Category Archives: New at Changeling Press

Sojourn’s End by Mikala Ash #steampunk #darkfantasy @ash_mikala @changelingpress

Posted on by

London, 1861. In the fog shrouded streets, powerful magic stirs, and three tortured souls collide.

More than ten years have passed since newlywed Lady Carlyle used magic to save her unborn children, and every day she dreads the return of her demonic husband.

Linked by death, the gallant Captain Justin Quin and his troubled lover, Lady Julia Molyneux, are on the hunt for a killer. When their paths come together malignant forces of undreamt power are unleashed — forces that will shake an empire.

Available Now — Only $4.24 at Changeling Press

or Preorder for April 1st at your favorite retailers

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Mikala Ash

A sensible man would have been lying between the luscious thighs of Lady Julia Molyneux, enveloped by her sensuous aura, breathing in her intoxicating scent, kissing her red pouting lips, and drowning in her unconditional love, not chasing revenge through the cold soulless streets of London.

Thick cloying tendrils of yellow fog, the city’s renowned “particular,” clung to my legs and followed me into Mistress Keene’s Fashion Boutique on Curzon Street. Euphemistically called an Introduction House in the latest edition of The Adventurous Swell’s Night Companion, the three-story building wedged between a respectable haberdasher and a reputable stationer was simply one of the thousands of discreet bawdy houses boasted by the heart of the world’s greatest empire. Like many other establishments of this type, Keene’s masqueraded as a successful business by day, a modiste in her case, to be transformed after the streetlights flared into an even more successful house of debauchery. It had the added attraction of an upstairs gaming room which supplemented its fleshly appeal with the fickle charms of chance.

The odious miasma, the unwanted and seemingly permanent feature of the city for the past few years, lingered billowing about like platform steam as the colossus of a doorman, a Cumberland automaton, slammed the oaken door shut behind me. Dressed as a liveried footman he was at least six inches taller than I, and broad across the shoulders. The men of iron were becoming more common despite the riots following the attempt on the queen’s life only the year before. Rumours of their involvement in the attack which left Prince Albert severely wounded and on his deathbed had inflamed the patriotic fervour of the mob against artificial men. Personally I didn’t like them. They had no aura, no colours pulsing around them reflecting their emotions for they had no feelings, nor a soul for that matter.

He turned to face me with his dead fisheyes staring right through me. I wondered what he actually saw. “Welcome, sir,” he said. His voice was deep and resonant, a recording of a famous actor’s voice playing on some sort of reel. I could hear the squeaking of the mechanism behind the mask that was its face.

As if by magic an artfully rouged hostess, thankfully human and wearing a silken nightgown that clung possessively to her natural hourglass form, appeared before me. Now here was life! Her aura was jumping from her skin, a roiling rainbow of colours that danced merrily about her, vibrating with mischievous energy. To her outstretched hands I divested myself of cape, overcoat, gloves and hat. I retained my ebony stick which housed within its stout shaft a silver-tipped blade.

The hostess deftly passed my trappings over to a pair of pale disembodied mechanical hands which reached out from between heavy crimson curtains. With a courteous smile, she appraised me with practiced eyes. “Welcome, my lord,” she said after assessing the quality of my attire. She offered a deep curtsey, providing a full view of her deep bosom.

“Not a lord,” I corrected. “Captain will do.”

She dipped her head. “Forgive me, sir. It is an easy error to make, for you have the manner and elegant bearing of the aristocracy.” The syrupy compliment rolled sweetly from her tongue. Her voice was unexpectedly cultured. I briefly wondered what chain of ill-fated events had led her to this place.

“May I fetch you a glass of champagne before introducing you to my friends?”

I let my gaze sweep across the richly decorated parlour taking in the dozen or so young gallants smoking and drinking beside the pianoforte. Several laughing girls in various states of dishabille cavorted about while singing The Tomcat’s Dance, a bawdy ditty currently popular in the music halls. My quarry was not among the group, and I returned my gaze to my attentive hostess. “Thank you, no.”

My response was met with an expansion of her aura, a slight purse of the seductively curved lips and a flash of anticipation in her bright grey eyes. “Perhaps you have more pressing needs?”

“My friend,” I said, dropping a sovereign into her palm. “He entered some minutes before me. A gentleman. Short, slim build, well dressed.”

Feigned disappointment was followed by a small nod of recognition. “Cards your fancy then, Captain?”

Cards. Of course. “Aye.”

“Upstairs, second door on the left.” Her aura quivered with an urgent pulse, and she gave me an encouraging smile. “May I serve you there, my lord?”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on Twitter.

SPOTLIGHT: The Layover by Gale Stanley #ContemporaryRomance #LGBTQ @GaleStanley @changelingpress

Posted on by

Inside the cockpit, Captain Paul Miller is always in control. But on the ground, he constantly feels adrift. His marriage is crumbling, and life has become much too complicated.

Jamey Conley has worked hard to make his café in the Frisco airport a successful venture. He loves his work – and especially the airport scenery. He goes gaga over guys in uniform, but when he meets Paul, sparks really fly. Too bad his ideal man is married — and straight.

Now Available — Only $3.39 at Changeling Press

or Preorder for April 1st at your favorite retailers

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Gale Stanley

Captain Paul Miller made a descending turn over San Francisco, and configured the airplane for a landing. Despite the wind and turbulence, he nailed a perfect touchdown. Switching to ground control, he taxied to the gate, and then stood at the flight deck door to bid farewell to the passengers.

Some pilots skipped the goodbyes, but not Paul. For the last five hours, these strangers had put themselves in Paul’s hands, trusting him to transport them through some pretty crappy weather, six miles above the earth. The least he could do was show them the face behind the voice on the speaker.

Several travelers congratulated Paul on the landing. Their relief at being on the ground never ceased to amaze Paul even though he knew fear of flying was a common phobia. Flying was hardwired in his DNA, and he couldn’t wait to be up in the clouds again. Inside the cockpit, Paul was in control. On the ground, he felt adrift. Life was complicated.

Paul smiled and nodded so many times he felt like a bobble head. Ah, finally, the last passenger. “Enjoy your stay in San Francisco.”

The young man stopped and held out his hand. “Thank you, Captain.”

Paul responded automatically and shook it. A scrap of paper passed between them. The man winked, then he was gone, leaving behind a scrawled phone number. Paul stared at it.

“Looks like you have an admirer.”

The copilot’s smirk pissed him off. Frowning, Paul made a big deal of tearing up the paper and tossing it. “Don’t you have some checklists to check?”

Sully chuckled and headed back inside the cockpit, giving Paul a chance to escape on his own. Paul was new on the Frisco run, but he’d already heard plenty of gossip about his thrice-divorced copilot. The flight attendants called him a dog who went after anything in a skirt. Paul intended to keep his distance. Happily married, well, married anyway, Paul didn’t want his reputation tarnished by a player who couldn’t keep it in his pants.

