Guest Post | On Dragon Row by Holly Day

Hiya! I’m here as Holly today. A few days ago, On Dragon Row was released, and it’s a box set of my three Dragon Row stories – The Book Dragon’s Lair, Mated to the Fire Dragon, and The Dragon’s Prisoner.  

They can all be read as standalone stories, but characters from previous stories will appear.  

We have dragon shifters finding their human mates either by pretending to be someone they’re not, trying to help out a sick man, or simply locking them up in their basement. Any way is good as long as you get what you want, right?? LOL 

Anyway, now you can grab them all in one set, and if you want, you can read the first chapter of The Dragon’s Prisoner below! 

On Dragon Row

Gemstones. Beautiful sparklies. Treasured jewels. Nothing’s more important than that, except finding your mate.

In this box set, you’ll meet three dragon shifters who all live on the same street, Dragon Row. They’re obsessed with pretty gemstones and precious metals, but being in the human realm also gives them an opportunity they never had in the dragon realm. They can find mates among the human population.

 

Contains the stories:

The Book Dragon’s Lair: Egil is running a bookstore on Dragon Row while Draken, his dragon mate, is away fighting a war on the other side of the veil. He is finally free, so when word reaches him that Draken is on his way home after having been injured, he considers running away. It isn’t Draken stepping over the threshold, though. Can Egil pretend the new dragon is his mate? And what will happen if Draken comes back?

Mated to the Fire Dragon: Zale wanted to see a dragon. He never expected a miracle. Zale is dying, but he wants to see a dragon before he goes. Albus is a white dragon with no status, but when Zale steps into his smithy, everything inside him catches fire. Albus can tell Zale is dying, and he could breathe fire into him, but then they’d be mated. He can’t force Zale to live his entire life with a white dragon, can he?

The Dragon’s Prisoner: Stealing from a dragon is bad, getting caught is worse. Kasper is a thief who wants to quit but is forced to do one last job. Saxon the Sinful owns a jewelry store, and one day a human has the audacity to try to steal from him. Being a dragon’s prisoner wasn’t part of Kasper’s plan, but now that he is, he’s not sure he wants to escape. But there is no future for a thief and a dragon, is there?

Buy links:

Paranormal gay romance: 109,030 words

JMS Books :: Amazon

Chapter 1 of The Dragon’s Prisoner

Saxon the Sinful snarled as the bell chimed over the entrance of The Dragon’s Treasure, his jewelry store. It was a stupid name, but he’d been advised to put the word Dragon somewhere on the sign, and being creative wasn’t his strong suit.

It was two minutes before closing time, and if humans had possessed any sense, they wouldn’t come to his store two minutes before closing time.

Reverend Goodwin stepped over the threshold and pulled the door closed behind himself with some force—it would’ve closed on its own if he’d only waited a moment.

“They walk around as if it’s normal.” The distaste dripping from his words had Saxon get up from his seat behind the counter and walk over to the window. He looked out over Dragon Row, expecting to see something interesting, but all he saw was Ryu the Ravenous and his mate, Egil, walking down the stairs of The Book Dragon’s Lair and heading in the direction of the market. He needed to do some shopping too, but feared he wouldn’t make it there in time today. The market people packed up for the day about now, too.

He swept his gaze over the cobblestoned lane in hopes of having missed something interesting, but nope, only Ryu and Egil. A dragon stretched its wings above the tower-like houses before the angular shape more or less disappeared into the darkening sky. Saxon was almost sure it was blue, which meant it most likely was Mort the Monstrous. He growled low. He had to have closed early today if he was already flying. Saxon wanted to fly too, but he preferred not to do it in the dark, which meant he didn’t get to stretch his wings often this time of year. January sucked. November through March, or at least February, always sucked in this fucking realm.

He was sick of Dragon Row. He was sick of having to work every day like a lowly human. Most of all, he was sick of all the idiots living in this pathetic excuse of a settlement. Had he been able to, he’d return to the dragon realm in a heartbeat.

“The rest of you have to make it clear it’s not acceptable.”

Saxon blinked and tried to focus on the conversation. Were they having a conversation or was the human leader talking to himself?

