Tag Archives: LGBTQ

by Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez | December 14, 2022 · 5:00 am

Juunyork Virtual Book Tour

Biography, LGBTQ, Romance

Date Published: August 3, 2022

Publisher: Gatekeeper Press

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The Final Chapter is a true story about a romance between a man, Brandon,
who falls in love with a Brazilian social media influencer, Junior. The
story begins on the first day they meet and follows them through the next
eight months of their relationship. It ends with their final tragic day
together.

Each month shows the progress of their journey and the role social media
plays in their love. It outlines the current fashion of LGBTQ dating
involving apps, open relationships, and the evolving meaning of exclusivity.
Witness their passionate sexual experience, their romance, explosive
outbreaks, and multiple vacations.

In their final months together, feel their love before it is destroyed by a
tragic accident.

EXCERPT

Day 1

I wish I could say I met Junior at a store or a restaurant or we had some amazing occurrence where we locked eyes and had a cute awkward encounter, but that was not the case. I met Junior on an app that many of us know all too well in the gay world, “Grindr”. One night, I got a message from a very attractive Brazilian man and our sexual preferences seemed to be a good match. We began talking that night for a little bit, but unfortunately I had plans that evening and told this guy to please save me as a favorite and we would circle back. I went to sleep early that night once I got home and moved on to the next day as normal. I worked my normal 8-5 and messaged a few other guys throughout the day on this app. As the evening approached, I had a friend’s birthday dinner to celebrate. I never knew that evening, I would be meeting someone who I would fall desperately in love with. However, I would have to go through a few twists and turns before this encounter occurred.

I wrapped up my day at 5:00 o’clock and was planning to celebrate somewhat of a new friend’s birthday. The event was occurring around 8:00 that evening. I went to the gym as normal after work and then took a shower and began getting dressed for the evening. I decided to check Grindr again and remembered the attractive Brazilian I was chatting with the night before. I reached out and asked how he was doing. He gave me a quick response. He would be in the Orlando area that evening but would have to go back home that night, which was about an hour away. I responded that I would like to see him tonight, but had a birthday party to attend first, but I would reach out to him that evening. He gave me a thumbs up or some type of quick response to let me know he understood.

I went to attend the birthday party that night. I began driving downtown, which is about 30 minutes away from me. About half way to the event, I realized I had forgotten my driver’s license at the gym and had to turn around and travel to the gym first. You will realize throughout this story, I am a bit forgetful and I stress myself out pretty routinely. I would love to say Junior helped me with this, but he was just as forgetful as me and lived his life without much organization or structure.

But anyways back to the birthday event. I finally made it to the club downtown that evening. I provided my ID that I finally had to the staff and entered the party. The party was a great time. I was able to meet a few people and have a few drinks. I posted a picture while at the event and tagged the location. Over the next hour, 2 or 3 guys that lived downtown had reached out to me from that photo asking if I wanted to link up that evening after my party. One was a prior fling that had lasted about 2 months. The other was a guy that I had experimented with prior as well. I know this does not put me in the best light and it makes me seem that I had hooked up with many people. However, the truth was I had been single for almost 2 years and I had met many guys in the Orlando area. As I went to the bathroom, I checked our favorite app and realized another gentleman that I had been talking to prior wanted to see what I was doing that night. I checked to see if the Brazilian had responded or sent any further messages, but he did not.

I ordered one final drink at the event. As you get to know me in this story more, you will not be surprised that I ordered the drink and then ended up spilling it a few minutes later when attempting to take a photo with some friends. At this time, I decided it was probably time for me to leave. I made my way to my car and continued entertaining messages from my social media and Grindr. As I got into my car, I decided to send another message to the cute Brazilian. If you have ever used these apps, you will realize, you typically do not send multiple messages in a row or you come off as that annoying person and you will quickly be blocked or deleted. I wrote a simple message “what are you up to”. I received a response pretty quick that he was in the area but pretty tired. I continued responding to some of the other guys, but something inside of me really wanted to meet this one. Physically, he was very much my type and I think that I liked that I had to chase him a bit. As I was heading home, we were chatting back and forth and he advised he would want to see me and I thought for sure he would be coming over. I finally made it home and took a shower and prepped for the event that he would be stopping by.

