Blurb: How can an assassin be Prince Belden’s safest choice? When Prince Belden of Nilan’dane picked his husband at the traditional gathering of men, known as The Choosing, he thought he had made a safe decision.
Sent by a mage who plotted the downfall of the royal family of Nilan’dane, Barli was supposed to get close to Bel’s family and then kill them all. However, when Barli looks into the eyes of the vulnerable Prince Belden for the first time, something changes, and he knows he will never be able to do anything that would hurt this man. But how is he ever to confess the truth of why he was at The Choosing when Bel now carries his child?
Barli has to teach Bel that, though he is a prince, submitting to Barli is what he really needs, and what Barli needs, is to believe in Bel’s love.
Review: This is the second book in the Hari series and in it, VCJ tells us Bel’s story. We got a glimpse of the two in the first book but now the story is being told from Barli and Bel’s perspective.
An assassin by trade, Barli is hired to kill the Princes. He infiltrates the Choosing ceremony and ends up falling for and being chosen by one of the Princes. They’re married, have a child and travel to a neighboring kingdom to sign a peace treaty. The characters and events in this book tend to drag just a tiny bit in this book but it was so short that it didn’t at all deflect from my overall enjoyment of the story.
Barli’s character kind of surprised me. Here you have this man who dresses and acts a bit feminine but you realize he does it for survival. Underneath all of those fine frilly women’s clothes is a cold and calculating assassin.
I’m enjoying the series so far and this is surprising since this is so not my category; this medieval fantasy type category. But as I’ve stated in my review of the first in the series, I was pleasantly surprised. The only time flaw is the misunderstanding between Barli and Bel dragged out a little too long but other than that, this story will hold your attention. I really like how everything wasn’t given away in the stories; you’re left wondering what’s going to happen next. As always, her characters are fully formed, the plot is really quite good and her writing style is neat and organized.
I am really looking forward to read Glare’s story.
He held out his broad muscled arms for me, grinning. My mouth went dry and my damn cock pressed heavily against the fabric of my pants. It had to be visible to everyone. For the first time in many years, heat rose into my cheeks
Excerpt from Chapter One:
After a five-minute standoff with our Nadiscs, I rolled my eyes and squared off in front of them. “Look, I know you have a rule about not giving your name out to anyone, so why don’t we cut it short. You”—I pointed at the woman—”will be R1.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, which I ignored, even though my hands began to perspire. I pointed at the man standing on her left and said, “That’ll make you R2.” I leveled my finger at the remaining one and added, “So you’ll be R3. We should all be able to remember R1, and if we get it wrong when there’s an emergency, we’ll only have to shout for R2 and R3 together and one of you will help us out.”
R2’s eyebrows knitted together very closely, and in the background feet shuffled. Someone cleared his throat. R3 came forward, one step at a time. I could’ve sworn the floor vibrated with every move. All my instincts screamed at me to leg it, but if I’d learned one lesson well, it was not to show fear. Not too much, anyway.
R3’s arm shot out before I had a chance to see it coming. His large hand clasped around my neck and all my hairs stood on end. I kept completely still, waiting for the blow to come.
He gazed at me from dark brown eyes, then lifted his other hand. The atmosphere around us thickened, and my poor confused cock perked up with interest. The Nadisc laid a hand against my cheek, left it there for a while, before he eventually pulled it away.
He pointed at his comrades. “Niyara.”
The Nadisc woman inclined her head.
“This is Xevon. And to make it easier for you and your people, you may call me Tom.”
“Tom?” I blurted. “Don’t you have a fancy name like the others?” The grasp around my neck tightened, and I hastened to add. “Short is cool, though. Really cool.”
“Thought so.”
Tom released my neck, but didn’t step away. Slightly wary, I glanced up at him. He grinned at me, showing a full line of well-tended white humanoid teeth, then beckoned to Niyara and Xevon. They bridged the distances in two long strides and formed a circle around me.
“Um, guys, what’s going on?” I asked, mulling whether I could slip past them or not.
They intertwined their hands and closed the circle around me. Someone—I think it was Carson—muttered something fierce, and a moment later three large bodies crowded me. I opened my mouth to tell them off, or maybe to ask them very politely to back off a little—same difference, really—when an eerie shout resounded through the hangar.
My eyes had to be circular by the time they finished. You could’ve heard a pin drop, it was that silent around us.
Niyara, Xevon, and Tom took one step backward, and I breathed more freely. Niyara smashed her fist against her chest, declaring, “We accept you as our leader on this mission.”
I gaped at her. The Nadisc helped and supported humans, but accepting leadership from a human? They very rarely did. Niyara smiled at me, a genuine smile that showed a prettiness I hadn’t seen before, then she engulfed me in a rib-creaking embrace. I was stumbling to find my footing once she’d set me down when Xevon lifted me off my feet and hugged me too.
