Vasquez and James Vol. 1 by Lou Sylvre #ActionAdventure #GayRomance #NewRelease @Sylvre

Vasquez and James Vol. 1 (Vasquez and James 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

When badass meets artist, sparks and bullets fly. Blazing romance, chilling suspense, enduring love…

Loving Luki Vasquez: Renowned but reclusive weaver Sonny Bly James masters color, texture, and shape in his tapestries, but when he meets Luki Vasquez, an ex-ATF agent and all-around badass, his heart and desire spin out of control. The heat between them won’t be denied. United by danger, can Sonny and Luki put fear and anger aside, and fight together to save Sonny’s nephew and their own lives?

Delsyn’s Blues: Devastated by loss, Sonny James listens to a voice singing the blues from beyond the grave. Convinced he’s failed in an all-important life task, he tries to shut out Luki Vasquez and love just when he needs him the most. But when Luki finally breaks through Sonny’s fortress of grief, it’s just in time for the newly reunited couple to face a new, violent, escalating danger.

Finding Jackie: When Sonny James asked Luki Vasquez to marry him, Luki’s “yes” was accompanied by a request — a wedding in Hawaii. Months and many trials later, their hilltop island ceremony is poignant and funny, and every bit as beautiful as they’d hoped. The honeymoon is all sex, surfing, and sunshine… until Luki’s sixteen-year-old nephew is kidnapped by a sadistic killer. When it all comes to an ultimate showdown with evil, it’s not only love at stake, but their lives.

 

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EXCEPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Lou Sylvre

Bright clothes, sunburns. Summer had arrived, and Port Clifton was awash in tourists. Since Juan de Fuca Boulevard constituted most of the town, they had nowhere else to go. They chattered and milled about, and Sonny Bly James wasn’t in the mood for chatter or milling because he was worried about his nephew, Delsyn, who always stayed gone for days, but who should have come home by now. Sonny quickened his long-legged strides and slid through the crush, trying to disturb the air as little as possible on the way to his truck.

Then he saw a man.

Which in itself wasn’t unusual, but this man, an islander, maybe Hawaiian, by the look of him, lounged cool and beautiful in loose summer whites, half-sitting on the fender of an ice-blue Mercedes, a strip of sand beach and the blue straits for a backdrop. Dark chestnut curls shining; straight, white teeth softly teasing a lush, plum-red bottom lip. His eyes, startling pale blue against brown skin, roved all over Sonny; the islander made no effort to pretend otherwise, and besides, Sonny could feel them. Their touch trickled over him like ice water, exciting every nerve he had, even those he’d never heard from before.

Which scared Sonny, a recluse by choice — and, he knew, because he’d always managed to be socially… well, clumsy. So, he turned to the weapon that had been his first line of defense since adolescence, when all the reservation had noticed that their star young grass dancer didn’t mind being gay: a smart mouth.

“What are you looking at?”

Even though the islander had responded by looking away, Sonny knew he hadn’t — couldn’t have — intimidated him. The stranger might have been a few inches shorter than him, but judging by his physique, and despite his laid-back manner, Sonny guessed the man could have dropped him with a cold look and a slap. It would have been less of a blow if he had. Instead, he freed his lower lip from his teeth and spoke.

“I beg your pardon.”

Sonny wanted to let a whole raft of words spill out, starting with “I didn’t mean it,” and ending with “so kiss me, now.” But the man’s attention had turned away. A baby in a stroller dropped a floppy brown bear at his feet. The young mother looked frazzled, at her wit’s end, carrying another child and trying to keep a third from making a dash down the boulevard. The islander squatted down — a graceful move — and picked up the bear. Right before Sonny’s eyes, his icy exterior melted, and though he didn’t smile and couldn’t pass for cheerful, he somehow seemed kind. He handed the stuffed creature back to the baby, who seemed to like him. She expressed her gratitude by spouting a number of syllables that all sounded a lot like “da.”

Sonny, angry with himself for blowing his chance to meet this chill but beautiful stranger — who might be trying to hide a kind heart — pretended he hadn’t seen. He turned his faux-stoic shoulder and walked away. A little shaky, perhaps; already sorry. Three strides and he heard a voice, unexpectedly scratchy, even hoarse.

“Hey.”

Sonny turned.

The man took a deep, lovely breath, flashed his cold-fire eyes at Sonny, and said, “I have coffee most mornings at Margie’s. In case you’re interested.”

* * *

Margie’s it was, then, the very next day. Sonny had weighed the wisdom of that, thinking it might be better if he didn’t seem so anxious.

But hell, he thought, I am anxious. Nothing about me is un-anxious.

