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Showing posts with label m/m. Show all posts
Showing posts with label m/m. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 28, 2026

M/M Shifter Romance Feature: Precog's Perception by Emily Carrington #teaser #excerpt #mmromance #lgbtq #shifterromance #rabtbooktours @CarringtonEmily @ChangelingPress @RABTBookTours



(Psychic Soulmates 1)

A SearchLight Paranormal Romance


LGBTQ+ Shifter Romance

Date Published: May 1, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press



When the world doesn’t catch fire, Amaruq doubts his precognition. Can Nootaikok’s love heal him?

A stillborn pup, precognition unfulfilled, and raging guilt plague a trans werewolf. Amaruq’s suspicion that there’s something wrong with him, and that the death of his and Nootaikok’s child is his fault, colors all that he does. Traumatized, he denies himself pleasure.

Nootaikok will have none of that. He takes Amaruq on a “working vacation” back to the scene of Nootaikok’s greatest mistake. As both of them struggle with feelings of inadequacy and undeservingness, their bodies and souls still demand release.

Will their fears pull them apart or can passion lead back to love and forgiveness?


Excerpt
Copyright ©2026 Emily Carrington

They’d started their mentor/mentee relationship with letters. Amaruq didn’t know about Jeremy, but for him, the fear of being found out in this digital age inspired him to write physical correspondence. Amaruq had a feeling he should be sharing these concerns with his mate, but he couldn’t bear for Nootaikok to know how guilty he felt. So, he wrote to the Night Wanderer who had become his friend.

Dear Jeremy,

I hate what I have become. I’m a sneak who doesn’t know how to apologize to my lover for losing our child. I get it that a stillbirth isn’t exactly my fault. I did nothing to make it happen. The issue is that I don’t want to try again. Try for another baby. It wasn’t just losing our child, our pup, but the dysmorphia I endured being pregnant when I’ve worked so hard to be my authentic male werewolf self. I do not, no matter what, regret that Nootaikok and I were trying for a baby. I don’t. I just don’t want to try again. In spite of my precognitive vision. That future glimpse guarantees I’ll be pregnant again at some point, as I saw Nootaikok and I surrounded by werewolf pups of many ages. I just don’t want to be.

I also dread Nootaikok finding out.

Speaking of dread, I can easily believe Nootaikok is angry with me for making him leave his position in DC. I’m afraid of the argument we’ll eventually have. I just wanted to be near you, where I’ve always felt safe. That’s the wrong kind of emotion to have for someone who isn’t my mate. Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not sexually attracted to you in any way. It’s just that you rescued me from the hell of living under my parents’ roof and inspired me to become part of the Miscellaneous Magical Creatures Department. It’s just that, now that you’ve moved to DC, I want to return. I know Nootaikok wouldn’t get his job back, though, and I don’t want him to be humiliated by having to walk those same halls every day as just a tracker and not the head of the whole world’s Tracker Central.

He stopped his pen before he could disclose more about his fears. Surely this letter, which was basically a rambling jumble of all his terror, wouldn’t help anything.

He shredded the page and tossed it in the garbage can in the den. There would be no leaving it around for someone else to discover.

Today, Friday, was his last day of parental leave. On Monday, he’d be expected to resume his work at the MMCD. He needed to pull himself together.

With that in mind, Amaruq looked around the den and then down at himself. He still looked slightly pregnant. He’d been slowly exercising away the pounds he’d gained as he tried to make a hospitable home for their pup to grow. Since he was a werewolf, he wouldn’t look ready to deliver much longer. Maybe six weeks total, which would mean another week or two.

He headed for the doorway to the den, determined to go for a run and maybe, by doing so, make himself feel more grounded in his body and less like a spirit drifting over the earth, unattached to anything but pain.

* * *

They were arguing again. For crying out loud, Nootaikok thought, it’s like he’s my spouse instead of my tracker partner.

He glared at Luis, the psychic vampire with whom he’d been paired less than six months ago. Luis was, by all accounts, including his own, one of the best damn negotiators/spies/hunters/executioners in the United States. Luis’s prowess was matched only by the arrogance Nootaikok swore radiated off him in waves now. Funny, but the infernal psychic vampire hadn’t struck Nootaikok as full of himself when he’d accompanied Tilthos Charles to the international meeting of magical creatures that had happened over a year ago.

At first, when he and Luis initially began working together, Nootaikok had borne Luis’s grief and discontent. Luis’s former tracker partner had moved with his mate to the nation’s capital, and Luis had been understandably upset. He and his former partner had worked together for a decade or more, becoming one of the most formidable tracker teams in the world.

However, Nootaikok had been dealing with Luis’s grumpiness for close to half a year, and the frustration he felt was threatening to boil over.

He took in a breath, counting to five before releasing it soundlessly. “Luis,” he said, “I’m not injured. I heal as quickly as any werewolf, and I have earned the right to take the risks other trackers do. Please don’t hamper my working or your own. Going out without another tracker when I’m standing right here is foolish.” He paused, saw Luis was about to object, and added, “I don’t want to be the one to take your dead body back to Tilthos Charles.”

That last got through. Nootaikok could see it in the dropping of Luis’s shoulders and the way he pressed his lips together. Tilthos Charles, Charlie to those closest to him, was the alpha of their shared pack. He was also Luis’s mate and husband. Less than a year ago, Tilthos Charles had been the target of malicious intent from other werewolves and the former queen of the grand fae. He’d suffered what would have been called in humans of the 1900s a “nervous breakdown.” He’d been healed but, since it was less than twelve months since he’d recovered, Luis was understandably protective.

“Fine,” Luis muttered. “Are you ready to go?”

Nootaikok checked the gun in its holster at the small of his back. “Yes.”

“Come on then.” Luis strode out of his office, leading the way toward the back parking lot.

Nootaikok kept pace with him. “Tell me about this one.”

“Didn’t you read the briefing?” Luis demanded.

Sighing, Nootaikok answered, “She’s most likely a werewolf or half werewolf. It’s unlikely she’s from the United States as the humans she’s left alive say she spoke to them in a thick Russian accent. That doesn’t preclude her being from the US, though.”

“Or she’s been sent here.”

They settled into Luis’s car, which Nootaikok didn’t like, because it meant Luis got to drive. Luis was his alpha’s mate, and Nootaikok wasn’t a werewolf so dominance didn’t affect him as much. Still, he liked being in charge of his own transportation. Years of being the senior member of his own tracker team had spoiled him. Also, when he’d been the leader of Tracker Central in Washington, DC, he hadn’t been at anyone’s mercy.

“One of the sharpshooters managed to get a tag on her,” Luis said. “Let me check the GPS and see if she’s still where they left her.”

“She was in a village not too far from here,” Nootaikok said. He wanted to ask why the sharpshooter hadn’t taken her out since she’d been killing humans. Before he could formulate the question in a way that would possibly cause less offense, Luis cursed.

“She’s headed toward the pack house.”

Nootaikok pulled out his phone as Luis peeled out of the parking lot.

Luis commanded, “Call the house. Tell whoever’s there to get everyone inside.”

 


About the Author

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender women’s speculative fiction. Seeking a world made of equality, she created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires. And in the contemporary world she’s named “Sticks & Stones,” Emily has vowed to create small towns where prejudice is challenged by a passionate quest for equality. Find her on Facebook at Shapeshifter Central or on her website.

 

Author’s Website

Emily on Facebook

Emily on Twitter

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

 

Pre-Order Today


RABT Book Tours & PR

Monday, April 20, 2026

M/M Romance Feature: Claimed Without Mercy by Dulce Dennison #excerpt #comingsoon #mmromance #lgbtq #romance #rabtbooktours @changelingpress @RABTBookTours

 




Gay Enemies to Lovers Romance

Date Published: April 24, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press



Captive. Claimed. Protected by the devil himself.

I’m Tyson Hughes’ right hand. Collector. Enforcer. Executioner. When a low-level idiot tries to clear his debt by offering up his own nephew, I expect a clean transaction. A body to move. A message to send. Business.

I don’t expect Kellen. Bruised. Beautiful. Untouched by this world in ways that make my jaw lock. He looks at me like I’m either the devil come to claim him… or the only thing standing between him and worse. Taking him wasn’t part of the plan. Delivering him to Tyson would’ve been easier. Smarter. Safer. Instead, I claim him.