“What isn’t acceptable?”

“Having sodomites walking down the street as if they aren’t an abomination.”

Abomination? Saxon looked out of the window again. Last he’d heard, Albus the Abomination had moved to the ocean. Maybe Saxon should go to the ocean too. He’d never seen it, and he believed there was more than one ocean, so he wouldn’t have to be near Albus and his annoying mate.

The reverend turned and looked him straight in the eye. “At least you’re not one of them.”

Saxon was confused and kept his face blank. “I’m still here. I didn’t go with Albus the Abomination.”

Goodwin stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “No, you helped to get rid of him. I appreciate that. We don’t need more of those people around here. It confuses the members of my congregation.”

Saxon hadn’t done anything. Or he might have told everyone Albus was a white dragon, but they’d have figured it out, anyway. The reverend hadn’t understood color mattered until Ryu the Ravenous, who was a black dragon—albeit scarred and ugly and without status—had moved here. Saxon had told him about the dragons on the Sapphire Mountains being black when he’d asked for an explanation. He’d also told him how white dragons had no status at all and should be killed as soon as they’d made it out of the egg, but how one had survived and was living among them right here on Dragon Row.

Mort the Monstrous had already told Goodwin not to give Albus a mate, so Saxon didn’t feel bad about it. He didn’t like how Ryu and Nithe the Nefarious, Saxon’s neighbor, had stuck up for Albus, though. There were too few dragons in this realm not to stick together. Excluding a white dragon was common sense, but Ryu and Nithe hadn’t agreed.

Saxon should try to make better friends with them, but he didn’t have the energy.

“I meant, at least you don’t keep a male companion. Do you want me to find you a mate? I know you didn’t find anyone you liked among those I presented you with when you arrived, but it’s been more than a decade. You have to be getting lonely, and we have some girls who have grown into fine young women who might catch your fancy. Good, godly women. We could use a dragon in church, someone who can show the residents of Dragon Row the right way.”

Saxon didn’t want to spend more time than he needed with humans. He never would’ve lived in the human realm if he’d had a choice. He’d planned on sharing his flame with Vida the Vicious. She was a dark blue dragon, a second cousin to Albus the Abomination. He hadn’t cared when he’d learned her bloodline was tainted by a white dragon—he hadn’t been pleased, but he wouldn’t punish Vida for Albus’ parents being too weak to do what they should’ve done when they realized what came out of the egg.

To say her tainted genetics hadn’t caused some worry would be to lie, but he figured if they had a white hatchling, they could drown it and try again. It would be a disappointment, but they could’ve gotten past it. Females were few and far between, more than two-thirds of all young hatched were male, and Vida had chosen him. Her bloodline might not have been as clean as she’d first let on, but he’d been considered one of the lucky ones, despite the contamination.

He snorted, which had the reverend widen his eyes. Smoke wafted around them, and Saxon took a calming breath. She hadn’t chosen him. He’d walked into her cave one day and had found her with Dren the Devious. Both naked, both in their human form, writhing on the mattress. The sounds of their lovemaking would forever be etched into his mind, as would the screams that followed.

Anger, hot like molten lava, had erupted in him, and he’d burned them both. Had changed into a dragon right there and unleashed his fire. He didn’t care about having disfigured Dren, but he’d scarred Vida beyond recognition.

The council had given him a choice, and it had cost him his entire fortune and part of his mother’s too to pay his debt. Then he had to go through the veil and never set foot in the dragon realm again or he would die. He’d ruined Vida the Vicious prospects, and her family wanted his head. He understood. He’d allowed his anger to rule, but the trollop deserved it. She’d cost him his treasure and his dignity.

He could build a new treasure, but his dignity? He’d been fooled, and everyone knew it.

Or Mort the Monstrous did, at least. No one else on Dragon Row had ever mentioned it. It didn’t mean they didn’t know, of course.

“What do you say?”

“About?” Saxon stared at Goodwin. What was he talking about?

“About mating a woman and coming to church.”

“I’ve had enough of females for a lifetime.”

Goodwin stared at him. “A young vibrant woman to warm your bed, you don’t want that?”

