Part of Series
20% of monthly revenues from sales of this book from now until January 1st, 2021 will be donated to causes supporting #BlackLivesMatter and the families of victims of police violence. While Captain Anjulie Zarate y Salazar faces a crisis of loyalty at home, Malcolm Khalaji faces another crisis in Los Angeles—one that will test him to his absolute limits. And that crisis is named Yoon Eun-Ji. When mandatory mental health leave turns into a not-particularly-optional dinner invitation from Seong-Jae's parents, Malcolm finds himself thrust into the pure chaos that can only be the entire Yoon family within the same four walls. Multilingual mortification. Sassy sisters. Scorchingly spicy steak. And intimate moments that are exactly what Malcolm needs to distract himself from the building tsunami of trauma inside him, threatening to break and crash down at any moment. But Malcolm isn't the only one taking advantage of the distraction to confront difficult issues—and a story within a story unravels as Seong-Jae descends deep into memories of his time with Sila, searching for anything that could unearth clues about who the cat-eyed man truly is, where his path will take him next, his connection to the Golden Ratio Killer...and the dangers that threaten the people Malcolm and Seong-Jae love most. Echoes of the past. Remembered pains. Emerging patterns. New revelations. And a confession that could change everything. For better or for worse, by the end of this case... Malcolm and Seong-Jae will never be the same.
Author
Slender. Angry. (Part) Asian. Yeah, that about sums me up. Hi. I’m Cole. Xen. Whatever you want to call me; both are true, and both are lies. My pen names are multitudes, my nicknames legion. Tall, bi/queer, introverted author of a brown-ish persuasion made up of various flavors of Black, Asian, and Native American. I’m cuter than Hello Kitty, more bitter than the blackest coffee, and able to trip over cats in a single half-asleep lurch; I’m what happens when a Broody Antihero and a Manic Pixie Dream Boy fight to the death, and someone builds a person from the scraps left behind. Beardless, I look like the uke in every yaoi manga in existence; bearded or not, I sound like Barry White. About half my time is spent as a corporate writer, and the other half riding a train of WTFery that sometimes results in a finished book. Romance, erotica, sci-fi, horror, paranormal; LGBTQIA and cishet; diverse settings and diverse characters from a diverse author. Sometimes I shout about things on the internet. Usually intersectional feminism and marginalized voices, and whomever’s punching down in those directions today. Sometimes human sociology, the psychology of sex and gender, and my own gender non-conforming arse (he/him, by the way). Sometimes I get really mad at Stephen Hawking and nerd out all over the place about hairy black holes, and believe it or not, that’s not a terrible pun or even worse innuendo. That’s it. I’m a huge dork. My humor’s so dry it could empty oceans. I’m a native Southerner from the New Orleans area with zero Southern accent; I’m a mess of multi-ethnic, multi-cultural, multi-lingual influences; I have two cats. I wake up at daft hours of the morning to go running. I crochet terrible, lumpy things that never really turn into anything. I’m older than you think I look. I’m much more shy than my fury makes me sound (signifying gods only know what, but probably nothing). Recently I decided, at 36, that I needed to restart my life and move cross-country, so I tossed 75% of my possessions in the trash and randomly trucked it to Seattle. I’m in love with books and music and technology, and they war with each other for dominance and sometimes come together in a beautiful confluence. Most of the physical books I own are strange, obscure, out of print, overseas imports, or any combination of the four. Most of the physical books I used to own were destroyed in Hurricane Katrina, and have been replaced with the infinite library on my Nook. My wallet has a dangerous attraction to anything with pages; it flirts and teases and gives its all, until there’s nothing left but emptiness and ruin. There will always be things you don’t know, and I won’t tell. But ask me late at night over live music in a seedy bar, and you might just get an honest answer. ...or you can poke me via: * Email: blackmagic@blackmagicblues.com * Twitter: @thisblackmagic * Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/xen.cole * Website & Blog: http://www.blackmagicblues.com * Tumblr: http://thisblackmagic.tumblr.com/ And there's my Xen Sanders SFF / Horror profile: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...