Now he’s living under my roof, breathing my air, learning the rules of a world I don’t sugarcoat. I’m not a hero. I don’t rescue people. I own what’s mine. I protect it. And I destroy anyone stupid enough to threaten it. But the deeper I pull Kellen into my life—into the violence, the loyalty, the blood that binds us—the harder it is to tell where captivity ends… and desire begins.

When the debt comes due, I’ll have to choose. Tyson’s empire. Or the young man I claimed without mercy—and refuse to let go.


WARNING: Intended for readers 18+. Dark MM mafia romance. Possessive antihero. Captor/captive tension, dubious consent. High heat. Guaranteed HEA. No cheating.


Excerpt
Copyright ©2026 Dulce Dennison

Ian

I watched the men work, arms folded across my chest. The dim lights of the warehouse cast long shadows as they moved product from one crate to another, their movements precise and mechanical. Nobody spoke much -- they knew better. When I oversaw an operation, I expected efficiency, not conversation. The tattoos on my forearms seemed to pulse in the half-light, a reminder to everyone present of who I was and what I was capable of. The man who made problems disappear.

“Faster,” I said, my voice echoing against the concrete walls. “We need this shit loaded before sunrise.”

The men picked up their pace, sweat beading on their foreheads. This shipment was worth seven figures -- premium grade heroin straight from our overseas connections. The kind of product that kept Tyson’s empire running and our pockets lined.

I paced between the rows of crates, watching each man’s hands, each movement. Trust wasn’t something I gave easily, especially not to the low-level soldiers Tyson assigned to these jobs. Most were competent enough, but all it took was one fuck-up, one greedy asshole, and we’d have cops swarming the place or, worse, a war with another organization.

Something caught my eye. A slight hesitation from one of the newer guys -- skinny fuck with a neck tattoo that screamed prison ink. He glanced over his shoulder when he thought I wasn’t looking, then slipped his hand into his jacket pocket just a little too casually.

I moved behind a stack of crates, circling around until I was positioned where he couldn’t see me. Three years of working as Tyson’s enforcer had taught me to spot a rat before they even knew they were one.

“Something interesting in your pocket, Alvarez?” I asked, appearing beside him like a shadow.

He jumped, nearly dropping the bag he was holding. “No, Mr. Grant. Just checking the time.”

“Really? Pull it out, then.”

His eyes darted to the exit, calculating the distance. I knew that look. I’d seen it dozens of times before on the faces of men who thought they could outsmart me.

“Now,” I said, not raising my voice. I never had to.

“It’s nothing, I swear --”

I grabbed his wrist, twisting until he gasped in pain, then reached into his pocket myself. My fingers closed around a small plastic bag containing about twenty grams of our product. The weight of it told me everything I needed to know.

“Everyone stop,” I commanded, and the warehouse fell silent. “Gather round. Seems we need to have a little lesson in loyalty.”

The men formed a circle, their faces grim. They knew what was coming. They’d seen it before, or at least heard the stories.

I held up the bag. “Alvarez here thinks he deserves a bonus. Isn’t that right?”

“Please, Mr. Grant, I wasn’t --”

My fist connected with his jaw before he could finish the sentence. He stumbled backward but didn’t fall. Good. I wanted him conscious for what came next.

“Tyson Hughes pays you well,” I said, addressing everyone now. “He provides for your families. Keeps the cops off your backs. And in return, he asks for one thing.” I grabbed Alvarez by the throat. “Loyalty.”

I slammed him against a crate, my hand still tight around his neck. His eyes bulged, face turning red, then purple.

“You know what happens to thieves in this organization?” I asked, loosening my grip just enough for him to breathe.

He nodded frantically, gasping for air.

“Tell them,” I demanded, nodding toward the other men.

“They… they die,” he choked out.

I smiled. “Usually. But tonight, I’m feeling generous.”

Relief flooded his face for a brief moment before I slammed my knee into his groin. As he doubled over, I caught him with an uppercut that sent him sprawling across the concrete floor.

The men watched in silence as I approached Alvarez, who was now curled into a ball, blood trickling from his split lip. I knelt beside him, keeping my voice low enough that only he could hear.

“I’m going to let you live, but not out of mercy.” I pulled a switchblade from my pocket and flicked it open. “You’re going to be a message.”

What happened next filled the warehouse with screams that the thick walls swallowed whole. The men watched, faces impassive but eyes wide with fear as I made my point in blood. When I was done, Alvarez lay sobbing on the floor, clutching what remained of his left hand.

“Get him patched up,” I told two of the men. “Then drop him at the emergency room across town. Make sure he understands that if he says a word about where he was or who did this, the next visit won’t be so pleasant.”

They nodded and dragged Alvarez away, leaving a smear of crimson across the floor. I turned to the remaining men, wiping my blade clean on a handkerchief.

“Finish loading the shipment. I want everything out of here in thirty minutes.”

They scattered like cockroaches under a light, moving twice as fast as before. The metallic smell of blood hung in the air, mixing with the dust and chemical odors of the warehouse. I checked my watch. Almost 3 AM.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from Tyson:

Need you at the house. 9 AM sharp. Important matter to discuss.

I stared at the message, feeling a familiar mix of pride and anxiety. A direct summons from Tyson usually meant one of two things: I’d fucked up, or he had a special job that only I could handle. Given that I’d been running operations smoothly for months, I was betting on the latter.

I supervised the rest of the loading in silence, watching as the men carefully avoided the bloodstain on the floor. By 4:15 AM, the warehouse was empty except for me and the lingering evidence of what happened to those who betrayed Tyson Hughes.

I locked up and climbed into my black Audi, the leather seat cool against my back. The night had turned cold, but I barely noticed. My mind was already on the meeting with Tyson, wondering what assignment awaited me. Whatever it was, I’d handle it. I always did. That’s why, despite everything, I was still alive when so many others weren’t.

I pulled out of the warehouse district, leaving behind the night’s violence and heading toward my apartment for a few hours of sleep before meeting with the only man I’d ever truly respected. The only man who’d ever given me a chance when everyone else saw nothing but gutter trash. The man who’d made me what I was.

For Tyson Hughes, I’d do anything. And he knew it.

I pulled up to Tyson’s estate at 8:55 AM, early as always. The gates opened automatically -- security knew my car. As I drove up the long, winding driveway, I caught glimpses of the sprawling mansion through the trees. Tyson had built all this from nothing, clawing his way up from the streets to become the most powerful man in the city’s underworld. And he’d picked me. Even after all these years, that fact still hit me in the chest sometimes, a mixture of pride and the constant fear of disappointing him.

I parked next to Tyson’s collection of luxury cars and straightened my tie in the rearview mirror. Despite only three hours of sleep, I looked presentable. The dark circles under my eyes were practically permanent fixtures anyway.

The front door opened before I could knock. Nick, Tyson’s longtime second-in-command, greeted me with a curt nod.

“He’s in his study,” he said, stepping aside.

I walked through the marble-floored foyer, past priceless artwork and antiques that Tyson collected not because he gave a shit about art, but because they signified his rise from poverty. Everything in this house was a trophy, a reminder of victories and conquered enemies.

The study door stood ajar. I knocked anyway.

“Come in, Ian,” Tyson called.

He sat behind a massive oak desk, silver hair immaculately styled, wearing what I knew was a hand-tailored suit that probably cost more than most people made in a month. At fifty-three, Tyson Hughes carried himself with the ease of a man who knew his own power and had no need to flaunt it. When he killed, he did it with a phone call, not his hands. Those days were behind him.

“Right on time,” he said, looking up from his computer and removing his reading glasses. “How’d the shipment go last night?”

“Clean and quick. One minor issue that’s been handled.”

Tyson raised an eyebrow. “What kind of issue?”

“Alvarez tried skimming product. Won’t happen again.”

“Is he breathing?”

I nodded. “Missing some fingers, but alive. I figured he’d be more useful as a warning than a corpse.”

A smile touched the corners of Tyson’s mouth. “Smart. That’s why I trust you with these things.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit. Drink?”

“It’s not even ten.”

“Since when has that ever stopped either of us?”

I smiled despite myself and took the seat. Tyson poured two glasses of scotch from a crystal decanter, sliding one across the desk to me.

“You look like shit,” he said casually. “Not sleeping?”

“Sleep’s overrated.”

“Not when I need you sharp.” He leaned back in his chair, studying me with those penetrating gray eyes that saw everything. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard lately.”

