Novice by Isabella Jordan #PNR #DarkFantasy #DarkDesire #Vampires @changelingpress

 

A simple arrangement – he’ll pay her rent in exchange for
sanctuary and blood. But Gail wants more……

 

Novice (Dark Kingdom 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Renee George
Genres/Themes: Dark Fantasy, Paranormal, Dark Desire, Vampires

When Gail Kimball lost her lying, cheating bastard of an ex-boyfriend she thought she’d lose everything. On her own and working as a waitress, she can’t seem to make ends meet, let alone get ahead.

Drew offers Gail a simple arrangement. He’ll pay her rent for the use of her apartment and an occasional taste of her blood. That’s all he’s asking. But the ancient vampire is all kinds of sexy, claiming her with such finesse, she’s left a needy mess. Gail wants more every time.

But Drew’s enemies are coming for him. Will Drew see Gail as a liability, or is his little novice lover too precious to let go?

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Isabella Jordan

Gail Kimball grabbed one of the laminated menus she’d just wiped down and approached the table where the man who’d just entered the diner sat. With his back to her, he faced the windows, maybe watching the storm rage outside. Rain pelted the window and the wind howled. Lightning flashes added to the eerie effect the late-night storm had on the interior of the room.

It was only a few minutes until closing time and Gail approached with a smile, hoping he would be her last customer of the day.

“Hi, how are you?” she asked, gently placing the menu in front of him. “I’m Gail. I’ll be your server tonight.”

“Will you?” The man turned his attention on her now, smiling.

The sheer beauty of him — honestly, there was no other word for it — took her off guard. His sandy blond hair, cropped short and wet from the rain, made her want to run her fingers through the silky strands. Deep green eyes framed with thick, dark lashes set off a male face that was perfect in its symmetry, all hard lines and angles. He was really fair, like he never went out in the sun. But his lips were sexy and a dimple at his left cheek flashed as his gaze met hers.

Yeah, he probably had women staring at him a lot, just like she was doing now. Mentally shaking herself, Gail reminded herself that the faster she waited on him, the faster she could get home.

“I will.” Since she’d already been staring at him, she did let her gaze swiftly drift over the black jacket and tight, rain-spattered jeans he wore. He was all long, muscular limbs. “Can I get you some coffee to start with?”

“Hmmm.” Giving the menu the quickest glance, his gaze was back on her. “Something warm would be so good on a night like this, wouldn’t it?”

Gail nodded, trying not to stare but he was looking at her so intently. It was unnerving.

“I find I’d like something sweeter though.”

There it was. Now he was staring at her eye. The makeup could only cover so much, she knew. Still, it was the most visible evidence of the beating her ex had given her. She was just grateful it hadn’t been worse.

Gone was his teasing expression as he stared at her face.

“I could get you some hot chocolate,” Gail offered, trying to stay on topic. “I think we even have some fresh marshmallows to go with it if you like.”

If he’d noticed she’d spoken, it didn’t show.

“Who struck you?” he asked quietly.

Gail shrugged, trying to downplay it. Most people would be too uncomfortable to even ask. If he’d asked in a different tone, it might have even pissed her off. Somehow that wasn’t the reaction he drew from her.

“It was just an accident,” Gail explained. “No big deal. So, how about that hot chocolate? You have a sweet tooth?”

“Sweet tooth?” The man chuckled at that, his concentration on her injury broken. “I guess you could say I do.”

Flagrantly, his gaze raked over her in a way that made her want to run for the kitchen — or into his arms. Like she needed that. She needed another man in her life like she needed a hole in the head. Even if he was as devilishly handsome as the man sitting before her.

“You know, Gail, I think I’ll have that hot chocolate.”

“With the marshmallows?” she asked.

His grin widened. “Give me everything you have.”

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The Jaguar Rogue by Raisa Greywood #PNR #scifi #shifters #aliens @changelingpress @Raisa_Greywood

 

A reluctant mate won’t stop me from saving my sisters.
Who needs a man when I can be a pirate?

 

Jaguar Rogue (Shifter's Mates 5)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Angela Knight
Genres/Themes: Paranormal, Scifi, Alien Encounters, Shapeshifters

After an exhausting and dangerous journey from my home in Brazil to Atlanta, my sisters and I join the exodus of refugees emigrating to Ximera. Though my sisters both find mates, mine is unwilling. I try not to take offense, knowing my little family will be safe — even my brother, though he will find no mate.

We are stolen from under the noses of those who sought to protect us. My jaguar and I take… offense. Once those who took my sisters and me are destroyed, I meet someone who will change my life forever — and I’m not talking about a mate. A young woman makes me an offer I will not refuse. It’s the one chance I have of finding my family. It’s a bonus that I get to tweak my unwilling mate’s tail at the same time.

But my mate is going to catch up with me soon. I can’t escape him forever, and I’m not sure I want to. I just need to keep him at bay long enough to find my sisters.

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Raisa Greywood

“Merda!”

I jiggled the stick in our father’s old Piper Navajo, praying the old crate would hold herself together long enough to get to the ground in one piece.

It had been one thing to scavenge parts to put the Navajo back into service, then gather enough fuel for my brother Zeusef and me to take a few short practice flights. We’d both had a lot more confidence than our limited skills deserved.

Zeusef had sworn the aircraft would survive the trip from Brazil to Atlanta, and I’d thought flying would be a simple matter of takeoffs and landings interspersed with hours of boredom as I flew the Navajo north.

“It’s fine, Soledad,” Zeusef said. “We’re almost there, right?” He pointed out the windscreen, ignoring the worrisome ticking that had developed in the engine somewhere around Managua.