I do think it’s time to explain in the gay world, that it is typical we sometimes will hook up upon meeting each other on this app and typically we are using this app for sexual needs. I had put on a pair of gym shorts and something that was comfortable in order to meet this guy that I was excited to see. As I finished getting ready, I received a message that he was very tired and would need to go home. I was frustrated at this point and ended up sending one final current picture in hopes that he would come over. Needless to say, it was a bit of a sexual photo. He quickly responded that he was tired, but he now wanted to come over. He said he would be there in 20 minutes or so. I was excited, but I myself was getting a little bit tired as I had drank and also had work in the morning.

About 30 minutes later, I received a knock on the door. I opened the door and it was this man who had a very aggressive demeanor. I attempted to give him a hug, but it was a bit awkward. We both entered my room and immediately began connecting. I was shocked at our physical connection and his aggression in a way. He was very direct with what he wanted, but it was one of the most sensual experiences I had encountered in a long time. We were physical for almost an hour. He was so dominant and aggressive and that was something I found very attractive. He told me exactly what he wanted done to him and advised what positions he wanted me in for both his pleasure and mine. He was so giving sexually and did many things that were directed at pleasing me which I had not had someone do in a while. Most of the time, guys are more concerned at what is pleasurable to them, but do not focus on the other person involved. However, that was not the case this time. During this sexual encounter, he began kissing my neck and even my face. He would whisper things in my ear that we were very good sexual partners together and that he had not felt this good in a long time.

Before our encounter, we had described things that turned each other on. During this hour, we both continued doing these things to each other and it made the experience so sensual. Upon both of us climaxing, we laid together for about 15 minutes. We both cleaned up in the bathroom and made small talk that this was very fun and that it felt extremely good for the both of us. Unfortunately, again, in the gay world this is somewhat common. We normally will discuss how it was good and that we should meet again, but most of the time we move on with our lives with little response or communication.

As we exited the room, we walked through my living room and we were approaching the front door. I was planning to give him a small hug and let him know to reach out soon, but he stopped me and said, I want to know more about you. I was a little bit surprised and asked what he wanted to know. He said he just wants to talk and to get to know me more. At that time, it was almost midnight and I still had to work early in the morning. I advised him I was pretty tired and maybe we could catch up another day. He said he just wanted to talk for 10-15 minutes and then he would leave. I had never had a guy be so direct and was a bit surprised. We were nearing my kitchen and I said we could talk a little bit if that is what he would like to do. Trying to be clever and ensure this would not be an awkward situation, I advised him we could each ask 10 questions and we both had to answer the questions. I told him he could start. He first asked “What do you do for work?” I provided my answer to him and then asked him what he does. He smiled a little and said, I kind of have a weird profession, but I am trying to become a comedian. I made a joke that it sounded like he does not have a real job. He began laughing so hard and said he had never had anyone be so direct with him before. I smiled and said you were the one who wanted to talk and get to know me.

I then asked him “Where are you from?” He had told me he was from Brazil and then advised that he would take me soon since we have a pretty good connection. I made a joke that he was pretty cocky, but I liked it. I told him about being from the small town of Inverness, Florida. He laughed and told me he had never heard of that before, but since he was going to take me to Brazil, he would take a trip with me to Inverness. He could not pronounce it, and I had to explain how to say it several times. I then told him that the small town of Inverness hosts a pretty spectacular “Cooter Festival.” I had to explain to him it was a festival about turtles. Honestly, you just need to Google it to see for yourself. We could not stop laughing through these few minutes.

His next question was very direct. He asked about my past relationships. I was not prepared to go into my major heartbreak that I had, but did tell him about my prior marriage, which was significant in my life as well. I was with a man for 7 years and we were married for one. I told him I was a 26 year old divorced man. He said he was happy I had told him. It became pretty serious at that time and truthfully I was a bit surprised I was explaining this to a man I had just met a little over an hour ago. There were times I hid that information for weeks or months when talking with guys.

We then discussed our favorite foods, favorite color, favorite vacations, and continued talking for an hour I quickly forgot which question we were on and I was loving just talking to you and seeing your passion and smile as you told me things about you. As time progressed, it was almost 2:00 in the morning. We had not moved from my kitchen, where I was sitting on the countertop and you were still standing.

