Book Blitz: Dark Summer & Excerpt

Dark Summer by S. J. Coles


Book Title: Dark Summer (A sequel to Blood Winter)

Author: S. J. Coles

Publisher: Pride Publishing

Release Date: July 27, 2021

Genres: M/M Romance, Paranormal Romance, Vampire Romance, Thriller

Tropes: Love against the odds, Forbidden Love, love triangle

Themes: Learning to love, healing, facing fears

Heat Rating: 4 flames      

Length: 50 247 words/ 204 pages

It is not a standalone story. It is the second book in a series.



Buy Links

Universal Link  |  Amazon US  |   Amazon UK  


Dark Summer Out Now

Is a human lifetime long enough to learn to love a vampire?



A sequel to Blood Winter

Is a human lifetime long enough to learn to love a vampire?

The tumultuous events of the Blood Winter are a fading nightmare, and Alec and Terje are trying to build a life together at Alec’s newly restored ancestral home of Glenroe. There’s just one problem… Terje doesn’t appear to be committed—constantly called away on mysterious errands and seemingly unable to forsake his own kind. Alec begins to wonder if Terje is capable of loving anyone, let alone him.

When an old uni friend Jay Singh, recently out of the closet and looking rather too good to be true, returns to Alec’s life, he becomes more conflicted than ever. Things only escalate when Alec is forced into the social and political issues still surrounding the haemophiles’ tumultuous integration into human society and soon it is more than just his relationship on the line.

Can Alec figure out what kind of future is possible with a vampire—and if it can ever be enough for either of them—before it’s too late?



“You’re tired.”

Terje was brushing his long fingers through the hair on my chest. I forced my eyes open, fighting back the warm oblivion that had threatened to steal me away.

“No, I’m not.”

Terje chuckled softly and extricated himself from my arms. I made a noise of protest, propping myself on my elbows as Terje started to collect his clothing from the floor. 

“What are you doing?”

“You should sleep,” Terje said, pulling on his jeans.

“This is the first night we’ve had together in weeks,” I muttered, taking Terje by the wrist and pulling him close. “I’m not going to sleep for any of it.”

Terje brushed a kiss across my forehead. “If you’re sure…”

“Of course I’m sure,” I said, annoyance bleeding into my tone.

Terje, either not noticing or not caring about my reaction, continued to dress, pulling on his T-shirt, shoes and light, black jacket. He always wore muted tones, blacks and grays, sometimes pale blues. It should make someone with his pale complexion look washed-out or even sickly. But against his smooth, pearlescent skin and hair, it just made him look exotic, unearthly, surreal but achingly beautiful.

“Are we going somewhere?” I asked, breaking off from staring to retrieve my underwear.

“I’d like to go for a walk,” Terje said, pulling a band out of his pocket and tying his blue-white hair back into a tail. As I was the only one available to cut it and I wasn’t the best hairdresser, he’d allowed it to grow long again. The shorter strands at the front fell into his eyes, but it left the smooth lines of his neck free.


“In the park,” he replied, fetching a bottle from a bag he’d dropped in the corner. “Below the castle.”

“They have that here,” Alec said, indicating the fridge.

“I prefer my own,” he replied. He opened the bottle, drank deeply and color washed into his cheeks. He dropped the empty bottle in the specialist canister next to the fridge and went toward the window.

“This is a safe place,” I muttered, grabbing a fresh shirt out of my case. “You don’t have to go out of the window.”

“It’s better to be careful,” he said, then was gone.

I sighed, trying to fight the return of my frustration. I finished dressing and hurried out into the busy city night. The air had cooled but the towering stone buildings still retained some of the warmth from the day, giving the air an enclosed feel. The sky arched black overhead, bleached featureless by streetlight. 

Terje was nowhere in sight. I crossed the North Bridge, heading for Market Street and the way down into the Princes Street Gardens. The noise of people weaving between the bars, clubs and restaurants fell away as I descended the stairs into the cool, fresh openness of the park. A train heading into Waverley station hissed by on the rails above. As I ventured farther in to where the only light was from the LED lampposts installed to lower light pollution, the stars finally became visible, glittering like diamonds on a sheet of black velvet. 