I was too busy keeping us in the air to answer. It wasn’t Zeusef’s fault he’d been sickened by radiation poisoning in Bogotá and couldn’t see to fix whatever ailed the ancient plane. I’d been too busy scavenging to pay much attention to what he did under the engine cowling.

As I flew into the darkening eastern sky, the air traffic grew heavier. Strange craft swept by our plane, hovering to watch as if we were some strange bird. I wanted to fly one of them. Before she’d started to fail on us, it had been pure joy to pilot our little craft. How much better would it be to take control of one of those elegant metallic birds? I turned our plane in a circle to approach the airport, then throttled back to set up for landing. Several of the strange crafts were parked along the edge, making me realize the airport was well used. I prayed I didn’t hit any of them on the way down.

The engine clunked and died, nearly jerking the stick from my tight grip. Cursing, I set the ailerons and prayed we were close enough to glide in.

We were coming in too fast, but there was nothing I could do. Without an engine, I couldn’t go back up for another try. Gritting my teeth, I said, “Hold on to something. This isn’t going to be pretty.”

The aged tires squealed as I touched down and braked hard. With a sharp pop, one exploded under us and I cursed as our plane jerked to the side, throwing me against the windscreen as it spun. The left wingtip touched the pavement, snapping away with a crunch of metal as our plane continued sliding down the runway.

People in black uniforms poured from silvery buildings to watch my ignoble crash. Fortunately there probably wouldn’t be a burn to go along with the landing. We were running on fumes, and there wasn’t enough gas in the tanks to light a candle.

Finally, the plane stopped. I looked up and winced at the trail of debris I’d left along the runway. The old girl had made her last flight. My head shot up at the sound of a knock on the window.

An older human male grinned at me, his browned teeth flashing in the waning light. I cracked the window when I heard muffled words.

“Rough landing, folks. Are y’all okay?”

I nodded and looked back at my siblings. Zeusef was pale and sweating, still sick from the poison, but Ursula and Tereza looked fine.

“I haven’t seen one of these old Navajos in ages! Where are you coming from?”

“Brazil. Is this Atlanta?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am! Can’t believe y’all came this far. Are you here for the exodus?”

I climbed from the plane and helped Zeusef out. Tereza followed, but her nose wrinkled at the faint hint of toxins. It was better than most of the places we’d found on our journey, but Atlanta wasn’t healthy.

“Is there a place to find food?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. The Ximerans are feeding anyone in need.” Lifting his hand, he pointed at a metallic structure some distance away from the airfield. “There’s a canteen set up over yonder, and a public bath house with clean water if y’all want to wash up before you eat.”

“That’s very generous of you. Thank you for your kindness, sir.” Ursula smiled, making the man flush a deep red.

He cleared his throat and peered at Zeusef, then said, “Med tent is next to the canteen. Looks like your friend could use it.”

“Thank you, sir.” I wrapped my arm around Zeusef’s waist as Tereza supported him from the other side. He could barely stand, much less walk any distance. I ignored the stares of the people in black uniforms, but wondered if they were the Ximerans we’d seen flying over what was left of our rainforest home.

I wasn’t exactly looking for a mate, but Tereza and Ursula were. We didn’t even know if they would be compatible with shifters, and there was no one to ask. It was possible they wouldn’t accept us at all if they learned about our jaguar natures, so we’d decided to keep our cats hidden.

An older male wearing a respirator greeted us at the entrance to the structure housing the Ximeran hospital. Despite the gray threading through his dark hair, his body was fit and very large. He towered over me by at least a foot. Without a word, he hoisted Zeusef into his arms, then carried him inside.

We followed him, but were stopped at the door by another alien, larger and much younger than the first. I shut my mouth as my fangs grew.

“Where are you taking our brother?” Ursula demanded.

“Tremak,” the older alien growled, “get the females fed and to the exodus authority so I can get to work.”

“We’re not leaving,” I said. “Not until you tell us what’s wrong with Zeusef.”

His gaze softening, the old male set my brother down on a bed and covered him with a sheet. “I’m Chief Medic Ulrek. Your brother will be fine, and I promise no harm will come to him.”

“But we don’t want to be separated,” Tereza said.

“You won’t be. But I need to focus on him without you three hovering over me like carrion birds.”

“Go,” Zeusef whispered. “I’ll be fine.”

Tremak ushered us out of the structure and I shivered at the damp cold seeping through my thin jacket. “I’ll take you to the dining tent. After you eat, we’ll go to the testing facility for a blood draw. We’ll know tomorrow if you’ve been matched.”

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Author of filthy smut, empty nester, and cat snuggler.

Raisa grew up in traveling all over the world with a military family, but finally settled down and married the love of her life. After nearly a quarter century together, she and her husband are still very much in love. They even hold hands in public! They share the house they bought as newlyweds with a pair of irascible cats and a big red rescue horse. Of course, the horse doesn’t come inside, silly people.

She’s worked as a teacher, an actuary (her husband called her a bookie – which isn’t too far from the truth), mother, scout leader, and is now enjoying semi-retirement.

Despite the fact that her last formal English class was during the Reagan administration, Raisa has always been a voracious reader and decided to try her hand at writing. While those first efforts were pretty awful, she enjoys refining her craft and she hopes her skills improve with every book she writes.

Website: https://www.raisagreywood.com

 

Between You and Me by Willa Okati #ContemporaryRomance #GayRomance #SecondChances @changelingpress @willaokati

 

Theirs is a love story that was only waiting
to happen – and a future worth fighting for.

Between You and Me (Between You and Me 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Contemporary, 2nd Chance Romance, Gay, Silver Fox

Theirs is a love story that was only waiting to happen – and a future worth fighting for.