I had told you that I really liked talking with you, but I think it was time that you left because I had to be up soon for work. I went to give you a hug and say goodbye, but you told me that I needed to walk you to the door and give you a proper goodbye because that would mean I plan to see you again. I followed your direction and walked you to the door. I gave you a hug goodbye and you kissed me on the cheek and said that you would wait to see me again. As I went to sleep that night, I could not stop but ponder how unique this evening was.

About the Author

Brandon McKinney is a twenty-seven-year-old currently pursuing his master’s
degree in global strategic communications. He obtained his bachelor’s degree
in marketing from the University of Florida. He is a Florida native. He
loves traveling, animals, and hopes to one day have a big family. In his
spare time, he is active in many sports leagues in the Orlando area. This is
his debut novel.

Contact Links

Instagram

Facebook

Purchase Link

Amazon

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by Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez | July 12, 2022 · 5:00 am

Bee and Harp Teaser Tuesday

Paranormal Romance, LGBTQ

Date Published: July 15, 2022

Publisher: Changeling Press

Dublin Museum Curator Bee McBride’s research tour is interrupted by a
shady stranger with a broken harp — and a broken heart.

When Bee, the stranger, and the harp are kidnapped by art thieves, Bee
discovers the dusty instrument is the legendary magic harp of the ancient
Celtic god Dagda.

Can her buzzing fervor find a way to unlock the harp’s music and the
stranger’s ardor before Midsummer Night?

EXCERPT

July 1

Kevin O’Donnell called the place where he’d been resting his
head these last couple of years the Marble Arches, after the caves in
Fermanagh. These caves under FDR Drive weren’t etched into limestone,
however; their side walls were crumbling concrete from an early era of
Manhattan development. Bits of shell and round stone sloughed off onto the
floor each time he brushed by it. The supporting pillars were concrete of a
more modern vintage, but in the same rotted condition, stained by runoff
from the road above, broken flakes exposing lines of rusted rebar.

The back wall was raw Manhattan bedrock, and in this heat it had the
advantage of staying cool, and while the drought was doing murderous damage
elsewhere, it meant the floor of the Marble Arches stayed blessedly dry for
the moment. Sitting with his back against the bedrock, Kevin could look out
across the docks and over the East River to Brooklyn, watching the yachts,
the tour boats, and the giant freighters that taunted him with their ability
to leave this place and bring their sailors back to homes and families far
away.

* * *

For ten days, Kevin had been trying to coax sound from the harp. He sat
with its base tucked between his legs, cushioned by the neatly folded wrap
of linen, its soundboard held tight to his chest in a lover’s embrace.
Sometimes his fingers floated silently over the strings. Other times he just
held it close, feeling energy flowing from it into his body.

Kevin cleaned the wood slowly, carefully, using a bandanna he found in the
gutter, and the water from a dozen half-full plastic water bottles he pulled
from garbage cans. Rich carving emerged from the grime. Clasped in the
dragon’s claws were two large roses, so lifelike that it appeared
fresh drops of dew spangled their petals. The roses were bundled with oak
leaves, and acorns tumbled down the pillar.

“Daur da Bláo,” Kevin whispered. The Oak of Two
Blossoms.

He had stopped in at the sailor’s mission on the Bowery and begged a
pair of nail clippers. He clipped his ragged nails straight across, slightly
longer than the tips of his fingers. Plucking the strings of an ancient wire
frame harp was done with the fingernails.

He found enough change on the street to buy a cup of tea at the coffee shop
across from the Strand bookshop and used the foaming pink soap in their
restroom to scrub the layers of grime from his hands. He pumped more soap
into his empty paper teacup and took it back to the Marble Arches. He bathed
the wire strings in the soap and let them soak, then poured clean water over
them and rubbed them down with the bandana.

He’d been right. The corr, or pinboard, was brass, embossed with
four-stranded knotwork. The tuning pins were also brass, burnished to a
sheen, their leaf-shaped heads inset with silver triskeles. But the strings
themselves were pure gold. The harp of legends, he thought. This can’t
be real.

His perch under the roadway suddenly felt confining, stifling. He wrapped
the harp and walked out onto the Brooklyn Bridge. The sun was burning hot
and blindingly white, but the air over the East River was stirring. The
tourist crowd was subdued in the heat, and the joggers who usually occupied
a steady lane of the walkway were completely absent.