Edinburgh Castle glowered from its clifftop, all ramparts, towers and impossibly large blocks of stone. I had always thought it looked forbidding, but when Terje stepped out of the shadows to stand at my side and gaze up at it in quiet wonder, I tried again to see it how he might see it.

“It’s beautiful, in its own way,” he had said the first time we had visited Edinburgh, almost a year before. “It’s a promise to protect as well as to fight back.”

Looking at his profile in the starlight, my anger faded and, for the moment, I was just grateful he was back.

He laced his long fingers through my own. The memory of Jay touching that same hand earlier that day rose in my mind but I shook it away, along with the ghosting guilt. Terje sent me a sideways look and I was suddenly certain, however impossible it was, that he knew. But then he started to walk down the path, drawing me with him.

“We have a story about a haemophile that lived in the castle in the middle ages,” Terje murmured as we walked. “Did I tell you that?”

“No, you didn’t. I’ve heard lots of ghost stories about it,” I said absently. “Never anything about vampires.”

“It’s one of our stories. Like a cautionary folk tale…”


Terje’s forehead creased slightly in the pale light. “Very few of our kind have ever lived outside of a commune. This one did. Her story, well…it doesn’t end well.”


About the Author

S.J. Coles is a Romance writer originally from Shropshire, UK. She has been writing stories for as long as she has been able to read them. Her biggest passion is exploring narratives through character relationships.

She finds writing LGBT/paranormal romance provides many unique and fulfilling opportunities to explore many (often neglected or under-represented) aspects of human experience, expectation, emotion and sexuality.

Among her biggest influences are LGBT Romance authors K J Charles and Josh Lanyon and Vampire Chronicles author Anne Rice.


Author Links

Blog/Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter 

Instagram  |   Pride Publishing



Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

Book Blitz & Excerpt: Sharing His Submissive + Giveaway

Sharing His Submissive Banner

Sharing His Submissive By Hannah Murray

Word Count: 56,687
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 222



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Book Description

When Nick said he wanted to make all of Rebecca’s fantasies come true, he wasn’t kidding.

Nick and Rebecca are madly in love, kinky as hell and ready to push the boundaries a little. As her Dom and her Daddy, fulfilling all her desires is both Nick’s responsibility and his privilege, but while Rebecca loves the idea of Nick sharing her with another Dom, she’s not sure if she’s ready to turn her fantasy into reality.

Nick is eager to facilitate the threesome of her dreams, but it’s no hardship to wait until she’s ready…and, in the meantime, maybe give her a hint of just what two Doms can do for her.

With a small taste of the very sexy possibilities, it doesn’t take long for Rebecca to get on board, especially since she’s developed a small, harmless crush on Nick’s preferred co-Top, his good friend and fellow Dom, Cade.

Nick and Cade have teamed up before, so he knows they can deliver on the promises Nick has made. Together, they’ll be sure to give Rebecca a scene—and a night—none of them will ever forget…

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of erotic humiliation and multiple partner sex.


Rebecca crumpled up the last bit of newspaper and tossed it into the box she was using as a makeshift recycling bin. “Last box, all empty.”

“Nice job, love,” Nick said, slipping his arm around her from behind. He kissed the back of her neck, his beard tickling her skin, then rested his chin on her shoulder. “Let’s haul this out, then I’ll order dinner.”

She leaned into him and surveyed the unpacking debris that had taken over one side of the living room. “How about you haul it out, and I’ll order dinner?”

“A traditional division of labor?” he mused. “Very Donna Reed of you.”

“Donna would make dinner, not order in,” she reminded him, and tried not to giggle when he gnawed playfully on her neck. “And anyway, I did most of the unpacking.”

“Because you didn’t trust me to put your stuff in the right places.”

“True.” She turned her head to smile at him. “But it still counts.”