He and Niyara turned around and advanced on my crew members, eliciting a few terrified squeaks. I peered at Tom, who showed no inclination of moving.
“What? No hug from you?” I asked.
He held out his broad muscled arms for me, grinning. My mouth went dry and my damn cock pressed heavily against the fabric of my pants. It had to be visible to everyone. For the first time in many years, heat rose into my cheeks. Tom’s grin expanded before he laughed. I stepped into his arms, bracing myself for another painful embrace. Instead, I found myself leaning against a hard chest with equally hard arms around me, fencing me in but without hurting me.
I mumbled into his leather vest, “Do you by chance happen to like blond humans?”
“I do.”
I would’ve screamed hallelujah if Baker’s voice over the loudspeaker hadn’t demanded we get going.
About the author:
Chris T. Kat lives in the middle of Europe, where she shares a house with her husband of many years and their two children. She stumbled upon the M/M genre by luck and was swiftly drawn into it. She divides her time between work, her family—which includes chasing after escaping horses and lugging around huge instruments such as a harp—and writing. She enjoys a variety of genres, such as mystery/suspense, paranormal, and romance. If there’s any spare time, she happily reads for hours, listens to audiobooks or does cross stitch.
Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25803681-breeding-stations?ac=1
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Cover Artist: Anne Cain
Tour Dates & Stops: July 27, 2015
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Spunky commander Berit Turner is known for two things: his huge libido and his lack of a filter—he says what he thinks. Berit sets his mind on being part of the mission to Ligador, to make sure the planet is habitable for humans. He’s ecstatic when his team is assigned to the task force. A delegation of Nadisc, a humanoid alien race, accompanies them, and passion ignites between Berit and their commanding officer, Tom. But Berit is determined that Tom is just another notch on his bedpost, as he doesn’t do relationships.
The excursion to Ligador goes wrong from the beginning, when they discover Ligador has been established as a breeding station by their worst enemy: the Tash’Ba. Dinosaur-like creatures become the team’s worst nightmare, and staying alive is going to take everything they’ve got… and then some.
Pages or Words: 204 pages or about 65,000 words
Categories: M/M Romance, Science Fiction
Excerpt:
Excerpt from Chapter One:
After a five-minute standoff with our Nadiscs, I rolled my eyes and squared off in front of them. “Look, I know you have a rule about not giving your name out to anyone, so why don’t we cut it short. You”—I pointed at the woman—”will be R1.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, which I ignored, even though my hands began to perspire. I pointed at the man standing on her left and said, “That’ll make you R2.” I leveled my finger at the remaining one and added, “So you’ll be R3. We should all be able to remember R1, and if we get it wrong when there’s an emergency, we’ll only have to shout for R2 and R3 together and one of you will help us out.”
R2’s eyebrows knitted together very closely, and in the background feet shuffled. Someone cleared his throat. R3 came forward, one step at a time. I could’ve sworn the floor vibrated with every move. All my instincts screamed at me to leg it, but if I’d learned one lesson well, it was not to show fear. Not too much, anyway.
R3’s arm shot out before I had a chance to see it coming. His large hand clasped around my neck and all my hairs stood on end. I kept completely still, waiting for the blow to come.
He gazed at me from dark brown eyes, then lifted his other hand. The atmosphere around us thickened, and my poor confused cock perked up with interest. The Nadisc laid a hand against my cheek, left it there for a while, before he eventually pulled it away.
He pointed at his comrades. “Niyara.”
The Nadisc woman inclined her head.
“This is Xevon. And to make it easier for you and your people, you may call me Tom.”
“Tom?” I blurted. “Don’t you have a fancy name like the others?” The grasp around my neck tightened, and I hastened to add. “Short is cool, though. Really cool.”
“Thought so.”
Tom released my neck, but didn’t step away. Slightly wary, I glanced up at him. He grinned at me, showing a full line of well-tended white humanoid teeth, then beckoned to Niyara and Xevon. They bridged the distances in two long strides and formed a circle around me.
“Um, guys, what’s going on?” I asked, mulling whether I could slip past them or not.
They intertwined their hands and closed the circle around me. Someone—I think it was Carson—muttered something fierce, and a moment later three large bodies crowded me. I opened my mouth to tell them off, or maybe to ask them very politely to back off a little—same difference, really—when an eerie shout resounded through the hangar.
My eyes had to be circular by the time they finished. You could’ve heard a pin drop, it was that silent around us.
Niyara, Xevon, and Tom took one step backward, and I breathed more freely. Niyara smashed her fist against her chest, declaring, “We accept you as our leader on this mission.”
