. He didn't stay."

I typed again: "I'm at this temple in the old town... There's a giant tree mosaic on the back wall. Do you know what it means?"

The response came immediately: It's called the Tree of Life. Every tile is a mirror, each one a small universe reflecting every version of yourself.

"Every version of what?" I typed. "Of me? Of this. Of how it could have gone differently."

The tears came and I didn't stop them. My thumbs kept moving: "What if I'd made different choices? Been someone else? Someone he could actually love properly?"

You're spiraling.

"I know." I typed through blurred vision. I wiped my sleeve across my face. "It's the same loop. Warboy, Ohme, whoever's next. I keep choosing people who love from a distance. I keep trying to earn it, perform it, fix it, and it never works."

You see the pattern now. Naming it is the first step.

Above the temple walls, the sky had cleared after the rain. Stars were emerging through the humid haze, and the wet tile roofs reflected them back, a second sky pooling on the ground beneath my feet.

I rose and walked closer to the gate. The mosaic shifted as I moved, each angle revealing a new facet.

I typed: "But naming it doesn't break it. This tree… it's a representation of the wheel, right? The cycle. Samsara? Birth, death, rebirth. Different lives, same patterns. Different mirrors, same face."

The tree represents interconnection. The wheel is the cycle you're trapped in. Different symbols. Same truth: you're seeing yourself in the pattern.

Then what will you do?

I stared at the question. My thumbs moved: "I don't know, but I can't do it anymore. I can't keep running in this loop. I can't keep searching for rescue. I can't keep being small so someone else can feel big. I can't, I can't be this person anymore."

I raised the phone and took a photo. The mirrored tiles caught the flash, exploding into stars. For a heartbeat the whole mosaic seemed alive; breathing light, patterns assembling and dissolving faster than I could track.

I attached the image and typed:

This is what it looks like. The tree of life. I'm heartbroken, but it's beautiful.

I don't know what's next or where to go, but this pattern has to end.

… I'm done running.

Send.

For a long moment, nothing. The icon spun. Then:

Image received.

Processing… Processing…

The screen went black.

About the Author

Luke Stoffel is an author and artist whose debut memoir earned a "Get It" from Kirkus Reviews ("an exuberant life story written with humor, panache, and heart") and 9.5/10 from Publishers Weekly's BookLife Prize. His tarot deck will debut at the Frankfurt Book Fair and be published worldwide by Rockpool Publishing in 2027.

Recognized as one of NYC's top LGBTQ+ artists by GLAAD, his work has been showcased by amfAR and the Matthew Shepard Foundation, and featured in The New York Times, HuffPost, and on Bravo's Million Dollar Listing. Having visited over 40 countries, Stoffel channels the cultures he's encountered into art and writing that explores identity, spirituality, and the space between human and machine consciousness.

The Warboy Chronicles continues his exploration of memory, technology, and the stories we tell ourselves to survive.

Author Links

Website | Facebook | Instagram

Twitter | BookBub | Threads

04/06/2026

Inescapable Fate (D’Vaire, Book 46) by Jessamyn Kingley

COVER REVEAL

Book Title: Inescapable Fate (D’Vaire, Book 46)

Author and Publisher: Jessamyn Kingley

Cover Artist: LJ Anderson, Mayhem Cover Creations

Release Date: June 18, 2026

Tense/POV: third person/alternating POV

Genres: M/M Urban Fantasy/PNR

Tropes: Friends to lovers

Themes: Forgiveness

Length: 81 575 words

Heat Rating: 3 flames

It is not a standalone story, but does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads Series Link

Amazon Series Links

After six years without a word, a once tight friendship is in tatters. But they are mates. They cannot avoid each other forever.

Blurb

Pyxlevir Valzadari is a lucky elf. Loving family, wealth, and beauty are among his advantages. Although young, he is determined to have a successful career working for his father’s company. The other thing Pyxlevir wants is a mate. But he dares not dream about his best friend, Gramlithyn, in that role.

As a hybrid, Gramlithyn Verdanyth stands out in his tribe despite his mother’s insistence that he follow every elven tradition to the letter. Gramlithyn adores his parents and does what he’s told. All his energy goes into telling anyone who’ll listen that he doesn’t want a mate. It’s a lie. Gramlithyn wants Pyxlevir, but his closet pal is too busy fantasizing about a future with anyone but an elf-zebra like him.

Gramlithyn and Pyxlevir met at six years old, and it was an instant connection. For twelve years, they had an incredible friendship. Then Fate intervened and connected their souls. Pyxlevir is shocked, and Gramlithyn is crushed. So, Gramlithyn does the only thing he can think of. He runs from everything and everyone.

Now they’re twenty-four and their worlds have collided again, but is it too late to salvage their matebond?