“Hmm.” He narrowed his eyes, the bright crystalline blue darkening slightly. “I’ll take out the recycling, but you have to eat dinner naked.”

She forced a frown, even though her pulse began to pound in anticipation. “That’s not one of the rules we agreed on.”

His lips twitched in a smirk. “It’s not a House Rule, it’s a Now Rule.”

“A Now Rule?” she parroted, and frowned harder to keep the smile off her face. “What is that, something you get to invoke anytime you want something not covered by the House Rules?”

“It’s a spur of the moment negotiation for a specific situation. If you want me to haul all that away by myself, you have to eat dinner naked.”

She eyed the broken-down boxes and wadded-up packing material that covered half the room. After a day of unpacking and arranging her belongings in his—now their—loft, she was ready to sit down and relax, and eating naked didn’t sound like too big a price to pay to do it. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. “Eating naked is dangerous. What if I drop hot food on myself?”

“Order sandwiches,” he suggested.

She looked at him with a horror that wasn’t entirely feigned. “Have you ever had breadcrumbs in your crotch?”

“I can honestly say I have not.” He arched an eyebrow. “Have you?”

“Well, no,” she admitted. “But I’ve had sand in there, and I’m guessing crumbs would be just as bad. I want a napkin for my lap.”

“For a napkin, you’ll have to wear a butt plug.”

I’ll need a napkin for under me, too, she thought. Her pussy was wet just thinking about him plugging her ass. She sighed heavily, the picture of a beleaguered, long-suffering submissive. “Fine.”

“Fine,” he echoed, and bent to capture her lips. The kiss was quick, with a just a teasing hint of tongue. When he lifted his head again, his gaze was bright with amusement. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.”

She forced her eyes wide and blinked, projecting innocence for all she was worth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh.” He slid his hand from her waist to her breast, where her nipple was trying to poke through her T-shirt. He gave it a firm tug, sending a quick bolt of sensation straight to her pussy. “You’re sure that’s the story you want to go with?”

“Give me a minute to think of a new one,” she managed, and he laughed.

“Order dinner, then take a shower,” he said, his hand light on her breast. She wanted to lean into him for firmer contact, but that would give him the advantage. Not that he didn’t already have it, but still. “When you come back, bring the blue butt plug and the alligator clamps.”

She was nodding before she caught the last part. “Wait. You didn’t say anything about clamps.”

“That was before you tried to fool me,” he said, and squeezed her nipple hard enough to make her squeak. His grin was pure perverted delight. “Infractions require corrections, baby girl.”

“I don’t think that’s fair,” she said, breathless from the spike of pleasure-pain.

“Want to make it a butt plug, alligator clamps, and a vibrating egg?” he asked, his fingers still tight on her nipple.

Shit. She shook her head.

“Then say, ‘yes, Daddy’,” he advised, his eyes gleaming, “and do what you’re told.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she parroted, and bit her lip when he released her nipple. She couldn’t decide if she was relieved or disappointed, and gave him her best pout.

It just made him grin. “Good girl,” he said, and kissed her one more time before striding to the pile of boxes.

Rebecca shook her head and walked around the free-standing wall that served to separate their sleeping space from the rest of the loft, her body humming with arousal. It was amazing what that man could do to her with those two magic words. Sometimes she wondered if he could good girl her to orgasm, using nothing but his voice and the approval she craved to get her there. She didn’t think it was possible, but she wouldn’t bet against Nick, or the powerful, incendiary effect he had on her.

It might have been embarrassing if she didn’t like it so much. But she did, and so did he, and knowing that made everything okay. Besides, she had the same effect on him—he was just better at controlling his responses. Hell, he was better at controlling everything…including her.

She wondered just how he was planning to control her tonight, and pulled out her phone to order dinner.

With the sandwiches on their way—estimated delivery time, twenty-two minutes—she stripped out of her moving-day clothes of yoga pants and a T-shirt and headed into the bathroom. There were a lot of things to love about the loft—the high ceilings, spacious rooms with plenty of natural light, and secure, covered parking were all great—but her very favorite thing was the bathroom.