I gaped at her. The Nadisc helped and supported humans, but accepting leadership from a human? They very rarely did. Niyara smiled at me, a genuine smile that showed a prettiness I hadn’t seen before, then she engulfed me in a rib-creaking embrace. I was stumbling to find my footing once she’d set me down when Xevon lifted me off my feet and hugged me too.
He and Niyara turned around and advanced on my crew members, eliciting a few terrified squeaks. I peered at Tom, who showed no inclination of moving.
“What? No hug from you?” I asked.
He held out his broad muscled arms for me, grinning. My mouth went dry and my damn cock pressed heavily against the fabric of my pants. It had to be visible to everyone. For the first time in many years, heat rose into my cheeks. Tom’s grin expanded before he laughed. I stepped into his arms, bracing myself for another painful embrace. Instead, I found myself leaning against a hard chest with equally hard arms around me, fencing me in but without hurting me.
I mumbled into his leather vest, “Do you by chance happen to like blond humans?”
“I do.”
I would’ve screamed hallelujah if Baker’s voice over the loudspeaker hadn’t demanded we get going.
Sales Links:
Chris T. Kat lives in the middle of Europe, where she shares a house with her husband of many years and their two children. She stumbled upon the M/M genre by luck and was swiftly drawn into it. She divides her time between work, her family—which includes chasing after escaping horses and lugging around huge instruments such as a harp—and writing. She enjoys a variety of genres, such as mystery/suspense, paranormal, and romance. If there’s any spare time, she happily reads for hours, listens to audiobooks or does cross stitch.
Brett is a government scientist on the run because the people he works for want to use his research about realms and other worlds for their own gain. He escapes with the help of his uncle, only to find a man falling from the sky in a ball of flame and feathers after being shot down by the very people he himself is running from.
Iron is a warrior guardian to the rightful king of Angelum, but was forced to flee his home realm with his king after a coup for the throne. There is a bounty on his head and the last thing he needs is to be almost captured by the human military that want to cage and experiment on him.
Iron cannot resist the tempting human that saves him and, when they give in to the heat between them, they accidentally trigger the irrevocable mate bond. Both of them are running from something, but they may just discover that each of them is exactly what the other needs.
Review
Brett finds himself rescuing a “birdman” from the government he is also running from.
When Iron awakes, tied up, he initially panics – thinking he’s been caught by the government, but when he realizes Brett only tied him up to help him heal, he realizes there is more to Brett than good Samaritan.
Iron is a warrior guardian of the king of the Angelum, protecting the next ruler by having sex with humans on earth in the hopes of shielding the power held by the ruler in hiding. (It makes more sense when you read about it – trust me – it’s a bit of a stretch- but it works- and makes for some very, very hot smexy times!)
Brett and Iron find their attraction surpasses that of the norm, and inadvertently bind themselves together. This serves a greater purpose though, because when they have sex the energy created far surpasses that of anyone else’s mating, and it will help the king and his brother. (I do this a disservice in explaining – again – it makes sense in context.)
The next stumbling block is Brett’s uncle and Iron’s King – but they soon see how deeply attached the two are and what a good union it is.
**
I really loved the world building in this story and look forward to the next installment. The unique take on mating and other planes of existence as well as the way cool power of the wings and their role in the smexy times was awesome!
I enjoyed this thoroughly and highly recommend it to fans of paranormal romance. No – it’s not about angels, but more akin to a shifter romance than anything.
Dear Author,
He stood, head bowed, body tense, waiting. No matter what happened next, his life would never be the same…
Photo Description:
A naked man stands with his back to the viewer, a plain white floor beneath his feet. Ahead of him, a pair of large black doors are ajar, revealing a glimpse of bright light. The man’s shoulders are slightly hunched and his head is bowed; he appears hesitant to face whatever fate awaits him through the doors.
This story was written as a part of the M/M Romance Group’s “Love is an Open Road” event. Group members were asked to write a story prompt inspired by a photo of their choice. Authors of the group selected a photo and prompt that spoke to them and wrote a short story.
This story may contain sexually explicit content and is intended for adult readers. It may contain content that is disagreeable or distressing to some readers. The M/M Romance Group strongly recommends that each reader review the General Information section before each story for story tags as well as for content warnings.
Review
This is another short story from the GoodReads Love is an Open Road event.
Entian is condemned for killing his father – which he didn’t do – but feels the judge was right when she decreed him “unredeemable” because he’s been selfish, lazy and not a good contributor to his family’s wealth.
Rig is a … okay – well he’s the guy who saves Entian and it’s part of the story so I won’t tell you much about him – only that he’s a healer and amazing!
This is an earth-like place? I’m not sure how you qualify this – but it feels earth like but not the earth we know.
Entian and Rig must navigate through both their insecurities and Entian’s desire for revenge before finding their very, very HEA.