“Just doing my job.”

“Your job is to follow orders and stay alive. Can’t do either if you’re running on fumes.”

I took a sip of the scotch, letting the burn distract me from the fact that Tyson was the only person on earth who could talk to me like this without ending up in pieces.

“I’m fine,” I said. “What’s this important matter you wanted to discuss?”

Tyson’s expression shifted, his eyes hardening. “Sean Collins.”

The name hung in the air between us.

“What about him?” I asked.

“He owes us three hundred grand. Has for almost six months now.” Tyson took a long swallow of his drink. “I’ve been patient. Sent Nick to have a chat with him twice. Sent messages through mutual associates. Nothing.”

“You want me to collect.”

“I want you to make an example of him.” Tyson’s voice dropped, became colder. “Collins thinks because he’s got connections with the Irish that he’s untouchable. He’s been spreading word that I’ve gone soft in my old age.”

My jaw clenched. “That’s a mistake.”

“A fatal one.” Tyson stood up and walked to the window, looking out over his manicured gardens. “Sean Collins is a particular kind of vermin. Beats the girls who work for him, sometimes kills them if they try to leave. Has a taste for the young ones too.”

“Want me to take care of him permanently?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Tyson turned, his expression softer now, almost paternal. “Not yet. First, get my money. Make him understand who he’s dealing with.” He returned to his desk and pulled out a file, sliding it across to me. “Here’s everything you need to know. Addresses, hangouts, known associates. His nephew lives with him -- kid named Kellen Lin. Collins had custody since the boy’s mother died. He’s an adult now but hasn’t moved out.”

I flipped through the file. Photos, financial records, property deeds. Tyson was nothing if not thorough.

“The nephew -- he involved in Collins’ business?” I asked.

“Not as far as we know. Works at a coffee shop. Keeps to himself.” Tyson refilled his glass. “Use your judgment there.”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Collateral damage was part of the job.

“When?” I asked, closing the file.

“Yesterday would’ve been good. Today’s acceptable. By the end of the week, non-negotiable.”

I nodded, downing the rest of my scotch in one swallow. “Consider it done.”

“I always do when I give you an assignment.” Tyson smiled, the kind of smile that had always made me feel like I belonged somewhere. “That’s why I chose you, Ian. From the first day I pulled you out of that shithole your father called a home, I knew you were different. You understand loyalty.”

“You gave me a life,” I said simply. It wasn’t flattery. It was fact. Before Tyson, I was nothing. A fifteen-year-old kid with a junkie father and violence in my blood. Tyson had channeled that violence, given it purpose and direction.

“And you’ve repaid that a thousand times over.” He walked around the desk and put a hand on my shoulder. “Collins is just the beginning. I’m getting older, Ian. Starting to think about the future of this organization.”

My heart skipped a beat. We’d never discussed succession before, though everyone in the hierarchy wondered who would take over when Tyson eventually stepped aside. I’d always assumed it would be Nick, but at the same time, Nick was also getting up there in years. Both men were close in age and had worked side-by-side for as long as anyone could remember. But if I thought about it, I was probably the next closest to Tyson, the most trusted after Nick.

I left the study with the file tucked under my arm and a sense of purpose burning in my chest. Tyson had called me “his boy.” It wasn’t the first time, but it never failed to hit something deep inside me -- that hungry, abandoned part that had never known a real father’s approval.

For Tyson, I’d collect this debt and a thousand more. I’d tear Sean Collins apart if necessary. Because when Tyson Hughes looked at me like that -- with pride and expectation -- I felt like I was worth something. And that feeling was more addictive than any drug I’d ever tried.

 


About the Author

Dulce Dennison is a pen name for gay and LGBTQA+ themed love stories from best selling MC romance author Harley Wylde, AKA award-winning science fiction/paranormal romance author Jessica Coulter Smith. From cowboys to shapeshifters, Dulce/Harley/Jess believes in love in all shapes and sizes, and that everyone deserves a happily-ever-after.


Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

 

Pre-Order Today


RABT Book Tours & PR

Sunday, March 8, 2026

M/M Paranormal Feature: Spiritori by Mychael Black #comingsoon #excerpt #mmromance #lgbtq #paranormal #rabtbooktours @changelingpress @RABTBookTours

 



Paranormal Romance, MPreg

Date Published: March 13, 2026

 


A death mage turns out to be the perfect mate for a human omega.

 

Lucas Krauss is getting used to being out of a nightmare and acclimating to life with Saridan Tower. His mate is a death mage, one of the deadliest kinds of vamps, and now they are sorting out their lives as a family.

Raphael Santos isn’t fazed by the looks and whispers he gets from passers-by. His status is unmistakable due to his pale skin and the aura that surrounds him. He never thought he’d find his mate, yet a sweet human omega is more than happy to touch him, unafraid of Raphael’s true nature.

But not all is well. House Lorthaen makes it clear that they are not going to leave House Saridan alone, and Raphael vows to protect his family, no matter what.

 

WARNING: Mpreg, Alpha/omega, Fated Mates, Hurt/Comfort.


 


EXCERPT

 

Lucas

Everything hurt. Not as bad as when I’d… well… when a human cop had swooped in, ready to obliterate Gino Boone. Gino had the jump on him, though, and ate a bullet like a fucking coward. I was happy to be out of that nightmare, but I wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about being here now. The head of House Saridan, Deacon, and another vamp had visited me in the hospital and brought me here to Saridan’s Tower. Outside this apartment, I still didn’t feel entirely comfortable, but when Raphael was around, that all changed.

He was my mate. I didn’t need any sort of test to tell me that either. My gut instinct had made it crystal clear the second the man had walked into my hospital room with Deacon.

When we’d arrived here at the tower, I’d noticed others gave Raphael a wide berth. I couldn’t fathom why, though. He’d told me what he was: a death mage. His magic was the kind that manipulated a being’s life force. There seemed to be a faint aura of… something around him everywhere he went. It didn’t scare me, though. He might’ve terrified others, even other vamps, but not me. In private, he was attentive, almost to the point of being a mother hen. He was soft-spoken and gentle, far more than I ever expected someone like him could be.

The wounds from the beating Gino had given me were healing, though I was still sore. The worst part, though, was not knowing how the rest would play out. Gino had whored me out to random bastards, and, at some point, I got pregnant. Raphael knew, but unlike most alphas, he didn’t seem upset about it.

As I sat on the bed, I put a hand on my still-flat belly. I had no clue whose kid I was now carrying, but I’d always wanted a family. I prayed Raphael didn’t want to get rid of it. We hadn’t had much time to talk since, apparently, there was a rival vamp House determined to bring House Saridan down.

The apartment door opened, and I knew who it was without needing to hear or see him. Of course, no one else would come in here, but Raphael didn’t even need to announce himself.

“Are you all right?” he asked as he stepped to the bedroom doorway.

He hurried over to the bed and crouched in front of me, his height putting us at eye-level. He ran his fingers through my hair, and I couldn’t help but close my eyes and smile. His touch was so gentle and loving.

“I’m okay.”

I caught his hand and brought it to my mouth to kiss the tips of his fingers. We’d only hugged, not even a single kiss in the couple of weeks I’d been here, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I could wait for him to make a move. Aches or not, I couldn’t deny how attracted I was to him.

Raphael smiled. “Did you rest well?”

I nodded. “Slept like a baby, actually.”

His gaze shifted downward the slightest bit, and my breath caught. His smile was wistful. “We need to talk, you and I.” He looked back up at me. “Are you hungry?”

“I could definitely eat.”

Before he could move away and stand, I gripped his hand tighter. Raphael met my gaze, those almost white eyes mesmerizing. I didn’t need to say another word. He cupped the back of my neck with his other hand and pulled me closer.

I couldn’t recall the last time I’d kissed anyone. I certainly never let any of Boone’s guys do it. It was an act so intimate, so personal, that I’d fought to save it for someone special.

Someone like Raphael.

His touch was featherlight, and his lips were surprisingly soft. I opened for him without hesitation. He took his time, tongue stroking over mine, never trying to take control or push the kiss into harder territory. I could’ve kissed him for the rest of my life and never tired of it. He tasted like the peppermint candies I’d discovered he had an affinity for, and a slightly minty scent swirled in my head.

“If we don’t stop now,” he murmured on my lips, “we’ll never get out of here.”

I chuckled. “In all honesty, I’d started to wonder if maybe this attraction was one-sided.”

