Spotlight: Tobias (Salvation’s Bane MC) by Marteeka Karland #mcromance #agegap @marteekakarland @changelingpress

I hate bullies. Gymnastics moms are the worst, too. So when a girl who looks no older than the kids with the overbearing mothers steps in to take over, I’m more than a little skeptical. Her name is, of all things, Kitty, and I’ve been watching her from a distance. I just didn’t realize she was a highly trained athlete in the body of a young, beguiling, innocent woman. Everything about her calls to my protective instincts. Especially when I find her putting herself in the hands of the very tormentor who broke my sister.

Available Today at Changeling Press

Preorder for April 16th at online booksellers

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Marteeka Karland

One thing Tobias had decided over the last few weeks was that little girls ought to be able to be little girls. Oh, and gymnastics moms were bitches.

Like right now. There was a busty redhead yelling at a kid who looked like she was maybe in her late teens. Tall with flame-orange hair, the girl looked like she was on the verge of crying. Which pissed Tobias the fuck off. He wanted to punch the bitch in the face. Let her take a fall. Maybe she’d find out the fucking mat wasn’t so fucking soft when she landed.

Just as he was about to intervene — it was his Goddamned gym in the first fucking place — another girl inserted herself between the two. This girl looked close to the same age. Slight of build, she carried herself with confidence. It was the only indication she might be older than a teenager. Her mahogany-colored hair was braided into a long, thick tail at the back of her head that fell almost to her hips. It was what gave her away.

Kitty was obviously very good with the kids, but she also seemed to be an accomplished gymnast on her own. Not much bigger than the orange-haired kid, she had more muscle in her legs and arms, though she was much shorter than the adult redhead. She talked to the older woman for a moment, smiling a megawatt smile, seeming to smooth things over. The older woman backed off, but shook her finger at the young girl once before turning back to the mothers’ area.

Tobias watched as the two girls interacted for a while, Kitty obviously giving some pointers before putting a hand on the other girl’s shoulder and urging her back to the large, square spring floor. Tobias had no idea how they kept everyone from slamming into each other, but each gymnast seemed to have his or her own section, depending on what they were working on. He watched for several minutes while the two girls went through some moves, then Kitty encouraged the other one to do the skill she’d previously fallen on. Immediately, Tobias could see how the stuff they’d worked on for a scant few minutes fit with the skill the kid was trying to learn. She stumbled a little on the landing, but she didn’t fall on her face, and it was obvious she was pleased with the change.

The orange-haired kid jumped up and down, clapping her hands, and threw herself into Kitty’s arms. They both laughed for a few seconds before the girl did the skill again. Then again. Repetition was a staple of gymnastics.

Not for the first time, he wondered why he’d taken on this responsibility. He’d volunteered to hire a decent coach and install the recommended equipment. Not high-end, but sturdy and competition legal. Three days a week, he opened the gym for the coach and her band of tumblers. They ranged in age from about five or six to high-school boys and girls. Classes were free to the students through level seven. Everything beyond that was preparation for elite-level gymnastics, which he knew from previous experience was basically Olympic level. Professionals. This coach said she didn’t teach that level, and most of the kids were just that. Kids. Either in cheerleading or school gymnastics. Even though Salvation’s Bane had discovered she was trying to break into elite gymnastics, they paid the coach for her time and gave her a decent, rent-free place for her students to train. In return, Bane used the place as a tax write-off and sometimes, occasionally, every once in a very little while, laundered money when they were paid for some paramilitary operation inside the US without permission. Happened from time to time when Thorn took jobs outside of ExFil, the security company run by the president of their sister club, Bones. Or something like that. Tobias didn’t do tax shit. He punched things.

The reason Tobias had taken on this responsibility was twofold. First, he wanted control over the remodel of the building. He was the instructor for any police or military organization they trained, so he wanted a say in what it was OK to change. Second? Yeah. He really hated gymnastics moms. Always had. In his opinion, they were worse than Little League dads and pageant moms. They pushed these tiny little girls into doing things they could — and often did — hurt themselves doing. Tobias saw it as his mission in life to make sure any mom who was out-of-bounds got called out. Dads didn’t seem to be as bad, but there were one or two. The come-to-Jesus meetings had been swift and eye opening for those men.

As he watched, the two girls continued until Kitty encouraged the younger one to continue on her own. Kitty gave a little wave and went to the balance beam and started working out, stretching and doing handstands and such on the narrow surface. The younger girl’s mother, instead of praising the girl like Tobias thought she should, gestured wildly at her, obviously displeased about something. Fucking bitch.

Tobias made his way from his office to the stair on the balcony overlooking the massive gym. The place was three stories of open space. When he was training the guys, they built scale models on the floor to replicate urban settings or whatever they needed. Now, it was filled with local children on competitive gymnastics apparatus. He trotted down the stairs and stalked straight toward the orange-haired gymnast and her mother.

“Tobias.” The warning came from the gallery where some of the parents waited for the lessons to be concluded. Stryker gave him an exasperated look. “You can’t go beating up on women you don’t like. It’s bad for business.”

“Ain’t like we’re gettin’ money from this anyway. It’s a fuckin’ tax write-off.”

“Yeah, but we still need it. I know you’re headed to the redhead, and I’d say with good reason, but keep it down, OK? We don’t want people afraid to come here.”

“They yell at their kids like that, maybe they need to be afraid.”

“Yeah, well, if you run them off, what happens then? Be nice so the kid has a safe place to go if she needs it.”

Tobias sighed. He and Stryker always had each other’s backs. But sometimes it was a bitch when Stryker was right.

“Fuckin’ bitches are just as vicious as I remember.” Tobias still stood there, watching. The mother seemed to sense his presence and glanced in his direction. Did a double take. Then she stood up straighter, her entire focus on Tobias, her daughter and the girl’s perceived failure forgotten. She pushed her chest out and slinked his way.

“Yeah,” Stryker chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “I hear ya. Good luck with that.”

“Wait. You leaving?” It was all Tobias could do not to burst out in a maniacal laugh. It wasn’t that he was afraid of the woman. More that he was afraid of what he’d do to the bitch if he had to be in her company more than a few seconds.

“Only stepped in to calm your tits. How you proceed from here is all you, brother.”

“Fucker.”

As the woman approached him — eyefucking the living hell out of him — it took everything in Tobias not to take a step back away from her. The only thing making him stand his ground was his Marine pride. No gymnastic-mom bitch was making this Marine retreat.

“Hello there,” she purred. Perfectly manicured nails reached for his chest. Before she could touch his shirt, however, Tobias caught her wrist. A not-so-subtle hint she shouldn’t touch him. “I don’t remember seeing you around. I’m Madonna.” She glanced behind him, not making an effort to hide what she was doing. “Where’d your friend go?”

“None of your fuckin’ business.” Rude, but Tobias wasn’t in the mood.

Red just shrugged. “His loss, but no matter.” She gave him a carnivorous smile. “You’re still here. We could…” She trailed off, her smile going even wider, “pass the time in private until my daughter’s finished for the day. Could take a few hours.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Erotic romance author by night, emergency room tech/clerk by day, Marteeka Karland works really hard to drive everyone in her life completely and totally nuts. She has been creating stories from her warped imagination since she was in the third grade. Her love of writing blossomed throughout her teenage years until it developed into the totally unorthodox and irreverent style her English teachers tried so hard to rid her of.

Happy Birthday to Me by Stephanie Burke #GayRomance @flashycat @changelingpress

Mason Klien, larger-than-life alpha, is just what Maxie needs to make his birthday night special.

Clancy Maxwell is an omega who is unique even to his own sub species. He’s far shorter than most of the supposedly more delicate type, but the tiny redhead does not have a submissive bone in his body.

