QSFer Meghan Maslow has a new MM paranormal Christmas romance out in the multi-author Tinsel and Tentacles series (bi, gay): Cthulhu for Christmas.
Six accidental tentacles, five naked neighbors, four evil mages, three ugly sweaters, two dead bodies, and one crush on my straight best friend . . .
Some things are simple fact: Santa Claus isn’t real and magic doesn’t exist. As a former foster kid turned cop, I know this for a fact. My life is anything but magical and Santa sure as hell never visited me as a kid.
Another fact in my life: I’ve been in love with Grey Criswel, my gorgeous—and straight—best friend, since we met. Unfortunately, he’s not going to make my secret Christmas wish come true this year—or ever.
But before I know it, fact and fantasy are starting to get all mixed up. I thought I knew Old Bay Isle and its residents like the back of my hand. Now I’m dealing with a bunch of naked carolers refusing to put on their damn clothes and mysterious happenings at the lighthouse. Oh, and murder. Because what says happy holidays like a corpse at a Christmas tree farm?
Worse yet, I’m suddenly afflicted with an aquatic ailment of sorts. Namely—tentacles. Six of them to be exact. Attached. To. My. Back. They even have their own opinions. And they all agree they want Grey. Could he maybe want them—and me—back? Things are so topsy-turvy I’m starting to believe the impossible just might be possible because it turns out magic is real after all . . .
Cthulhu for Christmas is a standalone novel in the Tinsel and Tentacles multi-author winter holiday MM tentacle romance series. It features Zen King—a cop with a tentacular dilemma, a best friend with a closet full (heh) of secrets, a sharp-tongued former foster mom, a beaver for a roommate, found family, and a guaranteed happily-ever-after.
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Excerpt
When I opened my eyes, my mouth rounded in an ‘o’ of surprise. Old Man Jones shuffled through the parking lot, heading for the downtown at a dangerous clip. If he fell, he’d likely break a hip. While his speed was a safety concern, I was more disturbed that—except for a pair of boots—he was stark naked, clearly aroused, and singing Christmas music at the top of his lungs. Not gonna lie. I was a little freaked out.
Shutting off my truck, I hopped out and chased him down.
“Hey, Mr. Jones! Wait up!”
He turned toward me, a grin lighting his craggy face and his, uh, flagpole in full salute. Some things I’d never be able to unsee. Pretty sure this ranked right up there.
“Ah, Officer King! How lovely to see you! I was just out for a stroll.”
Yanking off my coat, I shoved it in his direction. “I think you better put this on. I wouldn’t want to have to arrest you, sir. Plus, you must be freezing.”
He chortled and didn’t take the offering.
“Nonsense. Brisk air is good for a man’s soul, don’t you think?”
And before I could answer, he took off again, belting out “Jingle Bells,” his, uh, bells not jingling but they sure were swaying as he booked it.
Shit!
I pursued him again—the old guy was much more spry than I’d given him credit for—and jumped in front of him, placing my arms out to my sides. A few tourists saw us and gasped before quickly hurrying away.
“Okay, Mr. Jones, seriously, I need you to stop right there.” I thrust my coat at him again. “And you need to put this on. I’m not asking. You’re scaring the tourists.”
He crossed his arms and stood as tall as his stooped form would allow. “No.”
Why me?
He inched to the side like he’d make a dash around me.
“Don’t do it. I will tackle you.” I wouldn’t. But he didn’t know that.
“You are a horrible young man. You know what you need? A little Christmas cheer.” And then he started singing “Santa Baby,” gyrating his hips to his off-key rendition.
My eyes would never recover. Ever.
Author Bio
Mischief, Magic, and Murder . . . That’s a Maslow!
If you’re looking for comedy, fantasy, or dead bodies in your romances (sometimes all three at once!), I’m your gal. I’m also a. . . gasp!. . . extroverted writer. It seems counterintuitive that as someone who is energized by people, I spend most of my time alone. Yet, that’s the case. And I don’t mind.
Mostly.
If I get writer’s block or start to go a little stir crazy, I head out to a coffee shop, a restaurant, a friend’s place–anywhere to fill up my need for human contact. It also helps that I spend a lot of time with the voices in my head. Some of them are really quite opinionated.
I believe that life is for living, kindness is contagious, and a good book makes the world a better place.