He found an unoccupied bench in the shadow of the bridge’s dark
limestone towers. He wrapped his arms around the harp. A breeze wove between
the strings, and he thought he heard a faint, high-pitched hum. He pressed
his ear to the frame and listened. Yes, there. So fragile. So distant. But
the harp did have a voice, inside the soundbox. The harp was alive.

He put his fingers to the strings, his left hand reaching out to the high
strings nestled in the point of the frame, his right hand over his thighs,
spread over the bass strings. The hand position was the opposite of that on
modern harps, but this was the way frame harp playing was depicted in the
ancient carvings and medieval manuscripts, and so it was how frame harps
continue to be played by the small handful of people in the world who had
any familiarity with them.

He bent his head as if in prayer, pressed close against the soundboard. He
plucked a string with the middle finger of his right hand, then with the
ring finger, silently playing the pick-up notes to Pretty Maid Milking a
Cow. The lyrics had emerged in the nineteenth century, but the origins of
the hauntingly poignant harp tune underneath the ballad was lost in
antiquity.

His hands bloomed into motion, the ghost of the soundless tune echoing in
his mind. A living vine of energy began to grow between his body and the
ancient harp, its gold strings glittering.

The notes in his mind tangled with the breeze rising from the water, and
swirled into visual images. A woman’s hands, her wrists, her forearms
bare, in dim light, glistening with water. Her shoulders, rising from a dark
lake. A curve of hip, strong legs, bare feet on a stony shore. Drying her
auburn hair. Looking at him with soft brown eyes. Eyes that were full of
warmth. Eyes that were full of love. Full of desire.

He stopped and straightened his spine, hands reaching to damp the strings
by habit, though they had yet to make a noise. He felt a current coursing
through his body, from his fingertips up through the long disused muscles of
his forearms, muscles that used to pop with sinewy definition when he played
ten hours a day. The power ran down his spine and through the long lean
muscles of his legs, taut from walking countless miles of lonely
sidewalks.

Kevin realized, as if he were watching himself from a distance, that his
cock was pressed rigidly against the harp. He froze, motionless, as if his
erection were a wild bird that he did not want to frighten. He took his
hands away from the harp, resting them on his thighs. His body came back to
the bench on the Brooklyn Bridge, but something inside of him had
changed.

I am Kevin O’Donnell, he thought. Kevin O’Donnell, the
harper.

About the Author

Siondalin O’Craig writes romance with the slow burn of a peat fire on an
autumn night deep in the woodland hills. Sip a glass of Irish whiskey, turn
the page, and let the magic overtake you. Siondalin lives in the mountains
of New England where she walks under the trees celebrating the wheel of the
year, grows a luscious garden full of magical herbs, and plays a wicked
Irish fiddle. Follow her on Facebook and email her at
siondalinocraig@gmail.com to sign up for her newsletter.

Contact Link

Facebook

Publisher’s Instagram/Facebook/Twitter: @changelingpress

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by Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez | July 9, 2022 · 5:00 am

The Devil’s Necromancer Sale Blitz

Paranormal Romance, Dark Fantasy, LGBTQ, Murder Mystery

Date Published: October 2021

On Sale for $0.99 for a limited time

Lionel, a necromancer and consultant for the Brunswick Police Department,
wants nothing to do with immortals. Specifically, he wants nothing to do
with Lucifer, who shows up on his doorstep one day with a ridiculous
proposal. Lucifer, also known as the Devil, wants Lionel to be his pretend
boyfriend. Except the pretend part is something the Devil doesn’t
really seem to care for.

Lucifer has read enough romance novels to know that a good dose of forced
proximity might be just the thing to get the stubborn necromancer he desires
into his bed. The Devil’s plans are soon complicated when Lionel
proves more uncooperative and oblivious to love than Lucifer could ever
anticipate.

While the Devil wants to claim Lionel, all Lionel wants is to get away from
Lucifer. Meanwhile, magic users are being murdered in the city. Lionel
cannot escape the implications of those murders for long, and the case soon
takes a different turn. Will Lionel be able to escape the Devil’s
thrall, or will the necromancer fall for the immortal seducer?