Paul’s stomach growled and his thoughts turned to breakfast and a mug of strong coffee. Airport and good food didn’t belong in the same sentence, but Paul’s hunger pangs demanded attention. The Layover café across from gate seven looked promising, but it had a long line at the door. Paul was about to pass it by, when the door opened and the rich smell of brewing coffee stopped him in his tracks. He joined the queue, and fortunately, the line moved quickly. No sooner did Paul get through the door, than a kid with caramel hair came running up, and shoved something into his hand.

“Sorry for the wait, Captain. This will…” The rest of his words were lost as the boy hurried off.

Paul stared at his hand, now clutching a pastry wrapped in waxy paper. What the —

An elbow to his arm jarred Paul back to reality. Another customer was ogling his pastry.

“Hey Cap, you gonna eat that? If you don’t want it, I’ll take it off your hands.”

Paul took a quick bite to stake his claim, and an exquisite taste exploded delightfully in his mouth. The turnover was tender, flaky, and filled with real apples. Paul licked the last crumbs from his lips as a woman with a gray bun, beckoned him to a small bistro table in the back. She pulled out one of the wrought iron chairs for him.

This woman knows how to run a restaurant. Impressed by the restaurateur, Paul smiled. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“The name’s Emma.” She pointed to her ample bosom, where a tag covered most of the logo on her white polo shirt.

“Thank you, Emma. For the chair, and the pastry.”

“You can thank Jamey for that.” Emma pulled a menu from a pocket on her navy bistro apron. She handed it to Paul, and then leaned in and lowered her voice. “We take care of our flyboys. Order the egg, potato, cheese and bacon burrito. It’ll fill you up till dinner.”

Paul’s lips twitched with amusement, but he took her advice. “Done. And coffee, please.”

The meal not only satisfied Paul’s hunger, but his taste buds as well. He pushed away his empty plate, just as the pastry-boy came out of the kitchen with a coffeepot. The name Jamey was embroidered under the logo on his white polo shirt.

“Refill, Captain?”

“Yes, please. And thanks for the pastry, Jamey.”

“Was everything okay?” Jamey asked, as he poured. “Can I get you anything else?”

“It was more than okay. I would have licked the plate if I wasn’t so full. I don’t think I’ll eat again this week.” Paul stirred sugar into his coffee. “My compliments to the chef. Oh, and tell your boss this is now my go-to stop whenever I fly to Frisco.”

Jamey’s mouth twitched with amusement. “I’ll do that.”

The boy’s smirk hinted at hidden secrets. Intrigued, Paul wanted to continue the conversation, but Jamey raised the pot in a salute. “Till we meet again.”

The door barely swung shut behind him when Emma appeared with the check. “I’ll just leave this here, Captain.”

“Thanks for everything, Emma. Your café is tops in my book.”

“Well, thank you, but it’s not my café. Jamey is the owner.”

It took a second or two for Emma’s words to sink it. Paul’s smile vanished, wiped away by astonishment. He felt like an ass. His feelings must have shown on his face.

“Don’t worry, Captain. Lots of people make that mistake.”

“I’d like to see Jamey before I leave.”

“Sure, I’ll tell him.”

Paul expected Jamey to ignore his request, but a moment later, Jamey appeared at his table.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Gale Stanley grew up in Philadelphia PA. She was the kid who always had her nose in a book, her head in the clouds, and her hands on a pad and pencil.

Some things never change.

Find Gale Online: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

PREORDER: One Owner Lady Driven by Alice Gaines #DarkFantasy #shapeshifters #SciFiRomance @AliceGaines @changelingpress

Posted on by

Claire Wilcox is in for the ride of her life…

Why would a normally sane woman pay a million dollars for a motorcycle? Hard-driving CEO Claire Wilcox has found the bike of her dreams — a 1957 Mannhof four-cylinder touring motorcycle.

Little does she know that the cycle’s designer made each of these beauties for one person only. The Mannhof is sentient — and he has the ability to take on human form. He was designed with purpose, and he’s on a mission — he’s here to heal Claire’s wounded soul. If she’ll let him.

Get it NOW at Changeling Press

Preorder for March 11th at your favorite retailer:

https://books2read.com/LadyDriven

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Alice Gaines
An Authorized Excerpt

There it was — the machine of her dreams. Claire looked down at the auction catalogue in her lap. The picture of a 1957 Mannhof four-cylinder touring motorcycle looked back at her. The photo didn’t do the bike justice. Sleek and muscular, the real thing reeked of power and sex. Right down to the naked man painted on the gas tank.

“Okay, go circulate,” Claire said to Ted. “See if you can hear any buzz from the other bidders.”

Her assistant looked around. “You can already hear the buzz. The whole room’s full of it.”

“A classic Mannhof goes on sale, maybe, once a decade. I’m going to have that bike if I have to kill someone to get it.”

Ted’s eyes widened. “If anyone but you said that, I’d think it was a joke.”

“Just circulate, will you? I need to know what I’m up against.”

Ted rose and walked toward the back of the crowd, while the auctioneer approached the podium and tapped the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, next we have item number 346. Page fifty of your catalogues. A hand-made Mannhof motorcycle, vintage 1957.”

Ted had been right about the buzz. It grew until it was clearly audible. Hell, she could feel it in her bones. Mannhofs came along so seldom that most of the general public had never heard of them. One had caused a stir eleven years ago when a rock star bought one for half-a-million dollars. That one didn’t compare to this beauty.

“This classic has only had one owner since it was built,” the auctioneer continued.

The owner must have had an appreciation for the male body, or the man on the fuel tank made no sense. Completely nude, he reclined with his torso propped up on one elbow. He was a double entendre of the most wicked kind — a play on a woman taking so much strength between her legs. Mannhof couldn’t have known it, but he’d built that bike for her.

“Excellent maintenance and low mileage make this a spectacular find,” the auctioneer said. “We’ll start the bidding at one hundred thousand dollars.”

Claire didn’t raise her paddle. The auction would take some time to play out, and there was no point showing her interest yet. If the rest knew the CEO of Consolidated Industries International wanted the Mannhof, they’d bid her up just for the excitement. No, she’d wait until the serious bids started coming.

One hundred, one fifty, two hundred, two twenty-five — clearly this would top the half million Kid Dagger had paid eleven years ago. She could wait.

Ted returned and sat beside her. “You were right about this thing. People are going nuts over it.”

“Did you hear anything interesting?”

“Mostly chatter. There’s one guy back there talking into a cell phone in Japanese.”

“Damn it. Matsumoto.”

“Nippon Manufacturing Matsumoto?”

