Wednesday, September 16, 2026

GRAVEDANCER by Mychael Black #LGBTQ #DarkFantasy #Romance




LGBTQ Dark Fantasy Romance

Date Published: September 18, 2026



For lovers Malik and Dorian, the death of one of House Severn’s leaders just turned personal.

 

House Severn is in turmoil with the mysterious death of its leader’s omega mate. No one knows how he died, and it falls on Malik Devries, the House’s resident Spiritori priest, to find answers.

Dorian Morrow was only fifteen when his family fled House Severn. He always thought his dads wanted to get away and live life free of any House ties. He’d been wrong -- so very, very wrong.

 


EXCERPT

 

Wails echoed down the hall, anguished and utterly heartbreaking.

I leaned against the wall halfway down and closed my eyes. This whole nightmare had come out of nowhere, and no one had answers. Not even me.

A few days ago, Cesar, our leader’s mate, had been healthy, laughing and smiling with the rest of us. Then everything changed almost overnight. Darrien had rushed to my chambers and begged me to come with him, which I had. Cesar had been so pale, I’d feared he was already gone. He hung onto life for another couple of days before succumbing to whatever ailed him.

As I listened to one of my best friends mourn his partner’s death, I couldn’t help but curse the gods themselves. Darrien and Cesar ruled House Severn with kindness, and to hear such gut-wrenching sorrow was surreal in this place.

A door farther down opened, and I looked toward it. Darrien’s advisor, Christian Morelock, stepped into the hall. He headed my way, his expression as torn as I figured mine to be. He sighed and leaned against the wall opposite me, hands shoved into his pockets. He closed his eyes, and neither of us said a word for a moment while we listened to Darrien’s cries.

“Send any petitioners or issues to me for the time being.”

“Understood.”

“Don’t suppose you have any clue what happened, do you?”

I wished I could’ve said I had all the answers, but I had none. “No. Doc is just as stumped. Once Cesar is delivered to the chapel, I’ll see what I can divine.”

Christian studied me for a few seconds before replying. “You think it’s magic, don’t you?”

“I do,” I admitted. “Beyond the fact that we are less susceptible to illness than humans, my gut tells me this isn’t something so easily explained away.”

He nodded. “My question is: who is behind it? Who the fuck would target Cesar? That man never harmed a fly.”

That was the crux of this situation. Darrien and Cesar honestly had no true enemies. It just didn’t make a damn bit of sense.

“Anyway,” Christian said, dragging my attention back to him, “I need to go downstairs and call a meeting. Darrien will be out of commission for a while.”

This was one reason why I avoided relationships. Beyond being a Spiritori and dealing with the issues it came with, the thought of finding love, only to possibly lose it, was more than I really wanted to face.

Christian pushed off from the wall and put a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll make sure Cesar’s body gets to you as soon as possible.”

“Don’t rush anything,” I said. “Give Darrien time. I’ll be here.”

Nodding, Christian continued down the hall toward the bank of elevators. He stepped into one, and the doors slid shut, leaving me alone in the hallway again.

Darrien had quieted, but I could feel the soul-deep heartbreak with uneasy clarity. This was personal. We had been friends for centuries. Cesar’s death hit us all with devastating precision.

Like it had been planned.

That thought took root in my mind, and I couldn’t shake it. I hurried to the elevators and headed down. My apartment was on the same floor as Christian’s, but I worked in the basement. I enjoyed the solitude and quiet more than the usual bustle of the rest of the complex.

As soon as the doors opened, I stepped out, only to find Seth Gates, the head of security and the fifth member of our close-knit friendship circle, waiting for me. I nodded in greeting and unlocked the door, gesturing for him to join me. The moment we were alone, I turned to him.

“You’re thinking the same damn thing.”

“I am,” Seth said. “For several reasons.”