Raphael pulled back a little and caressed the side of my face. “Never. I want you. I’ve wanted you since the first day I saw you in the hospital. You needed to heal, though.” He raised one eyebrow at me. “You still do.”

“I’ll admit I’m a little achy, but… please? I promise I’ll tell you if I need to stop.”

“Tell you what. Let’s go eat. We can talk about us, including the baby.”

I swallowed and stared into his eyes, searching for a hint of what he was thinking. “I… I want to keep it. I’m sorry.”

“Never apologize for something you didn’t do,” Raphael said. “And certainly don’t do it with regards to our child.”

Our child.

I somehow managed to blink away the threat of tears. He wanted to keep the baby, too?

Raphael stood and helped me up as well. “Come on, mate. Food and talking.”

After I got dressed, I followed him out of the apartment, my hand held gently in his. I’d worried how he would react to my statement, and I kind of felt like I was in a daze as he led us to the elevator and down to the tower’s main dining room. According to Deacon, there were fifteen floors, with his place as the penthouse at the top. Then there were several floors for residents and the main dining hall. Raphael’s apartment was a single-bedroom and much larger than one would expect.

Until now, we’d had food brought up to us, but I’d told him yesterday I wanted to try to go out and be around others. I’d spent so long being terrified, but now that I was safe, I wanted my life back.

* * *

Raphael

To say I was proud would’ve been an understatement. Not only was my infatuation mutual, but Lucas was also venturing out of the apartment for the first time since we’d brought him here about two weeks ago. I’d known what he was to me the moment I’d seen him at the hospital. My magic gave me the ability to detect things like that without the need for blood. Despite what folks thought, not all of my magic was relegated to death. It was why I’d moved him from his own small room to my apartment. I could take care of him and the baby without worrying so much.

The idea that I was finally going to be able to have a child thrilled me to no end. It didn’t matter to me who the biological father was, and I’d hoped Lucas would want to keep the baby. We sat at a table in the dining room, and one of the servers walked over to us, his smile genuine. Out of all the guys in here, he was my favorite. He never acted like I was some kind of pariah. I didn’t ask to be a Spiritori, but I also didn’t regret it.

“Hey, stranger,” Dale said to me as he handed us our menus. “How have you been? And… who’s the cutie?”

Lucas blushed and chuckled softly, lowering his gaze. I smiled at him, then up at Dale.

“Doing quite well. Dale, this is my mate, Lucas. Lucas, this is Dale, one of the best servers here.”

They shook hands, and Dale shot me a wink. “It’s great to meet you, Lucas. What can I get you both to drink?”

“Usual for me,” I replied, referring to lemon water with a sprig of mint. “Lucas?”

“Um… do you have unsweet tea?”

“We sure do,” Dale said. “I’ll have those out in a moment.”

He left, and I reached over the table to touch Lucas’ hand. He turned it palm up and linked our fingers together. It felt amazing.

“How are you feeling?”

“Sore, like I said, but getting better. I don’t know what sort of docs your boss has employed here, but they’re damn good.”

I nodded. “That they are. I’ve had a few bumps and scrapes from work over the years.”

Lucas tilted his head slightly, his gaze questioning. “Have people always treated you like you’re contagious?”

I laughed. “For the most part, yes. You sure it doesn’t bother you?”

“Doesn’t faze me at all,” Lucas said with a slight shrug. “It’s who you are. Besides, death mage stuff aside, I’ve seen the real you in private.”

This time, I swear I felt myself blush, if that was possible. I’m sure my pale face was certainly a bit pinker. “Believe it or not, I much prefer diplomacy when presented with the option. Unlike my coworkers, namely the Venari, I’m not a violent person. Not inherently a pacifist, mind you, but I try my best to avoid fights.”

“Do you enjoy being a Spiritori?”

Dale returned with our drinks, and we ordered our food. I waited until he left again before replying to the question many folks have asked me over the majority of my life. I took a sip of my lemon water and sighed.

“As a child, I often wished I’d been born something else, to be completely honest.” I gestured to myself. “No matter where I went, people knew what I was. Same thing happened to my alpha father. It’s useful in many circumstances, but the stigma is incredibly prevalent. It’s why my folks divorced. My omega dad got tired of the looks, whispers, what have you, whenever they went somewhere.”

“Damn,” Lucas muttered. He reached across the table and gripped my fingers gently. “I’m sorry.”

I smiled. “Thanks. But enough about me. I want to hear all about you. The past couple of weeks have been a bit nuts, between you healing and Deacon’s ongoing issues with Lorthaen. We haven’t had a lot of time together.”

“Not much to tell, really,” Lucas said. “I had an older brother, but he died in a car accident when I was twelve. My dads are still alive, though my omega father isn’t doing too well. We think it’s dementia.”

“Wow. That has to be hard on them both.”

Lucas nodded. “My alpha dad is his primary caregiver now, utterly devoted. I moved out about four years ago, but I still visit.”

“Dare I ask how you ended up working for Boone?”

He grimaced and visibly shuddered. “A ‘friend,’” he replied, using air quotes with his free hand. “Needless to say, dude is no longer anyone I speak to. Hell, Boone had me blindfolded anytime he whored me out, so my ex-friend could’ve been one of the assholes to use me.”

I wanted to erase the pain from that entire situation, but I couldn’t. Before I could answer, Dale came by with our food. We tucked into it, and I couldn’t help but grin when Lucas moaned in appreciation.

“Told you,” I said. “Deacon spares no expense.”

 

 

About the Author

Mychael Black has been writing professionally since 2005. He writes gay romance and erotica, but also het romance as Carys Seraphine and queer fantasy as Katherine Cook.

He's an avid PC gamer with a love for RPGs, a horror fanatic, and a fantasy nut. He also has a weakness for anything relating to skulls, dogs, and Spongebob Squarepants.

Mychael lives on the Eastern Shore of the US with his family. He loves to hear from readers, be it via email or Facebook.



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RABT Book Tours & PR

Monday, March 2, 2026

M/M Romance Feature: Impulse Caught (A Sticks & Stones Romance) by Emily Carrington #excerpt #mmromance #suspense #comingsoon #rabtbooktours @CarringtonEmily @ChangelingPress @RABTBookTours


A Sticks & Stones Romance

Marisburg Chronicles 9


M/M Romance Suspense

Date Published: March 6, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press



Riku takes charge in bed, but will he have any control over the day-to-day decisions of a marriage?

Money and status differences challenge Riku and Theo to find a middle ground. Their passion is white-hot, but their ideas of living comfortably are at odds. As their wedding nears, driven forward by Theo’s parents’ sense of guilt, Riku feels the old urge to run.

Riku refuses to give into this impulse at first, but as the comparison between his emotional scars and the mountains of Theo’s familial expectations grow, Riku fears running will be the only less-than-honorable course left to him.

Theo isn’t blind to Riku’s struggles but he doesn’t understand what’s wrong. Each time he reaches out, Riku reaches back, yet they never quite connect. Will their need for each other overcome their differences, or will their passion be subsumed by a wave of conflicting desires?



Excerpt


It was the day after the children had left for the summer. There would be ESY, of course, extended school year, but Riku hadn’t been asked to participate. He’d only been a teacher at the Colton school for the deaf since January, so it made sense he wouldn’t be first pick for ESY. He would have normally chewed over that until he was ill, but since Theo had gone back to work in February, they were living relatively comfortably. Riku’s student loans still put a squeeze on him, but he could manage without panicking.

He was sorting through papers posted on the walls. Most of them had gone home with their makers yesterday, but there were a few that hadn’t been collected. These he grouped into a folder he marked “leftover assignments” and stored for early September.

He glanced toward where Theo was wiping down desks, and Riku had to catch his breath. His fiancé was dressed in casual clothes, but he looked like a Greek statue come to life. Attired in a green T-shirt and jeans shorts, he looked younger than he was because of the cutoffs, but not like jailbait. He was thirty-two, having gained another year in mid-April. Unfortunately, Riku had also aged a year, so they were still a decade apart.

The brush of Theo’s medium brown hair on his green-clad shoulders made Riku think of a book he’d read in high school. It had been about a man who could sing magic into the world. His hair had been red as his Irish heritage, but the physical differences didn’t matter. Theo could definitely have sung magic into Riku’s heart, or anywhere else he chose. His broad shoulders stretched the T-shirt over his pectorals and his shorts showed off his long, muscular legs.