After ditching one a puffed-up alpha, the ex-stripper-turned-business-owner focuses his attention to Mason, an alpha with a small submissive streak.

But this is just a one-night stand… or is it?

Get it at Changeling Press

Preorder for April 9th at online booksellers

Praise for Happy Birthday to Me

“When ‘accepted wisdom’ for shifter stories is turned upside its head, and the story is told with a ton of humor and many laugh-out-loud moments — this hilarious short story was not only a lot of fun but also very hot.”— Serena Yates, Rainbow Book Reviews


“The shifter side of things here has the coolest details. I thought this was a unique take on shifters, Omega in particular, and showcased that human or shifter, you need to communicate, guys! This is a fun and funny story that made me smile.”— 4 Hearts from Lucy, Hearts on Fire Reviews


“Strippers. Subby alphas. Toppy bottoms. Knotting. Red heads. Happy Birthday to ME, indeed. *smacks lips* What a sexy little gem HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME turned out to be — definitely recommended for a short, hot read.”— 4 Stars from Breann, The Romance Reviews

“Maxie is a little powder keg of attitude. Mason is a powerful but sensitive big boy. The two of them together burned up the pages. This book is a good read when looking for something short and steamy.”— Leigh, MM Good Books Reviews

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Stephanie Burke


“Excuse me?” Maxie narrowed his eyes as he glared at the alpha, who was slowly but surely digging himself a deeper grave.

“Come on, Clancy.” Marco grinned at him, his chocolate-brown eyes gleaming, his tan skin looking like golden sand in the candlelight. “You know I was kidding.” He tried to send out enough alpha scent to make Maxie agreeable. Maxie only arched an eyebrow and gave Marco the coldest stare he could muster.

“Look, we’re getting off track here, Clancy.” Marco leaned in close, pushing aside a six-hundred-dollar bottle of wine he’d insisted they share — and sent back five times because it wasn’t the right temperature. “How about you come back to my place and we, you know, get a little loose.” He pushed more scent that only served to make Maxie more irritated.

“Loose, huh?” Maxie asked, his voice all but devoid of emotion. What the hell was this idiot talking about?

“Back in Brazil…”

Marco was dropping places now? God, he had already dropped the names of several Vegas businessmen who really didn’t impress Maxie, so now he was moving on to countries? Hell, most of the names he’d dropped were men Maxie had personally set up for private lap dances with his omega dancers. No matter how powerful they were in the real world, once you’ve seen an alpha trying to keep it in his boxers and not develop an embarrassing uncontrolled knot, there was something a tad less powerful about his name.

“Yes?” Maxie leaned forward. “Brazil?” Maybe he could get a good laugh out of this poor excuse for a birthday pickup. For all the fun he was having, he could have stayed back at his strip club and washed dirty thongs.

“In Brazil, we alphas have a few secrets to help us relax.”

“Go on,” Maxie urged. Only his strong sense of proper omega etiquette was preventing him from rolling his eyes and walking away from the huge lout.

“I have a guy who brings me — some fun treats.” He grinned and plucked a red rose from the arrangement on the table, reaching out to stroke it over Maxie’s face. “That’s what you pretty boys like.”

Maxie stared at the red roses and wanted to strangle the grabby bastard with his own tie. This alpha was too much to be believed. “No, I don’t like to trip the light fantastic, pop a pill, do a line, or pop bottles like it’s going out of style.” Maxie’s left eye was twitching.

“Aw, babe –“

“Clancy,” he returned, his patience coming to an end. “My friends call me Maxie. You may call me Clancy.”

“Don’t cop an attitude with me, omega,” Marco growled, narrowing his eyes as he tried to stare Maxie down.

“Copping an attitude requires that I give enough of a shit about you to actually pay attention,” Maxie growled, his muscles tensing as he recognized the symptoms of an attack brewing.

Marco was glaring, his respiration increasing, one hand fisting around the wine glass as the other snapped the stem of the rose in half. “You’ll fucking care when I’m done with you –“

“You would do well to sit your ass down or get out of my way.” Maxie slowly rose to his feet, all systems ready to repel attack. Maxie was no fool. He had dealt with enough alpha assholes during his short-lived modeling career and as a beginning omega dancer to know when things were going to get physical.

Just as the asshole was rising to his feet, Maxie preparing to punch him in the fucking throat, a large, dark hand landed on Marco’s shoulder, shoving him back into his seat.

“What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?” a gravelly voice rumbled.

Maxie turned and his mouth dropped open. The sheer scope of the new alpha in front of him stole the words before they formed.

“My date and I –“

Marco’s words snapped Maxie out of his shock and right back into the fray. “Oh, I don’t think so, jackass. Either you or I are leaving this club, and we won’t be leaving together.”

Marco narrowed his eyes as Marco turned to face the huge man who was looming over them both. “You know how the little ones get — wanting attention and all,” he clarified to the stranger.

“Little –“

“Oh, I see.” The stranger snorted before turning to Maxie. Maxie expected a glib comment about controlling the pushy omega bottom, but the man surprised him. He looked over at Marco and the two exchanged some sort of big man secret eye fuck before he offered a polite smile. “I think you’ve had enough, and it’s time for you to go.”

Maxie blinked as he realized that those delicious-sounding words were not directed at him.

“What?” Marco stammered, and tried to rear up, uber-masculine style, but the man merely crossed his arms, his aura enough to knock the toughest of alphas on their ass. Marco stifled his own power play and shrank in on himself when the arms of the man’s expertly tailored suit jacket began to strain to confine his biceps. This new male was pushing out alpha pheromones that easily overcame the small scent of defiance Maxie’s stupid alpha date had managed to muster.

But Marco was a troll for a good reason. He visibly pushed down his fear and exchanged his blush of embarrassment for one of anger. “This is a private conversation.”

“Which is about to lose one of its parties.” This new alpha leaned forward and growled… and Maxie felt his spine tingle with a telltale burst of arousal.

MY REVIEW

⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️

Do you want a fast-paced, super hot shifter romance? Then look no further… Happy Birthday to Me is full of heat, sexy dances, and a couple clearly meant for one another… even if they’re too stubborn to admit it.

Maxie isn’t your typical Omega. He’s too aggressive, and not the least bit submissive in the bedroom. Imagine his surprise when he meets an Alpha who likes to be dominated. A match made in heaven … 

Light on story, but perfect for a quick read with a happy ending. Be prepared to squirm (and need a cold shower) because Ms. Burke is bringing the heat with Happy Birthday to Me!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Stephanie is a USA Today Best Selling, multi published, multi award-winning author, Master Costumer, handicapped, wife and mother of two.

From sex-shifting, shape-shifting dragons to undersea worlds, sexually confused elemental Fey and homo-erotic mysteries, all the way to pastel-challenged urban sprites, Stephanie has done it all, and hopes to do more.

Stephanie is an orator on her favorite subjects of writing and world-building, a sometime teacher when you feed her enough tea and donuts, an anime nut, a costumer, and a frequent guest of various sci-fi and writing cons where she can be found leading panel discussions or researching varied legends and theories to improve her writing skills.

Stephanie is known for her love of the outrageous, strong female characters, believable worlds, male characters filled with depth, and multi-cultural stories that make the reader sit up and take notice.

Wrong by Shelby Morgen #agegap #firstresponders @shelbymorgen @changelingpress

Katie’s got her eye on tall, dark, and hunky, wrapped in black leather and jeans.

Problem. He’s so sinfully sexy, she can’t get a word out in his presence. Not to mention the fact that he looks like he’s barely legal, at best. She needs to get him out of her system.