He might, but if he took someone to bed, it wouldn’t be one of the reverend’s people. He had little patience for stupidity, and anyone following Goodwin lacked intelligence.

“I’ll send a few over for you to have a look at.”

Saxon ignored him. “Did you want to buy something?” It was past closing time.

Goodwin shook his head.

* * * *

Kasper Cobalt leaned against the stone wall of one of the buildings along the cobblestoned road. Hunger was gnawing in his gut, and he was a little faint. He had to find a place to hole up for a day—rest, find something to eat, and preferably get clean.

This road looked creepy in the dark. The houses were towering, and they were all narrow but tall, almost as if they were leaning over the street. Maybe he was hungrier than he’d realized if his vision was playing tricks on him.

He was no stranger to hunger. Having grown up on the streets, the sharp clawing in his gut had been a trusted companion. But then he’d met Loretta. She’d ruled the alleys in Sudport. As ruthless as she was fickle. She’d called more people than Kasper knew friends, only to stab them in the back a few months later. Granted, he didn’t make friends easily, but he’d considered Loretta one. He’d never trusted her fully, no one could, but she’d taken him under her wing when he’d been a teen and had given him enough jobs to keep him out of the brothels. For that, he was grateful.

She’d shown him how to pick locks, and he had an aptitude for melting into the shadows and moving through crowds unseen. A survival skill he’d learned as a kid, and it had served him as an adult. You couldn’t sneak into rich people’s houses and rescue jewelry from their safes if you were spotted.

Loretta saw a necklace or a ring at some event or other, gave him an address and a description, and then he got it for her. Sometimes she sold the piece, sometimes she demanded a finder’s fee. Kasper didn’t care. He got the thing, handed it over, and got paid.

It had been a good life.

Then Loretta had been shot during a business meeting—occupational hazard. Kasper hadn’t realized how dependent he’d been on her until then. Soon drug lords and brothel owners had been fighting to fill the spot Loretta had vacated.

Signing up to work for Duke Sharpe had been a mistake, but all he had to do was finish this last job, and then he’d be free. He would leave Sudport for good and build a life for himself somewhere else. He had no idea what he’d do, but he was getting too old for crawling around in the shadows stealing jewelry.

But before he could figure out what to do, he needed to steal a big piece from The Dragon’s Treasure, which was the stupidest name he’d ever heard, but Duke claimed it was a jewelry store. Kasper didn’t steal from stores. Sneaking into someone’s house and pocketing something was one thing, but stores took precautions.

It didn’t matter. He’d get this last job done, then he’d melt into the night and disappear for good.

The gnawing hunger wrapped around the ball of anxiety in his gut. This job was all wrong. Loretta had never sent him to another town, had never given weird instructions like Duke had this time—steal an expensive, recognizable piece and sell it to the pawnshop next door.

Why? It wasn’t Kasper’s job to ask why, but why?

The street was creepy, Duke’s instructions disturbing, and this wasn’t how Kasper worked. With a sigh, he looked at the house he was leaning against. It looked deserted. The closed sign had been nailed to the door, which made him believe it wasn’t a store that would open in the morning.

He walked around the building, his black backpack slung over one shoulder, and his black clothes helping to disguise him. He didn’t believe anyone was watching. The night was thick and while there were lights on in most houses, the bottom floors were dark.

There was a door at the back, the forged wall lamp next to it wasn’t lit, and Kasper reached into his pocket for his lock-picking set.

It was one of the easiest locks he’d ever come across, and he lingered outside for a moment. Was it too easy? Was it a trap? But no one knew he was here. He’d never told anyone he was going to Edge. He hadn’t heard of Edge until Duke had told him to go a couple of days ago.

It didn’t mean Duke hadn’t told anyone, of course.

He didn’t trust Duke. People had told him he was insane to trust Loretta, but he trusted her way more than he’d ever trusted Duke.

Pushing down the door handle, he waited for sounds of any kind. When he heard nothing, he opened the door and stepped inside. It was dark, the air cold, but he moved forward. Moonlight was spilling in through a window, showing a daybed in the first room he entered. There was an open doorway into the shop area, and it was filled with things. Kasper winced. He’d hoped it would be abandoned for real.