He took the truck — which his Uncle Melvern had left him when he died a year ago and which functioned as a good luck charm. After he pulled over to the curb a half-block from Margie’s, he forced the clutch to cooperate, wrestled the column shift into first, and shut the engine down. Sort of. It kicked and spluttered, backfired, and groaned to death. He really, really hoped that the man he had come to meet had not heard that. He wanted to make a good impression. He crashed his shoulder into the door to get out, slammed the door twice to shut it, then paused to look in the side-view mirror. Some other person spoke out of his mouth — or at least that’s how it felt.

“Sonny,” it said, “here’s your chance. Don’t blow it.”

Great. A confidence builder.

The wooden sign attached over the arched brick entry said “Margie’s Cup O’ Gold,” but nobody ever called the cafe anything but just plain Margie’s. The elegant door — leaded glass set in oak panels — had been pushed open and held there with a shoe. All that stood between Sonny and whatever fate awaited him inside was a wooden screen door, the old-fashioned kind; it might have been there since the block was built in the 1890’s. He crossed the threshold wearing a smile for Margie, then reached back just in time to stop the screen from slamming behind him. “Hey, Marge,” he said, maybe not quite as loud as usual. He glanced around lazily, as if he weren’t looking for the man he’d come to think of as “the islander.” He didn’t see him. He let out a long breath that he must have been holding, wondering if he felt disappointed or relieved. He walked, casually he hoped, across the expanse of black and white parquet floor.

“Well,” Margie said, hand on hip and scolding in ringing tones. “Hello, Sonny. You’re here awfully early.”

“Margie, usually people don’t give other people a hard time for being early.”

“Shush, Sonny Bly. What do you want? Never mind, I already know. You and your fancy coffees. What’s wrong with a good old-fashioned cuppa, eh? Now that young man that came in a little earlier — real nice-looking fella; I think you’d like him — now he just ordered coffee, black and sweet. There’s a man that knows what he likes, I say.”

She’d nearly finished making the latte by the time she stopped. That was one thing about a conversation with Margie. Sonny never worried about what to say, because he was pretty sure he’d never get a chance to say it. But this time she had him a little dumbfounded. She’d said, “that nice fella,” with a sly glance out of the corner of her eye. Sonny figured she was on to him, but he couldn’t decide whether that was good or bad.

She cleared up those muddy waters as soon as she handed over his latte. “He’s around the corner, dear. The last table. Don’t worry, you look fine.”

Which left Sonny absolutely certain he should have worried more about how he looked.

There he was, the islander. Same skin, same lips, eyes, even hair. Of course. But the rest of him was dressed in a posh business suit, a light gray summer fabric so finely tailored that he might have been born in it. “So why the getup?” Sonny asked.

“Ah,” the stranger remarked. “A way with words.”

He didn’t have to say that. Sonny was already giving his forehead a mental smack. He stared at his coffee for what seemed like, maybe, a hundred and twenty-four years. He’d all but decided to bid an embarrassed farewell and beat a retreat, when the islander spoke.

“I have to go to work in a while,” he said. When Sonny looked up he added, “That’s why the getup.” No smile went with the words, but his eyes danced, like they were laughing — or maybe teasing. He reached halfway across the tile-topped table, holding out his long-fingered, manicured hand.

Sonny stared at it.

The islander said, “I thought maybe introductions would be a good place to start. I’m Luki. Luki Vasquez.”

Embarrassed again, Sonny blushed, which — he knew from experience — made his off-brown skin look purple. But in an act of sheer bravery, he put his own dye-stained and calloused hand out and took hold of Luki’s. Somehow, what felt like gibberish came out sounding like his name. “Sonny James.”

Luki leaned back when the handshake was done, draped his left arm casually over the back of the chair… revealing a bit of leather strap that might be part of a shoulder holster and something sort of gun-shaped half hidden under his jacket.

“Is that what I think it is?”

 

 

Troll’s Blog by Shelby Morgen #Futuristic #PNR #UrbanFantasy #BBW #interracial #NewRelease @changelingpress

Troll's Blog (Box Set) (Troll's Blog 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Renee George

 

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Welcome to Troll’s Blog.

So you want to know about Trolls. Well, the only thing I can tell you is about this Troll. I’m taller than most of you, stronger, faster, and I have wicked teeth. All perfectly straight, thanks to modern orthodontia, and very, very sharp.

If you’re a Troll, what better place to hang out than under a bridge, right? I mean really. What’s the use in being a Troll if you can’t catch a good laugh now and then? But if you’re a Cop, chances are you’re like genetically predisposed to mess with the Troll. Not a good move. Especially when the Troll has a thing for Cops. Especially tall, strong, hot bodied cops… Or at least one Cop in particular…

Oh. Sorry about the ads… we’re using a lot of bandwidth these days. Got to do something to stay on the grid.

