New Release: Feathered Friend – Fiona Glass

QSFer Fiona Glass has a new MM fantasy/paranormal romance out: Feathered Friend.

Not your average peck on the cheek …

Mild mannered Derek is a perfectly ordinary bloke living a perfectly ordinary life. He works at the library, supports Stoke City football team, and cares for the twelve beautiful racing pigeons he inherited from his father in his spare time. He isn’t into kink. He definitely isn’t into feathers, in spite of the birds. So when a mysterious young man appears in his home claiming to be a pigeon, it’s all a bit much.

Avery is eccentric, perching on the furniture, refusing to eat eggs and stealing Derek’s chocolate digestive biscuits when his back is turned. He’s also attractive, kind, mischievous, and a dab hand with a feather, and Derek finds himself falling madly in love. But when he discovers the truth about Avery, it causes him to question everything he thought he knew about himself. And when those doubts take him to a very dark place, it’s up to a library book, his own innate decency, and Avery himself, to make things right again.

This sweet, angsty romance is a contemporary, tongue-in-cheek take on the old northern European Swan Maiden fairy tale.

Get It At Amazon | Publisher | B&N | Smashwords

Excerpt

Straight away he had the feeling something wasn’t right. There were twelve pigeons, but something odd or different had caught his eye. He stepped closer to the wire, counting in his head, mentally sorting the birds into individuals rather than flutters of feathers and wings. And… there! There was an extra pigeon today. That one, on the furthest perch, didn’t look like one of his. He could see from a glance, because his birds were all Janssens and this looked like a Kipp. The eyes were a paler red, for starters, and the tail feathers were all wrong. Dad had never kept Kipps in his life, and besides, there was something about the behaviour of the bird, the way it was keeping itself to itself, that jarred. Opening the aviary door he stepped in, carefully, and lifted the feathered lump off its ledge.

It was used to being handled, and gentled in his hands, the warm bundle of feathers soft in his palms. He stroked its back for a moment, then reached for the leg with the ring. Straight away he could see that the style of ring wasn’t one he used and the numbers confirmed this wasn’t one of his birds. Other than that they meant nothing to him; to track the owner he’d need to check the online register. And for that he needed his laptop, which was still indoors.

‟Well, well, who do you belong to?” he murmured, and reached for one of the carrying cases he kept just inside the door. The pigeon went in without complaint and he closed the lid, listening to the rustles as it bedded itself down in the straw. Only when he’d reassured himself that the other birds had survived their headlong flight did he take the strange one into the house to have a proper look at that ring.

The kitchen still had an old-fashioned fireplace, which no longer worked but held a cast-iron range as well as a good wide hearth that was perfect for pigeon paraphernalia. He set the carrying case down on it, then switched on his laptop. It always took an age to boot up so while he waited he plugged in the kettle and busied himself with tea bag, sugar, milk, and biscuits, while keeping one ear open for sounds of distress. All was quiet. The strange pigeon, worn out by its exertions in flying to the wrong loft, had probably gone to sleep.

By the time the tea had brewed the laptop had come to life and he called up the national racing pigeon register and tapped in the digits from the new bird’s ring. And waited, sipping, and waited some more. And… nothing. A brief message to tell him that there was no match for that number and would he like to try again.

‟Bugger it.” He tried again, typing more slowly with half the number of fingers he’d used before. It made no difference. The ring code didn’t match to anything. Which meant one of two things. Either the pigeon didn’t exist or he’d memorised the number wrong. The first was unlikely given that he’d handled the pigeon. The second was entirely possible. He’d have to check it again. Turning, he froze, feeling his heart hitch and the blood leave his face and hurtle towards his feet. Sitting on one of the stools at the farmhouse table, cool as the proverbial cucumber and munching on a biscuit, was the prettiest young man he’d ever seen. He wore jeans and a T-shirt with a picture of some feathers and the words Pigeon for Life in blue. His hair was longish and greyish-fair, his nose was sharp, and he had two huge grey eyes that were fixed on Derek’s face with a mixture of mischief and lust.

Author Bio

Most of Fiona’s books involve history, the paranormal and romance in varying (and varyingly weird!) combinations. They include gay ghostly romances December Roses, Trench Warfare, and Ghosts Galore, and gay vampire romance Echoes of Blood.

Fiona lives in a slate cottage within stone-throwing distance (never a good idea in Glass houses…) of England’s largest lake. She enjoys history, gardening and photography, and rarely has her nose far from the pages of a book – or a cup of tea.

You can sign up to her free monthly newsletter, with updates about her writing, books, trips out, history, ghosts, snippets, and occasional free stories, here:

https://www.subscribepage.com/fionaglass