By Your Side: Seven years ago Matthieu fell in love with a man fifteen years his junior. Roman swore he wanted nothing more than to settle down with Matthieu. Matthieu tried to do the right thing, hoping Roman would forgive and forget him. But Roman’s never been good at taking “no” for an answer — especially when he knows his partner really wants say yes, yes, yes.

Between You and Me: Quiet, reserved Daniel admits to being a “serial monogamist.” He’s holding out for forever. Ian, Daniel’s closest friend, falls in love at least once a week. Somehow, when neither of them were looking, Daniel stole Ian’s heart, and Ian stole Daniel’s. And they’re both smart enough to know that’s something worth fighting for.

In the Key Of: Teague seems set spending the rest of his life alone — until he meets Julian online. Julian’s everything Teague is not: creative, impulsive, enthusiastic — and commitment shy. When a voice on the phone and a face on the screen are no longer enough, can Teague convince Julian to take a chance on him in the real world?

Get it Today at Changeling Press

also available in paperback

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Willa Okati
Excerpt from Between You and Me

Ian never had trouble picking Daniel out of a crowd. He could have done it with his eyes closed and his ears plugged with thick puffs of cotton, and even if someone had taken him and spun him around in circles to make sure he’d lost his bearings. He’d still find Daniel, orienting himself toward the man.

Every time.

He figured later he should have seen there was more to his focus on Daniel than just friendship, but no one ever saw anything clearly in the moment. At least Ian didn’t. He took long walks off short piers and jumped, knowing when he surfaced he could swim to Daniel standing on the shore. He couldn’t do anything else and still be himself.

That was okay. Daniel might keep himself anchored on solid ground, but he’d be there waiting for Ian. Always.

Ian figured he should have paid more attention to what that meant too.

He never thought too hard about it, though. Overthinking wasn’t his forte.

If anyone asked Ian why he did — well, most of the things he did — he never quite knew how to answer the question. How did a guy explain why he was who he was if the person asking couldn’t tell just by looking?

Ian didn’t think of himself as complicated. C’mon. He saw opportunities and went after them. He leaped before he looked, and by the grace of whatever gods looked after fools and man-children, usually came in for a smooth landing. When he didn’t, he picked up the pieces, stuck them back together, and got a move on before the glue had a chance to dry. He didn’t have a home, living in a series of hotels, and ate a home-cooked meal once, maybe twice a year, and his longest-lasting relationships extended through breakfast the next morning.

And yet — he loved his life. Mostly. Ninety-nine percent of the time. Maybe 95 percent.

Every now and then, though, Ian found himself in a place where he needed to be somewhere that was… else. Not the ends of the earth, the Alaskan Pipeline or the Foreign Legion, nor a bar where everyone knew his name. The place he needed to be: a tiny town with a crumb of California coastline, close enough to shouting distance of San Francisco but far enough away to see the stars at night.

So when he’d known this morning, after waking up alone one time too many, he’d had one cup more than “enough” for now, he’d tossed together a duffel’s worth of odds and ends, including an old Turkish coffee set he’d bought on a whim because Daniel would love it, paid up on his Portland suite through the weekend, and sweet-talked his way into a last-minute ticket on a plane down the coast, and —

And here he was, standing outside a library no bigger than a postage stamp, breathing deep of an intoxicating mix of roasting coffee, clean sea air, and the last sweet kisses of one of the final summer-warm twilights of the year. Content to be, there and then, putting off clattering up the stairs to the library’s second-story main entrance for the sake of saving up anticipation until he couldn’t take it anymore.

Good thing Daniel wouldn’t know he was watching, not with the doors of the café separating them. Ian didn’t often get a chance to stand still and look as much as he wanted, and he was a man who appreciated beauty even when planted in a half-parcel of parking lot, on the outside looking in.

Daniel had no idea he’d come tonight. Ian bet he’d be in for getting his ear chewed off; he laughed at the thought, not minding a bit. Besides, he’d tried to call. More than once. Let the surprise be on his own head; at least — Ian thought — it’d be a pleasant surprise. Meantime, he could take his time to relax, far and away from the race for gold and goal, and enjoy the view.
A good friend? Worth his weight in gold. Daniel? Worth his weight in espresso beans. Ian knew his friend well enough to be positive Daniel would prefer being described as such.

Ian hummed under his breath, content for the moment to stand still and watch his friend work.

Some kind of gorgeous man, that one, his Daniel. Silken-soft hair richer and deeper a hue than dark chocolate, long enough to curl around his neck and over his ears and tumble across his forehead in the humidity of the salt-rich wind off the sea. Startling blue-gray eyes, an inheritance from his father, were the first things that’d caught Ian’s interest way back when. Like the skies before a storm, with a thick fringe of sooty lashes. He wore a simple white shirt and dark gray slacks tonight, sleeves rolled up and two buttons undone, and when he reached over his head to wedge a fat blue book back into place on a shelf, he moved with the sort of grace, wholly unconscious, dancers only wished they could learn.

With all credit to the guy who wrote Fight Club, describing Daniel as beautiful wasn’t the right word, but it was the first word that came to mind. Funny how so few others saw it. Ian never had understood why they didn’t, and he’d given up trying.

Sometimes, when Ian stopped to think, he wondered if it was selfishness that he didn’t mind being one of the lucky few. Daniel deserved someone who’d love him tender and love him true, and at thirty-five, Ian could tell he’d started losing the thin edge of optimism he’d hung on to since his twenties.

He shook the mood, as insubstantial as cobwebs — usually — off, or tried to. Thirty-five wasn’t old. Far from it, and Daniel was the kind of man who’d age well. Ian looked forward to seeing it.