Troll’s Blog includes: Troll Under the BridgeTroll in the ShadowsDen Mother, and Window Shopping.

 

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Shelby Morgen

We’ve all heard the stories. The waves of mutations started with the Corporations screwing around with our genomes. We were all really hatched up in some Corp lab somewhere. Nothing natural about us at all.

Pretty farfetched, right?

Not really.

Oh, the Corps didn’t start this mess. Old Mother Nature did that herself. Geneticists call it Punctuated Equilibrium. We’re living proof that species don’t really evolve slowly over time. More like we run into an environmental brick wall and have to adapt or die out, so we adapt. Now. In like one generation. Which, while it scared the crap out of people for a while, is probably a good thing, because, like I said, bigger, faster, stronger… and smart enough to avoid the Corp scientists who wanted to play with our molecules.

By now you’re probably as bored as Mattie is, so let’s get to the good stuff.

My boys.

Five of ’em. Jinks, Felix, Tonk, Tony, and Sebastian. Long and lean and sleek as cats. Cause, well, they are cats. Not shapeshifters in the traditional sense. Gawd. Like there’s a tradition for shapeshifters. Anyway, Mattie called ’em Werecats. I’m not sure that’s the right term. They don’t shift from human to cat and back. They’re cats. They’re always cats. They shift from walking, talking, upright cats to… well, something you don’t wanna meet in a dark alley.

Come to think of it, you don’t wanna meet any of us in a dark alley.

Being as the world’s kinda falling apart at the moment, what with anarchy only one political fuck-up away, and what with me being a geneticist, as well as a Troll, you can see why the Corps thought I ought to come to work for them when I graduated. Berkeley thought I should stay there and teach. My mother thought I should find a nice young man and get married. Shrug. Moms.

I took the Corp job. Why? Not because I trust and admire their work, that’s for sure. No. I’d heard the rumors… we all had. I’m a curious sort. I wanted to know the truth about our genetics. Where better to go than the source to find out if the rumors were true?

Still, I was there, working with the best equipment in the world, in the most classified lab in the world, for almost a decade before I found the hidden lab.

I’d say the lab was in the basement, but the entire structure was subterranean. You know that old game they brought back for PS-X, Resident Evil 19 or something like that? With the underground labs and all the zombies? Well, I never found the zombies. That’s about the only thing I didn’t find, though.

I was having a hard week. Accidentally blew up the lab again, that sort of thing. But that’s nothing compared to the turn my life was about to take. Cause I just found the lower level. And these lab rats aren’t like any I’ve ever seen.

I got in pretty much by accident. Ran my security card through the access panel to the supply cabinet and entered my code wrong. I held down the last digit — a 9 — too long, and it repeated. I knew, in that same way you know the bacon’s going to burn before you get back to it, that I’d screwed up. Expected loud noises followed by security teams showing up.

Nothing.

So I entered my code again. Still the door didn’t budge. Instead the wall moved. I kid you not. This not-so-little piece of marble panel slid open, and the next thing you know I’m in an elevator I’ve never seen before. Going down. And for all the fact that this elevator only had two buttons, it was a mighty long trip down.

To… nothing. I thought at first it was the subterranean power plant. If you’ve played the game you’ll remember that one. Never did find that level. What I did find was a large room — easily the size of a basketball court — empty save for a few bits of shredded paper and a couple rows of cages along the far wall. Very large, empty cages. This much I got by the dim glow of the elevator light before the doors whooshed shut behind me, plunging me into total black.

Mind you, my night vision is extremely good. So I didn’t panic immediately. I waited.

Nothing but unrelieved darkness. Even night vision needs something. Moonlight. Starlight. Some native light source to amplify. There was none. Clearly time to go back up the elevator. Except that when I felt along the wall behind me, I couldn’t feel the elevator doors. Or their access panel. No doors, no seams, no little raised panel frame.

I sensed that now might be the right time to panic…

Except that panic rarely accomplishes anything. The doors hadn’t moved, and neither had I. So they were still there. What I needed now was a light switch. I began to feel my way along the wall. After all, I had a pretty good snapshot of the place in my head, at least the near end, and the elevator doors were in the middle of the wall. How lost could I get?

I already knew the cages were empty. Whatever had been down here, they’d moved everything out, right down to the paper shredder. I traced the wall to the far end, my hand trailing along about light switch height. If you think about it, they’re always in the same places. Probably some code for such things. I reached the corner without finding any interruption in the cold, smooth surface. A bit disappointed, I started to turn back.

You’re not Herman. Who are you? Excerpt from Troll’s Blog: Denmother

 

 

Outcast Son by Emily Carrington #GayRomance #LGBT #interraciallove #shifters #IR #NewRelease @CarringtonEmily

Outcast Son (Wolf Schooled 3)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Angela Knight

 

Cast out of his pack for being psychic, Seiji seeks a home. Though he thinks of himself as lesser and doesn’t believe anyone could ever want him, he still yearns for love.