He located the stairs and tiptoed up the first flight. After a quick look around, he continued to the third floor. The air was stale, which gave him hope. Whoever owned the house had to have been away for some time.

He found a kitchen and hope soared, but quickly died again once he’d opened all the cupboards. There were plates, mugs, and cutlery, but nothing edible other than salt, pepper, and what he assumed was a bottle of some kind of oil. On the other hand, it meant no one was planning on coming here to cook.

Continuing up the last flight of stairs, he found a bedroom with a large mattress on the floor. Who in their right mind had a bed taking up half a room? It didn’t matter, he’d sleep on a mattress tonight. He found linens in the closet, along with pillows and a duvet, which he suspected he’d need because it was freaking cold in here.

He opened a door. Since there was no window, he closed the door behind him, and tried the light switch. A lamp flickered to life, and he found himself standing in a tiny bathroom with two doors. Whoever lived here was insane. No one wanted a walk-through bathroom.

At least the electricity was on. He’d lie low tomorrow, but maybe he’d dare cook something. If he could get hold of something to cook.

Pressing down the door handle of the second door, he pushed it open and walked into another dark room. No windows, and he slid his hand over the wall in hopes of finding a light switch. He did.

One second he was standing in the dark, the next in a fucking Roman bathhouse. Holy shit!

Someone had to maintain the pool, though. How often did you clean a pool? Unease slithered through him. Staying here might be a bad idea.

The water looked clean and inviting, and he moved forward. As he crouched on the side of the pool and dipped his hand under the surface, he shivered. It wasn’t heated.

He’d find a shower tomorrow.

Guest Post | When at War with Witches by Holly Day

A couple of days ago, When at War with Witches was released! 🥳 

I have this problem where I write a story, thinking I’m writing a standalone, and then completely messing up by creating a world I don’t want to leave. It happens all the time, and this time, it’s no different. 

I had this idea. I wanted to write evil witches, a story where the MCs came from different sides of a conflict but were forced to work through it. I did that. We have a witch and an alpha werewolf forced into an arranged mating. 

We sprinkle it with cookies, and we have a story, right? (We’re celebrating Lacy Oatmeal Cookie Day.) 

Right! Only…there are so many witches and shifters, and I can’t just leave them, can I? So now I have a problem. When will I find the time to write more stories?? 

If you’re in the mood for an arranged mating, shifters, witches, and cookies, check this out!  

When at War with Witches

Curses, monsters and arranged matings!

Rourke Flint, alpha of the Flint Pack, is sick of being at war with witches, sick of watching his friends die. So sick of it, he’d traded a piece of land for a witch to take as his mate in hopes of building an alliance. But werewolves mate for life, and now he’ll be forever tied to whichever witch they’re handing over. 

Ezra Inaxx Kuxium Enizax is a useless witch and the one the clan decides to sacrifice to the monsters. He’s never met a shifter before, but he’s heard the stories. Deviants. Beasts. Giants. And now he’ll spend the rest of his life with one of them. 

Rourke soon realizes the witches don’t want a treaty, and Ezra was sent to him as an insult. Ezra knows his clan never intended for there to be peace, but Rourke isn’t nearly as cruel as he was led to believe, and wouldn’t peace be a pleasant change? What if he could give Rourke enough information to achieve it?

Buy Links:

Gay Paranormal Romance:  52,872 words

JMS Books :: Amazon

Chapter 1

Rourke Flint looked at the small blue diamond-shaped pill Ulric, his second in command and best friend, handed him.

“To get you through.” Ulric grimaced.

Fuck. Rourke rubbed the hand not holding the pill over his face. Hell. Shit. Motherfucking witches.

“Yo only have to fuck her once.”

Rourke looked at him. “Yeah, and then never touch another living being ever again.”

Ulric winced. “Sorry.”

He’d most likely have to touch her more than once. Mating bonds were strong, and while they didn’t have to have sex, he’d have to smell her. Hold her.

And witches stank of rot.

Rourke blew out a breath and shook his head. It had to be done. They’d been at war for decades, had emptied all their resources—both monetary and relationship-wise—and now they’d finally managed to push the witches back. Again. They had to ensure peace, had to prevent them from instigating a new reign of terror.