“Talk to me,” I replied as we walked through the entryway and toward my workspace. I pressed my hand to the sensor on the wall, and the door’s lock clicked. Confident Seth followed, I headed to my lab, turning on lights as I went. Once we were alone again, Seth sat on one of the nearby stools while I booted up my computer.

“I don’t think Cesar was the actual target.”

One eyebrow raised, I glanced over at him. “Okay…”

Seth shrugged. “I think we all were.”

I sat down and signed into the network. “Explain?”

“He was the only omega in Darrien’s inner circle. At least the only one anyone knew about,” he added. “He’d be the ideal target for magic, too, since he was a laicas.”

“True.” I turned to him. “Do you recall a trouble-making asshole named Jules Morrow?”

Seth scowled. “Bastard was a fucking pain in my ass. Why?”

“He and his laicas mate, Roman, struck out on their own about seven years ago. Before they left, Jules had been in touch with someone outside House Severn, asking about delayed magic.”

“How the hell did you find that out, and what the fuck is ‘delayed’ magic?”

“Let’s just say I do have contacts throughout the area,” I replied. “I can’t elaborate for their safety.”

Seth rolled his eyes. “You know you can trust me, but I get it. Now what’s ‘delayed’ magic? I thought spells hit when cast.”

“Most do, but those that are labeled as ‘delayed’ act much differently. They attach themselves to their targets and only activate when a certain event occurs or when a certain amount of time has passed. Essentially, a Magien can cast a spell on someone to activate, say, when that person hits a particular age or what have you. Follow me?”

“Sort of,” Seth muttered, though his expression said otherwise. He was a Venari, and, like laicas vamps, they tended to steer very clear of magic in general.

“Anyway, and this is a very loose hypothesis, what if Jules Morrow did something along those lines to Cesar? If your idea of all of us being the actual targets is true, then it would definitely be plausible.”

“I recall Jules being a rather jealous, vindictive shit,” Seth said. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Jealous being the keyword here,” I pointed out. “Cesar was an omega in a strong position of power. Jules was an omega with nothing but a cheating, worthless alpha.”

Seth sighed and raked a hand through his short, spiky black hair. “So what do we do?”

“I need to see if I can track down one of them.”

“That’s like searching for a needle in a haystack, Malik. How --”

“They have a son.”

 

About the Author

Mychael Black has been writing professionally since 2005. He writes gay romance and erotica, but also het romance as Carys Seraphine and queer fantasy as Katherine Cook.

He's an avid PC gamer with a love for RPGs, a horror fanatic, and a fantasy nut. He also has a weakness for anything relating to skulls, dogs, and Spongebob Squarepants.

Mychael lives on the Eastern Shore of the US with his family. He loves to hear from readers, be it via email or Facebook.

 

Author on Facebook


Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress



RABT Book Tours & PR

Tuesday, September 15, 2026

INFERNO by Marteeka Karland #MC @ChangelingPress




Kiss of Death MC (#18)


MC Romance

Date Published: September 18, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press



I survived the fire. Juniper gives me a reason to burn down the world.

Juniper -- Getting dumped on my twenty-first birthday is bad enough. Finding Brett, my ex, at Throttle with another woman turns humiliation into open warfare. So I walk up to the biggest, meanest looking biker in the place, climb into his lap, and claim him as mine. Inferno plays along a little too well, and one reckless kiss becomes the hottest night of my life. Still, it was just a one night stand. Should have ended then and there. Instead, my ex decides he doesn’t like losing what he threw away. His calls become threats, then the threats become violence. My bakery, my home, everything my grandmother left me becomes a target. But Brett’s forgotten one thing. I’m not alone anymore. I have Inferno, Kiss of Death, and a fire of my own.

Inferno -- Juniper lands in my lap wearing red lipstick, motorcycle boots, and enough attitude to wake something in me I thought died years ago. She’s way too young for me, and a woman running from a controlling ex is trouble. I also know the second Brett puts a bruise on her skin, he becomes my problem. I went to prison for nearly killing a man who hurt a woman I loved. I’ll burn my life down before I let history repeat itself. But Juniper isn’t looking for a savior. She wants a partner willing to stand beside her while she fights back. Good thing I’ve always liked playing with fire. Brett’s about to learn exactly why they call me Inferno.