If they weren’t at school, Riku would have suggested they quit working and go goof off instead. Unfortunately, they weren’t in their rented room in Marisburg.

Turning his attention back to his chosen task, he went to the bookshelf and started organizing the books. Ninety percent of the books were in print, but the remaining ones were in print and braille, for his students who, like Theo, had Usher Syndrome or other hearing/vision challenges. He wasn’t the braille teacher, could barely feel the dots under his fingers, truth be told. Still, he liked the idea of providing all kinds of different access to literature. Probably that was part of what made him an effective English teacher.

With his back to Theo as he organized the books, he reflected that today most likely wouldn’t see the two of them making love.

Half a year ago, Theo’s parents, courtesy of his father’s quick tongue, had alienated themselves from their son. Mr. Billings had told Theo that if he could prove himself self-sufficient for six months, he would be welcomed back into the familial fold. Theo’s father had apologized, all but falling over his words in an attempt to retreat from the ultimatum but Theo had taken up the challenge.

Now it was the end of that six months. Theo hadn’t been out of communication with his parents, but certain topics, like his relationship with Riku, had been off-limits. As had his access to the family fortunes.

Theo had been, for the past six months, surviving on his own brilliant mind and on his ability to work from anywhere. Today, though, Theo would be reopening full communication with his parents.

Riku wasn’t sure if he should be dreading that time as much as he was.

It wasn’t that Theo hadn’t been talking to his parents. He just hadn’t accepted any monetary handouts from them, and he’d refused to discuss his relationship with Riku. It was easy to trust him, to believe he had suspended those ties temporarily. Theo was prideful and wouldn’t bend. Besides, the two of them had engaged in actual arguments about money, like any other couple.

Riku found himself smiling. Those fights had always ended in makeup sex, almost like they were a new kind of foreplay. He hadn’t always won the arguments, like the one they’d had about moving out of his ex’s house and into a rented room.

To save on money, he’d wanted to stay “just a little longer” despite the fact that they’d been sleeping on an air mattress in his ex’s living room. The word “uncomfortable” didn’t begin to define that situation but it had felt safe because Riku had been able to pay bills without worrying where he would rest at night.

Theo had ultimately been the hero of that fight because he’d shown Riku how selfish he was being. His lover had managed it without making Riku feel bad, which was almost a miracle.

So, why was he so tangled up about bringing the Billings parents back into the picture? They’d apologized for calling him Theo’s Asian fetish, which was apparently the worst offense in their eyes. Shouldn’t he forgive them?

No, he thought. There’s an essential disconnect between how I view the world and how they do. We can’t resolve that.

Hands closed on his shoulders, and he realized he’d been standing still instead of cleaning. He relaxed into the familiar touch of Theo’s skilled fingers as Theo began massaging his shoulders and that spot where he carried ninety percent of his tension, which was at the base of his skull. He must have been unmoving for quite a while because Theo, partially deaf and visually impaired as well, sometimes missed things that happened around him. He’d noticed today, though.

Riku turned and Theo dropped one hand into Riku’s palm. He signed, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m borrowing trouble,” he said and signed. He caught the light playing over Theo’s hair and reached up to touch a lock that had fallen in front of Theo’s eyes. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

“Thank you.” He laughed. “I do know, but I also am aware that you’re avoiding talking about whatever’s bothering you. What’s wrong?”

Riku shook his head, remembered Theo might not be able to see that, and answered, “I don’t want to talk about it here.”

“Maybe we should go home, and we should resume this cleaning tomorrow?”

He didn’t want to go back to the rented room and face Theo’s parents. “I’d better finish up here or it’s going to drag on all summer.”

“By yourself?”

“You can go back if you want,” Riku offered.

“Why don’t I stay with you, keep you out of your head?”

Riku hugged him, feeling the warmth of Theo’s skin on his forehead as he leaned against him. “I love you. Thank you for understanding how much I need you to be with me right now.”

Theo kissed him, angling his head so their noses didn’t bump. “I love you.” He smacked Riku’s hip lightly. “Now. Let’s get cleaning. I don’t just love you.” He signed into Riku’s hand. “I crave your touch.”

“And my mouth, I hope,” Riku signed back. “I’ve wanted to taste you for days.”

 

About the Author

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender women’s speculative fiction. Seeking a world made of equality, she created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires. And in the contemporary world she’s named “Sticks & Stones,” Emily has vowed to create small towns where prejudice is challenged by a passionate quest for equality. Find her on Facebook at Shapeshifter Central or on her website.

 

Author’s Website

Emily on Facebook

Emily on Twitter

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

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Pre-Order Today


RABT Book Tours & PR

Wednesday, February 11, 2026

M/M Romance Feature: And Call Me by Will Okati #mmromance #lgbtq #romance #comingsoon #excerpt #rabtbooktours @changelingpress @RABTBookTours




Friends to Lovers Medical Romance


M/M Romance

Date Published: February 13, 2026


Need a prescription for love? Take two, and call me in the morning.


And Call Me in the Morning: Eli and Zane. Yes, they spend a lot of time together. That doesn’t mean they’re a real couple. When teased about it one too many times by their colleagues, Zane challenges Eli to set the record straight with a kiss to prove there’s absolutely no chemistry between them. Neither expected a spark to ignite between them. More than a spark. Truth be told, Eli’s not so sure they can set the record straight after all.

And Call Me in the Evening: Eli’s still not great at wearing his heart on his sleeve and Zane’s still got trust issues, but they manage just fine. It’s all good. Right? Yes and no. Eli’s ex-wife Marybeth has come back to town, bringing a heaping helping of hassle with her. There’s something to be said for setting the story straight, it’s true. Eli knows he and Zane have a good thing going even if keeping it that way is the hardest -- and best -- part.


Excerpt
Copyright ©2026 Will Okati

Falling in love with his closest friend had never been something Eli planned to do with his life. Wasn’t as if he could have stopped it, though.

Sometimes love just happened.

Even if it took him a while to figure that out.

* * *

“There you are.” Zane laid down the heavy, ivory-colored menu he’d been idly flipping through as Eli approached, making his way through the maze of tables at their regular bistro. “I almost thought you weren’t going to make it.”

Eli sat with a thump, running his hand through his dark brown hair, cut short but still quite capable of standing on end. He grimaced when he discovered he’d forgotten his stethoscope, still wound around his neck.

“Long night?” Zane asked, already waving their server over with the universal “coffee here” gesture.

Eli relaxed and let Zane take care of him. Some days, a man truly appreciated a friend who’d have his back when he needed a rock to shore up against. “Long, long night. Three-car pileup at an intersection. I didn’t want to leave before everyone was stable.”

“That’s my boy.” Zane shifted out of the way to let their server pour Eli’s cup. She was a pretty thing, well packed into her curves -- curves that she offered not so subtly for display.

Zane ignored them. He’d taken Eli’s face in his hands and begun to assess him for signs of exhaustion. The guy had good hands, firm and dry and dexterous. They felt nice and cool against Eli’s skin. He let Eli go with a light slap to the cheek. “Your eyes look like burned holes in a blanket. You should go home and get some rest.”

“Like I’d miss a chance at a fine, elegant brunch?” Eli rolled his eyes.

“Heaven forbid.” Zane gave good deadpan. “Jeez. This is the kind of place I fear running into my family.” How moneyed Zane’s family was, Eli didn’t know. Coming from an ivory tower was a sore spot for Zane, who much preferred the life he’d chosen in a grittier world.

Eli segued to spare Zane any discomfort. What were friends for, right? “You were on last night too. How’d you manage to get away in time for a shower and a sharp morning suit?”

“Questions, questions.” The corners of Zane’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Unlike some of us, I leave when my shift’s done.”

“Since when? You’re as much of a workaholic as I am, if not more. A hospitalist’s work is never done, especially at Immaculate Grace. What was I thinking when I chose that as a career, anyway?”

“That you’re a glutton for punishment?”

“True enough.” Eli drank deeply of his coffee, almost moaning in appreciation. The influx of better-than-decent caffeine stimulated his brain. “Before I forget, I got those concert tickets you begged me for. Two, even.” He patted his dark brown shirt pocket. Plain clothes for a plain man, built tough to last, Chicago born and bred for forty-three years.