Odd, though… seeing Daniel from this angle struck Ian differently tonight. Almost always muted, the spark that set Daniel apart, something like a flicker of lightning in a cool dusky sky, came through crystal clear.

Some kind of gorgeous man, all right — and such a dork. Ian laughed quietly, fondly, absolutely sure Daniel had no clue he moved ever so slightly to the beat of his different drummer, or electric violinist, as the case might be, and the music fed through the trail of white headphones from pocket to ears.

No one could learn to be the kind of friend Daniel was to Ian. You were born to be that close to one another or not, and how Ian had been lucky enough to stumble across a guy who took him for who he was, charms and flaws and risks and rewards and everything else… eh.

Why tempt fate trying to figure out the whys and hows? He’d just be glad as hell and leave it there. Like always.

Ian tapped the toe of his shoe on the pavement, considering Daniel’s movements through the window.

Y’know what? Ian questioned himself. Anticipation is one thing. Delayed gratification is another. Neither stands much of a chance when I weigh them against a chance in a million to take Daniel off guard.

Decision: made. Ian hit speed-dial one more time for the fun of it, and then he hit the stairs, taking them two at a time, excited by the electric sparks that flickered to life in his veins.

Yes. This was what he’d come for.

 

Turquoise Trail by Julia Talbot #PNR #UrbanFantasy #GayRomance #interracial @changelingpress @juliatalbot

 

Soldier Chino thinks he has to be alone, but Oliver
and his dragons know life is hotter together.

 

Turquoise Trail (Desert Dragons 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Karen Fox
Genres/Themes: Action Adventure, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy,
Elves Dragons & Magical Creatures, Gay, Interracial

Elemental soldier Chino heads off into the Mexican desert looking for his promised bonded. He’s a loner, but he’s not used to being this alone. The only member of his team not to bond with a dragon, he’s feeling pretty hopeless.

That’s when he finds dragon guardian Oliver, who’s injured and needs Chino’s help. Oliver knows things, deep in his soul, and he knows Chino’s real name. Can he convince Chino to stay with him and help him raise his passel of dragons?

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Julia Talbot

Chino hadn’t felt this lonely in well over five years.

He sat at a small campfire somewhere deep in the Chihuahua desert. He had a feeling these days he was on the Mexico side, even if he’d started out in Arizona. This was the place the news stories bitched about, the barren wasteland where so-called “coyotes” plied their trade.

Christ, people sent their babies out here to survive through this nightmare wasteland? Insane. Fucking insane. Insane and empty.

Which was exactly how Chino felt. No team. No backup. Just his lonely ass and a directive from the big dragon he’d grown to admire, Damien. Go to the desert below Ice. Find your bonded.

That directive should have been way more mystical, but Ice, the leader of the black ops team Chino had been a part of, was from Phoenix originally. Not tough to figure out. He felt a little like he was running around going, “Here dragon, dragon, dragon.”

Why he was the only member of the Elemental Ops team who didn’t bond with a dragon on Dragon Mountain, he didn’t know. All he knew was he was tired of freezing his nuts off at night and broiling during the day while he searched for his so-called bonded.

Maybe this was just a wild goose chase.

Send the guy off to look for imaginary dragons.

He shivered, but Chino didn’t dare build up the fire. Those news story coyotes wouldn’t hesitate to attack one man, alone in the desert. Not like the animal they were named after.

Help? The single word was soft, scared.

Chino bolted up off the camp stool he’d set up, drawing his weapon. “What?”

Help? Help us? Hear us? They’re dying. Oliver. Azul. Turquesa.

His head echoed with the noise, and Chino clapped his hands to his ears.

Ow. Okay, no one was there, and no one was speaking out loud but him. “Where are you?”

Here. This time it was odd, an echo, but just the tiniest bit off. Here-here-here-ere-ere-ere.

He tilted his head. “Do you see me?”

You’re pretty. A warrior. We see.

Pretty? Right. Chino just needed a hairnet and a gold tooth to go full-on cholo. Well, maybe he dressed up better than that, but no one had accused Chino of being pretty.

“Where are you? I can help.”

Here. There was a twitch, a slither, and then two pairs of bright green eyes blinked at him from over the top of his pack.

Two. Whoa. If he hadn’t just come from Keon’s dragon’s den, he would have thought they were lizards. They weren’t. They were poquito dragons. Like his teammate Gig’s girl, like a feathered serpent, but these were teeny. Teeny and the color of sapphires.

Wow. He blinked. “Who’s dying, chicas?”

Oliver. Our Oliver and Azul and Turquesa.

Oliver. That was a nice, normal name, huh? Kinda old-fashioned. “Take me.”

They nodded together and began to move low over the desert, and he had to call to them. “Guys? Guys, hold up. Let me grab my stuff.”

They pulled up, hovering together and, Christ, their tails were twined around each other’s. Lord have mercy. They might melt a heart as frosty as his if he wasn’t careful.

Come? Please. They bobbed together, sharp little faces so eager.

“I said I would.” Reluctantly, he put out his fire by the simple means of dumping earth over it. No sense setting the damned desert on fire.

Fire fire fire. At our house there’s a fire. It was like singing, somehow.

They were like the Siamese cats in that Disney movie. The one about the dogs.

Hopefully less destructive than those cats. Somehow he doubted it, though. They emanated pure mischief. Worried mischief right now, so Chino shouldered his pack and waved. “You lead, I’ll follow.”

Follow!

They took off like fuck-starved jackrabbits, leading him deep into the desert. A man could die out here. Lots of men had. Hell, just knowing where to put his booted feet when it was night like this made him crazed. Arroyos loomed on both sides of him, cutting off his sight line.