“Do you know another Matsumoto with the money to spend on a Mannhof?”

Ted whistled softly between his teeth. “And you just beat him out of the Swiss contract.”

“This way if he gets the Mannhof, he gets a treasure and revenge.”

“He knows you want the cycle?” Ted asked.

“Matsumoto knows everything he needs to know.”

“The guy talking to him isn’t Japanese.” Ted twisted in his seat to glance toward the back of the room.

“Don’t look at him,” Claire said. “Pretend you didn’t see anything.”

Ted turned back around. The bidding had gone over three hundred thousand dollars and was heading toward four. Eventually, she’d have to show her hand, and then, they’d get an idea how serious her rival was in taking the Mannhof from her.

Matsumoto couldn’t have her bike. No straight male would ride something with a naked man on it. He wouldn’t dare paint over the picture, as that would lower the value. He’d stick the Mannhof in a museum somewhere, and it would never see the open road. The engine would sit silent. Such fine machinery deserved to run, to prove itself with all its power. Between her legs, with the leather of the seat thrumming against her thighs.

Heat crept up her cheeks, and a familiar breathlessness settled in her chest. Excitement. The same thrill she got negotiating a deal. All power was sexual at its core, and anyone who claimed otherwise was either a liar or a fool. She didn’t suffer either gladly, and she wouldn’t tolerate lies or foolishness in herself.

People made fun of her aloofness — called her an ice queen. None of them understood the raw sensuality of power. The naked man on the Mannhof’s tank did. He belonged to her, and she’d have him.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

USA Today bestselling author Alice Gaines has published several sensuous and erotic works. She prefers stories that stretch the imagination, highlighting the power of love and sex. Alice has a Ph.D. in psychology from U. C. Berkeley and lives in Oakland, California, with her collection of orchids and her pet corn snake, Casper.

PREORDER: Bound by Words by AJ Graham #AgeGap #LGBTQ #NewAdult

Posted on by

When Galvin Cloud, a shy young journalist, is unexpectedly offered a chance to interview his favorite author, he ought to be delighted. Instead, he’s terrified. Galvin has always idolized Spike Radcliff, but the idea of actually meeting him face-to-face is overwhelming. Furthermore, despite the sensitivity of his prose, Spike has a reputation for being a surly, reclusive misanthrope. Still, Galvin knows he can’t pass up this rare chance.

After the disastrous interview, Spike surprises Galvin by offering him a job as his assistant. As they spend more time together, Galvin discovers that beneath the harsh exterior is a complex, broken man… one with whom he’s quickly falling in love.

Available NOW at Changeling Press

Preorder for March 11th at your favorite retailer:

https://books2read.com/FeetClay

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 AJ Graham

Galvin couldn’t sleep, but that was nothing new.

These days, the pills did little more than blur his thoughts. He’d spent far too many nights staring at the vaguely dragon-shaped water stain on his ceiling.

Rain trickled down the window, a steady drone mingled with the occasional rumble of thunder which his MP3 player couldn’t quite drown out.

It had been raining that night, too. His gaze strayed to the calendar on his wall, lingering on the date of November 13. Just a day. But somehow, it never got any easier.

He pulled out his earbuds and sighed. He had work tomorrow. He needed sleep. But reminding himself of all the reasons he should be asleep inevitably just made it harder.

Finally giving in, he rolled onto his side and reached for the book on his nightstand. Its edges were worn, its spine was faded and creased from being read and reread countless times.

Smoke. Spike Radcliff’s first novel.

On nights like this, when the hours stretched into a lifetime and the loneliness became unbearable, he often found himself reaching for that tattered paperback, the same copy he’d found in a used bookstore five years ago. By now, reading it was like slipping into an old, comfy sweater. Kind of a strange way to think about a book that dealt with such dark subject matter, but then, all Spike’s books were like that. They were harsh. Ugly, sometimes. But despite all the blood and mud and dirty needles, there was always a shining thread of hope running through them, the promise that someone could go through hell and come out again, wounded but alive.

Galvin stretched out on his bed and opened the book. The opening lines were already branded into his memory, but he read them anyway: Sammy stepped off the bus and breathed in the hot, moist night air. In his pocket, he had two hundred dollars and an address scribbled on a folded piece of paper, worn and damp from the caresses of his sweaty fingers. It had been almost a full day since he’d eaten or slept, but he was filled with a crazy, burning excitement. He was free.

He fell easily into the familiar rhythm of the sentences and devoured page after page.

Galvin had always identified with Sammy — with his desperate hunger for a place to belong, for the arms of someone who would make him feel safe and wanted. When the story started, he’d just fled his abusive home to live with a friend in New Orleans, but the address turned out to be an empty building. And then he was alone, nearly penniless, and stranded in a place he knew nothing about. Before long, he was sleeping in alleys and doorways.

Galvin felt a pang of recognition at the stark descriptions of loneliness, of being the outsider — doors slamming, people turning away and hurrying past — and the longing for someone, anyone, to stretch out a hand and offer some simple kindness. When someone finally did, he was too relieved to feel the jaws of a trap closing around him. Sammy fell in with a bad crowd and got addicted to heroin, which kept pulling him back to that crowd, even when he tried to break free. He started doing desperate things for money.

Galvin found himself skimming ahead to his favorite scene, the one where Sammy finally found a true friend; a quiet, stammering, tender-hearted poet who literally found him in the gutter and took him in.

The idea of rescue had always been seductive to Galvin. His psychologist, back when he could afford one, kept reminding him that it was merely a fantasy. He needed to stay focused on the things he could control. He knew she was right. Hope could be a dangerous drug. But even so, a part of him still dreamed that someday, when he most needed it, there would be a pair of strong and loving arms waiting to enfold him. And then, finally, he could relax — he could surrender to this soul-deep exhaustion and just breathe.

Galvin kept reading.

Sammy fell in love with his rescuer, of course. But happy endings were never that easy. There followed a cycle of rehab, relapses, grim, determined struggles, and finally light at the end of the tunnel. Sammy got clean and stayed with the man who, by that point, had become his lover and his best friend.

It was like a fucked-up fairy tale, complete with happily ever after. Or at least, as close to happily ever after as real life ever got.

Galvin closed his eyes and held the book against his chest.

The first time he’d read it, he’d stayed up all night, too — dry-mouthed, gulping, turning pages, almost wanting to stop reading because he was certain it would end in despair and darkness. The next day, he’d gone out and bought the sequels, Dust and Blur.

He turned the book over and stared at the black and white author’s photo on the back cover. Spike was standing outside, clad in a long black coat, dark hair windblown, a cigarette clasped between two fingers. He was looking off to the side, as if unaware of the cameraman. The picture was small and grainy, but still, something about it always made Galvin stare. From reading articles about Spike Radcliff, he knew that he had an almost superstitious aversion to cameras. This was probably one of the few photos of him in existence.

