Have you seen that The Panther’s Escape is out?!? 😁 A few days ago, the fifth story in the Within the Walls series, The Panther’s Escape was released, and I’m so excited. The day we’re celebrating is National Snuggle a Chicken Day, because why not?  

Despite being a chicken owner, I have to say I don’t snuggle chickens all that often, but to each their own.   

In this story, we have Namir who is one of the blood slaves who were saved in the first book in the series. He’s keeping to himself and doesn’t want to talk to anyone. One night he finds a chicken in his garden and brings it inside, convinced he can teach it to become housebroken.   

Jinx lives in Oakmouth, a different community from the one in Myrfolk. He has a daughter and he wants out. His daughter is different, and different isn’t accepted in Oakmouth, so he’s hoping for a place in Myrfolk. But one day, the leader of the Oakmouth community kidnaps Jinx’s daughter and says he won’t get her back until he kills Gertrude, the Myrfolk leader.  

Jinx goes to Myrfolk, and there he meets Namir.   

It’s a 58k paranormal romance with chickens, blackmail, and PTSD. As always, I suggest reading these books in order. There is a new couple in every story, but people from previous stories appear and the community is close-knit.   

The Panther’s Escape

Are you willing to commit murder to save your daughter?

Jinx Kilduff is in trouble. Big trouble. The leader of his community wants him to take out Gertrude, the leader of the Myrfolk community. To get Jinx to follow through, he kidnaps Jinx’s daughter. Jinx doesn’t want to kill Gertrude. He’s been trying to get her to take him in so he can escape the life he’s trapped in. Now he’s forced to kill her instead.

Namir Klossner wants to be left alone. He doesn’t want anyone in his space, so no one is more surprised than him when he offers a panther shifter from another community to stay in his guestroom. There is something about him that makes Namir want to keep him close. Mostly it’s because he doesn’t trust him, but he’d be lying if he said that was the only reason.

Jinx will do whatever he has to do to get his daughter back, but maybe there is a way other than to kill Gertrude. And maybe, just maybe, he can stay with Namir. There is nothing Namir hates more than vampires, so when he hears Jinx has a daughter and she is kept prisoner by one, he swears to do everything in his power to get her back … and if he succeeds, maybe Jinx will want to stay with him.

Buy links:

Paranormal gay romance: 58,367 words

JMS Books :: Amazon

Chapter 1

Namir Klossner was stalking around his garden in the dark. The ground glittered in the cold. They had had a few mild days where the snow had melted, temporarily, and now it was a clear night, and the temperature had dipped well below freezing. The moon hung low in the sky, casting the world in a yellow light.

Everything was quiet.

It was an illusion. Namir was aware of people patrolling the walls not too far away from where he was, but silence had wrapped around the garden, and he was alone. Isolated. Abandoned.

He wanted to be.

He didn’t want anyone in his space. There had been too many people in his life already. They’d never seen him, hadn’t cared about him. All they wanted was his blood and his body.

He’d been sure he’d die a slave—had wanted to die. Death was the quickest way out.

It hadn’t happened.

Gertrude, the supernatural community’s leader, raided The Virgin Drop, the blood bar where he’d been kept. She’d brought him here, inside the walls, together with Rue, Chaton, and Zeeve, three fellow blood slaves. She’d saved them from the vampires, given them a place to live, a roof over their heads, and food on the table.

He didn’t know what to do about it.

Was he supposed to pay her back somehow? He hadn’t wanted to be saved. Now he’d be forced to live with the memories instead of fading away.

He’d been ready to die, had prepared for it, longed for it. She’d ruined his plan, had stolen his escape, and he didn’t know how to be.

Who was he now?

Not the same as before. What if he built a life and everything was taken from him again? He couldn’t live through it one more time, so he kept to himself and waited. Counted the days and looked out of the windows of the house at the people moving around on the street.

There weren’t many people moving around in this part of the community unless it was crate day. Chaton had the house next to his, but he didn’t live there. He and Rue had turned the entire yard, both the back and the front, into a vegetable garden. Nothing grew in January, but twice a week, they handed something out in small wooden crates to every community member.

Namir never went to get his, but either Rue or Chaton would give it to him anyway. He should go, spare them the extra work, but he couldn’t make himself.

The problem was both Chaton and Rue had hooked up with vampires. Namir hadn’t come out of his years at The Virgin Drop the same as before, but he didn’t think he was messed up enough to voluntarily be in the same room as a vampire ever again. Why choose to relive your worst moments in life?