WARNING: Adult language and situations, abuse, arson, and a violent stalker ex-boyfriend.


Excerpt

Copyright ©2026 Marteeka Karland


Juniper

The sad little grocery store cake sitting on my counter summed up my life right now. I made cakes for a living, so I knew exactly what I was looking at. Shortening-based buttercream, whipped too fast so it held those little air pockets that collapsed if you pressed a finger in. Red gel piping simply said “Happy Birthday” and skipped my name entirely, because a name is an upcharge, and, apparently, I wasn’t worth the extra four dollars. Twenty-one candles would’ve cost more too. There were no candles.

That morning I’d spent six hours at my own shop building a dinosaur cake for a five-year-old named Milo. The creation had hand-piped scales on a fondant T-rex while his mom hovered by the register asking if I could make the teeth “less scary, but still cool.” I believed, the whole time I worked, that tonight would be mine. That somebody would finally build me something special for my birthday.

I closed the shop two hours early. Cooked pork chops with the mustard cream sauce that Brett loves so much. I set the good plates from his mother that I was always terrified I’d chip.

He’d come in forty minutes late, jacket still buttoned like he hadn’t decided if he was staying, studying his phone like it held the secrets of the universe. “You would not believe this lake listing,” he said, dropping into his chair, not even glancing my way. “Guy wants two point one for a place that’s basically standing on a septic field. I told him, I said, ‘Gary, I can sell water to a drowning man, but I can’t sell delusion’.” He laughed at his own line. I simply looked at him, trying to talk myself into being cheerful.

I cut into my chop and waited for a gap in his running monologue. “So I made this dinosaur cake today,” I said, “for this kid, Milo, and his mom wanted the teeth less scary but still --”

“Yeah, that reminds me, Gary’s brother-in-law does teeth, actually, orthodontist, and get this --” and he was off again, and I just… let him go on. Because why not? I picked my fork back up and took a bite while he rambled on. He still hadn’t told me happy birthday.

His phone buzzed and he glanced down before turning it over. After a while, it buzzed again.

“Hey,” I said, and I tried to keep it light, “We said no phones tonight. Right?”

He didn’t answer right away as color swept his neck to his face and a flash of annoyance crossed his features. Then he gave me a “sorry for you” smile. “Junie,” he said, setting his fork down carefully. “Can I say something, and I need you to just hear it, not react to it?”

“Um, sure.” My stomach started to roll. I recognized his tone and I knew this would be a twenty-first birthday I’d rather forget.

“You’re a lot,” he said, simply. “I don’t mean that as an insult. You’re needy in a way you probably don’t even realize. Phones-away requests, the whole birthday production, the plates. It’s a lot of ask-for, given we’re barely even in a relationship.” He cleared his throat. “And you’re emotional. Everything’s a whole thing with you. I can’t mention anything without you needing your turn.”

I opened my mouth but couldn’t form words. My throat tightened with emotion, and I could feel tears forming behind my eyes.

“And I’ll be honest,” he continued, “because I think you’d rather I was honest, you’re kind of boring, Junie. Same shop, same recipes, same everything. Your five-year plan is a second oven. I used to think that was cute, but I thought you’d grow out of it once you ran out of money and got a real job. I don’t think it’s cute anymore. I need a woman with a little ambition. I’m going places, and you’re… not. Dinosaur cake? Really, Junie?”

Somewhere deep inside me, a voice was screaming, actually screaming, say something, say anything, throw the water glass, throw a pork chop at him, ask him who’s texting him at eight-fifteen on your birthday, and what came out of my mouth, soft and stupid, was, “The pork chops are getting cold.”

“Juniper. I think we both know this has been coming.”