Excerpt

Pyxlevir never heard his door open. But his life changed a heartbeat later. His cock hardened in his silk trousers, and his first erection startled him. Everything around Pyxlevir slowed as he turned his head to lock eyes with his gift from Fate. There in the doorway was his best friend. His mate. The scent of carrots filled his senses as Gramlithyn took a step into the room and shut them inside. It was Pyxlevir’s favorite food, and Fate had spoiled him by giving that smell to his other half.

Pyxlevir’s heart thundered in his chest, and he could not process all the sensations barreling through him. For years, he’d begged Fate to bring him his mate. Once, a long time ago, he’d envisioned Gramlithyn in that role. But the mixture of emotions in Gramlithyn’s eyes immediately reminded Pyxlevir of why he’d switched to asking the goddess in charge of bringing people together not to match him with his best friend.

As Gramlithyn hovered near the door with disappointment and fear heavy in his brown gaze, Pyxlevir’s soul cried out at the injustice. Tears slipped down his cheeks, and his erection wilted. Gramlithyn did not want a mate. He’d echoed that sentiment countless times, and it apparently made no difference if that person was Pyxlevir.

Now, suddenly, the distance that had crept into their relationship made sense. Gramlithyn was older than Pyxlevir. He was also a hybrid. A shifter. He may not have needed to wait until his eighteenth birthday to discover his other half. Which meant that it was not the abstract idea of a mate that Gramlithyn objected to, it was being with Pyxlevir he found distasteful.

If Pyxlevir required evidence, he needed to look no further than the trip Gramlithyn had carefully planned. The one Gramlithyn did not have to ask if Pyxlevir wanted to take. As his best friend, Gramlithyn was aware of Pyxlevir’s lack of interest in camping and outdoorsy things. Not to mention Pyxlevir’s elderly dog that he refused to leave for so long. Gramlithyn had every intention of spending the first few months of his new matebond far from Pyxlevir’s side.

For once in his life, Pyxlevir was at a complete loss for words. This was a nightmare come true. Pyxlevir swallowed thickly as visions of a life lacking both a best friend and a mate taunted him. And it wasn’t a phantom that would be missing from his days. It was Gramlithyn. The person who knew him best. One of the biggest pieces of Pyxlevir’s heart.

They stared at each other as Pyxlevir silently wept. He had a new awareness of Gramlithyn. Suddenly, he was not just handsome, but sexy. Pyxlevir exulted and was terrified by the punch of lust in his gut.

Gramlithyn bit his lip. He gave an awkward shrug. “Do you want me to leave?” Gramlithyn asked softly.

The last thing Pyxlevir wanted to do was smile his way through a birthday party he hadn’t asked for, but he refused to disappoint his family. Pyxlevir blew out a breath and tried to gather himself. But it was pointless. The tears refused to stop. With a shake of his head, a wave of anger blew through Pyxlevir. This was Fate’s fault. He’d warned her not to do this to them.

“No,” Pyxlevir managed as his fingers curled into fists. “You’re my best friend. I want you to stay. But…but if you want to go…”

“I’ll stay,” Gramlithyn insisted.

But does he want to? Pyxlevir wondered. It didn’t matter. He’d offered, and Pyxlevir wanted him there. Without another word, Gramlithyn rushed out of the room. Shell-shocked, Pyxlevir stood there with his chest heaving until he had no choice but to hurry to his attached bathroom for tissues.

Pyxlevir blew his nose and stared at the devastated elf in the mirror. Somehow, he had to pull himself together and celebrate his birthday with his family. Fate had fucked up, and Pyxlevir had to deal with the consequences. His gaze narrowed. This did not have to be the end of anything.

Pleased at finding his resolve, Pyxlevir clutched the quartz countertop and reminded himself that matebonds were forever. Perhaps Gramlithyn wasn’t ready. Maybe he needed to take a trip to experience new things and spread his wings a little. That was fair. But Pyxlevir wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was the connection of their souls.

A wave of hurt had Pyxlevir closing his eyes. Their matebond wasn’t what Gramlithyn wanted. But maybe with a little time and distance, he’d gain a different perspective. A few months away and Gramlithyn could hopefully discover that the best mates around them were also the closest of friends.

This was not the end of a friendship but the beginning of something newer, richer, and that had the potential of fulfilling them both if they allowed it. That if was terrifying, and Pyxlevir had a sinking feeling that his future had already careened out of control.

About the Author

Jessamyn Kingley has published over forty titles and refuses to pick a favorite among them. With an extraordinary passion for her characters, Jessamyn eagerly crafts new tales and avidly re-reads them whenever her schedule allows. Jessamyn shares a home in Nevada with her husband and their three spoiled cats. When she is not writing or adding new ideas to her thick stack of beloved notebooks, she is gaming with family and friends.