It’s a dark story – similar in flavor and feel to Brute, also by Kim Fielding, but so rewarding! Neither character is perfect, in fact you might classify Entian as an anti-hero for most of the book – but his redemption is complete and perfect by the end.
ANAN EASED into bow range. He’d been hunting for a fingercount of days and stalking this daggerhorn since the early gray of predawn. He waited until the animal turned away before rising to a crouch. The lethally armed grazer would feed him and his mate for days. He brought his bow up slowly and drew the bowstring to his cheek.
His body convulsed with pain that felt as if he’d been stabbed with a red-hot iron blade, and his arrow shot several lengths above his quarry, which disappeared into the deep grass.
In the next instant, Anan knew. His mating-bond with Silbre had snapped. Agony filled him, sending him to his knees as the bow slipped from his numb hands. Gasping for air, he dropped forward onto his hands as waves of loss and pain overwhelmed him.
I have to find Silbre. What happened? Our mating-bond can’t be broken. Unwilling to believe the horrible truth, Anan had to find his mate.
He staggered to his feet, looping the bow over his shoulder as he took the first stumbling steps toward home. The surety of his pace came back to him, and he gained speed until he was sprinting toward the clan’s encampment. Time became irrelevant. He walked when his legs refused to run and ate when his body demanded it.
Dusk came on him stealthily, but he refused to stop. Silbre can’t be gone. We’ve been together since our adult velvet. Anan’s chest tightened at the thought of losing his mate. His mind swirled with fear, horror, and anger. If their teachers hadn’t sent him on yet another hunting trip, maybe he could have saved Silbre. No, he refused to believe he’d lost Silbre. There must be another explanation. He pushed down the rush of emotions and focused on the run as night deepened. With the rise of the moons, he picked up speed, desperate to reach home.
Anan neared the last of his endurance when he saw the familiar featherleaf trees that lined the river bend where the Kuri clan spent its summers. He topped the river embankment and dropped to his knees at the sight before him. Complete devastation. The warm morning breeze carried the scent of death. The raucous voices of carrion birds as they fought over bits of his clan reinforced his horror.
He struggled down the steep embankment to splash through the shallow river that circled most of what had been the Kuri’s summer encampment. As he waded to shore, he found the eyeless face of a childhood friend. Anan stumbled to one side and emptied his stomach. He retched again and again as he surpassed the limit of his emotional endurance until each twist of his stomach yielded nothing.
Silbre! Where’s Silbre? Anan renewed his headlong flight to find his twining mate.
He ran through the devastation, sending flocks of birds into the air. With each heartbeat his desperation grew as he ran to their tent. He has to be alive. I can’t survive without him. He rounded a pile of debris and found the familiar woven pattern of their summer lodge. His world died. Entangled in the remains, Silbre’s body bristled with a fingercount of crossbow quarrels. Varas slavers. Those are their bolts. The iron heads and spiral fletching left no doubt. But they had never come this far into Talac territory.
Anan dropped to his knees and pulled Silbre tight against him. Anan’s breath rasped between clenched teeth, his chest tight with grief as he rocked with his mate in his arms. A freshet of tears rolled over the plush hair covering his face. The dull drone from hordes of green burrowing flies and the cries of carrion birds surrounded him. But grief paralyzed Anan.
His sorrow merged with anger, and he screamed toward the implacable sky. “Why have you let this happen? Why did you cut his threads so short?”
Anan dropped his chin against his chest and sobbed. He rocked his mate slowly, tracing the tips of his fingers along the swirls of a spellweaver created in the short tan and brown hair covering Silbre’s face while he fought to ignore the fatal wounds. Anan’s throat tightened as more tears rolled down his cheeks. He lowered Silbre gently, as if he were sleeping.
The aftermath of the attack must be dealt with. He had no choice. He steeled himself to the carnage around him and struggled to understand. How did the Varas unravel the protective web that surrounded the village? Especially those of the Kuri clan, who have some of the most skilled spellweavers of the Talac people. Even if they had broken the spell, a warning would have been felt, and people would have boiled out like stingers from their nest. Something in the web of Anan’s reality shifted as he wondered how the Varas were able to decimate a Talac village.
Anan called on his spell vision and tried to trace any threads, but they were gone. If there were survivors, they were no longer connected to the village weaving. He began moving in a haze of disbelief.
All the people he’d grown up with were gone. Saritua who taught him his first weavings, Trebea who knew the perfect day to harvest wood for bows that wouldn’t wrack in the fall rains—gone. He’d never hear Poza talking with her imaginary friends as she toddled from one rug to another pretending at grownup, or her wonder when the spring gliders migrated across the savanna.