A soft moan seemed to float up, the sound made of pure pain.

Oliver! The baby dragons screamed, sliding down into the arroyo to the left.

Chino changed direction abruptly, and went ass over teakettle down the side of the canyon wall. Ass over teakettle was one of Ice’s expressions, and now Chino knew what it meant. He came up hard against something that wasn’t a rock, but he didn’t get a chance to see what it was because two more feathered beasts — these guys aqua blue and glowing — were bashing at him with their little wings.

“Hey! Hey, come on. I’m trying to help. Ayudarte.” He tried Spanish, hoping they’d understand.

The wee sapphire dragons — who were glowing now too — got in between him and the pale ones.

We found him! We did! He’s ours to help! Oliver needs help!

“I can help.” Chino hoped. “Take me to Oliver so I can see what’s wrong.”

To his surprise the little ones began to giggle, the sound a touch insane. Beside you!

“Beside?” He turned, looking about, trying to understand what they meant.

Sure as hell, he was leaning against a body. A body. Shit.

Chino rolled up to his knees. “What the fuck?”

It was a shirtless redhead, pale as milk where the sun didn’t normally shine. What was this guy doing out here, in the night, with no gear? “You said there was a fire.”

At the house. Fiiiiiiiiiire. Warm.

The aqua dragons were fading, the light barely there. His sapphires ones were bright enough to see the way the guy’s foot was trapped under a fucking boulder.

“Shit.” Chino grabbed his emergency flashlight from his pack. It would give a little circle of light bright as daylight so he could see what he was doing. Then he grabbed his survival blanket and shook it out, covering the man. “We need to get you inside, buddy.”

A rock. A rock. A rock.

He was going to lose his mind with the random singing. He swallowed back nausea from the sudden headache and got to work clearing the smaller rocks surrounding the big one. Oh, man, he needed a lever.

“Big strong stick, guys. Need one.”

Stick. Azul. Turquesa. For Oliver.

The aqua dragons — who were about twice the size of the others — followed, tails brushing the ground. Poor babies looked exhausted.

Stick. Here. Together the four dragons brought him a piece of twisted cedar that could work for sure.

“Good job!” The praise made his dragons glow, but the aqua ones settled on the redheaded guy’s chest.

Oliver. His name was Oliver.

Red Cloud Wolves by Kate Steele #interracial #WildWest #cowboyromance #PNR #werewolves @changelingpress @Kate27Steele

 

Lovers in the desert fight for their lives against legends,
wild men… and wolves.

 

Red Cloud Wolves (Red Cloud Wolves 4)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Renee George
Genres/Themes: Action Adventure, Paranormal, Wildest West,
Gay, Interracial, Werewolves
Length: Box Set

Almost a century ago Landon Jeffers was on the run from a posse determined to see him dance at the end of a noose when he made a discovery that would change his life forever. Landon’s dreams of desert’s riches morphed into images of moonlit nights, howling wolves and a man whose piercing black eyes turn to fire. A wild man who will tame his heart — a man named Dark.

Over the years legends have taken shape about wild men inhabiting the Grand Canyon — men who turn into wolves. Now Landon and Dark will need every bit of courage they possess to preserve the existence of the Moon Wolf. It’s up to them to stop a killer — one who’s been holding a grudge for a very, very long time…

Publisher’s Note: This box set contains the previously published novellas Silver Dreams, Night Gems, and Facets of Night.

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press

Also available in Paperback!

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Kate Steele
Excerpt from Silver Dreams

As was common in many saloons, the wall behind the bar shone with etched and polished mirror. Rows of glinting glass and bottles filled with whisky, rye, bourbon and the like marched along the low shelves built beside and beneath it. Lan sidled up to the bar and ordered a whiskey. With glass in hand he turned to admire the sight before him. Now this, he mused, feels just like home.

It wasn’t long before he was concentrating on the tables where card games were in progress. At one such table, a man rose. Tipping his hat at those assembled, he walked out of the bar. Another man seated there, at least part Spanish by the look of him, caught Lan’s eye and with a short move of his head indicated the empty seat. Lan sent him an answering nod and joined the other players. Seating himself with little fanfare, he bought into the game, was dealt his first hand and the play began.

For the first couple of hours the game went well. He won his share of hands and had a nice stack of chips in front of him. His fellow players were all obviously experienced but unaware of the fact that they were giving away their hands in subtle ways. As the game progressed Lan was learning their tells. One player would narrow his right eye just a bit when bluffing. Another would tug the corner of his mustache when he had a good hand. Ever so slowly, small bits of body language began to betray each players’ mood and if he held good cards or bad.

One of the bargirls had taken a shine to Lan and made frequent stops at his table. Susie waited on Lan before anyone else and gave him sweet come-hither smiles and meaningful looks from big brown eyes. She also managed to show him quite a bit of her bosom in the process. Lan gracefully bore her attention, not about to enlighten her in this roomful of strangers that he preferred his partners a hell of a lot more flat-chested. And male. This pretty girl was sporting all the wrong equipment to engage Lan’s interest, unlike the fresh-faced cowboy across the table. Lan could definitely see himself letting that beefy, blond-haired, young man ride his cock. Putting those thoughts aside, Lan kept his mind firmly on the game.

It was in the early hours of the morning that the trouble began. Lan had begun to suspect it for quite sometime but the last hand had proved it for sure. The duded up swell who acted like he owned the place was cheating. Lan threw his cards in before the hand began and started to gather his money in spite of the protests around him.

“I got nothing against losing, but I won’t play with a cheat,” he told them. His words brought a quiet hush to the table.

“Who are you accusing of cheating?” the dude asked.

“That’d be you.”