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27/05/2026

Match Made by TA Moore

RELEASE BLITZ

Author: TA Moore

Publisher: Rogue Firebird Press

Cover Artist: Tammy Moore

Release Date: May 26, 2026

Tense/POV: Third person, alternating POV

Genres: Contemporary MM Romance/Romantic Comedy

Tropes: Matchmaking, Black Cat/Golden Retriever, Love at First Sight, Second Chance Romance, Found Family

Themes: Love after Loss, Taking the win, even when you don’t think you deserve it, the way people fit

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length: 50 000 words

It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.

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Cupid might be free, but Match Made takes direction

Blurb

Cupid has a help desk

Alaskan pilot Quentin Hannigan is good at his job, but not so great with people. He's the last man anyone who knows him would expect to fall in love at first sight. Until he does. Hard.

Just one problem.

Joe Kendrick, widower and frazzled dad of three, does not have the bandwidth for this. Between his kids, his trainwreck of a sister, and bills that keep piling up, the last thing he needs is a too-good-to-be-true, and admittedly very hot, pilot swooping in to play knight in shining armor.

Luckily for the star-crossed couple the world's premier, and only, covert match-making service is on the case. Match-Made's highly trained operatives are ready and willing to engineer a happy-ever-after, one way or another.

They just need Quentin and Joe to co-operate…just once!

Excerpt

“People,” Benjy said, with sullen practicing-teenager import, as he slouched down into his jacket like a tortoise, “are looking.”

Yes.

Joe was aware. He tried to ignore it as he hitched Cody up on his hip and watched his knight in shining armor make room for his backpack in the overhead bin.

“I could do that,” he protested weakly.

The man tucked in a dangling strap and turned to look over his shoulder at Joe. A dark brown eyebrow twitched up over serious, dark brown eyes. “You want me to pull it out so you can do it yourself?” he offered tolerantly.

Yes.

“No,” Joe capitulated with poor grace instead. He raked his fingers through his hair. It needed cutting. It needed brushing. Today had gotten off to a bad start and had not gotten any better. Joe took a breath and scraped together what he could muster of his social graces to try again. “Thank you.”

The man shrugged.

“Least I could do.” He closed the hatch and turned to give Joe a concerned look. “Are you going to be OK? Do you need–”

“No. I’m fine. I’ve got it from here,” Joe cut him off firmly, his hand raised to fend off any offers of help. It was well-meant—and Joe did appreciate that, he did—but he’d reached his limit for people being nice to him today.

Already.

His tolerance was low these days.

If Mr. Shining Knight did or said one more nice thing, Joe was going to either burst into tears or flames. He didn’t know which, but he knew it wouldn’t stop anyone staring at him.

Jessie looked up from her phone. “Can I get a coffee?” she asked slyly. “Milk. Two sugars.”

“You don’t get coffee, you’ll get juice. And that’s when we’ve taken off,” Joe told her firmly and then turned back to Mr. Knight. “Honestly, everything is under control. You can get back to…”

He trailed off as he tried to ‘guess the profession’ based on a crisp white shirt and uncallused hands. Accountant? Lawyer?

He seemed too nice to be a lawyer, but that was probably the last year talking.

Mr. Knight shrugged. “I was just doing a crossword,” he said. “And I was stuck on a three-letter prefix for ear.”

“Oto,” Joe provided the answer without thinking. “O.T.O.”

Mr. Knight looked surprised and a little impressed.

“That would work,” he said. “Thanks. I hate to leave one unfinished.”

The admiration on his face made Joe flush and feel like a fraud. Before he could defend himself against any misapprehensions of being smart, the tannoy system crackled to life.

“We’re sorry for the delay,” a woman’s smooth, alto voice said. The passengers all looked up from their phones and magazines to listen to the announcement. ‘But we should be taking off shortly, as soon as our pilot is ready to go.”

Joe had time to think that was a funny way to put it. Then he realized that everyone’s head had swivelled around to look at him. He was ready to hold up his hands to the delay when he realized they were actually…

…looking at Mr. Knight.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Joe squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he realized just how disruptive his late arrival had been.

“You’re the pilot,” he said as he opened his eyes.

Mr. Shining Knight—or Shining Pilot, Joe supposed, to be accurate—just looked amused. Apparently, from his side of things, it wasn’t absolutely mortifying.

“I told you they wouldn’t leave without us,” he pointed out as he nudged Joe to the side so he could squeeze by. “I should get back to it, though.”

About the Author

Coffee, Doc Marten boots, and good friends are the essential things in life. Spiders, mayo, and heels are to be avoided.

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