He’d seen the carrion birds pecking the flesh from their lifeless bodies. The horrors no longer registered, as his surroundings became part of an unending cascade of atrocities. At some point he would break and mourn. But not now; he was too numb, too overwhelmed. The bits of his being that weren’t focused on what he had to accomplish in this moment hid in the corner of his mind, gibbering in near madness. Silbre couldn’t come to the rescue this time. The task fell on his shoulders. There was no one else.
Screaming birds took off and revealed the burned arms of a spellspinner. With this final revelation, the last warp threads of Anan’s reality snapped. All the Kuri spinners would be dead. When spellspinners in battle ripped the matama from the attackers, they condemned themselves to death. Akhir gave their attackers a painful end, but the backlash left the spellspinners burned and dead. He moved closer and saw the velvetless skin that marked them from birth as spellspinners. But the curse, or gift, of akhir created the final separation between the Talac spinners and weavers.
Anan’s questionable skill at spellweaving didn’t matter any longer. Without a spinner, there was no one to take the deathspinner eggs and harvest silk for the matama threads he needed for his weavings. Only the spinners knew how to combine matama with silk harvested from the most feared animals of the savanna. Without spun threads, Anan’s years of training didn’t matter.
Lucid thought came to an end with yet another gruesome discovery. His mind rebelled, and the final threads of his former life broke one by one. He locked away his emotions to sort through them when he could take the luxury.
Anan recognized the end of his second day when the sun’s deep red orb rested on the treetops, covering his world in the color of fresh blood. Darkness would come soon and with it the possibility of larger predators. With the clan spell webbing gone, nothing would keep them out.
He knew his duty. He must gather the dead and perform the most sacred of weavings. He would create the final unraveling ceremony for most of the village.
Anan struggled to his feet and began his task. Taking Silbre first, he carried his mate’s body to the center of the camp. He ran the back of his fingers over his twining’s face, the cold ache of loss constricting around his chest until his breath came in gasps and tears rolled down his cheeks again.
Hesitant at first, Anan carried the remains of each member of his clan and laid them side by side. Lastly he moved to the spellspinners’ tents. He understood their importance in the clan, but their aloof manner and vanity over their birthmark velvetless skin had been reason enough for him to avoid them in the past. But his duty was to the village, and his personal disdain had no place. Following the sense of duty hammered into him by his parents, he afforded the spellspinners the same reverence as the other lost.
As he moved toward the final dwelling, and its content, he couldn’t help but note the remains of Varas attackers littering the encampment. Some resembled colorless grubs, the sign of a spellspinner calling akhir. The pale Varas bodies also meant there would be a burned spellspinner close by. Akhir extracted a horrible toll. Only in the legends of First Spinner and First Weaver did anyone survive calling akhir.
He grabbed the wrists of a spinner and found the touch of bare skin against his palms… odd. Anan had never touched a spinner before. There had never been a reason to do so. They didn’t encourage contact. After steeling himself, he squatted to gather the last of the bodies, when he heard a moan.
Anan spun, knife in hand. When he realized the sound didn’t come from attacking Varas, he sheathed his knife and waited, listening for signs of life. A few heartbeats later another barely audible sound leaked from the wreckage. Anan dug through a pile of tent cloth and found a storage cache. Another groan drifted from inside the partially exposed opening, followed by rustling as if a mouse ran across a stretched kuri-skin drum.
Anan eased himself forward, peering into the opening. At first he could see nothing but darkness, but then two brilliant blue eyes peered up at him.
He waited, recognizing the color of a spellspinner’s eyes. How did this spinner survive? Why did he hide? Compassion returned to Anan. Regardless of how this spinner survived, he is also Talac.
“You hurt?” Even to Anan’s own ears, his words sounded brittle and desolate of emotion. He waited for a response, but when none came, he reached inside.
“Here. Let me help.”
Smooth skin slid under Anan’s palms, the first time he’d touched a living spinner. Surprise raced through his system when he found the contact… pleasant. As he helped the slender figure, he recognized this spinner, but not for a reason he might have hoped. The spinner standing before him was the most reclusive. He always avoided contact with any of the Talac who were normal. Who were velveted.
He studied Anan with the suspicion of a young night-hunter, complete with the twitch of his nose. He took the offered hand and scrambled up the side of the cache.
The tension between them grew as their gazes locked. This isn’t about my feelings for the spinners. I must perform the unraveling. He waited a moment, took in a breath, and calmed himself.
“Can you walk?”
The spinner wiped a grimy arm over his forehead, leaving streaks of filth as he tucked his dark hair behind his ears. An instant later he nodded silently.
“I’m Anan.”
This time the young man trembled. “Terja. I am a spinner.”
Anan’s brow lifted. “Yes. I see you.” He considered asking the questions swirling through his mind, but waited.
Terja shuddered again and turned his head slowly. He seemed lost, but Anan granted him time to adjust and waited until the spinner’s focus returned. “Where is everyone?”