Michael’s got other ideas. He’s set his sights on improving Katie’s theory of the Big Bang — in more ways than one.

Get it at Changeling Press

Preorder for April 9th at online booksellers

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Shelby Morgen


Go for it.

No, no, no. Not going to happen.

Come on, Katie. You can do this.

Absolutely not.

Oh my God. He looks even better without the jacket. Look at that body. And why do you think he’s holding the jacket there?

Katie tore her gaze away from the cowboy holding the jacket, firmly deciding not to speculate on what all that black leather might or might not be hiding. “Thank you. I hope you enjoy the book.”

Katie picked at the book cover, trying to contain her agitation. This was her third book signing in as many months, and the third time this cowboy had lined up for her autograph. That couldn’t be a coincidence. Could it?

Stop staring at his crotch.

She averted her eyes, knowing she was blushing furiously. She looked down at the book in her hands — her latest release, Cosmic Theory and The Big Bang — and forced herself to quit thumbing the edge of the flyleaf.

I’d like to show him a big bang.

Oh, that was just wrong. She worked hard at not giggling. Physicists did not giggle. Not at book signings. And not because a handsome stranger stood in her line. Especially not when that sinfully sexy leather clad stranger’d shown up twice before — for the same book — and she’d still not been able to get a single word out of her stupid mouth.

You can do this! Come on, Katie. He’s next up. Say something. Anything! Speak!

She looked up into the most gorgeous set of blue-green eyes she’d ever seen — where were his sunglasses? — and, once again, froze.

“Michael,” he supplied.

What? Why was he telling her his name? Oh, so she could sign the book. Flustered, she reached for her pen — why had she set it down? — and knocked into her water glass. “Shit!” Katie clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Whoops!” Michael grabbed the glass — and the pitcher — just in time.

Michael — she’d already known his name — she never forgot names — had the grace to laugh, just loud enough to cover her indiscretion. Hastily flipping the book open to the title page, she wrote For Michael — you’re a lifesaver! Dr. Catherine Vargen. “Thank you,” she managed out loud.

There. She’d done it. She’d actually spoken to him. On some crazy inspiration, she pulled out one of her promo cards. “I’m giving a lecture at the planetarium tonight,” she offered.

“What are you doing afterward?”

She blinked, twice, looking, she knew, like an insane owl. “Excuse me?”

“Q & A? Group discussion?”

“Oh.” Yes, of course that’s what he’d meant. Idiot. “Yes, I’ll be fielding questions after the lecture.”

“Great. I’ll be there.”

“Thank you!” she repeated lamely as he headed for the register.

Giving her a great view of tight jeans over a really fine looking ass.

Idiot, idiot, idiot. Quit looking! Jail bait. You’ll get yourself arrested!

He couldn’t be that young, could he? No. College student. Had to be at least twenty-one or twenty-two, maybe. Still. Twenty years her junior. Wrong. Just plain wrong.

Yeah, well, all she’d done so far was look. Couldn’t arrest her for that. Not while he had his clothes on, anyway.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Shelby Morgen loves writing offbeat tales that defy as many rules as possible.

She likes chocolate with her peanut butter, suspense with her romance, and kink with her sex, and she’s always had a hard time keeping science fiction, fantasy and paranormal from mixing with her kink.

Shelby shares her belief in electronic publishing with her longtime friend and partner, Bill, her husband of nearly four decades.

Dawning by Mychael Black #GayRomance #shifters @changelingpress

What is it they say? No good deed goes unpunished?

Ren is on the run. His people have aligned themselves with every known mage cabal in the country to rise up and overrun the world above. As the head of House Daturi, he’d been expected to follow the other Houses and lead his own into war. Except he has no desire to fight — with anyone. Now he has two choices: fall in line or die as a traitor. Neither seems promising.

Arulas is a wolf shapeshifter who prefers to avoid contact with others, no matter the species. He has a cabin deep in the woods, nestled near the border of the Light Fae realm. He doesn’t bother them, and they don’t bother him. Until now, things were quite perfect. Then he finds a half-dead Dark Fae in the middle of nowhere. Not one to leave a man down, Arulas nurses the Dark Fae back to health, only to find himself square in the middle of a damn war.

Available at Changeling Press

Preorder for April 9th at online booksellers

EXCERPT

Rumors swirled among the peasantry that Zerin was under mage influence, but the pompous ass had been itching to get the Houses unified to take over the world above. Ren didn’t agree with such ambitions, and a part of him feared the consequences should Zerin’s war come to fruition.

“Lord Ren, what of House Daturi? Are you prepared?” one of the Council members asked.

Ren had been dreading the question. “I… yes. House Daturi is ready to march with the others,” he lied.

In truth, he didn’t care if House Daturi did or not. He had no intention of sticking around to watch. He’d packed his things a few days ago, what little he could carry, and only waited for the right time to leave. If he was careful, he could get above ground by morning. Of course, the second he was missed, there would be a price on his head the likes of which no Dark Fae had ever seen. They’d lost a few guards, but never anyone of Ren’s status. He had to do it quickly and quietly. He hated leaving his few lovers, but he couldn’t stay here any longer. Not with his sanity intact.

“Very good,” Zerin said from his dais at the front of the Council chamber. “This meeting is adjourned. We will reconvene in the morning to set our plans in motion.”

Dismissed, Ren and the other lords filed out of the chamber. Ren headed back toward the tunnel leading to his own keep, a good distance from House Vakeor. Each House’s territory branched off from House Vakeor’s, some several days’ journey away. Thankfully, House Daturi was only a few hours’ walk. He’d left his guards at his keep, more out of caution than anything else. He’d long since lost any trust in his own people, even those in his House. If Zerin wanted a war, so be it, but the man would have it without Ren’s aid. House Daturi’s followers could do as they pleased.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Myc has been writing professionally since 2005, solo and with Shayne Carmichael. Genres include pretty much anything (no steampunk yet), though Myc is well known for paranormal stories. When not writing, Myc is usually playing PC games, reading, watching Netflix, and spending way too much time on Facebook. Since the question has come up in the past, pronouns are not an issue. Myc is bio-female, mentally male, and 100% genderfluid, so any pronoun works!

Shepherd’s Watch by J. Hali Steele #Interracial #paranormalromance @JHaliSteele @changelingpress

These big dogs usually get what they want, but will their mates accept what they are?

Serviced: When Ren’s forced to care for a blind woman, the last thing he expects is the straight-laced librarian who reads him like a book. Marguerite knows it isn’t going to be easy living with the service animal. This one comes with a handler whose husky voice and wild, sexy scent enflame her…

Guarded: Wade is stuck guarding the owner of the escort service he frequents. He doesn’t count on the sexy as hell woman tying him in knots. Jetta still carries scars from a dog attack. She’s given up on men — but she wants this one.

Protected: Victoria buries herself in the kitchen of her restaurant to hide from the world. When the brooding, sexy stranger appears, she hides what she is under a cloak of deceit. No longer able to fight her natural desires, she aches to give herself to him. She waits patiently for his arrival; he will come.

Controlled: Elle Naylor’s caught his scent and can’t get it or Harm out of her mind. Strong and stubborn, Elle knows she’s found the one man who can make her life complete. Harm is an alpha in training who embraces his ability to be man or dog. Elle loves dogs! But will she love him when she finds out that’s exactly what he is?

Now available in Paperback

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 J. Hali Steele
Excerpt from Serviced


Bounding down the steps, he joined his brothers in the office to discuss business and anything else that might be pressing. They owned and operated Shepherd’s Watch, an elite company that provided professional protection and guard dog services to the rich and famous — or infamous, depending on how you looked at it.

Max eyed his watch. “Ren, how many times do I need to remind you we start at nine?”