He fucking hated witches. Power-hungry vultures. Never satisfied with what they had.

Shifters bonding with witches was an ancient tradition they’d long ago left behind, but Rourke was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of watching his people die. Tired of investing all their time and means into a war with no end.

They’d won back their territory, which they had many times before, but this time, he’d demanded a mate as a bounty. If he mated one of the witches, it would keep them from attacking. Right? It was how they’d ensured peace in the olden days.

He let out another shaky breath. He wished he could have someone do this in his stead, but it had to be him.

He was the leader. He had to make the sacrifice.

“You only have to get through it once. Fuck her, bite her, and then it’s done. We can lock her up in one of the dungeons, and you can continue with your life as if it never happened.”

Rourke grimaced. It wouldn’t be as if it never had happened. Mates had to be physically close or they’d lose their minds. Or he would. He didn’t know if it affected witches the same way. A mate bond was magically enforced monogamy, a need to keep your other half close, to touch, scent, and protect. He’d never been one to share, but he’d always had a healthy sex drive. Now he suspected he’d be resigned to his right hand for the rest of his, hopefully, long life.

It would be worth it. Had to be worth it.

The one advantage they had over the witches, other than their size and physical strength, was their longevity. Witches had human lifespans, werewolves did not. But by binding himself to a witch, he’d tie her to his life force. She’d live for as long as he did. She’d die when he died.

“You’ve been with a female before, right?” The way Ulric scrunched his face would’ve made him laugh on any other day, now he only nodded. He wasn’t opposed to bedding women, but if he had a choice, which he’d always had up until today, he picked men ninety-five times out of a hundred. Once in a blue moon, he came across a female he wanted to be with, and when it happened, he was. If she was willing.

What kind of woman volunteered to be his till the end of time? Witches were bigots and homophobes, so he was sure it would be a woman. Same-sex couples weren’t allowed in the covens.

What did it say about her wanting to give up her life in the clan and to come and live on pack land? Maybe she wanted a long life. Perhaps it was reward enough.

Whatever her reasons, he had to fuck her. Panic clawed at him. He couldn’t do this. Witches smelled like walking corpses. How would he be able to get it up? He glanced at the pill in his hand again.

Ulric must’ve seen the flare of trepidation because he slid an arm over Rourke’s shoulders. “Hey. It’ll be fine. You asked for a volunteer, and they have one. Whoever she is, she wants this. And who wouldn’t?” He jostled him a little. “You’re a catch, and she gets to move away from all the other witches. It’s a double win for her. You’re the one suffering.”

Sometimes he wondered if Ulric could read his mind.

“Hell, she might know a spell to make you enjoy it.” He grinned in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Right.” Rourke pulled in a deep breath and tucked the blue pill in his pocket. He’d take it later. He refused to meet the witch congregation with a hard-on.

Witches were ugly fuckers. Or maybe they weren’t. They looked human, but they were often small, fine-limbed, and they always had long hair with braids and feathers and shit. Not to mention the zillion piercings and tattoos. Shifters couldn’t have piercings. They ripped when they shifted. Tattoos healed during shifts too.

He believed the tattoos were connected to magic, but he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about the piercings or the stuff they put in their hair either. Maybe they were purely ornamental, maybe they held power somehow. One bonus of having a witch in their home was the knowledge they could gain. He’d be the dominant partner. He could force his mate to submit to him and to answer his questions.

“Ready to go?”

Nope, not ready at all. He sent Ulric a pleading look. He’d never let anyone else see him like this, but Ulric was his oldest friend.

“We’ll get drunk after, okay? As soon as they’re off our land, we’ll drown our sorrows.”

Rourke nodded. He couldn’t reply since there was a lump blocking his throat. Fucking hell.

* * * *

The car lurched to a stop, and the seatbelt cut into Ezra Inaxx Kuxium Enizax’s chest.

“Stop your crying.”

He touched his cheek. He wasn’t crying, was he? He’d learned long ago not to cry. His cheek was dry. He wasn’t crying.