Publisher’s Note: The Devil’s Necromancer contains scenes
involving dubious consent that some readers may find offensive.

EXCERPT

It was past midnight, and the stars that looked like sprinkles of white
chocolate in the velvety dark night sky were overshadowed by the city lights
and the waxing moon. I lay on the embankment, North Bridge’s metal
frame rising just to my right and further hiding the chocolate sprinkle
stars. My feet were wet, but I didn’t mind, not the embankment or the
wet feet or the stars melting away in the light and the artificial
structures around me. The zombie was oozing all over me from its — his —
caved-in skull, and I did mind that. Zombie ooze was a bitch to get out of
clothes, even if I’d given up on wearing colors years ago. Black
simply was the safest bet for a necromancer.

Zombies reeked when they weren’t really fresh, and this one was ripe
— fish-market-in-the-summer-heat-three-days-after-closing ripe. I looked up
and considered my life choices, all of which had led me here.

“Do you need CPR?” someone said. It was a warm, manly voice,
and I was reasonably sure it could make chocolate melt, star-shaped or
otherwise.

I stuffed my self-pity away and turned my head to get a better look at the
speaker. He was as handsome as a devil, with skin that looked like marble in
the glow of the city at night. His hair shimmered liquid black, but it might
have been some shade of brown in proper lighting. It went well past his ears
and looked styled with care to get that messy, I just got up out of bed
after a night of hard fucking look.

“Why the fuck would I need CPR?” I asked. My voice didn’t
sound like I’d just considered crying a moment ago, and I was proud of
that.

The guy shrugged. “It’s hard to tell with humans. Your kind is
so accident prone, and you seem to be having trouble breathing. Or maybe you
hit your head? Do you remember how you got here?”

Did he fucking think I was suffering from amnesia or a head injury or
something? “I’m having trouble breathing because I have a
fucking dead zombie on my chest, asshat,” I said. In my considered
necromantic opinion, I was being perfectly polite, even though I
couldn’t be sure what kind of creature the guy was. I’d given
him a quick glance with my mage sight, and human he was not.

Jeez, I hated gods and otherworldly beings.

“All zombies are dead,” Mr. Sexy said. “It’s a
prerequisite. This one seems to have had its brainstem properly destroyed,
however.”

“Oh, smarty-pants, thanks a bunch for the lecture. The basics of
necromancy have ever escaped me, even after I raised my very first corpse
thirteen fucking years ago.” It had been a blackbird that had died
when he crashed into a window at my school. I had cradled the poor thing in
my hands as it breathed its last, had cried, and that had triggered my
necromancer power. Pretty boy did not need to know that. Every other person
I’d ever told had made fun of me for it.

“You could have suffered a head injury with amnesia. How am I
supposed to know what you know?” He walked toward me. His movements
were silent, cat-like, and more elegant than was right. Even despite the
zombie oozing out on me, my cock couldn’t quite ignore him. Seriously,
though, what was up with his fixation on first aid and amnesia?

He grabbed the zombie by the legs and pulled the dead-dead corpse off me.
“Oh. You caved in its skull with a rock,” he said when he saw
the murder weapon in question, the goo glistening on its stony surface.
Well, it wasn’t really a murder weapon, seeing as how the zombie had
been dead, but details. “How traditional.” He held out a hand to
me, and I took it and let him pull me back to my feet. “I’m
Lucy, by the way. Short for Lucifer, but I prefer Lucy. As in Lucy Westenra,
the woman who almost single-handedly turned Dracula into the first reverse
harem romance novel ever before she made the wise decision to claim
immortality instead. She was such an underrated character, and I really
don’t know why people don’t like her more.”

I dusted myself off. Didn’t help with the wet feet or the zombie
ooze, which I really only distributed, like soft butter on hot toast. The
shirt I was wearing was ruined. Good thing I had a dozen other plain black
shirts just like it back home. “Maybe because she fucking ate
children.”

He shrugged. “Well, everyone has a craving now and then. No one
judges women’s monthly chocolate cravings, and I don’t see how
that was so much worse.”