Chaton had stayed with him in this house when they’d first come here, and Namir could’ve handled it better. Part of him was feeling guilty about how he’d acted. If he hadn’t been such a dick to Chaton, he might not have been willing to hook up with a vampire to get away from him.

That was saying something. Move in with a monster to escape Namir. Not his proudest moment, but it was for the best.

He didn’t want anyone in his space, but it wasn’t Chaton’s fault Gertrude had placed them in the same house.

She’d most likely done it to make them feel safe. After having lived in a cage, a house was overwhelming. He hadn’t left his room for months other than to use the bathroom and eat. Though, he hadn’t had much of an appetite.

Then Chaton had moved out, and first, he’d been ecstatic. Or, he hadn’t had any strong feelings, but he’d been relieved, only to then realize how many of his thoughts he could hear in the silence. He could hear his heart beat, hear every breath he took.

He crept low on the ground close to the leafless currant bushes. There was a light on in the neighboring house, in the little boy’s room, he believed. He wasn’t sure if it was the boy’s room, but he’d seen him in the window. A human family.

Gertrude had told him it was a woman and her two children. The father had abused her and maybe the children too. Gertrude wasn’t sure. She had warned him of them coming the day before they’d moved in, but then Gertrude had said it would only be for a month or two. It had been two months now, and they were staying.

Namir hadn’t spoken to them. If he had to have neighbors, he preferred a human woman. She wouldn’t bite him, and he didn’t think she’d assault him. It would be hard for her to do anything to him since physically she was so much weaker than he was, and after having watched her with the kids, he didn’t think she was the kind of person who would try.

You could never be sure, though.

He let out a low growl and pushed his claws into the frozen ground, then a scent caught his attention. It was new. He inhaled and turned in the direction of it. Never had he come across it in his garden.

He sniffed again and stalked toward it. He kept his body close to the ground, his paws touching the surface without making any sounds. Moving past the garden bed where Rue had planted some weird kind of plants last summer, he slipped closer to what he believed were raspberries.

There, tucked in by the shed, was a bird. He moved closer. The ice crystals on the black feathers glimmered in the moonlight and for a moment, Namir’s heart stopped. It had frozen to death. Poor bird, all alone in the world. He nudged it with a paw, then skidded back when it jerked awake and squawked at him.

It tried flapping away but wasn’t successful. Shit. It must be half dead. He shifted into human form and shuddered as the icy air wrapped around his naked skin.

“Come here, birdie.” He tried grabbing it, but it made another sound and rushed straight into the bare raspberry canes only to fall back from the impact. Ouch.

He grabbed it, but it only made it struggle more. “Shh… I’ve got you. Easy now.” He wrapped an arm around it, so it couldn’t use its wings, and hugged it to his chest. “See, it’s not too bad.”

It settled, tilted its head, and blinked its black eyes at him. The head and throat had black and almost orange feathers, the beak was dark, and the rest of the body had black feathers. This couldn’t be a wild bird. He held it away from his body to be able to see better, and it instantly began to flap its wings.

“Easy, easy.” He shivered and brought it closer to his body again. “Let’s go inside.”

It had to be one of Ty’s chickens. He’d never spoken to Ty or Jagger, seen them, but never spoken to them. He’d heard the roosters crow, and Gertrude had told him Ty had chickens. But were there black chickens?

He’d seen white and brown. His grandmother on his father’s side had raised chickens, but he didn’t remember much about it. He’d only been a boy when she’d passed, and leopards didn’t maintain close contact with each other once they were adults, so he hadn’t seen his grandmother many times.

Walking into the kitchen, he put the chicken on the floor and went to get dressed. He wasn’t one to strut around the house naked, and he couldn’t now when someone was watching him. He put on a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt in a hideous orange color Gertrude had gotten him.

He didn’t care. She’d bought all his clothes, and he preferred it when she got him something in black or blue, but he hadn’t said anything about it.

Hurrying back into the kitchen, he stared at the bird. It was slowly walking around, its head bobbing with each step as if trying to look around corners.

“Hi there.”

It stared at him, still walking.

“Are you hungry?” Shit, did he have anything he could feed it? He hurried over to the pantry. The shelves gaped mostly empty. Gertrude would be by any day now with a bag of groceries. She’d stopped asking what he wanted since he never gave her any answers and got him the basics. It was okay. Better than okay.

Rolled oats. Normally, he made oatmeal for breakfast since it was quick and easy, and Gertrude kept buying oatmeal. It was cheap, he guessed.

He grabbed a handful and sprinkled a few on the floor by his feet. The chicken instantly dove for them. The beak tapped against the kitchen floor tiles.

“Good?”

It ignored him.

“Are you thirsty?”