And Galvin liked looking at it… probably more than he should. He reached out and lightly ran a fingertip over it.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

AJ Graham has a passion for cold weather, unusual beers, and anything otherworldly.  Dragons, demons, shapeshifters and psychics have always populated their imagination, but sometimes the real world can be just as fascinating and mysterious.  And no matter the genre, AJ has always loved stories about soulmates connecting.  Whether it’s instant, explosive passion or a slow burn, the power of two (or more) minds and bodies coming together to form a greater whole is always a story worth telling.  AJ lives in the Chicago suburbs with their husband.

NEW RELEASE: Unsalvageable by J. Hali Steele #erotica #darkfantasy #gay @jhalisteele

Posted on by

Warning: This is a Razor’s Edge Vampire Erotica novella. Expect limited plot and character development, and lots of paranormal heat. If you’re looking for a lengthy plot driven erotic romance, this is not it!

Vampires are real! Sten Majkovic has lived longer than he ever dreamed possible. Among his kind it isn’t easy having a slim, lithe build, but it does have advantages in the human world. He welcomes attention of men who appreciate his appearance. Their mistake is expecting to hold the upper hand. None ever do. And not a single one of them realizes his rabid need for blood — until it’s too late…

Drew Riles’ life is shitty. Mid-fifties, passed over for promotion, he struggles to stay afloat until, nearly beaten to death, he’s rescued by a monster. Unsure how to survive, he flounders in unfamiliar territory. Anger soon replaces what little fear the beast allows as Drew comprehends the fiend has no intention of releasing him. Both emotions quickly evaporate as he watches the bloodthirsty creature use men in a way… God, I want to be those men!

Get it at Changeling Press

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 J. Hali Steele

“Good evening, Drew.”

He knows my name!

This can’t be happening. None of this is real. A nightmare brought on by the beating he’d sustained. Drew barely remembered how he’d ended up in the filthy alley, let alone wherever he was now. But he recalled watching a man commit murder by tearing another’s throat out.

Drugged. The creep from the bar must have drugged me and coerced me outside.

His watch was gone. A gift from his mother after graduating university. Feeling his neck, Drew discovered the chain missing, as well. My chain! A present from…

Should have taken time to have that clasp replaced.

He wondered how long he’d been out. Exploring the back of his head with shaky fingers, he discovered the scab he touched wasn’t painful. His nose had been broken, but it didn’t hurt when he located a bump along the bridge. Unkempt hair fell onto his forehead, his chin was covered with more than normal stubble and bristled beneath his fingertips.

How many days had he been butt ass naked in a stranger’s bed? A stranger who acted like…

“Just over a week. And the word you’re searching for is vampire.”

Drew sat up carefully, anticipated pain in his abdomen where the robber had repeatedly kicked him. Barely ached. “What?”

Faint light filtered through blinds. Not enough to make out the speaker’s features. “This will help.” A lamp came on beside the bed, but there was no sound to indicate the use of a remote, and the creature didn’t appear to have moved from his seat.

“What did you say?”

“Vampire. And just over a week.”

“I can’t be away from work that long. I’ll lose my job.”

“It’s losing your job that concerns you?”

“Yes. No. Who the hell are you?” Vampire.

“Call me Sten. And your boss does not expect you back until next month.”

“A month?”

“Predictable timeframe for a human who has sustained injuries such as yours.”

Drew peered around in search of an escape route. “Goddamn it, what did you tell them?”

“Your office was informed you had been in an auto accident.”

“You lied?”

“I didn’t say anything. My staff, which includes doctors, handles such problems.”

“I take it this isn’t the first time you kidnapped a battered stranger.”

“Actually, it is. Any others I allowed to live were collected and tended to.”

“You didn’t kill them?”

“No.” Lips shifted into a stern slash. “And I wouldn’t call it kidnapping. You do recall asking me to save your life?”

“I expected to wake up in a hospital.”

“Instead, you woke up in my bed, with your secret safe.”

“Secret?”

“We’ll talk of that another time.” Sten leaned forward. “What do you really want to know, Drew?”

“Nothing.” Drew took note Sten wore a partially open black shirt revealing an intricately designed tattoo, most of which remained hidden. Thin leather strips tied close around his throat held several trinkets. One had small, unidentifiable stones while a longer, thicker chain held a ring.

Sten wasn’t a big man. Nowhere near Drew’s height or weight. Impossible to be what he claimed. Those monsters are huge. Short to medium height, with walnut hued skin, he looked no older than thirty, maybe thirty-five. Slender, but if Drew had to guess, lean muscle likely covered his body. “You have short hair.” And a neatly trimmed beard. Both were inky black. God, his mouth is… What the fuck am I thinking! Senseless thoughts. “You’re short.”

“Ridiculous.” Hollow laughter ricocheted from walls whose color matched a magnificent sunset. “You’ve read too many romance novels.”

“I don’t read those kinds of books.”

“Then why the preconceived ideas regarding vampire appearance?”

“I just thought, well, I expected a beast like you would be larger than life.” I watched you kill a man!

“Beast. I see.” Sten stood and walked to a window. “Evening approaches.” He twisted a rod and the blinds opened to allow fading sunlight into the space. “Does your information predict how long before I burst into flames if the sun’s rays touch me?” The man had moved fluidly past the bed, yet each step appeared measured as if a wild animal reigned in his body, ready to break free and pounce.

“I don’t…” Drew stared at expensively shod feet. They had made no noise on the highly polished wood floors gleaming under admitted sunlight. Bet those shoes cost a pretty penny. He took note of pants as black as the shirt. A perfectly tailored fit, the slacks clung to narrow hips that Drew had trouble pulling his eyes away from.

ABOUT THE 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, she can’t do those things but she wishes she could!

Multi-published and Amazon bestselling author of Romance in Paranormal, Fantasy, and Contemporary worlds which include ReligErotica and LGBTQ stories where humans, vampyres, shapeshifters and angels collide-they collide a lot! When J. Hali’s not writing or reading, she can be found snuggled in front of the TV with a cat in her lap, and a cup of coffee.

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

NEW at Changeling Press! Check out these 5 new romances #PNR #mcromance #darkfantasy @AngelaKnight @RebeccaYork43 @HarleyW_Writer

Posted on by

Kurt Briggs has a spirit link to a tiger Familiar that gives him superhuman abilities, but when his father is murdered, the military veteran becomes a target for terrorist sorcerers. Alone, Kurt finds he’s no match for the witch and her shape-shifting polar bear. He turns to Arcanist Genevieve Reyes for help in fighting the killers’ spells.