I looked down at my plate so he wouldn’t see my eyes. I didn’t trust what my face was doing. No way was I going to give him the satisfaction. I forced the smallest shrug I could manage.

He pushed his chair back, slow and deliberate, like he wanted me to watch every little thing. “Look, Junie, you’re a great girl. You really are. But we’re just not… compatible.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “It’s not the end of the world. You’ll land on your feet. I mean, you already have your little cake shop, right?”

Wow. My little cake shop. The business I’d thrown every ounce of blood, sweat, and tears I had into. The fact was, I cleared more with my “little cake shop” than he made with his real estate ventures. I suspected it was the same smarmy personality I initially fell for. Unlike me, apparently his clients knew how to cut their losses and get the fuck out of Dodge.

“I guess so,” I said, because what else was there? I stabbed a piece of pork chop and chewed it, even though I could barely swallow, doing my best to act as if none of this had any effect on me.

His phone buzzed again. He actually reached for it this time. “I’m going to head out. I’ve got to call Gary back before he does something stupid on that listing.” He didn’t even look at me. Just stood up, fixed his jacket, and checked his hair in the microwave door reflection. “I’ll send someone to get my stuff later.” The door clicked shut behind him as he left.

I went to the counter where the little birthday cake rested when the sticker on the side caught my attention. The damned thing was on clearance! He’d bought me a generic birthday cake on clearance because it had passed its freshness date.

For a minute I just stood there, stomach clenched tight in the heavy silence. Anger was slow in coming. Even when it did the feeling was directed more at myself than Brett. I chose to stay with him for whatever reason I had at any given time. So as much as Brett was a bastard, this disastrous birthday was as much my fault as it was his. I should never have agreed to let him move in with me. My only excuse is I was young and bought all his flattering.

We’d been together for two and a half years. I was right out of high school and just taking over my grandmother’s bakery after her sudden death. Brett had helped me through one of the most difficult times in my life, but I suspected now he’d taken up with me because I was an easy target. After all, he’d been living rent-free in what had been my grandmother’s apartment since a month or so after we met.

The window over the sink stared back at me. This was my twenty-first birthday, Goddamnit! What did one do on their twenty-first birthday? Get schnozzled and burn the world down. At least I’d burn down my old life. Then I could rise like a phoenix from the ashes. Or something.

I pushed away from the sink and headed to my bedroom. Going to the closet, I pulled out the red dress I’d bought especially for tonight. The red was probably too bright, but I didn’t want subtle. I wanted the color and all the lovely brightness and chaos it might cause under the right circumstances.

I showered and did my hair and makeup before slipping the silky dress over my head, letting it settle over my hips to brush against the middle of my thighs. I zipped up the back, then smoothed the sleeveless garment over my curves. I let my hand run down my arm, tracing the small, faded burn scars from my childhood. Brett said I should get them lasered -- so I wouldn’t be reminded of my broken childhood. I suspected the real reason he wanted rid of them was because they didn’t fit in with his image of what he wanted me to be. Well, fuck that shit.

The red lipstick came last. Again, I’d chosen it specially to match the dress. I drew it on slowly, even though my hand shook a little. Lipstick had always been my armor. I had nicely shaped lips. They were my best feature, in my opinion. The dramatic color only enhanced them. I smiled into the mirror, wide and mean, red as a warning label.

I started to slide my feet into the Fuck Me heels I’d purchased -- again, specifically for this dress. Then I caught a glimpse of my motorcycle boots. I’d bought them when Brett decided he wanted to get a motorcycle. He’d taken me on exactly one ride, saying I didn’t know how to ride with him and I would get us both killed if I moved the wrong way. He’d never bothered to tell me what exactly I was doing wrong, so fuck him anyway. On a whim, I stuffed my feet into the boots and took a look at myself in the mirror. I didn’t quite look like Alice from Resident Evil, but it was close enough I’d take it.