He took a step in the direction of the cupboard with the bowls, and the chicken edged away from him, still mostly focused on the oats. Moving in slow motion, he grabbed a small dipping bowl, filled it with water, placed it on the floor near the chicken, and dropped the last of the oats next to it.

Then he walked to the bedroom to get his phone. The bird ignored him when he entered again, so he sat on the floor and Googled. He searched for black chicken and stared at the result. There were some pitch-black chickens, almost blueish black. They didn’t look real. Several of the photos showed black chicken meat and it had him scrunching his nose.

He scrolled farther down the search results only to pause at a photo of a bird looking like his new companion. He clicked it, but when photos of lots of different-colored chickens appeared, he jumped back to the search result. He found one about the same as his bird but was a little too round. Black Cochin. Pretty birds. Maybe. He didn’t know what made a bird pretty, but he liked the fluffiness. It didn’t matter, they didn’t look like his bird.

He found an article with the headline: 15 Black Chicken Breeds and clicked it. Fifteen. Insane. He didn’t know what he’d expected, maybe that there would be fifteen chicken breeds altogether, or five.

Jersey Giant. It wasn’t his bird, but damn. They were huge. Next was something so puffy it couldn’t see properly—Silkies. Luckily, his bird didn’t look like a pom-pom. He might have left it to freeze to death if it had.

“Australorp.” He said it out loud simply to test it out. Nope. It didn’t fit, and it didn’t have the orange feathers his bird had.

“Ameraucana.” He almost dislocated his tongue trying to sort the letters out. But it had a beard, which was cool, and he read their eggs were blue. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t his bird.

Next up was a Minorca which looked… Nah, it had white cheeks and… His bird was way prettier.

Java. Who named a breed Java? He didn’t drink coffee, but was it too late for tea?

Black Copper Marans. Namir stared at the image then at his bird, then at the image again. “Are you one of these?” He turned the phone to show… her? She didn’t care. She was busy tapping Morse code against his tiles.

He studied the photo. Yeah. She was a Black Copper Maran girl. The boys had more orange feathers.

“We need a name. Mara.” He frowned at her. He’d read a book once, many years ago, about creatures who could trap you in a nightmare. They were called Maras. Maybe it was what had happened to him. He was trapped in a nightmare.

“Mara. It’s a good name, right?”

Mara tilted her head at him. Her dark eyes seeing into his soul. Then she pooped on the floor.

“Ugh. You can’t do that.” He got up and grabbed some paper tissues to clean up. “You need to tell me when you need to go, so I can let you out.”

She scratched her claws on the tiles and pecked at something invisible.

Should he leave her in the kitchen for the night? Maybe it was best she came with him to his bed. He didn’t want her to be cold.

* * * *

Jinx Kilduff kicked off his shoes and more or less crawled from the hallway to the ratty couch in the living room. The house was cold, but he didn’t want to turn up the heat due to the costs, and he didn’t have the energy to make a fire.

He’d been to see Gertrude Pechtold again. She was the leader of the community in Myrfolk. He’d reached out to her back in the fall, and offered her, what he believed, a pretty sweet deal, but she’d been hesitant.

It was all a hoax, which might be why. She wasn’t stupid. Or, it wasn’t a hoax, the job was real, but the reason why he’d offered it to the Myrfolk community wasn’t what he’d let on.

Here in the Oakmouth community, they raised beef. They had a deal with a butcher halfway to Myrfolk, and once a week, they went down there to load their trucks with boxes of meat they then delivered to a few different places.

Before, he’d had a group of men from the community doing the driving, but meat kept disappearing. Understandable. Times were hard. The winter was cold, the electricity prices were through the roof, and everyone had to eat.

But he couldn’t allow it.

He could’ve picked a different group to do the delivery. There were plenty of people in Oakmouth willing to work, and Czar, their leader, had left Jinx in charge of the meat production. He didn’t tend to the animals, but he sold the meat, organized everything to do with the butchering, and so on. He decided who got to work, and he’d given the delivery to another community.

People weren’t pleased, and he was starting to worry. He’d believed he’d be out of here by now. He hadn’t told Gertrude he was in a hurry to move, but he was in a hurry to move. He had to get out of Oakmouth, had to before something bad happened. But while Gertrude had said she wasn’t opposed to taking in another person, she hadn’t offered him a place. And she didn’t know the place needed to be for two people. He’d never told her, which might be why she always changed the topic when he hinted at moving to Myrfolk.

They had magic users in Myrfolk. Here they were shifters and vampires, but Jinx knew Gertrude had magic users. He hadn’t met any of them, and he wasn’t sure how many there were. Magic users were rare, but at least one of them was a healer, and he needed a healer. Not for himself, but with every day passing, he grew more and more worried about Ximena.