As Genevieve and Kurt hunt the terrorists, shared danger leads to shared desire. But they soon realize Kurt’s passion for Gen weakens his control over his cat. The consequences could be deadly for them both. Genevieve is attracted to Kurt’s animal sensuality, but she knows she may be in as much danger from his tiger as she is from the terrorists.

Even if Kurt and Gen manage to stop the terrorists, their evil sorcery may trigger a witch hunt that could mean the destruction of everyone with magical Talent — including Kurt and Genevieve.

Get the paperback at Amazon

When Killian returned alive after an enchanted captivity, his younger brother Prince Gawain was more than happy to step aside as heir to the throne of Abercarn. Now, though, Gawain is at loose ends — until Lady Catrin seduces him and secures his agreement to stalk Madrin, the evil magician who enchanted Killian and killed her father.

Posing as troubadours, the two battle adversity together and find that they are connected by more than their hatred of Madrin. Yet despite their growing longing for a life together, neither of them is willing to abandon their dangerous quest. Their confrontation with their powerful and wily enemy will be the ultimate test of their resolve and their love.

Save 15% at Changeling Press

Dakota — Having a half-brother who’s an infamous assassin isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. At twenty-five, he’s still micromanaging my life. The moment Specter tells me about an arranged marriage to one of his associates I do what any sane woman would… I run. Never counted on meeting a biker I can’t seem to forget, nor did I plan on our two days together to have lasting consequences. When bad men find me, there’s only one person I want. Charming. I’m not just not certain I’ll get a warm reception.

Charming — Dakota is different from anyone I’ve ever known, and it’s not because of who her brother is. It’s simply her. Some sixth sense keeps telling me she’s in trouble. When she calls and asks for help, I know I’ll do anything for her. The men after her have no idea she’s mine, or that she’s carrying my kid, but they will soon enough. I won’t rest until they’re six feet under.

WARNING: Charming is part of the Devil’s Boneyard MC series and can be read as a stand-alone. There’s a guaranteed happily-ever-after, no cliffhanger, and no cheating. This is an age-gap romance of more than twenty years with bad language, adult situations, and violence.

Save 15% at Changeling Press

Life doesn’t always happen as we expect. When I found myself in the hands of a sexy Daddy Dom in the form of a powerful billionaire, I wasn’t sure what to expect. What I got was more pleasure and satisfaction than I’d ever known. But my Daddy pushes me. Sometimes further than I ever thought I could go. How I respond is up to me. But the last thing I want is to disappoint the man who’s come to mean everything to me.

Warning: This is a Razor’s Edge Daddy Dom BDSM Erotica short story. Expect limited plot and character development, and lots of heat. If you’re looking for a lengthy plot driven erotic romance, this is not it!

Borrow this title through Kindle Unlimited

Love, Worship, and Obey. Master demands nothing less. Mine’s devotion to Master is unwavering. Unbreakable.

But the Masters of The Place want something special to allow Master and slave to enter their elite ranks. They want Mine.

Master must choose. Initiation to this exclusive sect, or keeping Mine as he is — unbroken.

Publisher’s Note: Unbroken contains scenes involving BDSM club initiation that some readers may find disturbing.

Borrow this title with Kindle Unlimited

Samson (Black Reign MC) by Marteeka Karland #mcromance #agegap @marteekakarland

Posted on by

Charlotte: When I get into trouble, I go big. There was so much pain and fear, I turned my thoughts inward. To Samson. He’s my knight in shining armor. The one man I’ve ever felt a real connection to. Then he was there, killing those who hurt me and sweeping me up in his embrace of warmth and safety. But now he sees me as a victim. Not a woman. It’s up to me to prove I’m made of sterner stuff.

Samson: I had no intention of having sex with the little spitfire, but one look at Charlotte and I knew she was trouble. Our night was the kind of explosive a man can’t walk away from, but I tried. Right up until her daddy showed up telling me she was missing and the last person she was seen with was one of the prospects from Black Reign. Wrangler, the little asshole, had her squirreled away somewhere and I knew if I didn’t find her soon, I might never see her again.

Saving Charlotte from Wrangler will be a piece of cake — after this his days are numbered. Which leaves me with time. Too much time. Time Charlotte’s dad will have to convince her to leave me and come back home. So, how do I fight off another man determined to take my woman from me when that man is her daddy?

Available TODAY at Changeling Press

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Marteeka Karland

Charlotte

I huddled naked, shivering in the cold damp of the cinderblock basement I’d been thrown into. I had no idea how long I’d been here, but I was estimating at least two weeks. My body hurt all over. The chill made it worse. Also, it had been days since they’d brought me anything to eat or drink, and my stomach was gnawing in protest. Being in a damp basement had its advantages, though. I’d found a source of dripping water to drink. It didn’t smell bad and wasn’t discolored, but, honestly, I didn’t have much choice. It was either drink the water or die. I suspected they were trying to starve me into submission. I could have told them it wouldn’t work. I might be too weak to fight them much, but I’d fight to the very end.

There was thumping above me, and I tried to catch a glimpse of the men holding me prisoner through the cracks in the floor and the one grate that looked straight up into the house. Sometimes they would taunt me through that grate. I tried to use it to my advantage. So far, I knew there were at least five different men around this house who were there frequently. There were others, but they were mostly in and out. I suspected drug deals. Any time someone came down to try to rape me, it was always one or more of the five. So far, I’d been more trouble than a fuck was worth, and they’d left me battered and bruised. I suspected their patience was getting thinner.

Yelling followed the thumping. It sounded like there was a fight going on. I couldn’t hear much of what was being said because they were too far away from the grate or in an area where there were cracks in the wood flooring.

A gun went off, booming throughout the house. I tried to hold back my whimpers, not wanting to draw attention to myself, but it was hard. Not only was I terrified, but I was shivering from the cold.

When the basement door banged open and a body tumbled down the stairs, I couldn’t help my little shriek of terror. Immediately, I moved, getting between two free-standing shelves. They didn’t have anything on them, but if I crouched down, I was pretty sure the shadows would hide me. Cobwebs blanketed my skin, making me cringe, but honestly, any spiders crawling on me weren’t as bad as the men coming down the stairs.

Strangely, there was no dialogue between the two, just grunts and the sound of a fist hitting flesh as one man was beaten violently and the other one went about the grim task in silence.

The one doing the beating was a monster of a man. Huge. Hulking. I couldn’t see much with the only light coming from the open door at the top of the stairs, but he wasn’t someone who’d been here before.

“Where is she,” he rasped out. His voice was deadly in its softness… and somehow familiar. I wanted to hope. To hang on to the possibility this man had come to rescue me, not to hurt me. Because if he decided he was taking me, there was nothing I could do to stop him. And he could probably kill me by accident with his hulking size. He almost reminded me of…

“Dunno, man.” The man slurred his words. “‘Spos’t ta be don’eer som’mers.”