Nicholas sees all of Seiji’s potential, but he finds it difficult to be attracted to someone who’s so lost. Will Nicholas’ capacity for loving kindness help Seiji find himself and what his heart desires most?

 

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Emily Carrington

Nicholas was a grunt at the campus’s main library. He did all the deliveries to departments, like trundling the projectors or VCRs around. Some of the newer rooms had LCD screens, but not everything had been upgraded. According to the head librarian, Mrs. Smythe-David, funding was being spent on more important things. Like books.

“It’s always preferable to use things until they’re no longer of use. And many of our volumes have been read to rags.”

Nicholas tended to think that access to good technology was just as important as written knowledge, but he didn’t dare argue with his boss. Being a grunt meant he could be fired out of hand if he roused any of his coworkers’ ire.

Today, his mind was taken up with thoughts outside of work as he shelved tomes on this or that. He was thinking about Seiji. Even if the black haired werewolf with the Japanese features didn’t remember him, Nicholas had watched him all semester. Not because Seiji was particularly outspoken in class, but because he was attractive. In a scruffy, clothes-too-big sort of way. His brown eyes were soulful and his small mouth was beautiful when he smiled.

Nicholas had slept with over half of the gay or bisexual males in his year. It was time to expand his circle. And maybe Seiji wasn’t gay, or bi, but there was no harm in asking.

The best thing that ever happened to our world, he thought as he shelved Magical Flora and Where to Find it, 23rd Edition, was Tilthos Charles taking over as alpha above all alphas. LGBTQ and psychic wolves are equals with straight wolves now, and having sex with someone doesn’t automatically mean you have to marry them.

Of course, there were still those traditionalists who discriminated against LGBTQ wolves, and even more who still thought having fun in the bedroom should lead directly to mating for straight and nonstraight wolves alike, but Alpha Tilthos Charles was slowly changing attitudes.

His shelving done for awhile, Nicholas headed back toward the front desk. Doubtless someone would have something for him to do. He only hoped it wasn’t cataloguing. That was boring, dusty work.

He passed one of the study carrels, glanced over… and stopped. Seiji was sitting there, poring over an open textbook. He kept rubbing at his forehead and there was a deep frown on his face.

“Do you work with flash cards?” Nicholas asked, thinking of a particularly arousing way to use the standard study tool.

Seiji jumped. He said something in another language that sounded like a curse because of the inflection he gave it. “You scared me,” he said. Then: “I know. I know. Trackers are supposed to be ready all the time.”

Nicholas blinked. “You want to be a tracker?”

Seiji flushed. “Yeah,” he muttered.

Nicholas whistled. “That’s aiming pretty high.”

Seiji said defensively, “It’s what I want to be.” He glanced at Nicholas and seemed to rein in his ill mood. “What about you?”

“A negotiator for Werewolf Watch. Why do you want to be a tracker?”

Seiji shrugged. “What did you ask about flashcards?”

So. He can be circumspect about some things. “I was wondering if you use them.”

“No.”

Nicholas’s cock seemed to leap to attention. He repressed a grin by reminding himself that Seiji might not even be gay. “I’ll make you some if I get a chance. If not, we can start with that tomorrow. It’ll be helpful,” he added when he saw Seiji’s doubtful expression.

“I can’t remember anything even after I’ve just read it,” Seiji said morosely.

“That’s because you haven’t turned it into a game yet.” Nicholas winked. “We’ll meet in my room, like we discussed. Ten still okay with you?”

Seiji nodded.

“And if you’ll take one more piece of advice, lay off the book reading for now. All it’s going to do is frustrate you.”

Seiji hesitated. Then he closed the book slowly. “I guess I could give it a rest for a little while. Do you want me to make the flashcards?”

“Nope,” Nicholas said as he came to a decision. “We’ll do it tomorrow after I quiz you.”

Seiji winced. “Why?”

“Why am I going to test your knowledge? So I know where you need help.”

Seiji sighed and began packing up his text and notes. “I don’t know anything.”

Nicholas crossed to him and touched his shoulder. “One thing you can work on tonight,” he said softly.

Seiji looked up hopefully.

“Try some positive self-talk.”

“Huh?”

“Stop calling yourself a failure in the back of your head.”

Seiji looked startled. “It’s that obvious?”

Nicholas nodded. Then he leaned close and kissed Seiji’s cheek. It was a bold move, especially with his lack of knowledge, but he couldn’t help himself. The shorter wolf looked so lost and vulnerable. “Do yourself some good. I can see you’re going to worry all night long. Take a run.”

“Around campus?” Seiji sounded like that didn’t seem too exciting.