Looking into the front seat, he realized Shixyll—he’d long ago lost the right to call her mom—was glaring at Jiprix. Ezra’s eyebrows moved in surprise as he took in Jiprix’s glassy eyes. He might be the closest thing Ezra had to a friend, but he hadn’t believed he’d ever shed a tear over him. And he hadn’t, they were still pooled in his eyes.

“This way he can be useful.” Shixyll turned her head and glared at Ezra. He didn’t say anything. There was no use. She never allowed him to speak, and he’d been cursed or hit enough times to know it wasn’t worth it to try.

Ezra was a useless witch. He had next to no powers, and he was never allowed to learn anything about their plans or be part of any decisions. They never sent him to battle because he had no combat skills. He couldn’t hurt a fly with his magic—he’d tried. Many, many times.

Jiprix could turn a creature inside out without channeling power from a familiar. He was useful, but Ezra was not.

“We’re still sacrificing one of our own to the beasts.” Whatever had made Jiprix sentimental was gone now. His voice was clipped but firm.

“Spoils of war. They’d have demanded more land if we hadn’t agreed, and losing him doesn’t weaken us. It’s the best use we have of him.”

What would it have been like to have someone in his life who cared for him? What if he’d been hugged instead of shoved away? A caress instead of a slap. He had no illusions being among the monsters would make his life better, the opposite. Witches didn’t have claws or super strength. They weren’t huge, hulking creatures fit for nightmares.

He didn’t know if he’d survive the punishment they’d give him for disobeying or not complying fast enough. He always tried to do what people asked of him, but for some reason, he always failed. He had the scars to prove it. He didn’t think an enraged werewolf would leave scars, they’d simply take his head. And maybe it was for the best.

Maybe his stay with the monsters would be short.

“We’re here.” Shixyll opened the car door without so much as a glance in Ezra’s direction.

Jiprix sighed. “Do what they tell you. It might not be too bad, and… eh… don’t fight him.”

Ice filled Ezra’s veins. Right. Don’t fight. Let the leader degrade and bite him to buy his clan time to gather their forces for a new attack. And should Ezra happen to die during said attack… No one would care.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat and opened the door. Forcing Shixyll to come get him would not be good.

His legs shook as he put his feet on the gravelly ground. In front of him was a wall of beasts in giant human shapes. They all looked to be seven feet tall, the few females were a little shorter but not by much.

He’d once heard they were twenty-five members in the pack, about the same size as the clan, but looking at them now, it felt as if they were a hundred and twenty-five.

Ezra only reached to their chests. He allowed his eyes to slide over them, trying to see which one was the leader, but it was hard to tell who was the most powerful. They didn’t have piercings or braids to signal their strength or status. Without thinking he sucked in the ring he had at the center of his lower lip, the one indicating he was of age and his powers were fully manifested. It also told everyone he hardly had any powers since it was the only lip piercing he had.

His gaze landed on a tall man with harsh eyes and a gaunt body. His clothes hung off him, indicating he’d once been much more powerful. One of the prisoners? They had been forced to give up their prisoners. He didn’t know how many there had been, but he’d heard whispers about it when he’d fed the clan.

Ezra didn’t know what new tactic the shifters had used to win back their land plus some additional areas, but whatever they’d done, it had required Shixyll to trade the prisoners. She’d traded them for the additional piece of land and allowed the monsters to keep their original boundary, but they’d somehow also persuaded her to agree to trade him.

Maybe it hadn’t taken much effort on their part. He didn’t think she’d be willing to make any sacrifices to keep him safe.

“Alpha Flint.” Shixyll didn’t bow her head as she addressed the man in front of her. He was massive, but the man next to him was bigger. Ezra’s throat clicked as he tried to swallow despite his mouth having gone dry. How could they be so enormous and still move as fast as they did? He’d never seen one move, but he’d heard the tales.

“Shixyll.” Flint didn’t say anything else, but his gaze flicked first to Jiprix then to Ezra. It was the right order to acknowledge them. Maybe he sensed their power, or maybe he simply looked at their braids and piercings. He’d always been told shifters were stupid, more animal than human, but maybe they understood magic.

“Where is my wife?”

Wife? Ezra’s eyes widened. Oh fuck. No, no, no. Was he expecting a wife? No one had told him. Without thinking he took a small step back.