My brain caught up with the conversation. Lucifer? The Lucifer? The fucking
Morning Star, seducer of stuffy virgins and lover of apples? I looked at
him. Up at him. Asshole was tall and handsome, the kind of guy I could only
ever talk to with about three drinks in me. “You’re the Devil?
Satan? Beelzebub?”

“Lu-cy,” he said, slowing down as if he was reconsidering the
brain damage thing. Even his eyebrows were perfect, which I only noticed
because he pulled one of those up, something most people couldn’t do
in real life. He could. And he looked hot doing it. Hotter.

About the Author

Alexa Piper writes steamy romance that ranges from light to dark, from
straight to queer. She’s also a coffee addict. Alexa loves writing
stories that make her readers laugh and fall in love with the characters in
them. Connect with Alexa on Facebook or Instagram, follow her on Twitter or
TikTok, and subscribe to her newsletter!

Contact Links

Follow the Publisher on Instagram/Facebook/Twitter: @changelingpress

Purchase Links

Retailer Links

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by Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez | August 22, 2021 · 5:00 am

Neon Lieben Blitz

Lieben Cycle, Book 1

Science Fiction, Cyberpunk, LGBTQ

Release Date: August 22, 2021

Publisher:‎ Vræyda Literary

2085 The world recovers from War. A squeal of tires chases Dr. Dieter Karnak, as he creates artificial life under his corporate partner’s begrudging nose. Dr. Robert Dunlevy doesn’t buy into such spiritual nonsense. He builds god damned machines, the way their Conglom overlords want. Karnak’s beloved intern Baiko hatches a plan to steal Lieben, before she becomes a corporate ploy.

2155 AD-001 swims to the shore of Vancouver Island. Lieutenant Max Allard is tasked to drag AD-001 back, before the Mater Machine claims ‘it’ for her own.

AI meets genetic engineering, when the Idless, a collective of anti-label anarchists, attempt to free Dr. Karnak’s android Lieben from the Conglomerate. 70 years later, gene-spliced super soldier AD-001 sees humans for the first time. A spiral of origins chase Lieben’s ghost in this sci-fi cyberpunk adventure…

‘Come at your leisure. My love is free. My abundance is yours.’

About the Author

“Sapha is like a young Wolfgang Pauli, in every laboratory he went, there was a little explosion” – David Roomy, Author of Inner Work in the Wounded and Creative: The Dream in the Body

Cyberpunk & mythology aficionado Sapha Burnell teethed on images of the Berlin Wall falling down. Steeped in divergent cultures, religion & gender roles, the Wild One dedicates her work to the dichotomy between science and spirit.

Author of The Judge of Mystics Series: Son of Abel (2017) & Usurper Kings (2014), Sapha speaks on martial arts in pop culture, comparative mythology, the craft of writing, using film director techniques as an editor, and being LGBTQ in a religious setting. The first in the Lieben Cycle, NEON Lieben inspects artificial intelligence, the rise of quantum computing & genetic engineering in a novel spanning two timelines.

Visit Sapha at www.saphaburnell.com on her Discord Server, or on Twitter, Twitch & Instagram @UsurperKings.

Contact Links

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by Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez | August 4, 2021 · 5:00 am

A Light to Kill By Virtual Book Tour

Book 3 of the Mourning Dove Mysteries Series

Mystery, LGBTQ

Date Published: August 3, 2021

Publisher: Acorn Publishing

Emory Rome is back in A Light to Kill By, the third book in the Mourning Dove Mysteries series – a follow-up to the international bestsellers Murder on the Lake of Fire and Death Opens a Window.

Moments after construction tycoon Blair Geister’s death, a mysterious wandering light kills someone else on her Southern estate. Is the avenging spirit of the millionairess on a killing spree, or are other forces threatening those in her inner circle? As the will is read, suspicion and jealousy arise, and fingers point to the heirs of her fortune. Private investigator Emory Rome and his Mourning Dove partners accept an invitation to stay at Geisterhaus and unravel its secrets before more lives are lost.

At twenty-three and with a notorious case under his belt, Emory Rome has already garnered fame as a talented special agent for the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. His career is leapfrogging over his colleagues, but the jumping stops when he’s assigned a case he fought to avoid – an eerie murder in the Smoky Mountain hometown he had abandoned. The mysterious death of a teen ice-skater once destined for the pros is soon followed by an apparent case of spontaneous human combustion. In a small town bursting with friends and foes, Rome’s own secrets lie just beneath the surface. The rush to find the murderer before he strikes again pits him against artful private investigator Jeff Woodard. The PI is handsome, smart and seductive, and he just might be the killer Rome is seeking.