“How about just around the track?” Which was the only place, except the perimeter, where magical creatures were allowed to run in their true form. “Shift to your wolf and go for broke. See how fast you can go, and for how long.” He kissed Seiji again because the other wolf hadn’t pulled away. “I expect a full report in the morning.”

 

 

Tempting Officer Mason by Cameron Allie #PNR #NewAdult #NewRelease #ContemporaryRomance

Tempting Officer Mason (Love Me or Leave Me 4)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

For years Riley has been trying to tempt her brother’s best friend into a relationship. She knows Heath has feelings for her, yet he continually thwarts her attempts to seduce him. When he finally agrees to one night with her, he puts steep stipulations on their involvement. Is Riley willing to meet his conditions, knowing it’s only one night?

The night Riley shows up unannounced at his house, shock keeps Heath from turning her away. After that first taste Heath knows he needs to distance himself, but when he shows up to her brother’s engagement party with another woman, he wonders if this time he’s gone too far.

 

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Cameron Allie

Riley put the car in park, looked up at the darkened house, and for the tenth time told herself this wasn’t a bad idea.

She couldn’t believe she’d let Scott pawn off the job of watching his friend’s cat while her brother went away with his girlfriend for the weekend. But Heath was out of town and would never know she’d been sneaking around his house.

Not that she planned to snoop. No. She was just here to give the cat some company.

An argument could be made that because it was the middle of the night she really shouldn’t be there. But Heath was away. He’d never know. So what was the harm?

Hopping from the car, she headed for the front door, her purse in one hand, the spare key in the other. She’d already been to see the cat that morning. She’d spent an hour playing with Sage before feeding her and giving her fresh water. Riley had felt bad leaving the poor thing alone, but it felt weird to be in Heath’s home when he wasn’t there. Hell, it was weird to be in his home at all. He made a point to never invite her over.

On multiple occasions he’d made it clear her interest in him was one-sided. He’d actively avoided her since the dreadful night she’d asked him out. Not that he’d allowed her to get close to him before that.

The porch was dark, so Riley struggled a bit to fit the key in the lock. She looked over her shoulder again. Midnight wasn’t the safest time to be out alone.

It was probably a mistake, but after the disaster of a date she’d just endured, she didn’t relish the idea of going home to her empty apartment. She’d rather curl up on the sofa in Heath’s living room and cuddle with his cat.

It wasn’t like she was going through his sock drawer to see how many condoms he kept stocked in his house. She wasn’t going to sniff his shirts or peek in his closets. She was just doing what her brother had asked. Checking in on Sage.

She pushed open the door, and using the light from the street, set the key on the table by the door. Quietly she shut the door and turned to search for the light switch.

That was when someone grabbed her.

Riley screamed, but it did her no good as she was shoved face-first against the wall. Something cold and hard was pressed against her back. A gun. Aimed right between her shoulder blades.

Her purse fell to the floor.

A gruff voice cut through the darkness. “Don’t move.”

“Oh… okay,” she said on a shaky breath. She pressed her eyelids together and tried not to tremble. Who the hell had broken into Heath’s house? Who was dumb enough to break into a cop’s home?

Quickly, yet thoroughly, his large hand began to roam over her. The gun was still shoved against her skin, as his palm shifted down her side, then slipped beneath the hem of her dress to inspect her thighs, and the space between them.

Confused and scared, Riley swallowed.

She tried not to jerk away from the hand as it frisked her. It was intimate, yet professional. Whoever he was, he was fast and practiced. He knew what he was looking for. He wouldn’t find any weapons on her. She never carried a weapon, and in her little black dress she wouldn’t even know where to hide one.

His hand skimmed along her other side and up to her bust.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” The hand paused on her breast. “Who are you?”

“Please, I…” Slowly his words sank in. Her panicked tone vanished. “Your house? Heath?”

Surprised, he replied, “Riley?”

“Oh, thank God.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? It’s my house! What the hell are you doing breaking into my house? It’s damn near midnight!”

It was after midnight, but she wasn’t about to correct him. “I came to look after Sage. Scott’s out of town and asked me to look in on her.” Riley tried to relax her stance. Her hands were still against the wall and his gun was still pressed against her. His warm palm still cradled her breast. “Can you put the gun away, please?”

The metal was removed. He placed the gun next to where she’d set his house key. “No way did Scott mean for you to come here so late at night. What the hell, Riley? Were you looking to snoop around my place?”

She swallowed. He was pissed. And rightly so. She’d probably scared him half to death, but he’d done the same to her. “I was coming home from a date and thought I’d stop by to check on her.”

“She’s a cat. She’d be fine until morning.”

“Right.” Of course she would be. Riley failed to mention her own need for company, for someone to talk to. No way would she admit to Heath that she was lonely. “You aren’t supposed to be back yet.”