“Christ, it’s ten after.” Wade slouched across from him, his mouth a slash, his eyes barely slits.

What the hell was going on? “I was looking for something. Let’s get started.”

“Shoes?”

“What?” Ren peeked under the table. “Aww, fuck.” He still wore his slippers. “Hell, now you’ll rag me about how I dress for meetings.” He glared at Wade. “What’s your problem?”

“Screw you, Ren.”

“You’re both acting like someone died or something.”

Max gritted his teeth and the sound skidded across Ren’s nerves. Shit. Something was up. Maybe his brother had good reason to be irritated this morning.

“There was an accident last night with one of the rotties guarding the senator.”

“Damn, I keep telling you those guys are rough around the edges. Who was handling?” Some of the human employees had a tough time with the stronger dogs. Rots and pits only went out with experienced controllers because of their inherently rowdy nature.

“Daggett.”

“He’s one of the best.” Ren turned to Wade. “Guess you know what happened since Dag’s a friend of yours.”

“What does his being my friend have to do with anything?” Wade’s eyes remained lidded, his voice gravelly.

“Don’t go all defensive, tell me what happened.”

“Senator Gardner hugged some lady, she dropped her purse and when she bent to pick it up, she lost her balance.” His eyes cast down. “She fell back into Dag and the dog went berserk.” Wade cleared his throat. “The rot slammed her face-down on the pavement.”

“Shit, is she okay?” Ren swallowed hard.

“Dag’s at the hospital with the senator now.” Wade’s voice cracked. “The rot’s dead. Daggett broke his neck pulling him back. Everything happened so fast and he feels responsible.”

Shepherd’s Watch had lost dogs before. Clients, too, for that matter. Why was this one different? “Accidents do happen.”

Max stood and walked to the open bay window. Curtains billowed in the morning breeze. “The woman is the senator’s niece; he raised her like a daughter.” Turning back to the table, he said, “He’s pretty upset.”

“She’s going to be okay, right?” Senator Jack Gardner was actually a good politician and a nice person. He had connections everywhere, even Hollywood. He’d recommended clients, and Ren didn’t want to think what could happen if he pulled his business from the Watch.

A heavy sigh floated on the breeze. “She’s blind. Doctors aren’t sure how long it will last or if she’ll ever see again.” The chair thudded on the floor when Max sat down. “He wants us to supply a guide dog and a handler to help her adjust.”

“We can’t, everybody who’s capable of that kind of service is on assignment. We don’t have time to train a new dog.” Wade and Max continued to stare at him in silence. Finally, it hit Ren like a ton of bricks. “No. Fucking. Way.” Coffee cups clattered in their saucers when his fist hit the table. “I’ve got an assignment. I’m not babysitting some blind chick. Find someone else, man.” The chair scraped loudly across the floor as he stood.

“Wade will cover the concert.” Max slid an envelope across the table. “You’re all we got and… uhh… you can handle both roles. After all, she’s blind and won’t see you shift. In here is everything we know about her, where she lives and works, even what she likes to read.” His fingers tapped annoyingly on the envelope. Ren opened his mouth and Max’s hand flew up. “You’re it. I’ll do everything possible to get you out of this as soon as I can. We can’t lose the senator’s contract.”

Ren’s growl circled the room, bouncing from the walls. He ripped his clothes from his body without a care and fell to his knees. The long velvety snout was already forming and his hands twisted into gnarled paws. Ren didn’t even feel the fleeting pain associated with the change as a hunch pulled his shoulders up. Sucking in a draft of air, he slammed his front paws to the wood floor. Toenails scraped beneath his weighty body.

Raising his head, he loosed a howl that would have made a wolf proud.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A multi-published author, J. Hali Steele wishes she could grow fur, wings, or fangs, so she can stay warm, fly, or just plain bite the crap out of… Well, since she can’t, she would much rather roam where her fictional big cats live — in the high desert of California. Discovering a new love of contemporary male/male erotica has flipped a switch she can’t turn off, so she hopes eventually it drifts back into her otherworldly realm.

When J. Hali’s not writing, she can be found snuggled in front of the TV with a good book, a cat in her lap, and a cup of coffee.

Growl and roar — it’s okay to let the beast out.

Infernal Desire by Angela Knight #DarkFantasy @AngelaKnight @changelingpress

For the past five years, Zana Alasdair has been obsessed with Rafe Cazadero. Which is an issue, to say the least, because Rafe is a half-angel demon hunter, and Zana is… well… a demon. Sort of. Anyway, she’s a succubus — a half-human demon who draws magic from the erotic energy she collects making love to mortals. Which means Rafe would probably kill her if he caught her hanging around.

Which is why Pointy doesn’t approve of her little crush on the hunter. Pointy is her evil tail, which has a mind of its own, and is thoroughly convinced Rafe is Bad News. And Pointy does have a… well… point. Except if Rafe’s not careful, he’s going to get himself killed, and that would be a damn shame. Especially since one of those most interested in killing Rafe is Zana’s psycho father, Jargoth, a Lord of Hell, who’d also like to kill Zana.

Zana’s been thinking. Wouldn’t it be great if she could talk Rafe and his magic sword into an alliance? She can be pretty persuasive… assuming she can convince her evil tail to be a little less evil…

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Preorder for April 2nd at Online Booksellers

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Angela Knight

Rafe

I needed the night off, but I wasn’t going to get it. I’d be killing demons before dawn. That or dying.

My skin had the itchy feeling that meant something nasty was about to emerge from Hell. Trouble was, it was hard to tell when that itch would escalate to the fiery burn of the Call.

Frowning, I swallowed a mouthful of Scotch, absently stroking the cat in my lap as I gave the problem some thought. Witches preferred to do their summoning at midnight, because that’s what some idiot wrote in a grimoire once. On the other hand, a demon manifesting on his own could choose any time between dusk and dawn. Once the sun came up, you were in the clear for the day. All that solar radiation interferes with dark magics.

“Blllurrrt?” Hocus stretched upward to scrub her furry head against my stubbled jaw. The cat was a Maine Coon, sixteen pounds of fluff and affection. Her bright green eyes peered from a coal-black face surrounded by streaks of white, gray and black, as if she was emerging from a cloud of smoke.

Five years ago, I’d found her meowing in a storm drain as a half-drowned kitten. I’d fished her out and taken her home. I have no idea how an expensive purebred ended up in such a mess, but the vet said she wasn’t chipped. I decided not to look a gift cat in the fangs.

I’d needed the company of something alive to stay sane, since there was no way in Hell I’d risk a woman in my life for more than a few hours. Sometimes I still woke with tears on my cheeks, remembering the clean toddler scent of Ettor’s white-blond hair and the music of Ynes’s laughter.

And the sight of their bodies, when I’d returned home from the mission to find what the demon had left of them. It had been more than three centuries, but you don’t forget that kind of pain. I’d never dared love another mortal since.

Fortunately, one of the Diabol would ignore a cat. Animals don’t have enough innate magic to attract their attention. Hocus was a safe enough companion.

I took another sip of Scotch whiskey as the electric tingle on my shoulders started rolling over my skin in stinging waves. The sensation sharpened between my shoulder blades, burning like a brand where wings would have been — if I’d had them.

Grimacing, I drained the Scotch. The Call would sober me up, no matter how drunk I was. Part of the magic. I ran one hand down the cat’s silken back all the way to the end of her tail, which twitched out of my grip.