The man sat there bold as brass and slowly nodded his head. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

Around the table chairs were pushed back. The tension quickly spread to the neighboring tables until they had an audience looking on with anticipation and dread.

“Would that make a difference?”

“The name’s Roger Coburn.”

“And that should mean what to me?”

“My brother is Daniel Coburn, Marshal of Calico. We own this town.”

Lan felt a slight frisson of dismay which he more than adequately hid behind his calm demeanor. Every nerve in his body was trying to dance with the rising stress that winged through his veins and tightened each muscle in tiny, nearly invisible increments. This situation was far from unfamiliar but he didn’t carry a gun for show. With composure only the best of his breed could exhibit, Lan put his life on the line.

“Do tell. Well, Mr. Coburn, where I come from a man wins at cards with luck and skill, not by intimidation and most definitely not by cheating. I don’t give a damn who you are. No double dealing braggart is lining his pockets with my money.” Lan rose to leave.

Across the table, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, Roger Coburn stood. His chair tipped back and fell. There were screams. Men and women scrambled to get out of the way. A gun appeared in Coburn’s hand as he drew it from his holster. Without stopping to think about it, Lan answered the threat. Two revolvers fired. One found its target, the other didn’t. Coburn gasped and grabbed his middle, blood blossoming and spreading against his shirt in a flood of red. With a look of astonished disbelief on his face, he fell to the side, dead before he hit the floor.

Landon didn’t need any encouragement to get moving. Smoking gun in hand, he grabbed his money up. Keeping a wary eye on those around him, he crossed the floor and was out the door and gone. He didn’t question the need for haste or the need to run. That Coburn had had the bald-faced gall to expect his cheating to be overlooked just because his brother was the town marshal boded ill. From the sound of it, this wasn’t the first such incident. Apparently the marshal backed his brother. More than likely he wouldn’t take kindly to someone killing the man, even if it had been a fair fight.

Walking swiftly to the hotel and entering, he took the stairs two at a time. Once in his room, he stuffed his belongings back in his saddlebags and was back outside in seconds flat heading for the livery stable.

Cursing the darkness, he fumbled in his saddlebags for matches and lit one just inside the stable doors. A lantern hung nearby and he lit the wick then made his way down the line of stalls, quickly finding his horse and tack. The roan gelding blew and stamped, disgruntled at being disturbed but he held steady while Lan got him saddled and bridled. Around him the other horses answered with low whickers. After adjusting his gear, reins in hand, Lan led his horse to the doors and replaced the lantern after carefully extinguishing the flame.

Heart pounding, he paused and listened. In the distance he could hear shouting. Without wasting another second, he was out the door, leading his horse. It was still dark and he wasn’t about to risk injury to the roan. Taking his bearings, he started in an easterly direction and was soon out of town. So far there was no sound of pursuit. The ground rose steadily as he went. Glancing back he could see lights flitting around town like fireflies. They were searching for him.

Grimly, Landon turned his back and kept walking. When the sun rose high enough to make the landscape visible, he mounted up and headed east, intending to put a lot of miles between himself and Calico.

 

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“I want to improve.” This has become my mantra. I think of my authorial skills as a work in progress. I began with no formal training and no degree, just a need to tell a story. I hope, as time goes by, my ability as a teller of tales will improve to the point where, from beginning to end, the reader can immerse her/himself in the world I’ve created, live, laugh and cry with the characters born of my imagination and emerge satisfied and hopefully even happy with the experience.

As for the boring details, I revel in the quiet life of rural Indiana with family and pets. When not writing I read, garden (battle with weeds) and on warm summer nights sit on the front porch to watch Mother Nature’s fireworks. I think fireflies are pretty and pretty amazing, don’t you?

Feel free to direct questions, complaints or compliments (fingers crossed) to katesteele27@yahoo.com or visit my website at www.katesteele.com.

 

PRET OPS by EmmaRay Garrett #SecondEdition #PNR #Vampires #Werewolves @changelingpress

Even on the toughest op, there’s always time for love.
If you don’t get killed first.

 

Pret Ops (Pret Ops 5)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Renee George
Genres/Themes: Action Adventure, Paranormal, Bisexual and More,
Shapeshifters, Werewolves, Vampires
Length: Box Set

This collection contains the previously released Pret Ops novellas FamiliarWarWolfInfiltrator, and Identity.

In a world where preternaturals work behind the scenes to keep men and supermen safe, the Recondite Corps is the CIA, FBI, and Armed Services all in one.

Familiar: In the wilderness of Siberia, the past will resurrect itself and secrets will be exposed. There’s only one way to defeat The Veil, but can Stas and Nat do it, alone?

WarWolf: All Jeremiah has to do is convince Joshua that in order to stop the mounting violence between the human mob and the Heteroclites, they’ll need the help of the only female the Ascendant vampire can’t forget.

Infiltrator: Brian O’Connor has been in the office too damn long. Rescuing the President’s daughter from guerillas sounds like the perfect op: a little action, a little fresh air, an exotic locale.

Identity: After building the newest branch of the Corps, Cyber Operations, John and Cole Marshall are ready for a real test of their new unit’s skills. Being called in to track down a stalker turned murderer targeting one of their own sounds right up Cy Ops’ alley.

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Emma Ray Garrett
Excerpt from Pret Ops 3: Infiltrator

Charlie groaned, lifting a hand to her aching forehead. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into now?” The sickening pound in her skull didn’t provide an answer.