“I came home a day early. I was in bed when I heard the front door open. What was Scott thinking by sending you?”

“Sorry. I’ll go.” Riley tried not to let her hurt show. She could cry when she got home. It wasn’t like she had much else to do. Then a thought occurred to her. Was he alone in bed, or did he have some random girl here? He always seemed to have a different date each time she saw him. “I’ll let you get back to whoever you left in bed.” She couldn’t keep the venom from her tone.

“I was alone in bed.” His hand tightened on her boob. “Naked, alone, and enjoying a nice little dream, until I was woken up by someone sneaking into my house.”

Naked? Wait. “I wasn’t sneaking!” she protested.

He rested his other palm on the wall, next to hers. His chest pressed against her back. In her ear he whispered, “What would you call it, then?”

She didn’t know if they’d ever stood this close before. She gulped. “Your hand is on me.” She wanted to smack herself in the head. Way to play it cool.

“You want me to move it?” He almost sounded excited, turned-on. It gave her hope. Hope she knew better than to have.

She closed her eyes. She could smell his aftershave.

Should she make him remove his hand? Yes.

Did she want him to remove it? No.

 

 

Moonstruck by Dannika Dark #paranormal #NewRelease #PNR

 

Its finally here! 
Moonstruck
(Crossbreed Series, Bk 7)
by Dannika Dark
Blurb:
Transporting goods is part of the job, but when Keystone accepts the daunting task of moving precious cargo, the team splits up. Raven has orders to follow, but Christian’s seductive ways draw out her violent soul. Their journey is dangerous, their enemies ruthless, and one misstep could prove fatal.
When one team member mysteriously vanishes, the rest must choose between cutting their losses in the face of chaos or seeing it through to the bitter end. Will Keystone have the fortitude to complete the mission, or will they fall like dominoes?
Evil forces are at play in this spellbinding continuation of the Crossbreed series.
Available for purchase at 

Audible | Amazon PaperbackiTunes | Kindle



Listen to an exclusive audio excerpt at Viviana Enchantress of Books for Audiobook Lovin‘! 



Keystone
(Crossbreed Series Book 1)

Available purchase at

Ravenheart
(Crossbreed Series, Bk #2)
Available purchase at
Deathtrap
(Crossbreed Series, Bk #3)
Available for purchase at
Gaslight
(Crossbreed Series, Bk #4)
 
Available for purchase at
Blackout
(Crossbreed Series, Bk #5)

Available to purchase at



Nevermore

(Crossbreed Series, Bk #6)

Available for Pre-order at 




 

About the Author
Dannika Dark is the USA Today Bestselling Author of Urban Fantasy Romance and Paranormal Romance books. Her books have sold more than 2 million copies worldwide, and she is a 2016 Audie Awards finalist. In addition to writing about supernatural worlds, Dannika is passionate about graphic design and creates all her own covers and series art. When not writing in her cave, she enjoys indie music, reading, Netflix, heaps of chocolate, and unleashing her dark side. 
You can find Dannika at 
 
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The Catnapped Lover ~ A Short Contemporary Romance by Rue Allyn #RomanceBooks #NewRelease #RomCom @RueAllyn

 

 

What does a bet between best friends have to do with a kidnapped cat and a tumbled-down animal shelter?  Nothing, unless you are Adam Talcott and you want to prove to your best-buddy that you can survive without access to your wealth and family connections.  Adam would have succeeded too, if it hadn’t been for Dierdre Clancy and that blasted cat.

Heat Rating: R

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EXCERPT

Balancing an armload of mail, an overloaded briefcase, and a gym bag with two yogurt cups teetering on top, Dierdre Clancy rushed to her cubicle. For the fourth time this week, and the umpteenth time this month, she was late. Once again, a power outage in the decrepit apartment building where she lived had caused her alarm clock to fail.

Please, Lord, don’t let my chauvinist pig of a boss realize I’ve been missing.

The yogurt cups threatened to topple off the gym bag. Dierdre wasn’t about to let her lunch decorate the linoleum. The mail showered to the floor. The briefcase hit her foot. With her free hand, she plastered the cups to her side. The gym bag slid down her arm. The webbed strap twisted, tourniquet style, around her wrist.

She managed a couple of sideways hops that brought her to the edge of her desk. The gym bag swung wildly. Leaning against the arm weighed down by the bag’s stranglehold, she managed to dump the yogurt cups onto the desk without mishap. She pulled herself upright and reached for the strap at her wrist.

Somehow, during all the hopping, the bag had swung around her legs and gotten wedged in the narrow space between her desk and file cabinet. The same strap that cut off circulation to her hand pressed into the backs of her knees, pinning her neatly to the desk. Only an act of extreme dexterity could save her from her own folly. Imbecile, why didn’t you make two trips?