Throttle was less than a mile away. The bar was a known roughneck place, but any damage caused by patrons always seemed to be contained to the property itself and didn’t spill over into nearby neighborhoods. Though it had a questionable reputation, I’d always wanted to go, thinking living on the wild side held just the appeal I wanted.

 


About the Author

Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double life as an erotic romance author by evening and a semi-domesticated housewife by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes pleasure in spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited, vulnerable heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her writings are speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning delight entwined with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying conclusions that elicit a sigh from her readers.

Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts (which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with Marteeka's latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her website. Don't forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you with a potpourri of Teeka's beloved recipes, book suggestions, autograph events, and a plethora of interesting tidbits.

 

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

Author on Facebook

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15



RABT Book Tours & PR

Saturday, September 5, 2026

EVERYTHING THAT'S LEFT BEHIND by Kelly Lydick #ScienceFiction #Giveaway




Fiction/Science Fiction

Date Published: June 28, 2026

Publisher: Sapphire Stories

 


When Nichola Rodale stumbles upon information suggesting her father—a renowned scientist and brilliant puzzle maker—may not have died during The Great Drought, she embarks on a perilous journey across the desolate American Southwest to discover the truth.


 


About the Author

 

 Kelly Lydick’s writing has appeared in Natural Awakenings, Co Yoga + Life, True Blue Spirit, American Art Collector, Western Art Collector, and many others. She has been featured on NPR’s The Writers’ Block and the Word podcast, and on iHeart radio. She is the author of the experimental Mastering the Dream, a contributing author to the anthology Dreams That Change Our Lives, and the author of Dream Incubation for Greater Self-Awareness: A Handbook. Everything That’s Left Behind is her first novel.


Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Goodreads

Instagram


Purchase Links

https://mybook.to/EverythingLeftBehind

Amazon

Barnes and Noble



RABT Book Tours & PR

Wednesday, September 2, 2026

Sunshine Boy by Nicky Silber #LGBTQ #RockstarRomance @ChangelingPress




LGBTQ Rockstar Romance

Date Published: September 4, 2026



What if they’re not just friends? It could be murder!

After Julian’s sister sets him up with a charming Frenchman, Rahul thinks he may be getting over Julian, especially since Julian is back with his ex, Michael. Their band is finally taking off and the future seems bright. Then Julian hints he may return Rahul’s feelings. But what might happen if they become more than friends?

 

WARNING: Violence, Drinking/Substance use, Mentions of murder, Trauma/PTSD.

 


EXCERPT

 

Julian’s flat was a disaster, but Mel couldn’t be sure if it was on account of Julian tearing the place apart in a fit of pique or if it was always like this. Based on what his room had been like when she and her big brother had lived at home, she didn’t really doubt this was just the way he lived.

Mel hadn’t been here since the day Julian had moved in three years ago. She saw enough of her brother at the place where they worked, the place where they drank, and the place where they performed. She hardly needed to come round his place to get even more time with the manic muppet.

Julian even did devastation manic. He was pacing around the living room, pulling at his hair, talking a mile a minute. Mel could hardly keep up with what he was saying, if he was saying anything at all and not just babbling incoherently.

“… just a jazzy giraffe freak clomping around my life with his big stupid hooves and not even looking for oncoming traffic or anything… wouldn’t even slow down at a zebra crossing, even if there was kids in it, or like countryside sheep or whatever… just plow right through ‘em -- WHAM -- ‘sorry, missus, was this your daughter sheep? Too bad, I’m after Julian, can’t slow down or I’ll lose him!’ Honestly, it’s like he isn’t…”

Mel grabbed a handful of Julian’s fake leather jacket as he came past and yanked him down onto the sofa beside her. He looked startled and disorientated, like a somnambulist being unceremoniously awoken. He blinked at Mel as though only just now noticing her.

“You’ll give yourself an aneurysm going on like that,” Mel said coolly, lighting up a cigarette.