“We never agreed to give you a wife.” Shixyll grinned evilly, and for a second Ezra shut his eyes. She was openly disrespecting him. It was insulting to give him a worthless witch, but she’d taken it one step further and given him a male. He should’ve realized, but somewhere he’d heard shifters weren’t picky about the gender of their bed partners. It was the one intriguing thing he’d picked up on.

He should’ve known it wasn’t true.

“You promised me a mate.”

“I did, and I’m giving you Ezra.” She yanked at his arm, making him stumble since he hadn’t been prepared.

“A male?” Amber eyes swept over his face but didn’t linger long enough to meet his gaze. Ezra assumed the shifters knew witch clans were run by women. Of course they did. Flint had negotiated with Shixyll after all.

“You don’t care what you stick your dick into, do you?” Shixyll cackled. “Take it or leave it.”

Ezra flinched, and he did nothing to hide his reaction. Shixyll might punish him, but he doubted it would be worse than what Flint would do to him.

Ezra held his breath as he waited for an explosion. Would the war restart right here? Ezra almost expected it to. Maybe it had been Shixyll’s plan all along—bring Ezra here, disrespect Flint so much he had no choice but to retaliate, and then it would start all over again.

Flint snorted. “Right. Let’s get it over with then. Are you waiting here until it’s done?”

Shixyll raised her chin, and her braid cuffs clinked. “Yes. He’s ours if you don’t fulfill the mating, and we’re not leaving here until we have proof.”

Bile rose in Ezra’s throat. She’d wait to see him properly humiliated, to have the entire pack see him debased. His eyes burned.

A large hand curled around his upper arm. “Right, give us ten minutes.”

For a second, Ezra considered fighting. But fighting never helped, so he shut his eyes and allowed Flint to pull him away from the crowd. Perhaps he should be glad he didn’t claim him in front of everyone.

Guest Post | Season of Hope by Ellie Thomas

The lovely Ellie Thomas is back on the blog! This time, she’ll share a little about her latest release, Season of Hope.

Thanks so much lovely Ofelia for having me as your guest again! I’m Ellie, I write Gay Historical romance and I’m here today to chat about my brand-new release, Season of Hope, the sequel to my Christmas story, Season of Joy.

Season of Hope takes place twenty years after Season of Joy, in the same setting of Cheltenham’s High Street and with the same couple. Walter and Stanley are still very much in a loving relationship despite the tumultuous events of WW2 that disrupted countless numbers of lives.

They weather the necessary adjustments together. Walter manages the red tape of rationing in the grocer’s shop he runs with a bit of help from his semi-retired father and Ginny, Stanley’s now grown up niece Ginny, who appeared as an unruly toddler in the first story, together with her twin brother Jack. Stanley, a mechanic, now works nearby in aircraft part production factory along with other family members.

Like middle-aged people everywhere, they are involved with civic and family responsibilities. And since they are beyond conscription age, Walter and Stanley are very much occupied in the Home Guard.

During the story, outside forces threaten their secure world, as happened for so many millions during wartime. They worry about Stanley’s grown up nephews in the armed forces, especially Stanley’s beloved nephew Jack, serving overseas. Or rather Stanley worries himself sick and Walter is concerned about Stanley.

Season of Hope reflects some of these wider events and their impact on a secure and lasting relationship, bringing a loving couple even closer together.

Blurb:

Sequel to Season of Joy

By the beginning of 1944, Walter Webb and Stanley Gardner have been together for twenty years. They live quietly above the grocer’s shop on Cheltenham’s Lower High Street, outwardly two middle-aged bachelors sharing a home. 

Cheltenham might have escaped the worst of the bombing raids, but the privations and dangers of the second war have put a strain on the whole community. This includes ongoing concern about loved ones on active duty. Stanley’s beloved nephew, Jack, is serving in Italy, while engaged in the fiercely fought Battle for Rome. 

Walter worries about the strain on Stanley’s health, never robust after the Great War, as they both deal with family issues and direct threats from the enemy. 

As St. Valentine’s Day approaches, can Walter and Stanley find solace in the hope of a peaceful shared future after the war?