It was quiet, the only sound Hocus’s metronome purr and the steady click of the grandfather clock. The library was my favorite room in the house. No weapons lurked anywhere, other than the blessed blade in my boot. No grimoires occupied the maple hand-carved floor to ceiling shelves. Just mysteries and science fiction novels and volumes of poetry, stacked three deep. It wasn’t a rich man’s library — no leather-bound first editions. Most of my books were paperbacks in a dozen languages, dog-eared with cracked spines. I read books, I don’t collect them. I clung to the moment of peace with a drowning man’s desperation, knowing it was about to…

My vision snapped crystal-sharp around the edges, a signal that meant I had exactly twenty minutes to the Call. I put the rocks glass down on the end table with a click, scooped Hocus off my lap and dropped her to the floor as I rose. She meowed plaintively and trotted at my heels as I strode from the library and down the hall.

I’d built the house in the Craftsman style a century or so ago. Its exterior was rough fieldstone in shades of brown and cream, with thick, square columns and oak accents. Inside, I’d hand-carved exposed oak beams and wainscoting with intricate patterns. You’d have to look closely to see the warding spells worked into the carving to discourage demonic visitors. It was a bit dark inside for contemporary taste — no blinding white open plan for me. I displayed the art and sculpture that was too realistic for modern collectors where it suited me. I replaced it with whatever piece I did next and liked better.

When you’re immortal, you don’t get sentimental about your work. That’s why I’ve got three storage units stuffed to the gills.

The door at the end of the hall opened at my touch — no one else could have opened it at all — and the wrought iron rang under my feet as I descended the spiral stairs to the armory.

Hocus trotted at my heels muttering weird little Maine Coon vocalizations. I was almost tempted to run her commentary through Google Translate, but I didn’t think Cat was one of the language options. Besides, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what she was bitching about.

“I shouldn’t be gone long,” I told her. “But just in case, there’s water, and the feeder will dispense your breakfast in eight hours.”

More Maine Coon grumbling.

“Yeah, I know you hate dry food, but that’s all the feeder takes.” She was picky as Hell, but I figured she’d eat it if she got hungry enough.

She leaped past, the stairs ringing as I stepped off onto the smooth-finished concrete floor inscribed with runes and three different spell circles. I pulled my cell phone out of my jeans pocket and thumbed a button, then dropped it on my worktable.

If I wasn’t back in forty-eight hours to cancel it, an email would go out to Jo Landon telling the gallery owner where to find the key I’d hidden. She’d pick up the art and the cat. Remuiel would take care of everything the mortals didn’t need to know about. “Jo’ll come pick you up if something goes seriously sideways.” I gave the cat a glower. “I know you never like my friends, but too bad. No biting, no clawing, no breaking her shit. I don’t want you to starve if I’m not around to take care of your furry ass.”

As I spoke, I started stripping, methodically swapping jeans and T-shirt for the skin-tight Lycra that would keep my armor from chafing. Then I turned to the big man-shaped form that held the blessed armor and began to slide into it.

Back in the day, a knight needed the help of a squire and a page or two to get into his armor, but this suit had been conjured by an angel for combat with demons. The hip-length jacket and pants looked like leather and weighed about the same, but the spells and sigils embossed into them made them stronger than a battleship’s hull. I could have taken a blast from a tank without mussing my hair. Black gloves, boots and a helm with a transparent faceplate completed the armor, all marked prominently with the sign of the cross. Which, unfortunately, didn’t do as good a job at repelling demons as legends would have you believe.

Because that would make my life too fucking easy.

The burn was intensifying. I was running out of time…

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Angela Knight’s romance writing career began in 1996, when she realized her dream of romance publication with Red Sage’s Secrets anthology. She is a New York Times best-selling author of more than fifty novels, novellas, and ebooks, including the Mageverse and Time Hunters series. Her career spans twenty plus years. Romantic Times Bookclub Magazine gave her a Career Achievement award in Paranormal Romance, as well as two Reviewers’ Choice awards for best erotic romance and best werewolf romance.

Angela is currently a writer, editor, and cover artist for Changeling Press. She also teaches online writing courses with SavvyAuthors.com. Besides her fiction work, Angela’s writing career includes a decade as an award-winning South Carolina newspaper reporter. She lives in South Carolina with her husband, Michael, a thirty-year police veteran and detective with a local police department.

Preorder: Hawk (Reckless Kings MC) by Harley Wylde #mcromance #agegap @HarleyW_Writer @changelingpress

Hayley — Having both a father and brother who are in law enforcement, and overprotective, doesn’t make it easy to date. Which is why I was still a virgin at eighteen and had never had a serious boyfriend. If I’d realized chasing Cuddles through the biker compound would result in the hottest night of my life, I might have fixed my hair and dressed a little better. Not that Hawk seemed to mind. He made my knees weak and blew my mind. I just didn’t realize the night would end with a free gift with purchase — one that’s an eighteen-year-long commitment.

Hawk — Never thought I’d make it to the age of forty without ever finding someone special. But I did. Then I met Hayley. She’s the last woman I should fall for, but I can’t seem to help myself. Too bad I figured it out after she disappeared. If I’d known our one night had repercussions, I’d have tried harder to find her. Finding out I have a daughter is the best and scariest thing, but it means I get what I want most. A family.

WARNING: Hawk is part of the Reckless Kings MC series and contains scenes of graphic violence and adult relationships, a couple who just can’t seem to get it right, a troublesome raccoon, and some well-meaning meddlesome bikers who aren’t above causing a bit of mischief.

Available now at Changeling Press

Preorder for April 2nd at online booksellers

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Harley Wylde

Hawk

I leaned against the back of the Dixie Reapers’ clubhouse, enjoying a cigarette and a little alone time. We’d been here two days with Beast and his woman. I understood the reason behind the trip to Alabama, but I was ready to get back home. Nothing against the Reapers, but the men with old ladies only wanted to do family-oriented shit and the single ones were all about the free pussy in the clubhouse. I’d have preferred the middle of the road. Or maybe I was getting old. The women in the clubhouse only wanted to sink their teeth into someone in hopes of getting claimed.

Nothing against the club whores, but they didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting claimed by me. I wanted a woman who looked like an angel on the outside, but clawed my back and screamed my name in the bedroom. Someone respectable to the outside world who only showed that devilish side in private. I was starting to think she was a damn unicorn and I’d never find her.

I inhaled another lungful of nicotine before letting it out. Beast had mostly given up smoking since he’d found out Lyssa was pregnant. Before that, he’d have been out here with me. I had no problem with his priorities changing, as long as he focused on the club when we needed him. But I sometimes felt like I’d lost my brother. He wasn’t down to party like he’d been before, even though he’d slowed down a bit even before Lyssa showed up.

I heard something rustling through the grass and a muttered “I’m going to kill you when I find you.” Definitely a woman’s voice. Since I doubted it was a club whore, it had to be one of the old ladies or some other family member of the Dixie Reapers. Which meant I needed to give her a wide berth.

A fat raccoon went waddling by me wearing a harness and dragging a leash. I stared at it, wondering if I’d had more to drink than I thought or if I’d gone crazy. Who the fuck leashed a raccoon?

A moment later a goddess stepped into the moonlight. Cut-off shorts clung to her like a second skin, and the tank she had on left little to the imagination. Her long, blonde hair fell in curls nearly to her waist.

“I swear to God, Cuddles, I’m going to turn you into a fur muff when I catch you.”

I nearly choked as I tried to hold back a laugh. Cuddles? She might be beautiful, but she was damn sure peculiar if she’d made a pet of that raccoon and named it something so ridiculous. Oddly, I found her intriguing, even if she was crazy as a bedbug.

I watched her stomp past me, mesmerized by the sway of her ass. The shorts barely covered her ass cheeks, and fuck if I wasn’t jealous of them for getting to cup the tempting globes. I reached down to adjust myself, my cock getting uncomfortably hard.

