You might know me for writing dark romance like the Cold Hard Cash series and Mortal Sins, but Acsquidentally In Love is a much lighter story – though there are still plenty of steamy hot scenes! And this time, there’s tentacles! It’s an exciting tale of paranormal adventure full of magic, murder, and a very persistent ancient god named Azaethoth who thinks he’s found his eternal soulmate in Sloane Beaumont, a mortal private investigator.

Thanks so much for checking out my cover reveal! I sincerely hope you give my little magical world a chance and have as much fun reading it as I did creating it.

The book is live for pre-order now and don’t forget – it’s out August 25th, 2020!

<333 K.L. Hiers

Sloane frowned, looking over Lochlain carefully. Something about him seemed different, but he couldn’t quite place it.

He was also horribly hungover, wishing he had been in the right fraternity to learn some anti-hangover magic. His sobering spell was useless at this point since his body had already absorbed all of the alcohol. Ugh.

Maybe he was imagining it, but there was a wicked shimmer in Lochlain’s eyes that he hadn’t seen before. The way he sat in the chair with his legs kicked over the arm was full of youthful mischief and yet totally commanding at the same time.

He exuded confidence, perched smugly as if he owned every inch of the office and everything in it, Sloane included, which wasn’t at all like the man in the devil costume Sloane met last night. He was dressed more casually now, normal, but the way he gazed hungrily at Sloane made him worry that Lochlain wanted to gobble him up like the pie.

It was way too early for this shit.

“Look, Lochlain,” Sloane said with a short groan, “it’s really cool of you to stop by, but I had a really long night—”

“Not Lochlain,” he replied curtly between bites, wagging a finger at him.

“Not Lochlain?” Sloane repeated dumbly.

Not-Lochlain shook his head, working on the last slice of pie. He’d eaten the entire thing, licking his lips coyly at Sloane and making him shiver down his spine.

Every bone in Sloane’s body was telling him that something was wrong. Brainwashed, cursed, possessed, the possibilities were endless. He casually traced a protection sigil on the edge of his desk, asking politely, “Then who are you?”

Not-Lochlain snorted as if greatly amused by the question, tilting his head and winking. The top of the desk suddenly cracked right through the middle of the sigil.

On his feet in a flash, Sloane gasped and stuttered, “Wh-what the freakin’ hell was that? How, how did you do that? Who the hell are you?”

“Azaethoth,” he purred in reply, his tongue seductively licking every last crumb of pie from his long fingers. “Mmm. The Lesser. Named after my great-great-great grandfather.”

Sloane was stupidly entranced by that tongue, asking hesitantly, “Azaethoth the Lesser? As in… an old god?”

“Mmhm,” he hummed, lewdly sucking on his thumb. “If you’re more comfortable, you may address me by this vessel’s name.”

“But you’re not… Lochlain?”

“No.”

Sloane stared back down at his desk and the fractured protection sigil. He didn’t know of any mortal magic that could possibly be powerful enough to break that spell. But there was no way this guy was actually a god.

There were no gods, not anymore.

“And why exactly are you here?” Sloane asked warily.

“You’re a witch, yes?”

“No,” Sloane replied. “I mean, I’m registered, but what does that—”

“You follow the old ways?”

“I guess? Look, what is going on—”

“This vessel,” Azaethoth-Lochlain said, gesturing to his body, “was a very devout follower. Even while deep in dreaming, I heard his prayers. He was a fascinating human. He didn’t ask for glory or riches or any of the other mundane things most humans do.

“He prayed for the thrill, the rush of adrenaline, to never leave him. He always wanted to be excited and intrigued, for his heart to pound, to find spectacular adventure everlasting.”

“That… sounds interesting?”

“Try listening to a few centuries of people pleading for money, sex, bigger cocks, and stronger orgasms—”

“Okay, okay!” Sloane interrupted. He doubted the real Lochlain could have gotten out half of that without blushing.

“I listened,” Azaethoth-Lochlain went on, idly tracing a finger inside the empty pie pan for errant crumbs. “I often answered his prayers. But last night, there was a problem. A very serious problem. When I went to him, the damage was already done. I found your card in his pocket.”

“Damage, what damage?”

“That’s what I need you to investigate,” he continued impatiently. “That’s what your card says you do. Investigations of a private nature, yes?”

“Wait, wait,” Sloane snapped, getting frustrated. “If something really serious happened, you need to contact the police. And Lochlain, or… Loch-Thoth, whatever your name is! If this is some super weird way to get out of a date, I swear—”

“No police,” Loch-Thoth said firmly. “They’ll only get in my way, and they won’t allow me to do what I want.”

“Which is?”

“Revenge,” he replied with a hungry smile, baring all of his teeth. “Now, I will gladly compensate you for your services however you wish. Money is customary?”

“I don’t want anything,” Sloane protested. “Except maybe some kind of an explanation. What happened to you?”

“You desired this one, yes?” Loch-Thoth turned his head. “Would you like me to pleasure you with his vessel?”

“Wh-what?” Sloane sank down in his chair, scooting back against the wall. “No! Don’t do that! That’s… that’s not right! Whatever you are, you can’t just use Lochlain’s body like that! He can’t consent.”

“Of course he can’t consent,” came the dry reply, eyes rolling dramatically. “He can’t consent to anything. He’s dead.”

“Dead?” Sloane’s breath caught in his throat, his stomach dropping violently. “What do you mean, dead?”

“Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said?” Loch-Thoth complained loudly. “Sloane Beaumont, I want to hire you. I want you to find out who murdered me.”