“Charlotte!” the man yelled.

“Easy, Samson. If she’s down here, you’ll scare the fuck outta her!”

“S-Samson?” I whispered his name, but he must have heard me, because he whipped his head around in my direction.

“Toss me a fuckin’ flashlight,” he barked. I heard him catch it, then a bright beam of light shone around the basement for a few seconds before landing on me huddled in my hiding spot. I winced and held up my hand to block the light I knew would eventually hit my face.

“Charlotte,” he said, his voice softer now. “I need you to come out for me. Can you do that? I’m here. No one’s gonna hurt you now.”

I inched my way back out of my hiding place, the concrete floor scraping my bare hands and knees. I moved out of the little space slowly. When I stood, I was still crouched, ready to duck away from him if needed. “Samson?” My voice was scratchy from lack of water and from screaming so much over the weeks behind me. “Is it really you?”

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.

Now in Paperback: Wolf Warriors by Marteeka Karland #DarkFantasy #PNR #RomanticSuspense @marteekakarland

Posted on by

Future Earth. The privileged few build their wealth on the backs of slaves who are neither man nor beast, but both. Those with gold to spare spend it at the Arena… betting on the Warrior Shifters is the pastime of the elite.

Claimed by the Guardian Wolf: Miranda is the daughter of one of the cruelest Gladiator owners. Still her heart remains pure. The last thing she bargained for was catching the eye of the fiercest warrior of all — Brandwulfr.

To Brandwulfr, Miranda is a way out of this godforsaken realm, a way to get home. He doesn’t need to be attracted to the silly little human. Yet something in her touch awakens the wolf within him…

Taken by the Wolf King: Caught between deadly politics and a man bent on claiming her, all Elsa can afford to focus on is saving her children — at any cost.

Tortured and maddened by pain, Leif vows revenge on the woman he would have made his queen. Will his hatred of what she was forced to do build a wall between them that can never be torn down?

Warning: Adult Content including graphic violence, scientific experiments, alien abduction, and torture, may be triggers for some readers.

Publisher’s Note: Wolf Warriors Duet contains the previously published novels Claimed by the Guardian Wolf and Taken by the Wolf King. These books have been extensively edited for this volume.

Get the Paperback at Amazon

EXCERPT

Copyright ©2022 Marteeka Karland
Excerpt from Claimed by the Guardian Wolf

Leather encased Brandwulfr’s body like a lover’s jealous embrace. Perhaps it would be truer to say it suffocated his frame like a master assassin, killing him by inches as the humans could never do. Thick, padded leather underneath steel chain mail protected his torso while knee-high boots with greaves and bracers protected his limbs. All of it in jet black lined with gold threads and trims. A slave had nothing, but he’d managed to secure the best protection he could. His master had seen to the style, wanting his star fighter to look the part.

He could hear the wagers being made, the comments and speculation as people around him looked to profit from his death. Could the Barbarian Wolf survive the Gladiator Warriors?

Gladiator Warriors. Brandwulfr nearly choked on the title. He was stronger than all of them — the humans, that is. Had he not defeated their best men? Even with the damned collar around his throat that kept him from shifting into his wolf form, he’d not merely defeated every man they’d set against him, he’d massacred them in a flurry of sword and shield. If he hadn’t been prevented from shifting to his battle wolf form by the cursed collar all shifters wore, he’d slaughter as many as he could before they killed him.

This was no battle, it was a game. A needless waste of sacred life. A game he played with deadly skill. As if the very Earth agreed with him, the ground beneath his feet seemed to rumble ominously. Not an overt movement, but the slightest tremor. It was likely the humans around him would never feel it. To him, it was a clear warning, heightening his already elevated senses for the coming battle.

As he entered the arena, a roar of cheers erupted over the nearly deafening music. The booming blast assaulted his ears but didn’t shake his pre-battle calm. With his mind firmly on the task at hand, Brandwulfr knelt to sift the sands through his fingers. Up close the grains were coarse, rough, and soaked in the blood of men. Like his soul.

A shot rang out, signaling the start of the match. Brandwulfr exploded into action, charging into the middle of the pack in a leaping sprint. The glory hound went down with one deadly arched stroke to the neck. Blood sprayed in a ruby shower, droplets wetting those nearby before they realized what had happened. Never stopping his forward momentum, Brandwulfr plunged his sword into the chest of his second target in a thrust of pure power. The force made his weapon stick in the man’s rib, but Brandwulfr yanked it free, shoving the man off with his foot.

Swinging his sword in a wide arc, Brandwulfr slashed out, using his shield to block a blow from one sword while the momentum from his own swing blocked the other, pushing the aggressive little human backward. Brandwulfr fought with intricate movements, a dangerous dance fueled by instinct and pride. Pride in who he was, who his people were. His feet moved in a choreographed ballet of death, leading his opponents to their doom with a carnivorous kind of beauty.

The second swordsman regained his balance, charging with a brutal yell. Engaging in the fight again, he rained down two-handed blows on Brandwulfr. It was a valiant try to drive Brandwulfr back while allowing his partner time to recover. With a devastating swipe of his shield, Brandwulfr sliced the man’s throat all the way to the spine. Blood sprayed over Brandwulfr’s face and chest like a fountain, the coppery smell washing over him along with the liquid, but he merely swiped at it with his forearm to clear his eyes. His vision was already red, his sole focus on one thing. Victory.

The remaining experienced fighter backed away. Too bad — it was already too late. Swords clashed and sang with each bone-shattering blow, the crowd’s roar growing louder with each strike. The other man dropped his shoulder as he swung his sword in an arching slice, intent on taking out Brandwulfr’s sword arm. Dodging the blow was child’s play. Brandwulfr plunged his own sword into the human’s side as the man completed his downward blow. Blood poured from the wound like a thick crimson waterfall. Brandwulfr twisted his sword before pulling it free of the other man’s body. The fallen warrior screamed in agony, his face contorting with it. Brandwulfr had no pity.

The remaining man huddled against the wall, begging for his life.

“Pick up your sword and face me. Die with honor,” Brandwulfr bit out, giving the man room to maneuver if he chose.

“Please, I’m begging you! I have a wife! Children!”

Brandwulfr tilted his head. “You’re not a slave then?”

“No! I was promised a quick payday. All I had to do was show up and they’d pay me once you were dead! I was never supposed to do anything! I had no desire to harm you!” The man whimpered, clasping his hands in front of him.

“You… volunteered to be here?”

“I was never supposed to have to fight!”

This sniveling weakling had actually thought to profit from Brandwulfr’s death? Idiot. Before the man could cover his head with his arms again, Brandwulfr struck, driving his sword into the neck of the still-whimpering man. Not so much a quick payday as it was a quick death. Far more merciful than the human swine deserved.