“Cuddles? Cuddles! Goddamnit! We’re not supposed to be in here to begin with. Are you trying to get me killed?” She huffed and stamped her foot.

“Need some help, beautiful?” I asked, pushing away from the wall and stepping out of the shadows.

She whirled to face me, hand at her throat, and her blue eyes wide. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Hawk. My club is here visiting the Dixie Reapers. I think the question is who are you?”

She folded her arms, like she was trying to hold herself together. Her lips pressed together, and she glanced away. It was clear she didn’t want to give me her name, which made me want to know even more.

“Guess I should go get Tank,” I said. “I’m sure he can spare a few men to help you find your pet.”

She jolted. “No! Wait, I… I’m not supposed to be inside the gates, but Cuddles took off and I needed to find him.”

Now we were getting somewhere.

“I’ll help you find Cuddles, on one condition.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Your name, for one.”

She licked her lips and shifted on her feet. “Hayley. Hayley Daniels.”

“That wasn’t so painful, was it? All right, Hayley. My second condition is that you spend some time with me while my club is here.”

She jolted and took a step back. “I can’t! I… you don’t understand.”

I moved closer until I could reach out and wrap a lock of her honey-colored hair around my fingers. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

“My family tolerates the Dixie Reapers, but my dad and brother will go through the roof if they find out I’m hanging around bikers. You said you’re only here visiting. Why bother spending time with me?”

“Because I find you fascinating.”

“When you say spend time… what exactly do you mean? Because if it’s sex, I don’t do one-night stands.”

“I don’t take what isn’t offered, beautiful. Just want to get to know you. Not asking for anything more.”

“All right. I need to catch Cuddles before he gets into trouble.”

I took her hand and led her farther into the darkness. I couldn’t believe I was going to spend the night chasing after a fucking raccoon. We finally found the beast, tail up in a trash can. It might have been funny, if Preacher didn’t have a gun trained on it.

“No!” Hayley screamed and took off.

Preacher swung his gun toward her before seeing me and lowering the weapon. “Christ, Hawk. All those women at the clubhouse and you had to go and find the most innocent girl in town? What the hell are you doing inside the compound, Hayley? Your dad and brother know you’re here?”

“Not exactly,” she said, reaching into the trash and pulling out her pet. She gripped the leash when she set Cuddles on the ground. The raccoon reached up and wrapped its front paws around her leg, brushing his head against her. “Cuddles ran off. He came in here and I had to catch him.”

Preacher ran a hand over his head. “Who the fuck is on the damn gate tonight?”

She danced from foot to foot again. “Spencer.”

Preacher rolled his eyes. “Of-fucking-course. Naturally he let you waltz right in without telling anyone.”

I glanced from Preacher to Hayley and back again. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means Spencer would do anything for Hayley. They were best friends until he started to prospect for us. Her brother had a shit fit and read Spencer the riot act, forbidding him to go anywhere near Hayley.”

“Your brother sounds like an asshole,” I said.

Hayley snickered. “You’re not wrong. He has a god complex.”

“Take Cuddles and get the fuck out of here, Hayley. We don’t need your dad and brother putting us under a microscope. We may be more legit these days, but old habits die hard.”

She gave a jerky nod, picked up her pet, and walked off. I watched her a moment before deciding to follow. I tried to tell myself we’d made a deal and she needed to uphold her end. I had to wonder if it was more. I hadn’t liked the idea of her and some punk ass wannabe being close. No, if she was going to have a biker between her thighs, it would be me.

I was starting to understand how Beast had fallen so hard and fast for his woman. Seeing Hayley tramp through the compound, chasing a raccoon of all things, something inside me had twisted into a pretzel. I didn’t like the feeling in my gut, or the way my heart beat a little faster in her presence.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Harley Wylde is the International Bestselling Author of the Dixie Reapers MC, Devil’s Boneyard MC, and Hades Abyss MC series.

When Harley’s writing, her motto is the hotter the better — off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can’t deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you’ve come to the right place. She doesn’t shy away from the dangers and nastiness in the world, bringing those realities to the pages of her books, but always gives her characters a happily-ever-after and makes sure the bad guys get what they deserve. 

The times Harley isn’t writing, she’s thinking up naughty things to do to her husband, drinking copious amounts of Starbucks, and reading. She loves to read and devours a book a day, sometimes more. She’s also fond of TV shows and movies from the 1980’s, as well as paranormal shows from the 1990’s to today, even though she’d much rather be reading or writing.  

You can find out more about Harley or enter her monthly giveaway on her website. Be sure to join her newsletter while you’re there to learn more about discounts, signing events, and other goodies!

Find her on: Facebook | Instagram | Twitter | Website

New Release: Kraken/Demon paperback by Harley Wylde #mcromance #AgeGap @HarleyW_Writer @changelingpress

I’ll do whatever it takes to keep them safe and make them mine. No one will take them from me.

Kraken (Hades Abyss MC 4 — Mississippi Chapter)
Phoebe — Kraken is different from any man I’ve ever met. He’s more than a decade older than me, but I don’t care. I know the Sadistic Saints will never let me go, but I’ll risk it all to be with Kraken.

Kraken — Never counted on finding a single mom trapped in a life she didn’t ask for. Taking her with me means war, but there’s no way I’ll walk out of here without her. Phoebe’s mine, so is her daughter, Ember, and I’ll spill as much blood as I deem necessary to protect my family. No one will take them from me.

Demon (Devil’s Fury MC 6)
Farrah — I knew what it would mean if I flirted with the Devil’s Fury Sergeant-at-Arms. Leave it to me to find trouble around every corner. I’m not winning at the adulting thing.

Demon — She was a one-night stand, until the condom broke. Then I found out she lied to me. The hot little number in my bed is the daughter of a Dixie Reaper. Now I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she’s safe, and I’ll make her mine — permanently.

Get it at Amazon

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Harley Wylde
Excerpt from Kraken

I left my room with Joe’s hand on my ass, and made my way to the main part of the clubhouse. I’d been right about the party getting out of control. Naked women paraded through the area, smashed bottles crunched under my feet, and smoke hung heavy in the air. I doubted they were smoking cigarettes, or at least not only that. Three men sat at the bar with colors from another club — Hades Abyss MC was stitched on the rockers. I ran my hands down my short skirt and took a breath to steady my nerves. At least with Deuce and his crew, I knew what to expect. These guys were an unknown.

Then again, after surviving my first night here, I could live through anything.

“Get moving, whore,” Joe said, shoving me from behind.

I stumbled and made my way over to the bar. Deuce had his head thrown back, laughing his ass off at something they said. His eyes lit with an unholy fire as he saw me approaching. The smirk on his lips made my stomach flip and knot. It never meant anything good.

“Here she is, boys. The best I have to offer. The three of you are welcome to take her to the playroom, or just have your fun with her out here,” Deuce said. “The rest of us wouldn’t mind watching.”

I swallowed the knot in my throat and plastered a smile on my face. “Hi, I’m Phoebe.”

“She’ll treat you real good,” Deuce said. The look he cast my way clearly said there would be hell to pay if I didn’t. “She’ll do anything you want.”

The man closest to me turned and my breath caught at how striking he was. Handsome didn’t seem to do him justice. Ink covered his arms and peeked from the neck of his shirt. His beard wasn’t wild like Deuce’s but trimmed neatly and the perfect length. I scanned his cut and saw his name: Kraken — Sgt at Arms. He blocked the others from my view and I wondered if they were officers too.

“They’re here for business,” Deuce said. “Why don’t you take them and show them all a good time?”

“No offense, but we don’t like sharing,” one of the others said. “If she’s your best, let Kraken have her.”