Her words were the scissors that cut the strings of Julian’s loosely gathered sanity. He crumpled in on himself, burying his face in his hands. For one horrified moment, Mel thought he might be crying. But he just groaned, a long pitiful noise like that of a wounded animal.

“It’s all gone tits up, hasn’t it?” he mumbled into his palms.

It had in fact, in Mel’s opinion, gone tits up. Julian’s best friend, Rahul -- the “jazzy giraffe freak” -- had told Julian’s creepy blond boyfriend, Michael, that Rahul and Julian had slept together. Michael had ended things with Julian. Julian had clobbered Rahul (a very un-Julian-like thing to do). Rahul then confessed his undying love for Julian and Julian had… run off. Cowardly little prick.

Rahul wasn’t just Julian’s best friend, he was also the most musically talented member of their band -- a band Mel played bass in, mind. Without him, the band would dissolve into nothing and Julian would be left rudderless. He lived for their shite band. Hell, he lived for Rahul. The two of them needed each other like foxes needed bins. This melodramatic love-triangle nonsense was going to make all of their lives positively implode. Well, maybe not Mel’s life. She owned a record shop and she’d be fine. And maybe not Kwambe’s life either. He was too cool to be affected by anything. But definitely Julian and Rahul’s lives, and Mel had sworn, years ago when her and Julian’s mum had started drinking, that she would look out for her empty-headed brother and keep him safe. She’d been fixing his life ever since. She’d be damned if she wasn’t going to fix it this time.

“It ain’t so bad,” Mel told Julian. She nudged him until he peeked out between the fingers he held over his eyes. She extended a cigarette to him. He took it and let her light it for him. It was the most affectionate gesture she’d offered him in quite some time. “One of you could be dead. That’d really be something to cry about.”

He threw her a withering glare with his red-rimmed eyes.

“So, you shagging that Michael bloke, then?”

Julian choked slightly on the smoke in his throat. He’d never told her, in so many words, that he was dating Michael. Michael had just shown up one day, hanging around Julian, while Julian stared at him with the eyes of a boy looking at a bloody Christmas tree. Julian had also never told her he was a bit bent either, but Mel had worked that out on her own, too.

Julian fidgeted with the cigarette butt in his fingers. It was odd to see him… if not embarrassed, then apprehensive. He usually did things like he couldn’t give a shit what others thought, though Mel knew that was a load of horse shite. He acted like he didn’t care, but no one cared more what other people thought than Julian Collier. He’d been caring since they were kids, only he’d gotten better at pretending. The thing is, when you want people to think you’re really cool, you have to get them to think you don’t care what they think. Julian was also obsessed with people thinking he was a little daft. That much was lucky, because, as far as Mel was concerned, he was a little daft.

He nervously pushed his fringe off his forehead only for it to flop back down at an uneven angle. “Yeah. Or, well, I was.”

“He chucked you ‘cause you and Rahul shagged?”

“That sounds like we did it yesterday,” Julian whinged. “It was ages and ages ago. Back at uni. And we were both drunk as you like. It didn’t even count, if you ask me.” Despite himself, he was going quite red around the ears and getting splotchy red patches high on his cheeks. “I’d forgotten all about it. I can’t even believe Rahul remembered. And that he told Michael. Imagine that!”

It was all coming together now. She remembered the trip Julian had taken up North to visit Rahul, only to come back one day early, all jumpy and not wanting to talk about it. Afterward, he’d not seen Rahul for years. Then, when Rahul came back, they were all distant and weird around each other. They’d had a drunken fumble together, of course. For one of them it was just an awkward night that had compromised a friendship. For the other…

“He also told you that he loves you,” Mel reminded him around her cigarette butt.