“Dead. Or taken as Varas slaves. I found only a few bodies from Kuri our age.”
Terja’s eye’s widened. “Slavers? The screams. I heard… it was….” He stared at Anan.
Anan wondered if this spinner still functioned or if the trauma had overwhelmed Terja. Regardless, he continued. “Varas slavers attacked the village. Everyone is either dead or captured. I don’t know why the web didn’t sound an alert. The herds are scattered. All the Talac clans are in jeopardy.”
“Our kuri and herdweavers? Gone?” Terja’s voice broke at the news.
Anan stared at him. The herds were the least of his concerns. The herdweavers had either died fighting or were captured. But he knew they hadn’t deserted the kuri. They took their role as guardians seriously. But he needed to finish his task, and Terja acted too overwhelmed to help.
Though he moved toward the nearest body, Anan couldn’t stop staring at Terja. The irrelevant question wiped out the last of his restraint. “Why were you hiding? The Varas attacked. Why’d you do nothing?”
Tears flooded from Terja’s eyes. With his breath coming in gasps, he tried to explain. “I tried. Had my staff. People dying. Father put me—” Terja broke into inconsolable sobbing. Anan knew he would get no more information from the spinner.
“At nightfall we’re doing an unraveling for the dead. You’re helping.”
Terja looked shaken, as if it had never occurred to him a spellweaver would address him in that manner. He began to speak, but when Anan glared at him, Terja pressed his lips tightly together.
Anan motioned to the body of one of the older spinners, and Terja moved to stand at its feet. He clamped his eyes shut as he groped for the ankles, shuddering when the tips of his fingers made contact, and hesitated. Anan allowed him what time he could, but before he had to jar him into motion, Terja clenched his teeth and grabbed the dead man’s ankles.
He opened his eyes and glared at Anan, but Anan was far past being affected by anything so minor as the anger of a young spellspinner. With Terja’s help, the last bodies were gathered. Exhausted mentally and physically, he still refused to allow Terja to perform any of the ceremony.
“We need to make a final check. It’s close to nightfall. I don’t want to leave—” Anan stopped and swallowed hard to regain his control. “I want to be certain we’ve taken care of everyone. We can go opposite directions and meet back here. Hopefully, there’s nothing to find.”
Anan waited for Terja’s nod, then started through the encampment. Hesitant at first, he covered the area with speed and resolve. I don’t know how many more victims I can deal with before my mind snaps like a weak warp thread. As he worked through the smoldering remains, he began to think they’d recovered all the bodies.
He returned to the center of the encampment and found Terja hadn’t arrived. Anan moved to locate the spinner. Close to the spinner’s lodges, Anan found him, crumpled into the dust, holding the body of a small child.
His heart cracked when Terja’s eyes met his, tears running down his red cheeks. He held the broken body like a precious jewel, cradling the kit who was long past the issues of this world. The spinner ran his fingers over the deep brown velvet covering the kit’s face as if he were sleeping. He reached down to touch Terja’s shoulder.
“He’s gone, Terja. Add him to the ceremony so his strands can rejoin the others in the Great Weaving.”
Past reason now, Terja’s sobs echoed across the scene of desolation. The darkness flowed over the pair, its edges seeming to ripple in response to Terja’s grief. “You don’t understand!” he yelled, his face contorted with anger. “Akra and I were friends. His father died when a longtooth pack attacked him. We broke fast together each morning. Why would they kill a kit?”
Anan hardened. “You know why. Akra was nothing more than an animal to them. They don’t follow the teachings of First Twining, and we are nothing more than mating slaves to feed their addiction.”
“Akra was a sweet kit. Just a toddler.”
Anan squeezed his shoulder. “Come. It’s time.”
He forced Terja into motion. They came to the central area, and Terja turned to Anan. “Clean him. Please. I know it will take some of the spinnings you have, but please. I cannot stand to think he’s going to the Great Weaving like this. He worried so much about how he looked.”
“Terja….”
“Please. I’ll replace the spinning. The spell panels on your kilt are close to full. You have enough matama to do this.” Terja turned ashen. “Please. This will be the last thing I ask of you.”
Anan sighed and ran his hand over the complex matama patterns stored on his kilt. Although his state of exhaustion diminished his focus to the point where he had to touch the threads. He deftly created the weaving in the air from the matama stored in his kilt panels. Soon he had the simple weave completed. Once he did, Anan struggled through the ritual steps drummed into him to release the spell and clean the lifeless body. The small weaving dissipated, and Anan let his vision slip away.
The kit before them now could have been sleeping. Anan normally would have refused to use a spellweaving on someone beyond its reach, but he admitted, if only to himself, this final visage of the kit was much preferable to the blood- and gore-splattered toddler that had lain before him a short time earlier. He stared at the kit, then at Terja.