Charlene Thompson, First Daughter, was stuck in a shit hole, somewhere near the equator based on the oppressive heat, with no idea who’d cracked her on the skull and brought her to this place. It was safe to assume it had to do with her father and/or politics, but beyond that…

The acrid smell of wood smoke and the sickly sweet stench of decomposing plants clogged her nostrils. Her skin felt grimy, sticky, where sweat had partially dried and mixed with the dirt of the floor beneath her. Charlie ached for a hot bath for about a half a second. You can bathe when you’re free.

Weak sunlight drifted in through tiny, irregular holes cut high into the walls of the room. Her vision blurred and her stomach pitched, but Charlie choked down the bile. Blinking to clear her sight, she struggled to her feet. Her entire body protested each movement, but Charlie fought through the pain and staggered to the nearest wall.

She stood on weak legs, breathing slowly, and pressed her shoulder to the wall, completely focused on staying upright. She stayed there for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes. Finally, the thumping in her skull ebbed to a dull throb and the triple vision cleared to a muzzy, but coherent, single sight.

“Now what?” Charlie looked around the dimly lit space. A wooden door faced her, but she didn’t see any handle or knob. “Great.”

From outside she heard voices speaking, though she couldn’t make out the words. The rapidity of the speakers’ cadence reminded her of Spanish. Having grown up in New Mexico, and despite the situation she was in, the sound of the language comforted her.

The earthen room blocked out the dialogue. Thinking the door might offer better eavesdropping, Charlie straightened from the wall and made her way toward it. Getting there took all the strength she’d mustered and she slipped to the floor beside the rickety entrance. The voices outside weren’t much clearer, but the depth of the tones suggested the speakers were probably male. She caught a word here or there, but three she heard distinctly gave her hope. Rio Orinoco and transportamos. The first words signified the Orinoco River, in northeast Venezuela, and the second suggested they were transporting something.

“Probably me.” Knowing where she was gave Charlie a sense of control. She’d never been to continental Venezuela, but she’d enjoyed the islands off the coast more than once.

She forced her sore brain to think about her college geography. The Orinoco River was one of the longest in South America. Her memory wasn’t the best, but she hoped they were in the Lower Orinoco, near the delta and the Atlantic Ocean. Based on the humidity, it was quite likely. It was possible she was somewhere in the plentiful mangrove forests, the swamps, of the country.

Charlie held onto her hope. Even if she were in the middle of a swamp, she’d rather escape and take her chances with Mother Nature than stay here and wait. Tensions between the States and Venezuela hadn’t been the best for more than twenty years. However, a lot of the country was urbanized. If she could escape, and make her way out of the jungle, if that’s where she was, she had a good chance of getting home.

The voices outside grew louder, approaching footsteps launching her heart into her throat. She couldn’t afford to let her captors know she was awake. Without thinking, Charlie scrabbled away from the door, flopping onto the floor and closing her eyes. Something scraped against the wood and the door opened.

Though her blood pounded, Charlie stilled her breathing to soft, shallow expulsions and inhalations. She rolled her eyes beneath her lids, the action stilling any fluttering that might give away her cognizant state. The footsteps moved closer and she felt a hard, round object pressing into her back. She didn’t react and her visitor shoved at her deeper.

When she remained unresponsive, he must have been satisfied. With a grunt, he shuffled away, the sound of rubber soles on dirt sending relief surging through her body. The door closed with a squeak and a thump and Charlie had to stifle a sob. She had no doubt the man had nudged her with a gun.

“What have you done, Dad?” Anger at her father gave her strength, but Charlie couldn’t sustain it. She needed to formulate a plan of escape. Whether her father was involved or not, Charlie knew it was up to her to get free. Waiting on the US government for a rescue wasn’t an option.

She got up slowly and crawled back to the door. She pressed her ear to it, listening, learning. More and more words became clear, and Charlie felt the beginnings of a plan form.

 

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“…and I — I took the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”

-The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost

The last line from award-winning author Emma Ray’s favorite poem pretty much sums up her life. Her tendency to do her own thing is what her friends and family love best, and least, about her. Chaos is a constant in the Garrett home, which currently houses her intelligent, energetic children, a devoted husband, a very large, very lazy, white tom-cat, a very crazy, very small black cat, and a very happy, very healthy rescue pooch — who’s black and white.

Other books by Emma Ray Garrett

 

HAVOC by Harley Wylde #MCromance #bikerromance #NewRelease #NewAdult #olderhero #MayDecember @HarleyW_Writer @changelingpress

I saw her and knew I couldn’t walk away.
I just didn’t realize I’d want to keep her. Forever.

 

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Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Action Adventure, Contemporary, Romantic Comedy,
MC Romance, New Adult, Silver Fox

Jordan — I spent a year in prison for a crime I admittedly did commit, but I had a good reason. I was supposed to serve a longer sentence, but a handsy guard and a pissed-off warden who wanted me to keep quiet meant I got out early. My brothers have abandoned me, and there’s nowhere for me to go. Until the hottest man I’ve ever met decides to be my knight on shining Harley. He only thinks he knows me though, and if he ever finds out I was locked up for a violent crime he might walk away. For some reason, the thought sends me into a panic. Havoc isn’t at all what I’m used to, but maybe he’s just what I need.

Havoc — No way the pretty blonde was doing hard time for anything bad. Just looking into her eyes, I can see how sweet she is. There’s a vulnerability there that makes me want to wrap her in my arms and never let her go. When I find out the same prison that nearly killed me was trying to cover up another incident, one involving the woman I can’t stop staring at — the goddess with the body of a porn star — fury flows through me. Whatever it takes, I’ll keep her safe, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that what happens in that prison doesn’t stay there. Whoever hurt her will be coming, and I’m going to be ready for them. No one touches what’s mine, and Jordan may not realize it but I’m not letting her go.