Unlike Zane, who looked as fresh as a daisy in a casual white linen jacket, pale violet button-down, and pressed slacks. Pretty as a picture, coming across as maybe five years younger than his forty-one. Zane brightened and made a grab. “Good seats?”

“I’m told they’re the best. Ah-ah-ah.” Eli tapped his pocket again. “I also got advance tickets for a Cubs game when the season starts. Fair is fair. I try not to fall asleep during the chorale or chamber music or whatever you want to call it, and you endure beer, umpire heckling, and giant foam fingers.”

“Done and done. You drive a hard bargain.” Zane clinked coffee cups with Eli. He hadn’t looked away once, but Eli liked that about Zane. When he gave you his full attention, nothing else seemed to matter to him. All part of the Zane package, and it made him the best doctor Eli had known. “I --” He stopped, interrupted by the chiming of his pager. When he checked the number, he grimaced. “Damn. Sorry, I’ve got to take this. Keep that warm for me.”

“What did I tell you? Workaholic. Hey! Do not let them talk you into coming back to the hospital today.”

Zane waved backward at Eli as he walked off. Eli watched him go, amused.

A different server, young and male, approached with the coffeepot. Eli suspected the waitress had gotten fed up with flirting and traded off. Fine by him. This kid had a good eye for refills. He held his cup up. “Keep it coming, but we’re not ordering yet. Still waiting for two.”

And they’d better hurry, if they know what’s good for them.

Eli wasn’t a huge fan of this bistro. Without Zane there to provide a buffer, the place was too rich for his blood. Made him feel like any second someone with a pedigree was going to jump out from behind a column and ask him what a working-class stiff like him thought he was doing here.

“Of course, sir. I’m sorry if I’m being rude,” the waiter said, deftly pouring. “If I could ask -- you two make such a handsome couple. How long have you been together?”

Not this again. Eli didn’t even have to ask what the kid meant. Wasn’t the first time he and Zane had been mistaken for a couple, and he’d bet his hard-earned MD it wouldn’t be the last. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but we’re not.”

The waiter’s coffeepot slipped. “You’re not -- oh. Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

“No problem.” Eli waved him off before the kid could apologize again. He’d almost gotten used to the assumption. Whatever people saw in Zane and him, he had no idea. Felt like being on the shooting range sometimes, as many assumptions made about them as they had to dodge. Once corrected, strangers were mostly good about apologizing and moving on.

Friends of theirs, on the other hand, were not so accommodating.

“We made it!” Diana and Holly -- also doctors, both familiar faces at Immaculate Heart -- swarmed the table in a cloud of perfume and joie de vivre. With them, more hesitantly, came a fresh-faced kid Eli vaguely recognized as an intern. The ladies dove into the fresh baguettes and cherry jam their new waiter discreetly slid onto the table before exiting at speed, stage left.

Eli stayed well back from the carnage. Friends they might be, but Holly and Diana -- well, it was best to stay on your toes around them. “Who’s the boy toy?”

Holly, a pale, Nordic-type blonde, swatted Eli’s arm. “Be nice. Taye’s been at work for almost twenty-four hours. He deserved a break, so we brought him along to give him a treat.”

Eli didn’t doubt she spoke the truth. The intern was gray with exhaustion and had bags under his eyes big enough to carry the US mail. For all that, he wasn’t bad-looking. If you noticed male attributes, that was. A well-shaped face and a kind mouth, reddish gold hair cut short and sleek. Eli could tell he was probably handsome given the way Diana eyed him with impressively dirty intent.

“Really?” Eli nudged Diana under the table.

Diana, forty-two and unashamed, attractive in a gamine sort of way, wrinkled her nose at Eli. A damned fine cardiologist and an innovator in her field, she had the sense of humor of a collegiate and saw no point in growing old gracefully. She nudged back, and ouch, she was wearing pointy-toed shoes. “Bah humbug.”

Taye watched them with big eyes. “Is there something going on here that I should know about?”

“Not a thing,” Diana said. Butter wouldn’t have melted between her cherry red lips. She stole Eli’s coffee and sipped demurely.

Holly petted Taye’s hair. “It’s all right, Taye. No one here’s going to bite.”

Taye cracked a grin. “Right. It’s just -- three doctors and me. All of you have been in medicine since I was in grade school. I’m a little nervous.”

“Shows what you know,” Eli said, jumping back into the conversation. “I just finished my residency last year.” He shrugged. “My midlife crisis came early. What can I say?”

“Seriously? But you seem so… I mean, you’re… The way you take charge, I’d thought you were an old pro.”

“Thank you. It’s never too late to teach an old dog new tricks. And before you ask, I’m forty-three.” Eli took his cup back from Diana, only to find it empty. “Wench.”

She smirked at Eli. “And don’t you forget it. So where’s your wife?”

“Right now, specifically?” Eli checked his watch, a gift from Zane when he’d been hired on as an attending. “Hell if I know. Either in Nepal with Paolo or in Paris with Neo. I lost track.” Either way, she was doing adventurous things with a man who isn’t married to his job. He couldn’t blame Marybeth. Cops made terrible husbands. When he’d decided to switch to medicine, that’d been the last straw, and he wished her well with… whoever was on the menu this week. “Enough about me.” They knew damn well he didn’t like to talk about personal business in public.

Holly and Diana exchanged glances, the secretly amused and utterly female method of communication Eli had never learned to interpret, God help him.

“Good for her. I was talking about your other wife,” Diana said around a bite of ruby jam and baguette.

“Beg pardon?”

“She means Zane,” Holly said.

That, in Eli’s opinion, was taking it too far, especially in front of a colleague Eli didn’t know. “Enough, the both of you.”

Holly ignored him serenely and put her chin in her hands. “Come to think of it, this might be the first time I’ve seen you without him in weeks.”

Eli could feel Taye watching them, fascinated. “My private life is not up for scrutiny, but for the last time, Zane and I are not together. How many times do I have to say this, and to how many people?”

“Wait, what?” Looked like Taye had forgotten his nerves. He turned to Diana instead of Eli. “Zane is Dr. Novia, right? They’re not…”

“No,” Eli said, annoyed. A flicker of motion in his peripheral vision filled him with relief. “Zane, for the love of God, would you get behind me on this?”

Diana and Holly dissolved into giggles. Zane shrugged, untroubled as ever, and took his seat. He tucked his pager away. “What are we being ridiculed for today?”

“Same old, same old,” Eli said. He passed Zane the bread and jam. “Apparently we want to jump each other’s bones.”

“An oldie, but a goodie.” Zane lifted his chin at Taye. “What are you looking at, junior?”

Taye coughed. “Nothing. Sorry.” He retreated behind a mouthful of fresh-from-the-oven baguette.

Eli had to admire Zane at work. They could have used a laser stare like Zane’s on the force back in the day. He’d have had perps pissing their pants with nothing more than a look.

Zane turned it on Diana. “Look at you, Mrs. Robinson.”

Diana possessed not the smallest trace of shame. “You wish you had my cojones.”

“True.”

Their byplay didn’t stop Holly. Nothing did, as far as Eli could tell. Hell, her husband egged her on; Eli held it in private opinion that the pair of them enjoyed more kink than a Slinky. She folded her hands beneath her chin and gave Zane her best you-can-trust-me psychotherapist face. “It just seems obvious to everyone but the pair of you.”

“It’s true,” Diana said. She started to pick through the packages of fake and real sugar, searching for Splenda. “You go to the symphony together. Ball games. Brunch, for God’s sake. And when was the last time you went out with a woman, the pair of us aside?”

Eli opened his mouth, closed it, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “So it’s been a while. I don’t have time for playing the field when I’m trying to get ahead with my career.”

“But you have time to spend with Zane,” Holly said sweetly.

Eli gave up. For the moment.

Diana didn’t. “Take, for example, the way you two are sitting. Shoulder to shoulder.”

“The table is crowded,” Eli protested. “Four-person table, five people jammed in. You’re plastered against Taye.”

Diana smiled like a cat who’d just gotten her first taste of the cream and said nothing.

Fine, that hadn’t helped. Frustrated, Eli looked to Zane for support. No luck; Zane was busy waving for more coffee all around.

Eli wasn’t an idiot. When he examined Zane through objective eyes, he could see the appeal. Zane looked closer to thirty than forty, excepting the smile lines and small sprinkling of silver in his hair, and it was a trim, fit thirty with a body he kept in tip-top shape with rigorous exercise.

