[Check out my sneak peak today - a collection of gay paranormal stories by author Nephylim, entitled Hump in the Night! ~ Lisabet]
Blurb
Aster is a vampire looking
for someone. When he finds Kia his plan is to fuck him and drain him,
but Kia has other ideas. Recognising Aster as the man he’s been
waiting for, he turns the tide and seduces him, shocking him with
secrets from the past. Together, they enter into an encounter that
blows their minds and changes their lives forever.
Lucien is a werewolf. He’s
always known he’s different. Definitely not an Alpha like his
father. More akin to the bitches than the muscular Beta’s or lithe
hunters he finds himself drawn to. When the enigmatic lone wolf
arrives, with his pure white hair and ice blue eyes, Lucien is lost
at first glance. After a burning hot dream he finally submits to the
dominant male destined to be his mate for life.
Dema and Meri’el are an
unlikely coupling. In the final war against good and evil they find
themselves on opposing sides. Dema the demon and Meri’el the son of
the King of Angels. Drugging each other with their bodies they
unleash the primal fury of their true natures and rock the
foundations of the earth and the heavens.
Grey doesn’t believe in
curses. When he uncovers a cavern deep under the mountain feared by
the villagers as a faery tomb, he scoffs at the superstition, until
he meets a stranger who lures him into the wood. A steamy encounter
in a forest glade has him wondering if being cursed is such a bad
thing after all.
Shay is mourning the death
of his soul mate, tormented by the fact he’d never told him how
much he loved him. A knife in the back in a dark alley steals his
chance to finally prove his commitment, until ghostly whisper in the
same alley leads to a night of passion and the second chance both men
crave, to finally find peace.
Excerpt
Demon they called him.
Demon, for the red of his eyes, for the black of his skin, patterned
with swirls and patterns of red, and for his leathery wings, now
furled tight against his back. And yes, he supposed that demon he
was, yet those he fought were no less ferocious than he, no more
strangers to battle and the atrocities inherent therein.
Angels they were called.
Angels, for their bright eyes, for their pale skin, glowing with
light from within, and for their pure, feathered wings that spread
from their backs like those of great birds. Some of them, Seraphim
they were called, could kill at a glance, turn man or demon to dust
in his shoes. And they were the side of good, while he and all his
people were ‘bad’.
The great fight between
good and evil, this battle was called. The final battle over the
souls of men. He couldn’t care less about men, their souls of any
part of them. Sure, some of him kind liked to dabble in the small
lives of humans, but the angels interfered on a large wider scale.
No, this battle wasn’t about men, it was about territory and power.
It was one he hoped would be decided very soon. In fact, he was
hopeful that it would be ended with the dawn, when the King of Angels
discovered his son missing, and a letter in its place, inviting him
to the negotiating table. He happened to know that the king valued
his son greatly and, if he wasn’t prepared to parlay through force
he was sure to be prepared to do so for love… wasn’t he.
He jumped when a hand
touched his shoulder, then relaxed as they slid around him, to
encircle him in a world of soft whiteness.
“I missed you in our
bed,” a sweet voice purred in his ear. “I thought I might find
you here. You should rest, tomorrow will be a long, hard day.”
The demon sighed and
leaned back into the arms of his lover, who nestled a cheek against
his hair. He tilted up his head and the smell of roses enveloped him,
as the taller man bent his head to kiss him.
“So many have died,”
he said sadly, when his lips were freed. “So many – “
“Don’t think about
what has gone. Think about how many lives will be saved when we
parlay tomorrow.”
“Will they? Will the
king…”
He turned and rested his
forehead against the fine skin of his lover’s shoulder. A pair of
pure white wings encircled him and he raised his hand, burying his
fingers in the downy under-feathers. Looking up into the face of the
angel who towered over him, he smiled and all his worries fell away.
“Come back to bed,”
Meri’el whispered and he followed.
The bedchamber was dimly
lit with muted lamps behind the pale, gauzy curtains that obscured
the walls and made it seem as if they were lying inside a cloud. That
was Meri’el’s influence. Dema preferred black.
Dema stood at the foot of
the bed and gazed down at that snow white wings spread out over the
bed like a coverlet and the pale, translucent beauty lying between
them, his golden hair standing up around his head like a halo.
“You are so beautiful,”
Dema breathed. “How can you love someone like me?”
“Someone like you?
Someone who is passionate and wild and beautiful? It’s easy, my
love. Come love me with passion.”
A red light flared in
Dema’s eyes, turning his vision crimson and he sank down into the
soft feathers, taking possession of Meri’el’s lips. Meri’el’s
arms reached around him and pulled him close, the hard leathery body
against the soft yielding flesh.
Meri’el’s breath
hitched as Dema’s hardness stabbed into his hip. His own erection,
standing up from its bed of gold, slapped against his stomach as he
raised his hips, writhing and trying to rub himself against his
lover.
Dema, just as desperate
moved to straddle Meri’el, trapping their cocks between them,
moving his hips to massage them together. Meri’el whimpered,
gasping and clawing at Dema’s back with his fingernails,
ineffective against the tough, leathery skin. “Take me, take me,”
he gasped.
Hump in the Night is
available from:
Bio: Nephylim was
born into a poor mining family in the South Wales Valleys. Until she
was 16, the toilet was at the bottom of the garden and the bath hung
on the wall. Her refrigerator was a stone slab in the pantry and
there was a black lead fireplace in the kitchen. They look lovely in
a museum but aren’t so much fun to clean.
Nephylim has always been a
storyteller. As a child, she’d make up stories for her nieces,
nephews and cousin and they’d explore the imaginary worlds she
created, in play.
Later in life, Nephylim
became the storyteller for a re-enactment group who travelled widely,
giving a taste of life in the Iron Age. As well as having an
opportunity to run around hitting people with a sword, she had an
opportunity to tell stories of all kinds, sometimes of her own
making, to all kinds of people. The criticism was sometimes harsh,
especially from the children, but the reward enormous.
It was here she began to
appreciate the power of stories and the primal need to hear them. In
ancient times, the wandering bard was the only source of news, and
the storyteller the heart of the village, keeping the lore and the
magic alive. Although much of the magic has been lost, the stories
still provide a link to the part of us that still wants to believe
that it’s still there, somewhere.
In present times, Nephylim
lives in a terraced house in the valleys with her son and her two
cats. Her daughter has deserted her for the big city, but they’re
still close. The part of her that needs to earn money is a lawyer,
but the deepest, and most important part of her is a storyteller and
artist, and always will be.
Links
Facebook Page -
https://www.facebook.com/Nephylim.author
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