“It’s time to do the unraveling.”
About the author:
Jon Keys’s earliest memories revolve around books. Either read to him or making up stories based on the illustrations, these were places his active mind occupied. As he got older the selection expanded beyond Mother Goose and Dr. Suess to the world of westerns, science fiction and fantasy. His world filled with dragon riders, mind speaking horses and comic book heroes in hot uniforms.
A voracious reader for half a century, Jon recently began creating his own creations of fiction. The first writing was his attempt at showing rural characters in a more sympathetic light. Now he has moved into some of the writing he lost himself in for so many years…fantasy. Jon has worked as a ranch hand, teacher, computer tech, roughneck, designer, retail clerk, welder, artist, and, yes, pool boy; with interests ranging from kayaking and hunting to drawing and cooking, he uses this range of life experiences to create written works that draw the reader in and wrap them in a good story.
Where to find the author:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jon.keys.773
Twitter: @Jon4Keys
Website: http://jonkeys.com/
Goodreads Link:
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Cover Artist: Paul Richmond
Rafflecopter Prize: E-copy of ‘Home Grown’ by Jon Keys
Assassin. Soldier. Arrow. That is who Vasic is, who he will always be. His soul drenched in blood, his conscience heavy with the weight of all he’s done, he exists in the shadows, far from the hope his people can almost touch—if only they do not first drown in the murderous insanity of a lethal contagion. To stop the wave of death, Vasic must complete the simplest and most difficult mission of his life.
For if the Psy race is to survive, the empaths must wake…
Having rebuilt her life after medical “treatment” that violated her mind and sought to stifle her abilities, Ivy should have run from the black-clad Arrow with eyes of winter frost. But Ivy Jane has never done what she should. Now, she’ll fight for her people, and for this Arrow who stands as her living shield, yet believes he is beyond redemption. But as the world turns to screaming crimson, even Ivy’s fierce will may not be enough to save Vasic from the cold darkness…
Review
Yet again – I had a craving to re-visit some of my favorite m/f authors and Nalini Singh and her Psy-Changeling series is one of my all time favorites!
This is definitely one of those books where if you haven’t been reading along you will be totally lost. It is NOT a standalone. No matter what it might say anywhere else.
In this, the long awaited book, Vasic, the troubled and suicidal Arrow works with Kaleb as well as Judd to secure the re-introduction of the EPsy – the empaths – back into their powers. It is determined that the EPsy are what the NetMind has needed all this time to combat the illness.
What is left unknown is how these EPsy will take breaking Silence and just what is it they need to do and how can they be protected when those protecting them suffer just being in their presence.
Ivy is a strong EPsy whose Silence has been fractured for years. She assumes when Vasic comes to collect her that she is at last to be killed for her “faults”. From the moment they meet the two share a connection.
Then – for many pages – we work out who must do what and why for the NetMind to become fixed. Vasic and Ivy struggle with their feelings for one another – neither having any kind of experience in love/sex/relationships at all.
In the end thre is a race against time and more crushing blows to the NetMind, some reconnections with previous characters and a climactic finish setting us up for the grand finale – Shards of Hope – Aden’s story.
**
I have to admit I was disappointed in this book.
It took a lot of slugging through to reach the end.
I liked Vasic way more before he had his own book and Ivy was pretty MEH the entire time.
In previous books in the series the love was at least half the important part and I feel in these last few books, Kaleb, Vasic, Aden – more time is devoted to the greater story arc than the individual love stories.
As a fan I was glad to re-visit with Nalini’s Psy-Changeling Universe and I am excited to finally read the last story in this arc – but I am also kinda ready for it to be over.
Overall, the writing is good, I think it needed tighter editing, and maybe a more focused story line that equalized the love/romance part with the story progression.
Henry Dalton is sent across the country by train to the western town of Woolridge in order to investigate the werewolf problem they’re having during the monthly moon cycle. The townsfolk are not forthcoming with information, making it difficult for Henry to solve the case.
Even more distracting is Jack, a handsome older lycanthrope. Known for his rebellious youth, Jack has settled down into life and routine in Woolridge, working as the local blacksmith. He assures Henry he’s no longer trying to stir up trouble, that those days are long gone. Henry must attempt to ignore the spark between them, the indication of their potential to become mates, which is rare because Henry is human. Henry remains professional and focuses on his job, but each meeting with Jack adds to the draw, and Henry isn’t sure how much longer he’ll be able to resist.
Review
This is a unique short story of an investigator who travels to find out about a situation with a local werewolf pack. It’s a combo steampunk/shifter novella set in vaguely old west times.
Henry has previously had a werewolf mate who died years ago, Jack has had two potential mates previously who have also died many years ago.