The biker stood and held out his hand. My palm slid against Kraken’s rougher one and shivers raked my spine. I’d never met anyone who looked at me the way he did. I could drown in his gaze. He led me down the hall and my heart slammed against my ribs. He drew me to a stop in the middle of the hallway and I wondered if he wanted to start here. Wouldn’t be the first time I’d been shoved to my knees or backed against the wall.

“Where’s your room?” he asked.

My… No. No, no, no. We couldn’t go in there. It felt like someone tightened their hand around my throat. My heart raced, and my knees nearly gave out.

“Not my room.”

He looked down at me, pinning me in place with his gaze. “You got something to hide?”

“I…”

His grip tightened on my hand and my eyes went wide as I sucked in a breath. Pain shot through my wrist and up my arm. I whimpered and he loosened his hold, but dragged me farther down the hallway. He stopped in front of the last three doors, eyeing each one. I dug in my heels when he opened the one to my room.

“No, we can’t… please!”

He yanked me into the room, but the moment he saw the crib in the corner, he froze. “What the fuck?”

“Please. I’ll do whatever you want, but not in here. Not near my baby.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. You look like a damn kid yourself and you have a baby? In a clubhouse?”

“You didn’t care a minute ago how young I look,” I said. I inwardly winced and wondered if he would hit me. Deuce had, and for much less. This guy was visiting the Sadistic Saints, and held rank in his club. Now wasn’t the time for me to be mouthy.

“I don’t fuck kids. I figured if you were out there on offer, you must be legal, but now I’m not so sure. Don’t know a single damn club who lets a whore keep a kid in her room. Start talking, girl. How old are you? Why the hell are you here?”

I sucked in a breath, wondering if I could trust him. He hadn’t tried to force himself on me, or demand I drop to my knees. It made him different from the men who’d come here before. I could be wrong. What if Deuce sent him here to gain my trust, see if I was loyal?

He moved in closer and tipped my chin up. “Baby girl, talk to me. You aren’t like the others, are you? Girls like you, especially with little babies, don’t live like this. You’re a pretty little thing, look sweet as sugar.”

I licked my lips and glanced away. “If Deuce walks by or sends someone else and they don’t hear us having sex, it won’t end well for me. Just… tell me what you like. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“You want to have sex?” he asked.

I gave a slight nod.

“Really? Want a good hard fucking?” He moved in closer, pressing against me.

I swallowed hard and waited. He reached for me, sliding his hand up under my skirt, wedging it between my thighs. He stroked my panties and I tried not to lock up or run.

“You’re not wet. Makes me think you don’t want me after all.”

“No! I… I’m sorry, I’ll do better.”

He backed me against the wall. “Again, start talking, pretty girl. Why are you here? Because I wasn’t patched in yesterday. You’re no fucking club whore.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Harley Wylde is the International Bestselling Author of the Dixie Reapers MC, Devil’s Boneyard MC, and Hades Abyss MC series.

When Harley’s writing, her motto is the hotter the better — off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can’t deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you’ve come to the right place. She doesn’t shy away from the dangers and nastiness in the world, bringing those realities to the pages of her books, but always gives her characters a happily-ever-after and makes sure the bad guys get what they deserve. 

The times Harley isn’t writing, she’s thinking up naughty things to do to her husband, drinking copious amounts of Starbucks, and reading. She loves to read and devours a book a day, sometimes more. She’s also fond of TV shows and movies from the 1980’s, as well as paranormal shows from the 1990’s to today, even though she’d much rather be reading or writing.  

You can find out more about Harley or enter her monthly giveaway on her website. Be sure to join her newsletter while you’re there to learn more about discounts, signing events, and other goodies!

“Her characters are phenomenal and have a lot of depth to them. She is absolutely fantastic at writing an engaging sexy story. Harley Wylde keeps the words flowing so that you have to turn the page to see what happens next.”– All Author Interview

New Release: Astronomicalla by M.L. Uberti #SciFiRomance #NewAdult @MLUberti_Writer @changelingpress

Exiled from her home by a malicious stepmother, Calla is sent alongside her two shallow and greedy stepsisters to a planet in another galaxy. They are set to compete to be the wives of a Prince, a man they have only just met. The competition doesn’t last long since once Prince Lincoln sets eyes on Calla, he knows she is one for him. But forces outside their control conspire to keep them apart and their happy ever after may end up lost in a strange world of men with the power of fire in their hands and their hearts.

Get it at Changeling Press

Preorder for March 26th at online booksellers

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 ML Uberti

Calla

I hunched over the engine of the ’95 Astro van, frowning. I had no idea why someone would want to keep fixing this hunk of junk, but for years it had ended up in my dad’s shop each month, like clockwork, with a new problem.

Today’s was a leaky oil pan. But it also made a terrible grinding sound that had to be another issue. I let out a breath and wiped the back of my hand over my forehead. I kind of wished my dad would have told the owner that it couldn’t be saved — but that was impossible. Because my dad was gone — two years now. Sometimes, I still forgot. I’d get to a sticky problem and turn to ask him if it sounded like the timing belt, then I’d remember. And my crappy life would slam me in the face again.

My dad had been my world. We lost my mom to cancer when I was little — I barely even remember her. But growing up with one parent didn’t mean I went without. My father gave me all the love he would have given her and me. I never felt anything less than cherished.

Unfortunately, three years ago a woman with a broken head gasket rolled into our life and things had never been the same. My dad married her within months, smitten immediately with her sophisticated air and coifed beauty. And then, months after that, I lost him to a heart attack.

My Uncle Tyler took over the shop, kept me on, and I was allowed to keep living in the house beside Ashe Auto, in the basement, because it financially supported my stepmom and her twin terrors — daughters who were one year younger than me and treated me like trash.

I didn’t even recognize my life anymore from what it had been. I supposed the one constant was this stupid vehicle that would die and kept coming back in repeatedly for maintenance. My stepmom would never tell the owner to scrap it. To her, money was money — so we would fix this heap time and time again because it kept cash flowing in.

If she had wanted so badly be wealthy, she shouldn’t have married a man who owned a car repair business. It’s not exactly a lucrative venture — especially in the small town we lived in where no one had a ton of money to spend. And still drove cars from 1995.

“Calla!” I heard my stepmom’s shrill voice call me from outside the garage bays and I rolled my eyes — to myself. I wouldn’t dare let her see that — she’d pop an embolism, and then something of mine would mysteriously disappear. Last time I talked back to her, the locket my dad gave me for my sixteenth birthday vanished. She knew just how to kick someone when they were down — her one superpower.

I lifted my head and peeked around the raised hood, giving her my fakest smile. “Yes, Marlene,” I replied, but I couldn’t keep the disdain out of my voice. That would be impossible.

Her mouth curved into a wicked smirk that had me worried for a moment — she never looked happy. And right now, she was positively glowing.

“Your uncle and I need you up at the house,” she told me, then turned on her fancy high heel and stomped away.

I tossed the wrench I had been using onto the table behind me and washed my hands in the sink. I didn’t have the most feminine hands — a fact my stepmom liked to harp on me about. It could be tough to keep them pristine when you were up to your elbows in grease all day. And no one had minded what they looked like before she showed up three years ago.

Which meant I was staring at my lack of a manicure as I made my way up the hill to the old Craftsman I had grown up in and didn’t notice the two large black SUVs and small gathering of strangers in suits until I nearly ran right into them.

I stopped short, my eyes moving over three men I had never seen before, my Uncle Tyler, my dad’s brother, the twin terrors, and my stepmom — wearing that same maniacal smile.

“Calla June Ashe?” One of the men stepped forward, a sleek tablet in his hand and a serious look in his eyes behind his tortoiseshell glasses.