Julian folded his arms and hunched his shoulders in that way he did when he was stopping himself from covering his ears like he would’ve as a little kid. “Whatever. He’s confused. I dunno. He can’t love me. That’s just mental. He’s my best mate -- he was my best mate. He just thinks he’s in love with me ‘cause he loves me, you know, like friends or whatever. And anyway, that’s the other reason Michael dumped me, you know? He could see Rahul’s all obsessed with me and he didn’t want to get himself in the middle of whatever it is we’ve got going on. He didn’t want to end up like Aisling did. Having rows all the time ‘cause Rahul’s put himself between us.”

Hearing the name of Julian’s ex-girlfriend gave Mel pause. “Were you shagging him when you were still with Aisling?”

Julian dropped his cigarette. He retrieved it before it could burn a hole in the carpet next to the constellation of cigarette burns already there. “No. ‘Course not,” he said defensively in the way he did when he was lying. “I’d never cheat on her, would I?”

“I don’t know,” Mel said. “Would you?”

“I mean -- all right, so I’d started seeing him a bit when we were still together,” Julian immediately capitulated. Mel beamed. So she could still wheedle the truth out of her brother after all. “But we didn’t sleep together or anything. It wasn’t cheating. Not really.” He was imploring as if Mel were the barrister presiding over his case. She was only a curious third party with no stake in the game. So she merely shrugged.

He ran an unhappy hand through his hair, which by now was standing up at all sorts of odd angles. “What am I gonna do?”

“What you’ve gotta do is get your shit together. Both of you. I got a business to run, you know? What am I supposed to do? Sack one of you and hire somebody neither of you ballbags have fucked? And we got a band, or have you forgotten that as well?”

“I thought you hated the band.”

“I do, but I’ve started counting on that extra gig dosh.” It felt good to pay for her grass with money that didn’t come directly from her dead nan’s business. “And you love the damned thing. Are you gonna find yourself a replacement keyboardist slash guitarist who shares your same crazy vision of a dystopian soundscape? Think it’s easy to find one of them? You gonna put an ad out in The Sun?”

“Why don’t you ask Rahul?” Julian cried. “He’s the one who’s gone and cocked everything up! It’s his fault for having feelings -- or thinking he’s got feelings. If he weren’t obsessed with me, he’d have never sabotaged my relationship. If he were following somebody else around like a bleeding puppy, then maybe me and Michael would still be together.”

“That’s it,” Mel said, snapping her fingers in the air.

“What is?” Julian asked dubiously.

“We need to set Rahul up with somebody. Get him to fall in love with somebody else. That way Michael won’t have anything to worry about and the two of you can make up. Then you and Rahul can get back to being mates, and Bob’s your uncle -- everything back to normal.”

Julian’s dubiosity had not dissipated. “You reckon? I dunno.” He made a face somewhere between a sneer and a wince that made it look like he was about to sneeze. “He’s been building his feelings up for me for years, said so himself. I don’t think we can come in with some, erm…”

“Bloke. He is gay, you know.”

“Right -- some bloke -- and think he’ll be all gone on him in two shakes and forget all about me. He thinks he loves me, you know? That’s massive, that is. When someone’s got gangrene, you don’t come in with a plaster and think that’s gonna make it all better.”

“Trust me. I know what I’m doing. You leave it all up to me. I’ll sort it. I always do.” And even though she was wearing her best smug expression, he still had the gall to look less than convinced.

 


About the Author

As a queer, nonbinary, person of color, Nicky Silber has made it their mission to bring diversity into all of their creative outlets. Born in New York, raised in Mexico, they studied fine art in San Francisco and have worked in the video game industry since 2012. They currently live in the wilds of North Carolina with their young son and too many pets. Their only two goals in life are to continue to tell queer love stories and, to a lesser extent, finally knit their own sweater.

 

Contact Links

Nicky’s Website

Nicky on Instagram

Nicky on Threads

Nicky on TikTok

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress



RABT Book Tours & PR

Tuesday, September 1, 2026

WhiteGrass by Richard Smith #Technothriller




A CliFi Technothriller

Date Published: October 24, 2025

Publisher: Manhattan Book Group



In 2048, the planet is running out of time.