Because I didn’t want to risk having the boss see me coming in late.

“Clancy! You’re late.”

Dierdre’s heart hit the ceiling. She knew the shout—a cross between an operatic tenor and a pig at slaughter. Still, she hadn’t been prepared to hear her boss’s screeching quite so soon.

 

HEROINE BIO

Dierdre Clancy grew up in a family of givers. Her parents were missionaries and often too busy saving other, less privileged people to realize how lonely and abandoned Dierdre felt. When she reached her teen years, she was shipped back to the USA to live with her Aunt Shea on Shea’s rundown farm and animal shelter. Finally she was in a stable environment with an adult she could count on. Dierdre went on to gain a degree in social work and took up the Clancy family tradition of helping others. Most of the time helping others was easy. But Adam Talcott broke that mold and every other box she tried to put him into. How could one man be so difficult to manage?

HERO BIO

Adam Talcott was born rich. He went into business with his best friend from college and made even more millions. His methods may be unorthodox, but he nearly always succeeds. Now he’s been challenged to live for two months without any of the privileges and resources he’s known all his life. Adam is confident that he can conquer this challenge as he has all others. But he didn’t count on Dierdre Clancy and that danged cat.

 

 

Ramblin’ Notes from the Author… Depression and the Will to Work

I have been self-employed for more than ten years now. I have been manic-depressive (now known as Bi-polar Disorder) all of my life. That’s more than sixty years, so I’ve got a lot of experience with emotional highs and lows. I won’t go into the technical history of depression and mania other than to say we know way more now than we did when I was young. Yet we still know too little about how emotions work, leaving us with the conclusion that every person’s experience is unique.
My experience of mania is that it’s a lot of fun. I get this extended burst of energy and enthusiasm. I accomplish goals and finish tasks at an amazing rate. As an author, mania means I make huge amounts of progress on my writing projects. All I have to do to get work done is willit. I feel as if, with enough time, I  could climb mountains and solve-world problems. I feel “normal.” I’m not, but I feel that way.
However, mania doesn’t last. The slide from mania to depression is insidious for me. I rarely recognize when it’s happening. Tasks that were easy become increasingly difficult. Goals are nearly never met. No amount of will can help me write or accomplish other projects. And then there’s the anger.
Yes anger. Remember, I’m writing about my experience. I’m an author not a doctor (,Jim). The frustration of not achieving at my ‘normal’ or ‘manic’ rate is tremendous. When I’m in a depressive state I can’t write. The ideas are there but I just don’t have the will to write them down. I don’t know who to blame for this, nor do I immediately recognze depression as the cause. Something unidentifiable is making me depressed. I blame all sorts of things, because I’m not performing at manic levels. And I’m angry because a) I can’t achieve at the same rate as when I’m “normal” or manic, and b) becasue in the moment I can’t recognize that it’s my own mental chemistry that is the root cause.
Life was this endless cycle of emotional highs and lows until nearly fifty years after I was born–fifty years of living with this endless cycle–I finally gave in and decided that I needed medication. I won’t tell you what I take. What works for me may not work for you or someone you love who struggles with manic-depression. Please seek professional help if you’re suffering any kind of mental distress. I will tell you that I am very, very lucky. My medical team hit the right medication on the first try. We spent several months finding the right dosage. Close to two decades after making that decision, I still take the same medication. And I take it religiously.
The medication helps me recognize what point I’m at in my manic-depressive cycle. I can listen to myself complaining that I “can’t get anything done,” that “the writing isn’t working,” and recognize that is a symptom of my depression rather than a condition that someone or something else imposed on me. I can express enthusiasm and enjoy the mania at the same time that I can recognize it for what it is–a symptom of Bi-polar Disorder. The medication doesn’t make my symptoms go away. It does help me recognize what’s happening with my mental state. That recognition has been a literal life-saver.
It has also saved my writing career. Now, when I go more than two or three days without writing or doing the myriad other things a self-employed author must do, I understand that my mental state is the root cause. I can overcome depression and mania both. But it takes a force of will. Medication doesn’t cure my problem. Medicaton makes it manageable. And managing any sort of career, writing included takes the will to work. The will do sit in the chair and type. The will to contact reviewers, and bloggers, and social media outlets and interact with them on a continuing basis whether I ‘feel like it’ or not. The will to format my books for sale, and set them up for distribution. The will to maintain and improve my website. The will to do so many, many things that make up my work. The same is true for all of us, but especially those who suffer emotional dis-orders. The will to work is an absolute necessity in your arsenal of tools for combating whatever emotional problem(s) you might have.
I have one request. Normally I’d ask you to comment, and I would still love for you to do that. More important to me, is that you seek help. Don’t go fifty years, as I did, before asking for help. Keep asking, keep searching, never give up. A solution for emotional distress is out there. You can find the solution that works for you. However, no matter what you are feeling at any given moment, you must have the will to continue. The will to do your personal work. Give yourself that much. Determine. Be stubborn. Will yourself to do what must be done, and that is to get help.
PS: This has been a rather serious RAmble. But it does include one bit of fun. Can you spot it? Comment here if you do.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hi, I’m Rue Allyn, I write heart melting romance novels. Books about characters and adventures in which love triumphs at the darkest moment. The kind of hopeful, steal-your-breath romance that melts a reader’s heart. The type of book I like to read. Hope you will too.