He had to get her out. Had to get her far away from here before anyone noticed. His biggest fear was that she was latent. Latent cats didn’t live long, and certainly not in Oakmouth.

Jinx hoped it was something curable, but he feared it wasn’t. Her scent was wrong, and while he didn’t believe Czar had noticed yet, Oakmouth wasn’t a community for the weak.

Most shifter children could change shape a couple of months after birth. He hadn’t known Ximena existed until Lorna had dropped her off at the gate in an infant car seat when she’d already been seven months old.

Jinx had looked at the black mop of hair, the round baby face scrunched in sleep, and his heart broke open to make room for her.

His daughter.

He’d never wanted children. This world wasn’t a place for the innocent. How could he willingly create a life when knowing what his child would be forced to endure?

But willingly or not, there she was. A gift. The meaning of his existence. The reason he had to get out.

“Daddy?”

Ximena stood in the doorway, sleep-rumpled and with her pink security blanket hugged to her chest. She was too old to have it, but whenever he’d tried to take it from her, she’d protested, and it was rare she protested anything, so he’d given in. Who would know? It was only a blanket.

“Hi, baby.” He held his arms open for her, too tired to get up. “You should be sleeping.” Arlene had texted him a couple of hours ago to say Ximena had fallen asleep, and she was leaving. She wasn’t the most reliable babysitter, but he didn’t dare ask any of the shifters. They’d notice her scent right away.

“I heard you.”

He hugged her to his chest. She often said she heard him. If she could hear him when she was asleep and he snuck in, she had to have enhanced hearing. He was a cat. He didn’t make any sounds.

“I’m sorry I woke you.”

She didn’t reply, instead, she put all her weight on him and went lax. Jinx smiled and ran a hand over her head, removing a few strands from his face before kissing her scalp. “Did you have a good day with Arlene?”

“No.”

“No? Why?” He tried looking at her, but she had her face buried against his throat.

She didn’t reply. She wasn’t much of a talker. He believed she spoke well for a four-year-old when she spoke. More than well. She knew many words and her sentences were grammatically correct, sometimes more elaborate than an adult’s, but where other children he’d met babbled, she was quiet. He wondered if it had anything to do with her… impairment.

He had to get her out of there. Had to get them both out. Gertrude was his only chance, but he didn’t dare tell her the truth. Myrfolk was different from Oakmouth in more ways than having a healer, but he didn’t think they’d take in a… differently abled child.

He had to get Gertrude to take him in, and then take whatever punishment she meted out when she realized he hadn’t been honest with her. Hopefully, she wouldn’t punish Ximena.

Holly’s The Wolf Cure is free in the JMS Books’ Advent Calendar today and only today!   

I hope you haven’t missed the advent calendar over at JMS Books. Every day there is an LGBT+ book for free from 12:00 AM EST to 11:59 PM EST. When the time has passed it will be published wide, but for one day, you have the chance to grab it for free!  

Galen is a flawed healer. Normal healers heal the injury and dispel the pain. Not Galen. Nope. He heals the injury, and then he carries the pain for the duration of the normal healing time.  

He’s living with his brother Ari, who is an animal communicator. Animal communicators are looked down upon, so it’s important for their welcome in the community that Galen keeps his flaw hidden.  

The problem is Averett. Averett is a werewolf, which is even worse than being an animal communicator, and he’s the clumsiest wolf who’s ever wolfed. So far, Galen has managed to keep him at arm’s length, but when Averett falls off a roof, there isn’t much he can do. He has to heal him, and the injury is too severe to hide the pain from.  

Averett refusing to leave Galen’s side doesn’t make it any easier.  

It’s a short, fated mates, brother’s best friend topped with space brownies kind of story. So if that’s your jam, grab it today! Tomorrow it’ll be full price.  

Grab it here!

The Wolf Cure

How many doctored brownies are too many doctored brownies when dealing with werewolves?   

Galen Ceowald is a flawed healer and a loner. Normal healers take over the injury from the one they help and get rid of it. Galen takes over the pain of the injury. Period. He’s become an expert at concealing his suffering to keep his defect hidden, but it’s easier to avoid people altogether.   

When Averett Garou, Galen’s brother’s best friend, falls off a roof, it’s nearly impossible not to let his weakness show. Especially since Averett is a stubborn werewolf who refuses to leave Galen’s home. But maybe there are worse things than eating cakes and cuddling with a werewolf. Or has Galen consumed too many brownies to be of sane mind? 