It was the size of the bedroom in her old apartment, and almost embarrassingly luxurious. There was a soaking tub long enough to fit Nick’s lanky form with room left over for her, or she could just swim laps in it by herself. Two sinks on opposite sides of the room meant she didn’t have to share counter or cabinet space, and while it didn’t have a place for her to sit and do her makeup, she liked to do that in natural light, anyway.

There was a shower with rainfall showerheads in the ceiling that she could turn off with a touch of the state-of-the-art instrument panel when she didn’t want to get her hair wet, and more shower heads set into the marble-tiled wall. There was even a bench, wide and deep enough to seat two people side by side—or two people with one on the other’s lap—and massage jets set in the wall behind it.

The matching tile covering the bathroom floor was heated, the lights under the cabinet edges were motion activated so she never stumbled in the dark, and, best of all, the toilet was in its own separate frosted-glass-enclosed room. Not that she was particularly embarrassed by bodily functions, but sometimes a body needed to sit for a spell.

And on those occasions, it was really nice to be able to close the door.

She handled those bodily functions first, then stepped into the shower and tapped the wall panel to activate the rain showerheads. Moving day had left her feeling grimy, and even though it still felt like winter outside, she’d worked up a sweat. She might have lingered in the shower, letting the jets and hot water wash away the dirt and soothe sore muscles, but her stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself. Lunch had been several hours of physical labor earlier, and she was hungry.

She cleaned up quickly, washing her hair and scrubbing the sweat from her skin, then grabbed a fluffy towel to dry off. She wrapped it around her hair to soak up the excess water and keep it out of her way while she slathered on moisturizer, then hung it over the heated towel rack and dragged a comb though her dark locks. Her hair was getting to the long-enough-to-be-annoying stage, and she made a mental note to schedule a trim. She’d taken Monday off, assuming she’d be tired from a weekend of moving and organizing, so maybe she’d see if her stylist could squeeze her in.

She left her hair down to air dry and pulled on her robe. A moving-in present from Nick, the thick cashmere was soft, warm, and killer, fuck-me red. He’d said it had caught his eye because it was the exact color of her favorite lipstick, the one she always wore when she wanted an extra boost of confidence. She’d worn the lip color a lot in the three years she’d worked for Nick, and apparently, he’d become somewhat obsessed with it.

She didn’t work for him anymore, and she rarely needed a boost of confidence these days, but she still wore the lipstick. It had a delightfully predictable effect on her lover, one that usually ended in multiple orgasms for her.

She debated putting some on now, but decided it was too much trouble. She left the bathroom and crossed the bedroom to Nick’s side of the bed. He kept the toys they used most frequently in his nightstand, the butt plug and nipple clamps she sought sharing space with leather cuffs, dildos and butt plugs in a variety of sizes, a rechargeable wand vibrator and a leather paddle.

There were other toys in the hope chest at the foot of the bed, just transported from her old apartment that morning, and in Nick’s fully stocked toy bag in the walk-in closet if he wanted a more involved scene. But he liked to improvise, so he kept the basics close at hand.

She tucked the plug and clamps into the pocket of her robe, then shoved a small bottle of lube into the other. He hadn’t asked for it, but maybe she could score some points by anticipating his wants.

She’d take all the good-girl points she could get.

She walked into the living room just as Nick was opening the door to the food delivery, and the open floor plan of the space meant that both Nick and the young man in the open doorway saw her. She kept her hands in the pockets of her robe, fighting the urge to draw it more tightly around her. The fact that it covered her from neck to toes didn’t make her feel any less exposed, and the objects she carried only added to the feeling. Nick knew, of course. It was in the gleam in his pretty blue eyes, in the quirk of his lips as he smiled at her. And, being Nick, he took advantage.

“Hey, baby,” he purred, reaching out a hand in a silent order to come to him. She obeyed it without hesitation, her pulse pounding in her throat. “You remember Adam?”