The crowd cheered, flash lenses twinkling like thousands of exploding stars all over the arena once again, the masses getting their snapshot of history, an immortal representation of the victorious gladiator as he spat on his last victim. It all sickened Brandwulfr.

As his keen wolf gaze roamed the stadium, he sought the man responsible for this mockery. Rudolph, the man who owned Brandwulfr along with roughly half the shifter slaves fighting this night. Rudolph stood on the balcony above the arena, the place of honor reserved for the sponsor of the games. He was the perfect target. Only about fifty meters or so. One true throw of his sword, straight through the neck…

Then a flash of gold caught Brandwulfr’s eye. A young woman approached Rudolph’s side, grasping his arm. She wore a cloak of midnight woven through with gold. A beseeching look graced her face, as if she were pleading with him for something. Probably wanting Rudolph to give him to her as a prize. Brandwulfr sneered. It wouldn’t be the first time a highborn lady had sought to know the pleasures he could offer.

The girl was passingly pretty. In another life, he would have enjoyed introducing her to the carnal side of sex. In this one, if she were related to Rudolph in any way, she would die by his hand.

Her hair was bound loosely at the back of her head in a thick knot of shining gold. Skin of milk white shone under the harsh lights of the stadium, encased in emerald silk beneath the cloak. She was too thin for Brandwulfr’s taste, though she had potential. A little fattening up would definitely do her good. As she spoke to Rudolph, ruby red lips seemed to beckon Brandwulfr to taste.

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.

Now in Paperback: Passionate Prisoners by NYT Bestseller Angela Knight #BDSM #SciFiRomance #Futuristic @AngelaKnight @changelingpress

Posted on by

Passionate Prisoners by Angela Knight
Published by Changeling Press
Cover Art by Angela Knight

Five interstellar warriors clash with heroines who don’t back down from anything — especially love.

Roarke’s Prisoner: Starship captain Elise Morrell remembers the eager animal submission she once knew at Captain Michael Roarke’s ruthless hands. She’s determined not to become his toy again…

Stranded: Hawke’s been alone in the alien “Goldfish Bowl” for far too long. When Alex lands in his arms, they both realize they can fulfill each other’s every need — if they survive…

Chain of Kisses: For years, Prince Admiral Arles of Tor has been obsessed with the woman who jilted him at the altar. Gisel is now a mercenary space captain, and he’s determined to get her out of his system. Too bad she’s also a political liability he can’t afford…

Armored Hearts: Interstellar mercenary Captain Nick Rand is a vampire on the verge of starvation. Lieutenant Zara Tahir is willing to exchange blood for blood — and maybe kinky games — but Rand’s still her enemy. Right?

Blood and Steel: Elyn Castel spent decades as the slave of a sociopathic vampire. Cyborg Jarl “Blade” Bladin has killed the vampire, and now he’s is after Elyn. She’s finished if he gets his hands on her. But escaping is easier said than done…

Author Warning: Capture fantasy scenarios involving dubious consent may be triggers for some readers.

Get it at Amazon

EXCERPT

**Trigger Warning!**

Copyright ©2022 Angela Knight
Excerpt from Armored Hearts

If she hadn’t been so sick, she could have made the G.A.E. bastards pay a higher price when they found her in the middle of the camp. Unfortunately, it had been more than a month since her vampire had died, and Lieutenant Zara Tahir was deep in blood sickness.

They surrounded her, a yelling, laughing mob of massive shapes in helmets and black armor emblazoned with Godsson’s halo and planet logo. Those suits gave them enough raw power to take on a blast tank and win.

Even so, Zara hadn’t made it easy for them. Even in her lighter V.S.S. armor, she had the advantage in speed and agility. She’d fought so ferociously she’d triggered a spontaneous nosebleed. Feeling the hot wetness rolling down her upper lip as she spun and kicked, Zara snarled. It had been far too long since she’d tasted vampire blood. Wouldn’t be long before her own immune system killed her.

Not that these fuckers would give it the chance. They were pissed, and they planned to kill her. And worse.

It took all ten of them to get her down, spread eagled, and stripped. Their strength enhanced by their mechsuits, they shredded her light V.S.S. armor like wrapping paper. Hands clamped down on her arms and legs, pinning her to the camp’s packed dirt so painfully, she knew she’d have bruises.

Assuming she lived that long.

“Hold her still!” A man in lieutenant’s armor straightened, reached down to his belt, and clicked something. The groin cup of his armor slid aside, revealing a jutting erection.

Zara bucked again with a desperate wrenching twist that caught her captors by surprise. Snatching a fist free, she plowed it at the officer’s balls. He jerked back and she missed, though so narrowly she felt the brush of his pubic hair against her knuckles. “Shit!” he swore, spinning away. “That’s it, bitch!” To the men around him, he snarled, “Don’t you fuckin’ let her move. I’m going to teach that cunt her place. You can have whatever’s left.”

When he returned a moment later, looming behind the men who held her down, the lieutenant held a pulse rifle in both hands. He aimed the rifle butt at her face.

Knowing the blow would quite likely kill her, Zara sneered. “Go ahead, you cowardly son of a whore.”

The butt flashed as it began its descent…

“What the fuck is going on here?”

At the furious male roar, her attacker stopped dead in mid-swing, his eyes widening behind his faceplate. The whole mob jerked to face the roar’s owner, their body language shouting guilty alarm.

Good, Zara thought. A senior officer. Maybe he’d save her.

Then again, maybe he wanted to be first in line.

She’d heard Godsson had recently decreed that raping enemy female combatants was not a sin. They were, after all, unnatural creatures in daring to resist Godsson’s “holy” plans for the colony. He said it was his warriors’ responsibility to teach them proper submission.

That kind of callous bullshit was exactly why Zara had joined the Falaran Coalition Army. She had no desire to live under any cult leader’s thumb — especially an asshole who called himself God’s Son.

“We, ah… found an enemy combatant,” the mob’s leader stammered.

“Yes, Lt. Godshammer, I know,” the officer said, his voice steely with sarcasm. “I heard her screaming from the other end of the camp. What, you boys thought you’d commit a war crime or two? Not on my watch. Get the hell away from her.”

“But His Most Holy said –”

“You are not raping that woman, Godshammer.” His tone dropped into a menacing hiss. “Get. Off.”

They let her go and scrambled away with a speed that was almost comical. Without even being told, all ten fell into formation, lining up at attention as if hoping it would save them from their commander’s rage. The lieutenant paused to close his groin cup, fumbling in his haste.

Zara lay in the dirt where she’d been left, too bloodsick to do anything else now that the immediate threat was over.

Boots padded toward her. “Are you all ri…” The officer broke off.

Oh, hell, what now? She looked wearily up at him as he stared down at her.

Zara froze.