Though there are some potential hurdles in their way: the investigation, their distance and time; they realize that being given a “second” chance is not something to disregard and that despite their “mate” status, they truly care for the other as well.
**
Steampunk is not my favorite genre, but I really appreciated the unique blend with the shifter lore. I loved the idea of “sparking” and the fact that these men got multiple shots, but that it was still a monumental event.
The writing was crisp and clear and the story very unique with clever world-building. I don’t know if it’s the genre or the author, but it was just a bit too dry to be amazing, but it was very good.
Carter Evans is founder and editor-in-chief of Astounding!—a formerly popular spec fiction magazine currently in its death throes. Not only can he do nothing to save it, but stuck in a rathole apartment with few interpersonal connections, he can’t seem to do much to rescue his future either. And certainly all the booze isn’t helping. He snaps when he receives yet another terrible story submission from the mysterious writer J. Harper—and in a drunken haze, Carter sends Harper a rejection letter he soon regrets.
J. Harper turns out to be John Harper, a sweet man who resembles a ’50s movie star and claims to be an extraterrestrial. Despite John’s delusions, Carter’s apology quickly turns into something more as the two lonely men find a powerful connection. Inexplicably drawn to John, Carter invites him along on a road trip. But as they travel, Carter is in for some big surprises, some major heartbreak… and just maybe the promise of a good future after all.
Review
Oh, Kim Fielding, How do I love Thee? Let me Count the Ways!
I was so psyched to see this was a longer book. Her latest books have been novella length and though wonderful and meaty, I really wanted them to keep going!
Carter is an older guy who is still the editor for an aging magazine called Astounding! It’s spec fic and has been slowly dying in the face of electronic media.
He started it with his ex, now a famous author in another relationship, and stories written by the ex, as well as a few from new and aspiring authors keep the magazine hope alive.
Because the magazine is all he’s ever wanted and how he identifies himself, it’s demise is slowly killing Carter as well.
Once a month, Carter receives a truly awful story about aliens wanting to go home from a J. Harper. On the eve of shutting the magazine down, Carter sends a drunken rejection letter to J. Harper and immediately regrets his actions in the morning.
To make amends Carter drives from Seattle to Portland to meet J. Harper in person and to promise to publish a story in the last ever issue.
What he finds is Astounding! J.Harper is John Harper, an elegant 30 ish well built guy who looks vaguely like Tab Hunter (movie star from the 50s). He’s quaint, quiet, shy, sexy, has some serious sadness in his eyes and a very, very crazy story to tell.
Carter does not believe John tells his story, but goes along with it because he’s quite attracted to the man. They have a good night together and both figure they’ll never see the other again.
Carter’s ex asks Carter to go as a third or third and fourth on a camping trip to help Carter get out of his funk and he decides on the spur of the moment to pick up John for his fourth. John readily agrees and here’s where things really start to happen.
By the end of the camping trip everyone’s lives will be different and some major life decisions will have been made and all the good, gooey, emotional, phenomenal, fantastical and amazing details are well worth the read!
**
I Adored! This book. It was Amazing! Kim Fielding Always! provides us with well thought out and skillfully executed story lines and complex MCs. Carter is nowhere near perfect, but he is (as John tells us) truly a beautiful human and doesn’t appreciate how wonderful he really is.
Even the ex is a great guy (I loved the little side stories between the ex and his lover, the friends in Portland, the bookstore lady…) So much depth in this novel!
Excerpt:
Clouds rolled in, white and puffy in the winter blue sky, but there was no moisture in the air, or in the sand beneath Annie’s bare feet.
“Rain?” Annie asked hopefully, and Grandma shook her head and looked sad.
Annie knew why. Without the potatoes and beans from the garden, without the lupins and sunflower seeds, all they’d have to live on would be gruel. There’d been no rain for months, even though the days were short and the nights cold, and it was nearly time for the summer to come back.
“Gruel will make us sick,” Annie said. “Will the government make rain?”
Grandma swore, something vicious and rude, under her breath. Annie was made sure to remember the word, because it was a new word and Annie collected those words.
They stood, studying the empty clouds over their heads while the chickens fought over the scraps, and even in the middle of winter the sun still hurt Annie’s bare arms.
“What did you use to do to make rain?” Annie asked Grandma. “Before?” Grandma knew things that everyone else had forgotten, and she didn’t go to church. “Is there magic?”
Annie had to whisper that, because Mum was a Believer, and she’d shout or pray or something if she thought Annie knew about magic.
The rainwater tank leaned against the back wall of the house. Grandma shuffled over and whacked it with her cane. The metal drum rang loudly.
Jack Bridges is a writer and academic who lives in Perth, Western Australia, and works at a small university teaching students the basics of research methodology. He sometimes hides in a shack in the forest and makes complex plans for surviving environmental apocalypses.
Blurb