Freebie~~Get a FREE download of Rue Allyn’s May 2019 release Forever Hold My Heart, a Scottish historical novella. Just sign up for her newsletter here https://www.rueallyn.com/ravonsubscribe/.

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Short Story Collection by April Zyon #RomanceBooks #Paranormal #shortstories @aprilzyon

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Alaska’s Snowy Mate
Is it Alaska’s Snowy fate to find Drake and fall in love, only to die in the process?

Lost Faith
She was just a job. He was just a tool. Feelings were not supposed to play a part in any of it.

Redemption: Freely Given
Can a demon and a human find their happily ever after? Or will Arkady’s service to Hell ruin it all?

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EXCERPT (PG)

Redemption: Freely Given

Her shift had only just begun at the Shaved Pussy and already her feet hurt, so did her ass. She was only a waitress there, but the men seemed to think that because she worked at a strip club, they could smack her ass and pinch it as much as they wanted. The bouncers always appeared to look the other way as well, fuckers. As long as the talent wasn’t being harassed, the men didn’t really give two figs, as long as she wasn’t hurt badly enough to cause her to have to leave her shift. That was all that was important to them, and she knew it. She was barely a commodity to them because she didn’t dance to earn money for the bar.

Another hand landed on her ass while she tried to sidestep a drunk that was sitting there and continuously attempting to get her to give him just twenty minutes in the VIP room. She had to snort at that. If the man could only muster twenty minutes, there was no way in hell she was going to break her own personal rule and go anywhere with him. She didn’t sleep with clients, she didn’t sleep with co-workers, and she didn’t do anything that could possibly cause her to get pregnant. She had enough of a fucked-up life and refused to add to it. Plus, she also refused to hurt a child born to her, and with how she lived, it would be harmful.

No, she was a waitress, and that was it, period. She spent her nights waiting tables here, her mornings at the diner that was halfway between the Shaved Pussy and her little hole in the wall apartment. She hoped and prayed that one day she would be able to do more than that but, in the meantime, she was not going to make the same mistakes her mother made. She refused to do anything that would cause her any more issues in her life, let alone add a complete innocent to it.

Taking a deep breath, Brynn plastered the smile on her face and dropped off more drinks before moving back to the bar so that she could put in drink orders for another table. While she was waiting for those, she looked over the crowd and took in where everyone was. Brynn was moving her head to the sound of the music, she loved the song playing, so of course, she was going to give a little move to it. She might not have a radio, but she heard lots of music through the walls of her apartment and here at the Shaved Pussy, as well.

She narrowed her gaze on one of the heavy-handed men and wasn’t surprised when he reached out and grabbed the dancer, tugging her ankle to pull her to her ass on the dance floor and toward him. Well, sucked to be him because she was one of the talent and no one let those ladies be man-handled like that!

She snickered when she saw the large bulks of the bouncers melt from the shadows and quickly take him in hand and hustled him out of the club. Well, crap, that meant that she lost a table when his friends followed him out. She sighed and waved to the bartender. “Jack, hey, cancel that last order please?”

“No can do, Brynn. Already made.” He replied with a cocky smirk on his face that said he enjoyed making her pay for the drinks. “That means you get to pay, sugar. I suggest you take a drink and let yourself go a little. You know, they do let us drink on the job.”

“Yeah but I have to make it to the diner, and they don’t like drinking,” Brynn replied and pulled the fifty bucks out of her tips, which left her with thirty dollars in tips for the night. Great. So that meant she would need to go to the food pantry again. She had to make sure that her rent was paid, so groceries were off the table for her this week.

She tossed the money his way and then turned so that she could check on her other tables, in hopes that she would be able to pump some more money out of the few tables she had left.

About the Author

April Zyon is an author of erotic and paranormal romance. The hotter the sizzle, the better. Lover of Alpha heroes, bad boys, and the women they love. Insta-love believer, and true romantic at heart. April has written over 100 books in a variety of genres. Paranormal, Contemporary, Sci-fi, Ménage; and they all feature sexy heroines and the hot heroes that love them!!

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