He was the biggest damn vampire she’d ever seen in her life. It looked as if they’d turned somebody who’d been genetically engineered to begin with. She’d heard rumors that the G.A.E. had hired vampire mercenaries in response to the Falaran Coalition Army’s Vampire Defense Program. Godsson had ranted against vampires being perverts too many times for the G.A.E. to produce them outright, so hiring mercs was the best their army could do.

In any case, the G.A.E. had obviously gotten its money’s worth.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

New York Times best-selling author Angela Knight has written and published more than sixty novels, novellas, and ebooks, including the Mageverse and Merlin’s Legacy series. With a career spanning more than two decades, Romantic Times Bookclub Magazine has awarded her their 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 LLC. She also teaches online writing courses. 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.

DOOLITTLE (Devil’s Fury MC) by Harley Wylde #mcromance #actionadventure #agegap @HarleyW_Writer @changelingpress

Posted on by

Doolittle (Devil’s Fury MC #11)
Written by Harley Wylde
Published by Changeling Press
Cover Art by Bryan Keller

Minnie — The Reckless Kings told me it was pointless to pine after Satyr. I kept offering myself to him, hoping he’d see me as something more. I was a fool. All that man will ever see when he looks at me is a club girl. I’ll always be trash in his eyes. So when the President offers me a chance at a new life, I grab on with both hands. It might mean living with yet another club — the Devil’s Fury — but once I meet Doolittle, my entire world turns upside down. I’d thought myself in love with Satyr, but I was so very wrong. Doesn’t matter. Same situation, different man. I might be starting my life over, but Doolittle knows what I am, what I’ve been… and he’ll never want someone like me as his old lady.

Doolittle — Beast asked a favor and I gladly agreed. I have no problem with a woman who wants a fresh start. Before I even met Minnie, I’d offered to let her work at my clinic. I don’t know what I expected. But the stunning woman who shows up leaves me tripping over myself. I’ve never met anyone like her before, and the instant connection between us is startling. Just one problem. Well, three. The first is Meredith. The girl won’t take no for an answer and is determined I’ll be hers. The second is that Minnie feels unworthy of being mine. I’ll just have to prove her wrong. The third I never saw coming, and it just might change everything.

WARNING: Doolittle is part of the Devil’s Fury MC romance series and contains bad language, violence, and adult situations. You’ll also find entirely too many adorable animals, no cheating, and a guaranteed happily-ever-after.

Or preorder at retailers for January 21, 2022

Amazon | Apple Books | B&N Nook | Kobo/Walmart

Add to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/32fuWpY

Add to BookBub: https://bit.ly/3ecFGbp

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Harley Wylde

Minnie

I should have left the Reckless Kings long ago. If not back before Whisper came here and shook things up, then definitely after my talk with Copper a few months ago. Instead, I’d decided to stick it out. I’d been with Satyr a few times, but he mostly went to the new girls. I’d known Satyr would never see me as more than a convenience. The others had tried to tell me, and I’d seen their pitying looks on multiple occasions. I’d ignored all of them, holding out the hope that one day, Satyr would look at me and realize I was more than just a club whore.

The nights he hadn’t wanted me, I’d had no choice but to be with someone else. Brick wasn’t always around. Since his grandson came to live here, there were nights he didn’t come to the clubhouse. Most of the guys gave me a wide berth, but that wasn’t always the case. Aside from Satyr, only Copper wanted my attention. The others knew I didn’t really want them, and they left me alone. For whatever reason, Copper seemed to like me. Not enough to make me his, but it didn’t stop him from using me when he could. By being at the clubhouse, I’d given my consent to partying with the members.

The only reason I even came to the Reckless Kings was because of that infuriating man — Satyr. But tonight, I’d had enough. Satyr had walked past me, immediately started pawing one of the new girls, and after he’d fucked her in front of everyone, he’d moved on his new favorite — Kelly. She hadn’t seemed to mind sharing him and hadn’t batted an eye. The fact he’d ignored me all night had been more than I could handle.

In the last three months, I’d been with Satyr a handful of times. I’d been coming here less and less. If it weren’t for Brick requesting my presence tonight, I probably wouldn’t have come. When he’d asked me to join him for a drink, I hadn’t been able to say no.

Brick reached out and grabbed my hand. “I know this isn’t how you wanted things to end. We were all hoping Satyr would pull his head out of his ass.”

“You’ve all been warning me for a while now. Everyone knew he’d never want me as more than easy pussy. It was stupid for me to think he might change his mind.”

“Minnie, he’s my brother and I have to side with him, but… I think he’s missing out on something special with you. It’s been clear from the beginning you’re different from most of the women who come here.” Brick patted my hand. “Which is why Beast would like to run an idea by you. Head on back to his office. He’s expecting you.”

I stood and went down the back hall and knocked on the President’s door. I’d wondered why he was here on a party night. Ever since he’d claimed Lyssa, he’d started heading home when things heated up at the clubhouse. I couldn’t blame him. His wife was wonderful.

“Come in,” he barked.

I opened the door and stepped inside, leaving it open so no one would get the wrong idea. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

“Brick said you wanted to see me,” I said.

He nodded. “I know things haven’t worked out well for you here. You plan on staying in town?”

I shrugged a shoulder. “I have a job and an apartment, but… I really don’t want to see Satyr around town if I can avoid it. There’s nothing holding me here. My job isn’t exactly fabulous.”

“I heard you have some experience with animals,” he said.

“The human variety or the furred type?” I asked.

He smirked. “Probably both, but I meant the kind with feathers, fur, or scales.”

“I do. I worked in the kennels at a boarding place during high school. I mostly dealt with dogs and cats though.”

“There’s someone with the Devil’s Fury arriving here tonight. Goes by the name of Doolittle. He’s bringing a puppy for the kids. Someone tossed it into a sack and tried to drown it.” I wasn’t sure what that had to do with me. Was he asking me to pet sit whenever he went out of town? I must have looked as confused as I felt because he smiled and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his desk. “The Devil’s Fury are down in Georgia. Doolittle isn’t just one of their patched members, but he’s also a veterinarian. Owns a local practice. I mentioned your situation to him, and he’d like to help.”

“Help how?” I asked.

“Meet with him and hear him out. He’d like to hire you to work in the kennels at his clinic, but also to help with the animals he takes home. He has an entire sunroom filled with all sorts of critters that need attention. Sound like something that might interest you?”

I nodded. “It does. Not sure trading one club for another is the smartest idea though.”

“You wouldn’t be a club whore there, Minnie. It’s a fresh start for you. No one in town will know your past, except the Devil’s Fury officers and Doolittle. None of them are going to say a damn word to anyone. Even though some of their other members have been here a time or two, I know you didn’t spend time with them. I doubt they’d remember seeing you here. Just think about it.”

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!