As the son of music industry royalty and a famous rock star in his own right, Henry “Cinder” Cinderford has spent his life on the road. Craving stability, he signs on to do a special limited engagement in Las Vegas and plans to spend the next six months discovering the meaning of home.
After losing his mom at a young age, Ellis Tremaine survived a childhood with an abusive stepfather who took out his anger on the son he never wanted. Nearly two decades later, Ellis continues to struggle against the emotional manipulations of his family, even in his career. But when he meets none other than the Prince of Pop himself, things start to change.
From attraction to friendship to something so much more, Ellis and Cinder become the celebrity ‘ship known as “Cinderellis.” But when reality threatens their storybook romance, all they can do is hope there really is a happily ever after for every once upon a time.
As the amber and pink hues of a Vegas sunrise peeked through the blinds, the radiant heat of the muted rays fell in bands over the comforter, and Cinder’s eyes drifted open. He blinked up at the ceiling as his mind meandered toward consciousness.
After waking up in the same bed for over two months now—the longest stint he’d ever had in the same sleeping quarters, if he didn’t count his tour bus, which he didn’t—he was finally starting to get used to the luxury of the familiar. He relished the recognizable comfort of a bed he could call his own and the intimate ease of a space he knew and could navigate without thought.
But as his brain chugged into gear, something struck him as different. Not wrong, just not the same as usual. He went to lift a hand to rub the sleep from his eyes but found his arm trapped by an unexpected weight. Before he could turn to assess the source of his encumbrance, enough awareness seeped into his mind to bring back memories of how he’d fallen asleep the night before.
Wrapped in the arms of Ellis Tremaine.
A smile crept up his cheeks as he rolled over to pull Ellis against his chest. Snuffling in his sleep, Ellis came willingly. He threaded a leg between Cinder’s and circled an arm around Cinder’s waist to anchor their bodies together. Smile stretching into a grin, Cinder brushed a kiss over the whorl of hair at Ellis’s crown as he reveled in the beauty of waking to such a cozy, content moment.
This is what he’d been missing all these years. Every time he’d pushed another nameless partner from his bed in the wee hours of the morning—choosing to sleep alone after sharing a romp in the sheets rather than waiting to see where the morning might take them—he’d given up another chance at finding the one thing he’d needed most.
Comfort. Stability. A rock to cling to in the stormy seas of life.
A home.
Because that’s what this was. This moment with Ellis in his arms, sated by memories of a day spent working side by side and an evening shared without the typical pomp and circumstance others required, it was the home he’d been searching for all his life. Just as his parents had always tried to tell him, but he’d never understood.
Home wasn’t a physical space. It wasn’t something you could find in a brick-and-mortar structure or by tying yourself to a single place. Home was a feeling. An emotion. A sense of well-being and security. Of being cared for and wanting to—no, needing to—care for another.
In its simplest form, home was love. And as Cinder clung to Ellis’s sweet warmth, he knew love was where his heart was headed. Maybe he hadn’t quite fallen that far yet, but it was coming for him, and he was ready to take the plunge when it did.
Evie Drae (Ze/Hir/Hirs) is a registered nurse by day and a best-selling, award-winning male/male romance writer by night. Ze has won first place in seven Romance Writers of America® (RWA®) competitions, including the prestigious title “Best of the Best” in the 2018 Golden Opportunity Contest. Ze was a double finalist in the 2019 Golden Heart® in both the Contemporary Romance and Romantic Suspense categories.
One of Evie’s favorite things to do is encourage hir fellow writers. To that end, ze started the #writeLGBTQ and #promoLGBTQ hashtags on Twitter to support and promote LGBTQ+ authors and allies while providing a safe space to connect and grow as a community. Ze is married to the love of hir life, is the parent of two wonderful fur babies, and runs almost entirely on coffee and good vibes.
Evie loves to link EvieDrae@gmail.com or find hir on hir social media accounts listed below. Twitter is where ze’s most active but be sure to check out hir blog too. Ze focuses on reviews for LGBTQ+ authors and allies with the occasional quirky advice/recommendation post just to toss things up.
There are few things worse than being on the Arcane Bureau of Investigation’s naughty list.
To keep myself out of hot water, I’ve made a deal with the devil—using my skills as a grave talker to help the ABI solve some very cold cases.
But there is something mighty amiss in this task—especially when quite a few of these cases lead me right back to my home town of Haunted Peak and the secrets buried there.
“Out less than a minute and already talking to spirits and punching ghosts. Way to go, Adler.”
That smooth voice did not belong to my best friend, J. Oh, no. I wasn’t that lucky. The big hunk of man-meat Siobhan had been talking about was not my partner, but the death mage ABI agent who’d simultaneously saved my bacon and torched it.
I swung my head to face Bishop La Roux, straightening my shoulders like I was going to have to punch him, too.
Dressed in a criminally hot pair of jeans and a T-shirt that should be illegal in at least five states, Bishop held out a bag with a very familiar logo on it like he was warding off a lion. Ignoring his messy hair and scruffy beard, I met his coal-dark eyes with suspicion. But instead of punching him like I had Hildy, I snatched the Si Señor bag from his hands, opened it, and dug in. The prison fare was a step above cat food, in my opinion, and just the thought of that yummy bit of heaven made my mouth water.