Superstorms flatten cities. Coastlines collapse. Climate change is no longer theoretical—it is lethal. When a near-apocalyptic storm nearly kills their family, teenage siblings Jimmy and Lizzie Marshall urge their brilliant but reluctant father, nanoscientist Greg Marshall, to deploy a technology before he’s brave enough to release it.

WhiteGrass—a self-replicating nanotechnology capable of removing carbon from the atmosphere is the parent technology. It saves golf courses and ski resorts and the towns they serve. Icarus could reverse climate change on a global scale. It could also reshape global power forever.

To protect the technology, Greg and his wife Ginny, an elite AI expert, reprogram the world’s most advanced humanoid android, Valada. Designed as property—an object without rights—Valada begins to evolve, developing emotional awareness, moral judgment, and something disturbingly close to humanity.

As governments unravel and climate disasters accelerate, a covert alliance of oligarchs, corporations, and political power brokers moves to seize WhiteGrass/Icarus for themselves. Led by the President of the United States, the syndicate will stop at nothing—surveillance, blackmail, assassination—to control the technology that could save the world or enslave it.

They deploy their own deadly android.

Now the Marshalls are trapped in a global sci-fi political conspiracy, hunted by forces with unlimited resources, as skyscrapers fall, cities burn, and artificial intelligence begins to ask questions no human is prepared to answer.

“We call it ‘Climate Change,’” Lizzie interrupted, “because it’s not just the heat.”
“It’s everything—the rains, the droughts, the storms, the sea level… even the acidification.” It could change everything.

At its core, WhiteGrass is a gripping near-future climate change thriller about family survival, technological power, and the terrifying moment when artificial intelligence stops serving humanity—and starts judging it.

Blending nanotechnology science fiction, AI humanoid emotional evolution, and hard-science realism, WhiteGrass delivers relentless pacing, cinematic stakes, and deeply human emotion. It is a story about parents willing to risk everything to protect their children—and a world forced to confront whether it deserves saving at all.

Perfect for fans of near-future disaster thrillers, technothrillers with political intrigue, and science fiction where artificial intelligence becomes human, WhiteGrass is a powerful warning—and an unforgettable ride.

 


About the Author


Richard H. Smith, MSc.
Author | Futurist | Nanotechnology & Policy Expert | Climate Technothriller Writer

Richard H. Smith, MSc., is a futurist, technologist, and climate policy expert whose career has placed him at the intersection of nanotechnology, artificial intelligence, healthcare innovation, and climate change foresight for more than three decades. Drawing on real-world experience working alongside scientists, engineers, Fortune 50 companies, and Ohgovernment agencies, Smith writes hard science fiction grounded in plausible futures, where technology collides with political power, ethics, and human survival.

Smith’s professional background spans leadership roles in nanotechnology R&D, AI-based medical diagnostics, strategic technology forecasting, and science policy, including serving as research director at a major university medical center and founding multiple technology ventures. He has advised U.S. and international governments on emerging technologies and was formally trained on climate change science by Al Gore, giving him a rare combination of technical depth and policy insight.

Raised in Virginia, Smith built his career while raising a family—an experience that deeply informs the emotional core of his fiction. Today, he lives in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, a coastal community already facing the realities of sea-level rise. He teaches courses on climate change and coastal vulnerability, witnessing firsthand how future scenarios are rapidly becoming present-day realities.

WhiteGrass is Smith’s first full-length novel and the culmination of a lifetime spent studying how advanced technologies shape—and endanger—civilization. The novel explores nanotechnology, climate collapse, political conspiracy, and artificial intelligence becoming human, all through the lens of family survival in a destabilized near-future world. A prequel, The Iliad Virus, is available now, with the sequel Icarus Rising currently in development.

Smith writes with one driving purpose: to expose uncomfortable truths about climate change, technological power, and political control—while telling a story compelling enough to feel like a blockbuster movie unfolding on the page.

 

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