Not that Eli had anything to be ashamed of on that count, either. Zane’s enthusiasm for biking and boxing had chivied Eli out of the threat of middle-aged spread and back into better shape than he’d been on the force. Handsome, fit, successful.

So yes, he noticed these things. Didn’t everybody? And so they spent most of their time together. Mankind wasn’t made to be alone. Big deal.

Zane’s beeper shrilled. He rolled his eyes to the heavens. “I’m going to take this in my car. If the waiter comes around, order for me, but no meat. As soon as we’re done here I’m going back to Immaculate Grace and carving myself a filet of intern. Not you,” he said as an aside to Taye. “You’re doing great. Keep up the good work. Eli, tell them I want the usual, okay?”

Eli didn’t let Diana or Holly ask. “Yes, I know his usual. Belgian waffle with cinnamon sugar and whipped cream, the real stuff, and a fruit salad. No strawberries.” He swatted Zane’s hip as Zane scooted behind him and away. “Don’t worry; I’ve got it covered.”

“No strawberries?” Taye asked.

“He’s allergic,” Eli said. Medicine fell outside the personal-business umbrella, and Zane considered nothing taboo anyway. Still grated Eli’s nerves a bit to answer. “I’ve never seen how allergic, but he carries an EpiPen. No sense taking chances.”

Hoping the subject would be dropped, knowing there was no way he’d get that lucky, Eli studied the menu until he could no longer ignore the women clicking their tongues at him. Approximately thirty seconds. “What?”

The women exchanged Highly Significant Looks. “Doth the gentleman protest too much?” Diana asked.

“He doth,” Holly agreed. “Let me ask you a question, Eli.”

“Since I’m well aware that I can’t stop you, please, proceed.” Eli crossed his arms and waited for it.

“How much time did you spend with your ex-wife before she took off for -- where was it again?” She shushed him before he could answer. “It’s Austria with Pieter, by the way. I actually know this, and you don’t. Now tell me: how much time do you spend with Zane?”

Eli scowled and said nothing.

Holly pounced. “You see? I’ll bet you can even tell me where Zane was night before last.”

There was no way he would win here, was there? “My place,” Eli admitted. “Takeout and Die Hard. What’s your point?”

“I think their point is that you’re all but married,” Taye said. Apparently he’d chosen sides. Good to know. For that, he would pay. “Look, I know a few things about what it’s like to love your own gender. It’s strange as hell at first.”

Diana’s face fell in a way that would have been heartbreaking if it hadn’t been ever so satisfying instead. “You’re --”

Taye blushed but kept his chin up. “Yes.”

“No disrespect to you personally intended, Taye, but can I just say ha?” Eli pointed at Holly and Diana in turn. “Your gaydar needs a tune-up.”

Diana didn’t take defeat graciously. She narrowed her eyes at Taye. “Prove it.”

“Hey.” Eli straightened. “Nobody around here has to prove anything. Diana, leave him alone.”

Taye’s color heightened. “I can fight my own battles, thanks.”

Eli held up his hands in mock surrender. “Suit yourself, tough guy.”

Maybe it was the lack of sleep followed by the powerful coffee, or maybe Taye was one of those fortunate fools who didn’t hesitate to jump in where mortals feared to tread. “Excuse me.” Taye touched the waiter’s arm as he approached, coming in on the third round of coffee refills. “Would it be all right with you if I kissed you?”

The waiter stared at him. Eli waited for the “No!”

Instead, their waiter did a quick check to make sure no managerial eyes were on him, slid his carafe onto the table, and pressed in close to Taye. “I thought you’d never ask, handsome.” He stood on tiptoe and --

Eli sighed. Holly made cooing noises that unfortunately didn’t cover up the noises of a highly enthusiastic kiss. A darker mood still shadowed Eli’s thoughts when the sound of the smacking prompted a stir in his groin.

He tapped his foot thoughtfully. All right, so maybe it’s been a longer dry spell than I’ll admit to this crowd. I’m a busy man. That doesn’t mean listening to two pretty boys make out turns me on. Or Zane. It just means I need to get laid, or at least spend a quality afternoon with my right hand.

“Is that what we’re leaving instead of a tip?” Zane made his reappearance without fanfare or notice from anyone except Eli. “If that’s the case, we should take Taye out with us more often.”

Eli chuckled. “I was just enjoying the sight of Diana proved wrong.”

Diana scowled at Taye. “He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he? No wonder you were willing to brunch instead of crash.”

“Can you blame me?” Taye kissed the waiter again, this time on the tip of his nose. “See you later, handsome.”

Was he? Eli couldn’t see the appeal, himself. Waiter-boy was shorter than Taye by at least half a foot, wiry, curly dark hair, a button nose… Okay, maybe he could see it a little. Discomfort at PDA aside, Eli was man enough to admit the pair of them were almost cute. He knew he’d be just as fidgety with a hetero couple. The last time Holly’s computer-something-or-another-engineer husband, Keith, had come along to brunch, he’d almost wanted to crawl under the table.

Not even Diana could stand up against that. She sighed and shifted fully from tigress on the hunt to full-fledged fan club member. “Worth it.”

A faint touch at his elbow drew Eli’s attention to Holly. “You see?” she asked, quiet as a mouse. A far-too-knowing mouse. “That’s the way you and Zane look at each other. You’re the only two who can’t see it.”

“Be that as it may. We’re not interested. Not homophobic, Taye, so no offense to you. You two ladies, stop going there. This is the last time I’m going to ask. We’re friends. That’s all. Leave it alone.”

Diana clicked her tongue against her teeth. Eli didn’t like the look on her face. Too suspicious by half. “Let me ask you this. How do you know there’s nothing more to it? Have you ever tried?”

Even Holly tried to shush her at that, but the damage was done. “I think we’re done here.” Eli dropped his napkin on the table and stood. “My private life is just that: private. I’ve had about enough of defending myself.”

“Like I said. Protesting too much,” Diana said. She wasn’t one to back down. Normally Eli liked that about her. Normally. Not so much now. “Look it up.”

 

About the Author

Willa Okati (AKA Will) is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray cat hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for winter weather, a little more coffee, a whole lot of flowering plants and a lifelong love of storytelling. Will's definitely one of the quiet ones you have to watch out for, though he -- not she anymore -- is a lot less quiet these days.

 

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Monday, February 2, 2026

LGBTQ Romance Feature: Impulse Control by Emily Carrington #mmromance #lgbtq #suspense #excerpt #comingsoon #rabtbooktours @CarringtonEmily @ChangelingPress

 




Marisburg Chronicles (#8)


Romantic Suspense / LGBTQ

Date Published: February 6, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press



Spontaneity can be both exciting and terrifying for everyone involved.

When Riku ran from the trouble caused by his lover’s family, he wasn’t quite sure what he was running to. He left his beloved behind, abandoning his heart’s desire in the name of escape. Now, in a job he loves but missing that critical piece of his soul, he mourns, longing for the companionship as much as the sexual tension.

Theo has given chase, all the way across the country. He wants closure if nothing else, but that would be a terrible second choice. What he longs for is to have Riku back in his life and in his bed.

Now, with all the time and former distance between them, can Riku and Theo move past the merely physical cravings of “I missed you” to a confession of their true feelings?

 


Excerpt

Copyright ©2026 Emily Carrington

HotSpot Universal Media had taken off in the late nineties and seemed to grow exponentially every year. Theo’s parents’ company wasn’t exactly the only universal design organization that worked with people of all different abilities, but it had been one of the first to open its doors and actually make a profit.

Every time Theo had to recite that bit of historical dogma, he felt both proud and like he was rubbing his competitors’ noses in shit. He was so glad to have a job when many people with visual impairment and hearing loss couldn’t find work, but he was also profoundly aware that HUM traded as much in bad press for others as it did in good reviews.

He leaned back in the seat of the Audi and closed his eyes, effectively shutting out the world. He wore headphones that the driver could talk through to get his attention if need be, but mostly the noise cancelling was to soothe his over-stressed brain. He’d just spent four days at a conference touting the importance of the universal design company, using the catch phrase his parents’ marketing team had come up with three or four years ago: Charity begins at HUM.

He was suddenly distracted by a wet nose on his ankle. He tended to wear low-riding socks when he wasn’t in public and today was no exception. His service dog was either just shifting or she was asking for pets. He reached down without opening his eyes and found her head. He rubbed her stand-up ears affectionately. She shifted a little closer and lifted her head, giving him access to the spot under her chin. She liked to be scratched there.