Amazon

Emory Rome is back in DEATH OPENS A WINDOW, Book 2 of the Mourning Dove Mysteries and the follow-up to the international bestseller MURDER ON THE LAKE OF FIRE.

As he struggles with the consequences of his last case, Emory must unravel the inexplicable death of a federal employee in a Knoxville high-rise. But while the reticent investigator is mired in a deep pool of suspects – from an old mountain witch to the powerful Tennessee Valley Authority – he misses a greater danger creeping from the shadows. The man in the ski mask returns to reveal himself, and the shocking crime of someone close is unearthed.

Amazon

Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

I know who the killer is.

Juniper Crane’s yawn morphed into a gasp as she watched the masked ripper slash the throat of a young girl, silencing her screams.

Great, I’m never going to be able to sleep now.

The fiftyish woman with flowing brown hair reached for the joint in the Dollywood souvenir ashtray on her nightstand. She relit it and sucked the flame down to her coral-painted nails before returning it to the ashtray. Her exhaled smoke drifted up to the light smog lurking beneath the ceiling of her bedroom – one of the smallest at the Geisterhaus estate.

I need to turn this off. Grabbing the remote next to the ashtray, she instead set the sleep timer for the TV mounted on the wall. As the masked villain chased down another victim, Juniper sunk deeper into the gray flannel sheets of her bed and closed her hazel eyes. The movie’s staccato score tensed her grip on the downy quilt clutched at her neck until the violin flourishes distorted into static.

“What happened?” Juniper unclenched her eyes and saw the screen go blank. “Is the cable out?” The middle of the screen bulged out. “Oh my lord!” She jerked up in bed. “What is that?”

A volleyball-sized sphere of white light bubbled out from the screen and separated from the TV. Dozens of tiny tendrils reached out from the orb at random points along its surface, giving it the appearance of a miniature sun.

Juniper screamed and kicked out of the sheets, backing herself into the headboard.

Her bedroom door burst open, and a dark-haired man in flannel pajamas bolted inside. “Ms. Crane, what’s…” Tommy Addison’s voice trailed off when he saw the reason for her fear. “What the hell is that?”

The orb floated across the room toward the door, and Tommy approached it, extending his hand.

“Tommy, what are you doing?” Juniper jumped off the opposite side of the bed. “Don’t touch it!” Her warning came too late.

Two tendrils reached out to Tommy’s fingertips, and an enormous POP! followed a flash of light.

The force of the explosion shoved Juniper’s back against the wall before dropping her to the floor. Ears ringing, she pushed herself up enough to peek over the bed. It’s gone.

“Tommy?” She rose to her feet and shuffled over the hardwood floors, looking around the room. “Tommy, where are you?”

Once on the other side of the bed, she spotted a body in the hallway just beyond her open bedroom door. “Tommy!”

The man’s body settled into stillness, and his vacant eyes locked onto the ceiling – although Juniper felt them watching her as she rushed to his side.

“No, no, no, no.” Juniper cupped her mouth as tears dripped from her cheeks. She retrieved her phone and called 9-1-1. While imploring the operator for help, she hurried up two flights of stairs to her employer’s closed bedroom door. “Ms. Geister!” Her knuckles thumped against the solid oak. “Ms. Geister, it’s an emergency!” Hearing no response, she turned the copper knob and rushed inside.

“Ms. Geister!” Juniper shook the shoulder of the unresponsive woman lying on her side within the gold bedframe, and yet she didn’t respond. She clicked on the nightstand lamp and pulled the sleeping woman’s shoulder to roll her onto her back.

As Blair Geister’s head turned on the overstuffed pillow, a final breath whistled through her gritted teeth.

About The Author

Award-winning mystery author Mikel J. Wilson draws on his Southern roots for the international bestselling Mourning Dove Mysteries, a series of novels featuring bizarre murders in the Smoky Mountains region of Tennessee. Wilson adheres to a “no guns or knives” policy for the instigating murders in the series.

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