Excerpt:

Galen tried to increase the distance between them, but he didn’t want to move his body, and Averett didn’t let go despite his pulling. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held someone’s hand. At first, he didn’t think too much about it, then the sensation became overwhelming, and he struggled to breathe—or maybe it was the air pocket in his lung making it so. 

“Please don’t touch me.” He yanked at his hand again. This time Averett let go of him, but not without sliding his fingers over his skin in a caress. It made Galen frown. Why did he do that? 

“Talk to me, Galen.” 

“I don’t like to be touched.” 

Averett’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “You don’t like…” He huffed, then he looked at the wall to his right for a second while a crease formed on his brow. When his eyes found Galen’s again, his gaze was guarded. “Why?” 

“What do you mean why? I don’t like it.” 

“You don’t like it because it’s me?” 

“No, it doesn’t matter who it is.” 

“Oh, baby, I think it does.” 

Galen gaped at him. “Don’t ever call me that.” 

A mischievous grin took hold of Averett’s mouth, and Galen averted his gaze. He was too handsome for his own good. Stupid wolf. 

“Okay, now we have two questions to sort out.” 

“What?” Galen wasn’t proud of his squeak. 

“Why do you smell of pain, and why don’t you like to be touched? Is it because of the pain? Not all touches are painful. You’re a grown man, you know there are different kinds of touching.” 

Galen scowled, but it was ruined by his stomach growling again. It must be the brownies making him this hungry. 

Averett tilted his head. It was a motion he did a lot, and it reminded Galen of a dog, or wolf, he guessed. “Are you going to go get more food?” 

There was no challenge in his words, but Galen was pretty sure it was a test. He reached for the bowl and held it out to Averett, wanting more food but not wanting to move an inch. 

Slowly taking the bowl, Averett waited. 

“Could you please give me some more chili?” 

“I would feed you till the end of days if you’d let me.” 

“What?” 

Averett got to his feet and walked away without responding. He was fucking with him, right? Wolves were weird about feeding people. It meant more to them than it did to humans. Ari had tried to explain it. Feeding someone meant they were pack. Family. Precious. 

But Averett most likely meant it as repaying him for the healing. 

Galen wouldn’t mind having a werewolf bringing him food, though. They were excellent hunters, and Ari had come home with venison given to him by the pack more than once. It had saved them when things had been extra hard. Come to think of it, it must’ve been Averett who’d given him the meat. He was the one closest to Ari, and he believed Averett was some sort of leader, at least over those who worked in construction. 

Once Averett had heated the bowl, he crossed the hut in a couple of strides and held it out to Galen. 

“Thank you.” 

“If I take a brownie, will I be high as a kite?” 

Galen grinned at him, then gave a careful shrug. “I don’t know how werewolves’ metabolism works.” 

“Why do you have doctored brownies, Galen? You’re not a junkie.” 

“I’m not?” 

Averett shook his head. “You’re not, but Ari didn’t bat an eye. Instead, he encouraged you to have one when we arrived.” He narrowed his eyes. “They’re pain relief, right?” 

Fuck. “Yeah.” 

“You smell of pain, you’re hardly moving, you have edibles on your kitchen counter, Ari is worried enough to be silent, and you claim everything is fine.” 

Galen busied himself eating. 

“For fuck’s sake, Galen. Tell me what’s going on.” 

Heaving a sigh, he glowered at Averett. “When I heal someone, I take their pain into myself.” 

Some color left Averett’s face. “And then you dispel it. It’s what healers do, right? Drag the pain out, repair the injury, and then get rid of it all.” 

“Sure.” He nodded a little more forcefully than he’d normally do and took another spoonful of chili. 

“Except you still smell of pain.” Averett pushed his eyebrows together. “You smelled of pain when we arrived.” 

“You’ve established I’m in pain already.” 

Averett hummed. “But now you’re in more pain than when we arrived.” 

“Oh, come on, you were out of your mind with pain yourself. You don’t know what pain level I was at.” 

“I’ll never be too out of it to notice you, and you’re in more pain now.” Averett swept his gaze over Galen’s body, then reached out toward his tibia. Galen gave a strangled cry, and Averett’s hand stilled a few inches away from him. Something thunderous welled up in Averett’s eyes. 

“You took my pain.” 

“It’s what healers do.” 

Shaking his head, he glared at Galen. “You took it into yourself.” 

“It’s what healers do.” Galen’s tone was clipped. 

“No.” Averett pushed away from the bed and paced the tiny space between the bed and the couch. “They take it, and then they get rid of it.” 

Galen nodded and ate some more. It was what well-functioning healers did.