“Sure,” she said with an easy smile, her fingers tight on Nick’s. “How are you?”

“Good, thanks,” Adam said, his throat bobbing as his cheeks flushed. He was young, in his early twenties, working as a driver for several food delivery services to help meet his college expenses. Their neighborhood was his territory—if they ordered food, there was at least a fifty percent chance that Adam would deliver it.

He had a small, harmless crush on her, which Nick found amusing. Rebecca found it sweet…and when she was wearing a bathrobe with sex toys in the pockets, awkward.

She squeezed Nick’s fingers again in silent admonishment before reaching for the bag Adam held. “Thanks for coming so fast. I’m starving.”

“I had them throw in an extra pickle, just for you.”

“Thanks.” She smiled at him, holding the bag to her chest. “I love pickles.”

“I know,” he said, and flushed tomato red.

She cut her eyes to Nick, who winked back and pulled a couple of bills out of his pocket. “Thanks for the speed, Adam.”

Adam took the tip, his eyes widening a little at the amount. “Hey, thanks, Mr. Saint, Ms. McBride.”

“See you next time, Adam,” Rebecca said with a little wave as Nick closed the door. As soon as it was shut, she shook her head at Nick. “You’re terrible.”

Nick merely grinned. “Seeing you in that red robe probably made his day. If you’d come out naked, he’d have passed out.”

She rolled her eyes and headed for the kitchen. “Good thing I’m not going to do that, then, isn’t it?”

He took the bag from her and unpacked it, setting the sandwiches, chips, and pickles—two for her, one for him—on the plates she laid out. “And if I told you to?”

She pulled a couple of bottles of beer out of the fridge and met his raised eyebrow with one of her own. “Involving other people in a scene who have not explicitly consented to being involved in said scene falls under the heading of Things I Will Use My Safeword For.”

“God, I love it when you get prissy.” He grinned and smacked her ass. “Reminds me of all those times I wanted to bend you over my desk and fuck the sass right out of you.”

She resisted the urge to rub her stinging butt and scooped up her plate. They didn’t have a dining room table yet, because Nick had never seen the need and her old place hadn’t had room. They were going to go shopping for one together, but in the meantime, their dining options were the living room or the breakfast bar. “Where do you want to eat?”

“Living room,” he decided, and followed her over.

She was lowering herself to the sofa when he said, “Don’t sit.”

She glanced down, thinking she might have been about to sit on the television remote, but there was nothing there. “Why?”

“Because.” He set his own food on the coffee table, grabbed one of the pillows from the corner of the sectional, and tossed it on the floor at her feet.

Her belly fluttered as she contemplated the cushion on the floor. “This is new.”

Buy Links

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First For Romance

About the Author

Hannah Murray

Hannah has been reading romance novels since she was young enough to have to hide them from her mother. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband—former Special Forces and an OR nurse who writes sci-fi fantasy and acts as In-House Expert on matters pertaining to weapons, tactics, the military, medical conditions and How Dudes Think—and their daughter, who takes after her father.

Find out more about Hannah at her website and blog.


Enter to win a fabulous gift package and get a FREE eBook from the author!

Hannah Murray’s Sharing His Submissive Giveaway


Spotlight & Excerpt: The Clockmaker’s Tale + Author Interview & Giveaway

TourBanner_The Clockmakers Tale and Other Stories

BookCover_The Clockmakers Tale and other stories

The Clockmaker’s Tale
by Ian Williams
Genre: Science Fiction

In The Clockmaker’s Tale: and other stories, Ian Williams takes us to the near future and beyond. From a moon base where androids conduct experiments on human test subjects, to futuristic tours of the ocean depths that hide a terrible secret; from a society governed by harsh rule of law that is enforced by AI, to a humble clockmaker tempted by the promise of increased productivity through technological augmentation.

Covering issues such as environmental decay, the end of facts and proven truths, our growing waste problem, and humanity’s tendency to divide when we should come together, this collection of six science fiction stories relates as much to our time as it does to the many possible futures.