WARNING: Contains some violence, a lot of bad language, super hot scenes that may require cold showers, a sassy sarcastic heroine, and a badass biker who won’t stop until he has what he wants.

Get it Today at Changeling Press

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Harley Wylde

While I’d been locked up my Nikes had mysteriously vanished. I’d been given prison issued flip-flops to wear home instead. Not only were they hideous, but I could feel every damn pebble in the road as I walked toward what I hoped was the nearest town.

The prison I’d been sentenced to wasn’t near my home area, and I honestly didn’t have a fucking clue how to get back without someone picking me up. My money wouldn’t buy me a bus ticket, or much else for that matter. I seriously doubted that motel rooms had dropped in price enough for me to get one, which meant I would be sleeping outside if I couldn’t find a way to reach one of my bonehead brothers, and hope the jackass actually came to get me. Unlike Dopey.

The sun beat down on me and sweat trickled down my spine. I could feel my hair sticking to my neck and wished I had a way to pull it up. I hadn’t gotten it cut while I was locked up and it was now nearly down to my waist. As I looked off in the distance, the road looked a little hazy and I wondered just how fucking hot it was today. Summer in Florida was no fucking joke. I paused when I heard a rustle off to my right and my gut clenched. Please don’t be a hungry gator.

A rabbit bounded out of the brush and darted across the road, making me sigh in relief that it wasn’t something about to make a snack out of me. I kept walking, but it felt like I wasn’t getting anywhere. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the prison in the distance and figured I’d probably walked two or three miles. Nowhere near far enough, since I still didn’t see any sign of a town on the horizon.

The longer I walked, the drier my throat became. My legs felt like they would give out at any moment, but I trudged onward. It wasn’t like I had much of a choice. If I was lucky, Dopey would finally show up at the prison and someone would tell him which direction I took. I wasn’t entirely sure he’d come after me though. My brothers acted like it was entirely my fault I’d been in prison. And maybe I did need to control my temper better, but I’d been defending my family! That should have counted for something, right?

Apparently not.

I could feel my body swaying and dots were swimming across my vision. Had it gotten even hotter? My mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and my limbs were getting heavier. The next step I took, I went down hard on the pavement. As much as I fought to get up, I just couldn’t do it. Instead, I fell forward and just lay there, panting and wondering if I was about to die after having survived a year in hell.

A roar filled my ears and made my eardrums vibrate. I wondered if it was a common sound to hear when you were dying. The sound came closer, got louder, then shut off. I heard someone say a string of bad words that would have a made a sailor proud, then heavy steps came toward me.

“Miss? Hey, you all right?”

Whoever he was, his voice was deep and rich. I struggled to open my eyes, but everything was a big blur. I got the impression of a rather massive man dressed in black, and that was about it. Before I could say or do anything, I could feel myself slipping away again. The man cursed once more, then I was lifted into his arms. I heard more bikes and what sounded like a loud truck or SUV. I tried to focus on the voices, but I couldn’t keep up with the conversation.

Something cool and wet was placed against my lips and I eagerly slurped the water.

“Easy,” someone said. “Don’t want to get sick.”

They took the bottle of water away and I whined, wanting more.

“Let’s get her into the truck. The AC has been running and we need to lower her body temp. She’s burning up,” said another voice.

“I didn’t see a vehicle broken down anywhere. You think some asshole kicked her out of their car?”

Now that voice I recognized. The man who had first stopped to help me. My savior. Well, I hoped that’s what he would be. If they had something nefarious planned for me, I honestly didn’t have the strength to fight them.

The icy air coasted over my skin as someone laid me across the seat of the truck. Eventually, I was able to open my eyes and focus a bit more. A group of big bikers were staring into the vehicle. One of them helped me sit up and drink some more water.

“How long you been out here, sweetheart?” a giant with red hair asked. It was the man who had stopped to help. The one with the voice I could listen to all day and never grow tired of.

“Don’t know. Since ten o’clock?” I said, my voice croaking a bit.

“Ten?” an Asian man asked, his eyebrows shooting upward. “Damn. That was five hours ago. Where the hell were you going on foot?”

“Town.”

“Sweetheart, town is another ten miles down the road,” the redhead said. “Why are you on the side of the road? Some asshole kick you out of the car?”

“My brother was supposed to give me a ride. He never showed.”

The men shared a look then the redhead’s gaze sharpened on me. “A ride? From where?”

I licked my lips and looked away, but he reached out and forced me to look him in the eye. Something about his gaze made me want to answer his question, like I needed to obey.

“The prison,” I said. “They released me today and my brother was supposed to pick me up.”

“Shit.” One of them stalked off then came back. “How long were you inside?”

“A year.” Which was the truth. It just hadn’t been the full sentence I was supposed to serve. I wasn’t about to volunteer that information, though. I hoped they didn’t ask why I’d been locked up. All I wanted was a ride to town, and maybe a way to call my brothers and see if one of them would come get me.

“Just a year?” the Asian man asked. “Drugs?”

“No. I’ve never taken or sold drugs.”

“Prostitution?” the redhead asked.

I stared at him. “Really? I look like a whore? Thanks.”

He shrugged then his gaze landed on my bare legs. I felt my cheeks warm, but my face was probably so red from the sun it wasn’t noticeable. Even if he wasn’t painting me in a flattering light, he was probably the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. Not in that pretty boy kind of way, but in a rough, rugged, and manly type of way. His red hair gleamed in the sunlight and the full beard along his jaw made me wonder if it was as soft as it looked. When he lifted his blue gaze from my legs, I knew I’d remember that heated look of his for a long-ass time.

“What’s your name, darlin’?”

 

WHERE TO FIND HARLEY…

harleywylde.com

Harley on Facebook

When Harley is 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.