“Yes,” I answered, confused as to what was happening, but hoping for a split second that maybe a million dollars had been found in a secret account, and these men were here to give it to me and whisk me away to a deserted island where I could drink piña coladas and sit on a beach alone for the next fifty or so years.

“I’m Gil Harsen, here from the GBP at the capital in Frankfort,” he began, walking toward me with the device still in hand.

GBP? Should I know what that it is?

My gaze flitted over the group around us, noticing that my stepsisters were in their Sunday best, consisting of sleek, golden dresses, hair shiny and straight, makeup heavy. My uncle’s eyes were downcast, and he refused to look at me, which made my stomach sink.

“If you’ll take a few moments to look over this document, I’m afraid we are pressed for time.” Mr. Harsen harbored a glance back at Marlene. “We had been delayed as your mother said you had work to finish before you could leave.”

I took the tablet, my eyes combing the information as I muttered, “Stepmother,” correcting his false assertion that the shrew on my left and I were biologically related.

The page I started to study had a lot of legal jargon that seemed impossible to decipher, but there were key words that gave away what the document’s intent was: breeding, mate, and off-world being a few of them.

“What is Khomsa?” I blinked up at Mr. Harsen, and the two other men in suits with a cheap sheen, wearing sunglasses to hide their eyes, bouncing from foot to foot impatiently.

“It’s the planet you and your sisters will be going to,” Mr. Harsen told me and my eyes darted to the twin terrors, gleeful looks on their faces.

“Planet.” I stared at Marlene, her Cheshire smile still in place.

“You’ve been enrolled in the Galactic Breeding Program,” she pronounced, her tone bright and bubbly. “All of you.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Starbucks aficionado, lover of throw blankets and betrayer of all things kale, ML Uberti is a Wayne State University graduate and Metro Detroit author with a predilection for oddities and happy endings. She is mom to three autistic kids, 2 ridiculously stupid dogs and wife of a teacher and musician who has endless patience for her impeccably bad taste in Netflix shows and murder documentaries. She is thrilled to dip her toe into scifi romance from contemporary and hopes you enjoy her big, brooding alien alphas and resilient fairy tale queens.

New Release: Demon Hunter by Treva Harte #DarkFantasy #RomanticSuspense @HarteTreva @changelingpress

Dorothea, the widowed Duchess of Berea, is still in mourning when two male visitors come calling — the first to her remote Irish estate since her husband died. One is her cousin, who draws her back into the dangerous world of demon hunting that is her family tradition.

The second, the mysterious Brown, promises to help her when her own family is unable to. Neither Dorothea nor Brown expects the sudden hot attraction they feel for one another. Dorothea, used to being the protector, discovers how dangerously appealing it is to have someone protect her. But is Brown someone she can trust when the demons start hunting the demon hunter?

Get it at Changeling Press

Preorder for March 26th at online booksellers

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Treva Harte

Dorothea, the Duchess of Berea, had two visitors in her drawing room after having none for almost eleven months of mourning. And one was a stranger.

He looked young (although he could be older than she was) and slight and quite ordinary. He was dressed nicely enough — but he still wasn’t anyone she’d ever seen before, and she knew many people. A wealthy tradesman, perhaps? Or had her cousin outfitted him? Yet he was her cousin’s companion, and her cousin Alexander was particular. Alexander knew she was still in seclusion. One might see family at this time, but why this person?

“Wh –” Before she could get either why or who out of her mouth, Alexander stepped forward.

Maitresse.” He bowed, very formally, in front of her but didn’t kiss her hand. Instead, he almost grasped her outstretched hand to touch it to his forehead. Her breath hissed in. She knew what that particular greeting meant.

“I prefer ‘Your Grace’ if we are to be that polite to each other, Cousin Alexander.” The half-smile she’d had on her face disappeared. “No one calls me by that other title here.”

“No one else needs to.” Alexander straightened and looked her in the eyes. “Cousin Thea.”

“And those few who call me by my first name call me Dorothea. I’m not four years old any longer.” The diamond ring on her finger winked in the sunlight as she snatched away the hand she had put forward, when she had been expecting an ordinary greeting.

“But I’m here to remind you of your family and your… upbringing. You seem to have forgotten it here.” He glanced at the large hall, decorated with long gilt mirrors, carpeted floors, and some portraits of long dead ducal ancestors. “In your late husband’s home.”

“I didn’t need to remember any of my past. His Grace is — was — very powerful. Very wealthy. As his widow, I still can choose how I want to live. And here I am.” Once she would have screamed and stamped her feet at Alex’s return and what he was telling her. But her late husband had shown her better ways to impose her will. Oh, Daniel. She missed him so.

Lately she’d grown almost afraid of the emptiness inside her. She didn’t mourn very much any more. She didn’t look forward to anything. There was nothing inside. It was safest that way, if a little monotonous. This intrusion into her solitude was making her curious, however. She could feel a mild stir of emotion. How long had it been since she felt that?

“It’s a beautiful manor,” Alexander continued, his tone still mildly courteous, telling her nothing. “It’s hard to believe such a place exists on this benighted island.”

“It’s not that uncivilized here,” Dorothea told him. “Necessarily. Money always smoothes the path, doesn’t it? Even when one is English in Ireland.”

“Does it?” Her cousin shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

She’d forgotten, actually forgotten, how her family always just barely managed to keep up appearances. They’d had decades of living and acting like the titled family they were and desperately trying to forget the debts and the mortgages piling up around them.

“I would have thought my marriage was enough to pay off a good many problems.” Dorothea didn’t look at him. “Wasn’t that why I was sold off before I even had a Season?”

“It’s been over ten years. We heard you were happy with your husband.”

“Yes. And have you forgotten and forgiven my marriage?” She didn’t turn her head. What difference would his answer make? But they had thought they might marry, years and years ago.

“No.”

Neither have I, Alex. Not entirely. Not ever. Dorothea stared out the window at the columns gracing the outside and rolling lawn beyond it. The flicker of an old rage simmered inside briefly.

“But that’s not why I’m here.” She heard Alexander’s steps behind her, his body almost close enough to feel his warmth. She didn’t want him to touch her. But he didn’t force her to turn even as she braced herself. “This visit is about our family business, Maitresse. And only you can manage it now.”

“Oh, dear God in heaven, no,” Dorothea said. “I was happy to leave that behind.”

It had been so easy to be the young wife of the old duke. To flirt and spend money and mingle among the gentry of Dublin and the nobility of London whenever she or her husband chose. To forget all the fear and danger of the past, along with the debts her family owed. His Grace had seen to it that she was protected from any relatives making monetary requests. Protected from anything she didn’t want to do.

Alexander let out a bark of laughter. “God and heaven has little to do with it. And you can never leave what you need to do. We both know that. You’re the maitresse and the only one we have left in our line.”

“But demon hunting is such a nasty business, Alexander.” Dorothea, Duchess of Berea, knew her voice was mocking and icy. Entirely ducal. She faced him. “Her Grace has no need to do it any longer.”

Her cousin looked unmoved. “If Her Grace refuses, we know the demons may come hunting for her instead. They also know you’re alone.”

“Actually I’m not — or won’t be soon,” she replied. “My husband’s natural son will be visiting me to help settle some estate matters.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Treva Harte has always been an overachiever. She also collects things. First it was degrees. First a B.A. in English, then she decided to go back for a Master’s degree. Not content with that, she added a J.D. Since then she’s added a husband, also an attorney, and two children to her collection. She’s continuing her ways as an overachiever, writing her wonderfully offbeat tales of passion and possibilities — in her spare time.

Visit her website at www.trevaharte.com.