Excerpt:

When they were back in the kitchen together, washing and drying the dishes after their evening meal, Stanley and Walter were free to discuss the letter at leisure. For once, they didn’t have to dash off promptly for a Home Guard meeting, but were merely joining their pals for a drink at the Plough Hotel.

I know Jack can’t tell us exactly what’s going on. Loose lips sink ships and all that,” Stanley said, as he dunked a plate in the regulation amount of water. “But having been a soldier, I can read between the lines and imagine all too well. The Battle for Monte Casino sounds as grim as anything we faced in France and Flanders. I’m only grateful that Jim and Donald aren’t there too.”

Walter nodded in agreement as he dried the crockery. Both Jack’s older brothers were in the Royal Engineers, patrolling the coastline to keep the country safe from invasion.

Stanley added, “At least Jack’s dad is spared our memories. That’s another blessing.”

It certainly is.”

During the Great War, Stanley’s brother-in-law had been turned down by the military on account of his poor vision.

Not that he hadn’t done his bit on the home front.

Walter recalled sanctimonious individuals handing out white feathers to apparently able-bodied men of conscription age. He’d been appalled by their lack of insight to the recipient’s inner convictions or hidden health issues.

He wouldn’t resent any man spared from the hell of mass conflict. It was a miracle that he and Stanley had emerged relatively unscathed.

If there is a God, please let Jack come through this, he thought for the umpteenth time.

Stanley coughed. His slim frame shuddered as he covered his mouth with his hand.

Walter was reminded amongst the uncertainty of wartime, some things remained worryingly constant. They weren’t through the winter yet. He hasn’t got the strength to cope with another bout of pneumonia.

Walter kept his observations to himself. Stanley would brush off any concerns up to the point where he was struck down by a full-blown chest infection. Tactfully Walter kept to the subject in hand.

I was chatting to Dad today. With Jack and the others away, it’s dawning on me how he must have struggled. At the time, I was too bloody busy trying to stay alive to think about how worried he must have been.” Walter added casually. “If anyone understands what you’re going through, it’s Dad. He said you could call round anytime.”

Stanley’s face brightened.

That’s very kind of him. I certainly appreciate the offer. But I always have you to talk to.”

Of course you do, love.”

Walter tried not to reveal the helplessness he felt at the worry that ate away at Stanley. “Dad thought a chat might help. You’ll probably be sent home with an extra sack of potatoes too.”

He’s a good man, just like his son.”

Stanley smiled. Not the restrained expression of recent times, but a real smile, crinkling the skin around his eyes.

That particular smile never failed to pull at Walter’s heartstrings. It also provoked a reaction below the belt, even after two decades together.

I’m not that good,” he said lightly.

Stanley’s smile widened.

That’s a matter of opinion.”

Walter put his hands on Stanley’s shoulders, turning him around so they were face to face. He bent down and kissed him.

When they’d first met, Stanley had sported a pencil moustache. Walter had loved how it framed his lush lips and the feel of those coarse hairs against sensitive areas of his body had driven him wild.

Stanley had been clean-shaven for some years. This also had its advantages. Walter found the prickle of his five o’clock shadow equally alluring. He pulled Stanley closer, making him laugh, his damp hands either side of Walter’s waist.

Stanley’s body moulded against Walter’s as their kiss deepened.

What a difference a letter from Jack makes.

Walter pulled back slightly, before burying his head in Stanley’s neck. He kissed the bare skin above his shirt collar.

Stanley shivered appreciably.

If we carry on like this, we won’t get to the pub,” he joked. “Only Monty, Sam and Jonesy can make it tonight, so we need to make up the numbers.”

Walter continued to hold Stanley, enjoying their closeness.

If we turn down our homemade entertainment for the sake of a pint with the chaps, I’ll be seething if the landlord has run out of beer again.”

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Bio:

Ellie Thomas lives by the sea. She comes from a teaching background and goes for long seaside walks where she daydreams about history. She is a voracious reader especially about anything historical. She mainly writes historical gay romance.


Ellie also writes historical erotic romance as L. E. Thomas.

Website: https://elliethomasromance.wordpress.com/

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