“Good to see tacos still work,” he said, chuckling. “You need a ride home?”
The last time he’d needed to bribe me, he’d done it with these tacos. Good god in heaven, I was a pushover. I ignored the ridiculously hot man in favor of unwrapping a taco one-handed and shoving an end in my mouth. My teeth crunched into the blissfully crispy half-steak, half-pork taco, and my eyes rolled back in my head.
“Maybe,” I said around a mouthful of food. If he were any other man, I might have felt weird about my rudeness, but just like Hildy, Bishop was on thin ice. Though, tacos were an excellent way to strengthen his footing.
That taco was gone in another two bites, and I swallowed the yumminess before continuing, “How’d you hear about me getting out? Even I didn’t know until today.”
Bishop gave me a sly smile. “A little birdy told me.”
“I suppose you could give me a ride if you don’t have anything better to do,” I conceded, my tone only mildly petulant.
“No, Adler,” Bishop said, his voice a hell of a lot closer than it had been a few seconds ago. I whipped my head back to find him solidly in my space. “I don’t have anywhere else I want to be.”
Annie Anderson is a military wife and United States Air Force veteran. Originally from Dallas, Texas, she is a southern girl at heart, but has lived all over the US and abroad. As soon as the military stops moving her family around, she’ll settle on a state, but for now she enjoys being a nomad with her husband, two daughters, an old man of a dog, and a young pup that makes life… interesting.
Mckenna’s never thought much of her nightmares, but on her seventeenth birthday, a vivid dream of burning at the stake awakens her dormant abilities, thrusting her into a world where faeries are real, spirits hold a grudge, and a High Priestess obsessed with a 16th-century prophecy is tracking her every move.
Now, her overprotective dads, Seán and Andre, are forced to tell her the truth—they know who her birth mother is, and her life is not the surrogate story she’s always been told. Abigail, Mckenna’s mom, is some sort of mystic, and Mckenna a Wise One.
Whatever the hell that means.
With the help of a persistent little wren and company of a newfound friend, Mckenna journeys to Ireland in search of her mother and real answers. Along the way, she learns to harness her innate magic and trust her intuition, as best she can anyway—Cillian, a kind and passionate delegate who crosses her path, is proving much harder to read.
Only her mother could truly help her halt her ill fate and prepare her for what’s to come . . . before she gives in to the darkness she knows is buried deep within.
A sulphery scent filled the air, carried by a chill breeze. Pulled by the rushing sound of waves, Mckenna walked to the road’s end. Far below, the sea whispered its calming notes, both melodic and fierce, as though longing to impart wisdom to the land and sky. “I hadn’t realized we drove so high up.”
She followed Esme about a mile down a red dirt path, which gradually wound downwards to the water’s edge.
“Where are we?” Mckenna said as a rocky landmass came into view.
“Below, where you see the rock formation—that’s the Giant’s Causeway.”
As they drew nearer, Mckenna did a double take at the dramatic sight before her: At the foot of the cliffs lay uneven hills of thousands upon thousands of interlocked black rocks in the shape of hexagons. Like a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle, the pieces fit together flawlessly. Esme urged Mckenna to walk around the site. She did, stepping up and down from stone to stone.
How could they have formed so perfectly? And why were they all at different heights? How were they floating on the sea?
That was when she realized . . . “Esme, these aren’t rocks, are they? These are columns.”
“Indeed. Forty thousand columns beneath the sea—basalt columns, meaning they’re formed from lava. Some as tall as thirty-nine feet. All of this was the result of a volcanic eruption some fifty million years ago, during the Tertiary period—but of course, there’s also an Irish legend that explains it all.” Mckenna smiled at this. “A Scottish giant, Benandonner, challenged an Irish giant, Fionn MacCool, to a fight. Being very proud, Fionn accepted and built a causeway across the North Channel to Scotland for the two to battle. But when Fionn saw the size of Benandonner, he ran back to Ireland and had his wife disguise him as a baby.
“The funny bit is, when Benandonner saw the size of the baby, he thought, ‘if the baby’s that big, can’t imagine his dad!’ So, he bolted back to Scotland, destroying the causeway along the way. Across the sea to the Scottish isle of Staffa, there are the same columns, made of the same basalt.”
“So, which story is true?” If faeries and ghosts existed, why not giants?
Katrina Tortorici Anglehart is a born and bred Italian-Canadian from Montreal. A devoted academic, she holds a Bachelor of Arts in Journalism; a graduate certificate in Scriptwriting; and a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing. After dabbling in TV writing and working as a digital marketing content manager, she left the nine to five to launch her freelance editing and coaching career. Today, she relishes in helping aspiring authors to develop and refine their stories.
Besides English, Katrina speaks French, Italian, and Spanglish. When she’s not writing, diving into magical reads, or Netflixing, she’s travelling with her favourite human–her high-school-sweetheart-turned-husband, Andy–and obsessing over her pet bunny, Magic, and newly rescued pup, Nessie. Katrina currently lives in Toronto, Ontario.
