ANNOUNCEMENT: Homecomings, by K.L. Noone

QSFer K.L. Noone has a new Gay/Bi/Poly erotic sci fi tale out, book two in the Extraordinary series: “Homecomings.”

Sequel to Sundown, Holiday, Beacon

More superheroes in love! This time, it’s a complicated mission: meeting the parents.

With Holiday no longer undercover as a supervillain, they’ve made him a public part of the team … and of their relationship. But that won’t be easy. Ryan’s parents, as the team’s science support, want to know every power-related detail, and ask questions about wedding plans and the future. Holly’s supervillain parents are almost certainly no longer on this plane of reality. And John’s parents love their hero son, but aren’t too sure about his choice of partners. Still, Ryan, John, and Holly have faced worse, together.

Contains mystic portals, one set of overexcited parents, one uncomfortable dinner-party, and blueberry pie.

Amazon | JMS Books | Barnes & Noble


Excerpt

Clifftop’s medical bay hummed with energy. Holographic displays. Busy hands. Vials of blood. Various samples. Devices whirring. Mysterious beeps beeping away. Ryan’s parents bounced around the superhero home base like two small overly excited scientific balloons, ones that’d been to Clifftop a few times but still ended up giddy over superpowers and discoveries. They’d been busily poking their willing subject with needles. 

For his part, that willing subject—Holiday Jones, last living Sinister Sorcerer and reformed supervillain—answered questions, made miniature thunderstorms clamor in mid-air, and did not seem bothered by the needles. Nobody involved seemed to’ve heard the door swooshing open, either.

John nudged Ryan with an elbow. Serene infirmary lights danced over his brown hair and broad shoulders, several inches above Ryan’s own spiky-haired shortness. They should’ve been impossible to miss, really: a supersoldier and a lightning-powered gymnast lingering in the doorway, watching their other third conjure light while both Ryan’s parents took notes regarding electromagnetic manipulation. 

Ryan, caught by the spectacle of his parents and their youngest partner’s artistic hands, forgot to respond to the nudge. John poked him again. “Think they’ve even noticed we’re here?” 

“No.” 

“Want me to shout at Holly and get his attention?”

“Probably. You’re louder.”

“I know you’re here!” Holiday, perched on the leftmost observation bed, waved at them with the hand not hooked up to a monitor. His hair was loose, glorious and dark and falling down his back; he was wearing yoga pants, cozy and flexible, and a loose blue shirt that’d once been John’s but had magically shrunk to only slightly oversized on those slim shoulders. 

Holly claimed this had been their dryer’s fault. That might’ve been true—Holiday Fortune Lyndsay Jones, barely twenty years old, the heir to his family’s massive historic estate and master of mystic energies, could be easily defeated by a load of laundry—but might’ve been literal magic: Holly liked feeling wrapped up in his partners. 

Those forest-in-springtime eyes sparkled at them now, beckoning. He looked a little pale, though, and Ryan’s pulse sped up. Too many samples of blood sat in a rack over on the analysis table. 

Holly added, smiling, “Sorry, sorry, we’re just finishing up—”

“Ryan,” Betty Yamamoto scolded, coming to a momentary rest in front of her son, “we are making up for three years of time here, you could have told us, we are your medical support team!”

“Ma’am,” John said, politely.

“Don’t you dare ma’am me, John Trent. We’re Betty and Ken to you, or Mom and Dad, you know that.” She started to swat John on the shoulder, realized she had a microscope slide in one hand, and mock-scowled up at him instead. Even her upswept black hair only came to somewhere around John’s biceps.

John put on a properly abashed face, and said, “Yes, Betty. We were only wondering how much longer.”

“You’ve had him all morning, Mom, since you got here, and we miss him,” Ryan explained, less politely.

His father’s salt-and-pepper head popped up from behind a microscope. “Which is your own fault, son. If you’d at least given us a hint, three years ago—”

“We know why you wouldn’t tell people, that infiltration plan, sending him back into that nest of vipers, you were keeping him secret, but you love him and we could have helped—”

“Your mother and I could have had at least rudimentary works in progress—”

“—tailored specifically to someone his age, with the ability to redirect energy flow and—”

“—and that work with focus-stones, and speaking of which, the crystalline structure is so—”

Ryan plunged into this stream of scientific enthusiasm before it could become a full-blown river. “If you still want us to come to Mariko’s wedding on Sunday, we need him back now.”

Both Doctors Yamamoto gave their son variations on the patented reproachful parental gaze. His father said, “Son, you know you wouldn’t disappoint your cousin that way.”

“It’s true.” John nudged him again. “You wouldn’t.”

“You’re not helping,” Ryan grumbled. “And I totally would. You’re the nice one.” He wouldn’t—in fact, he’d show up and cheer for Mariko and her soft-spoken graphic designer husband, and he’d dance with every last member of his family, and along the way he’d find time for a chat with his youngest cousin Emily’s new girlfriend, whom he’d not met and needed to evaluate—but he could and would at least unfurl the threat at his parents in protest.

“But of course we’re going.” Holiday turned that enormous plaintive gaze on Ryan’s parents, who melted into puddles. “He doesn’t mean it. And I’ve never been to a wedding. I’m looking forward to it.”

Holiday Fortune Lyndsay Jones, ex-Sinister Sorcerer and former supervillain in training, hadn’t previously been on the guest list for anyone’s social events. The universe, swept up in those big hazel eyes, instantly resolved to invite him to every event ever, starting with Ryan’s cousin’s wedding in two days.

Ryan gave in. “Yeah. Fine. Of course we’re going. Dammit, Holly.”

Holly batted those eyelashes at him: innocent and playful.

Ryan raised eyebrows. “We’ll talk about that later, too.”

“What—oh. Really? Oh.” Excitement waved English-accented flags behind the appropriately chastened response. “Yes, Ryan.” 

The scolding wouldn’t be a real one, of course. Not when it was so much fun for everyone involved. And also fun watching Holiday imagine possibilities and squirm atop the infirmary bed.


Author Bio

K.L. Noone writes romance, frequently LGBTQ, and often paranormal or historical! Her romance novels include A Demon for Midwinter (JMS Books) and A Prophecy for Two (Inkshares), and she’s published numerous short stories with JMS Books, Less Than Three Press, Circlet Press, and Ellora’s Cave; her short fantasy has also appeared in Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Sword and Sorceress and the magazine Aoife’s Kiss. She’s also a published scholar of romance, medievalism, fantasy, and folklore, including an academic book on Welsh mythology in popular culture and an upcoming book on Terry Pratchett. She is happily bisexual, happily married, and happy about happy endings.

Author Websitehttps://klnoone.wordpress.com/
Author Facebookhttps://www.facebook.com/kristin.noone
Author Twitterhttps://twitter.com/kristinnoone

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