Grinning, breathing out a good chunk of stress, and feeling grateful for Capitaine’s monitoring of his mood, Theo murmured, “Good girl.”

“Did you say something, sir?” Carlton asked through his headphones.

“Nope.” He felt his grin stretch. “Capitaine just needed some attention.”

“Very good, sir.”

He couldn’t break Carlton of the habit of calling him “sir.” Probably that was because the man was former military. Theo supposed it was better than not getting any respect, but the stiff interactions he had with the family’s staff made him extraordinarily self-conscious. He much preferred the occasionally awkward discussions he had with the businesspeople he worked with. Often, their responses were confused, as they were unsure how to talk to someone who was mostly deaf and losing more vision weekly, or so it seemed.

His phone rang, buzzing against his leg and sounding in his ears. He pressed a button and said, “Hello, this is Theodore Billings.” He didn’t recognize the number, but that wasn’t unusual. He got lots of random calls from folks trying to get him to fund their project or business.

“Sir, it’s Omar Jeffries. I’m sorry I’m calling from a strange number, but my cell is dead and I forgot my charger in the hotel.”

The private investigator sounded excited, or at least not as discouraged as he had during the last three conversations over the last two months. Theo sat up a little straighter and, after giving Capitaine one more pat, turned all his attention to finding out what Omar knew. “Good news?” he asked, trying to make his voice casual. He failed as a frisson of excitement bubbled up.

“I’m in Pennsyltucky and --”

Theo frowned and before he could stop himself, he asked, “Do you mean Pennsylvania?” He didn’t like unfriendly names for things. He tended to think there was too much division in the country at large.

Omar took a breath. “Yes, sir. Sorry. I’m in a rural part of the state and even if this little town is a hotbed of culture, it’s surrounded by farmland and…”

Theo heard him take another breath. Whatever he had to tell, he was letting his passion overcome his caution.

Did that mean he’d found something concrete?

“It’s a little town west of Philadelphia. Maybe an hour outside the city.”

“What’s the proof you’ve found this time?”

“Not just proof, boss. He’s actually living in a house with a gay couple. I’ve seen him, and he and the one man went out and bought him some new clothes, I think.”

Jealousy threatened to swallow Theo’s common sense then. He blurted, “Did they… Is Riku their third?”

“I don’t think so. I snuck a peek in the window when he forgot to shut the curtains. He sleeps downstairs on an inflatable mattress, although I don’t know why he doesn’t sleep on the couch that’s available.” He paused and then added, “Maybe he’s too tall to be comfortable. It’s more like a loveseat than a sofa.”

Theo’s heartbeat had picked up. He closed one hand into a loose fist and put it against his chest as hope coursed through him. “What’s he doing there?”

“I think he’s looking for work. He’s bought, or had bought for him, actually, a new suit.”

“Philadelphia… All right. I’ll get plane tickets and fly out there. What’s the name of the town?”

“It’s more like a tiny village than a town. It’s called Marisburg.”

* * *

Riku Watanabe, feeling like a caged bird, stared in horror at the orange cat fur that coated his suit jacket and trousers. “Fuck,” he whispered. He reminded himself the interview wasn’t today, that there was time to wash the clothing again, only… wasn’t at least part of the suit supposed to be dry cleaned? He couldn’t remember. He plunged his fingers into his hair and groaned. It wasn’t that he didn’t like cats, although he preferred dogs. He just didn’t need anything else to go wrong before his interview at the school for the deaf tomorrow.

Someone touched his shoulder and he jumped. He could be snuck up on easily with his limited hearing, but that didn’t mean he liked being startled. He opened his mouth to snap at Peter, remembering just in time that Peter might be able to read his lips. He was here on sufferance, or that was what it felt like, and he didn’t want to offend one of his hosts.

Since coming to Marisburg, Pennsylvania, shortly before the Christmas holiday, he’d nearly gotten himself thrown out due to rudeness on more than one occasion. He didn’t want that to happen, not with his future on the line.

Peter raised an eyebrow in inquiry and Riku shook his head, flapping his hands helplessly. Then he pointed at the suit, which he’d laid, neatly, in a cardboard box to keep it from getting dirty. Or at least that had been the vain hope.

Peter took a look and his mouth opened, releasing a sound that was loud but undeniably amused. He shut his mouth an instant later, looking embarrassed.

Riku shook his head and signed, “You’re laughing at me?”

“Do you know anything about cats?” Peter signed back. Then, without waiting for Riku to respond, he continued. “Cats love boxes. ‘If I fits, I sits,’ applies to cats. They especially love being surrounded by walls, or a semblance of walls, on all sides. That’s why cat scales in a veterinarian’s office are often squares with pretty tall sides.” He peered at the suit. “Tracks has really made himself at home. Let me get the lint rollers. At least he didn’t put any holes in the fabric.”

Peter was gone about two minutes, long enough for Riku to reconsider his frustration level. When Peter reappeared, Riku asked, his hands trembling just a little with nerves, “Would Abe give me a ride to the school, do you think?” He didn’t want to mention the rideshares and how they might not get him to his destination on time tomorrow. He wasn’t sure if asking Abe was a bigger imposition than he already assumed. If he hadn’t had to give up his car in Colorado, or stop using his credit card in Ohio, maybe he wouldn’t feel so trapped. He’d been without a job for over a year, and seven months ago he’d packed up what little he thought he could manage to use that actually belonged to him, and he’d fled East.

Swallowing hard, he watched Peter anxiously.

Peter set down both lint brushes and frowned at him. “Of course Abe will take you. The two of us may not agree with some of your spontaneous actions but we want to see you happily employed.” He paused and then added, “I mean, you know a lot about teaching English.”

Riku flushed. He’d been ranting, really, about the differences between ASL and spoken English and how learning both was a challenge for anyone, but especially for the deaf community. The languages shared much in common, but the ways they were different outnumbered the similarities.

Peter pointed at himself. “I thought ASL was the superior language, but you made me realize it’s equal to the spoken word.” He shook his head, looking rueful. “I wonder if that’s one of the reasons my wife broke up with me. She could tell I was prejudiced.”

Peter had been married before his union with Abe? Riku asked silently, then out loud, “You’re bisexual?”

Peter nodded. Then he changed the subject. “Don’t worry about Abe missing work or anything. It’s his practice, and if he needs to take off, ever, he plans for it.”

Riku sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just anxious. I want this to go well.”

Peter’s eyes widened. It seemed a strange reaction to Riku’s words.

Glancing over his shoulder, Riku spotted the Siamese cat, who was a new addition to the Peter-and-Abe household, rubbing his cheek against the box. Riku hurried over to rescue his suit before it had cream-colored hairs on it too.

Peter handed him one of the de-furring brushes. He set his down for a moment and then signed, “Breathe. You’re going to do a great job tomorrow. As for your suit, we’ll hang it in the hall closet and keep the door shut.”

Grateful, Riku nodded and the two of them set about cleaning off the inordinate amount of cat fur.

As he worked, though, Riku’s thoughts turned, as they often had since he’d left San Francisco, to the life he’d abandoned. He’d had few acquaintances that weren’t hangers-on, wanting a handout from Theo, but he’d had his lover. That had, largely, been enough. Not because he was a hermit by choice but because most of his interactions with others had been online. There had been enough drama in the deaf community to keep people entertained for years, and in the deafblind circles where Theo sometimes ran, all anyone seemed to be able to do was talk about each other. Theo had once explained that tendency with “many don’t have access to the technology that would make reading the news or keeping up with other current events possible, so, being human, they talk about what they know -- other humans.”

Riku was taking care of the trousers, removing stripes of furry orange from the dark blue fabric while he chewed over why he missed his old life so much. It wasn’t just that he’d had a consistent roof over his head. It wasn’t the creature comforts, although there had been plenty of those. It was the quiet evenings, snuggled up with Theo while his lover read over applications. It was the passionate sex and the post-coital cuddles and kisses.

Was he simply dwelling on the good things he’d left behind? Well, yes...

 


About the Author

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender women’s speculative fiction. Seeking a world made of equality, she created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires. And in the contemporary world she’s named “Sticks & Stones,” Emily has vowed to create small towns where prejudice is challenged by a passionate quest for equality. Find her on Facebook at Shapeshifter Central or on her website.

 

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