Returning to his briefcase, Alexander produced a card from an outside pocket. “Here,” he said, holding it between two of his fingers.

George took it and looked it over, now realising there was a sales pitch to follow. He’s better at this than I am, he had to admit. At the top of the textured card was the name of a company he was certain he knew but couldn’t quite place. “ACC?”

“Adaptive Cognition and Cybernetics. We specialise in cutting-edge, next-generation, technology. Our latest product was made for people just like you, who need more hours in a day than the good Lord provides.”

I left my work for this? George was less than impressed. “Thank you, but I…”

“Before you say no, how about I show you what I’m talking about?” Alexander picked up his briefcase and walked to the counter, where he placed it down and clicked open the catches. He kept his back turned until he was ready to present his product.

When he turned, George was immediately drawn forward, to inspect the object himself. He was fascinated by the curved design. It had a snowy-white casing, with delicately printed calligraphy underlined by a sweeping blue line, and a tiny, built-in, LED screen. It appeared as well-made as any of his clocks. Such a high degree of engineering, yet it remained a simple-looking thing.

“This,” Alexander said, not quite ready to hand over the device, “is our latest model. It’s called a Work Buddy.”

Author Interview:

  1. Tell us a little about how this story first came to be.

As with many of my stories, it first started as an image in my head. I saw an old man working in his workshop, while behind him, through the window, I saw the future. From that blossomed the collection of stories that comprise The Clockmaker’s Tale: and other stories. But the initial spark came from the juxtaposition of the old clashing with the new. Can a humble clockmaker fit into our idea of the future? What about if he had help, say from some piece of tech? The idea was to make a point, something that each story is aiming to do.

2. What, if anything, did you learn when writing the book?

In researching this book, I came to understand certain issues we face better than I had before. As these stories are concerned with our future, and how, if not handled correctly, our problems could overwhelm us, I wanted to know all I could about them. And the statistics are quite damning.

3. What surprised you the most in writing it?

What surprised me most in writing this book was just how angry some of these subject matters I’ve written about had made me before I began. I would often complain about the state of things to family and friends until I felt the need to put my feelings to paper. So, I consider this book my therapy of sorts. It certainly made me feel better to write it.

4. What does the title mean?

The title ‘The Clockmaker’s Tale’ is used to signify that this story was the one that I began with. Writing this story ignited my interest in putting my fears into story form, and from this story grew a project I am now immensely proud of.

5. Were any of the characters inspired by real people? If so, do they know?

I don’t tend to base my characters on real people. However, I will always take elements of others’ personalities that have intrigued me and add them to my characters. I find this makes my characters a little more real.

6. Do you consider the book to have a lesson or moral?

A moral, yes. Each tale tells of a future where we’ve ignored warning signs and allowed our worst traits to run riot. The message may be buried deep but it is always there. With a little teasing out, it becomes clear.

7. What is your favorite part of the book?

My favourite part of this book is probably the end of Post-Truth Tours. I found this one of the most satisfying endings to write. I won’t give anything away here, but this scene in question makes its point with the most emotive power. I wanted readers to be surprised by it, perhaps even a little shocked too.

8. Which character was most challenging to create? Why?

Again, Post-Truth Tours has the answer here. The main character, Flynn, posed a particular challenge to write. Namely, his views on the world he lives in. Some would call him naïve; others may say ignorant. He sees the world through eyes clouded by others’ lies.

9. What are your immediate future plans?

I am currently deep in the planning stages of my next project. It will be a short story collection exploring the altered timeline of a fictional British town rocked by a mysterious event. I plan to have a completed first draft completed by the end of the year.

Author Info:

Ian Williams is a Science Fiction writer from the UK. He lives in a small town not far from London. Ian had a short career in the UK Court Service but was forced to quit that job when his medical condition worsened. Now, from the comfort of his wheelchair, he writes the stories he has always wanted to read. His writing spans lightyears of space, to near-future Earths; from small changes to society, to entirely new civilisations.


Ian Williams will be awarding a $50 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

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