Category Archives: New at Changeling Press

Anima Instinct by AJ Graham #shifters #DarkFantasy #LGBTQ @changelingpress

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Animal Instinct by AJ Graham
Published by Changeling Press
Cover Art by Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Shifters, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal Romance,
Bisexual, Multisexual & Pansexual, Gay, Werewolves & Wolf Shifters

Sometimes the shape of desire isn’t human. While shifter desires are dark and intense, humans can be fragile, but adventurous.

Runaway: Werewolf lovers on the run, Keith and Taylor must fight for their lives and their freedom.

Eyes of the Wolf: Kaila would do anything to save her people, even give herself to the barbarian leader of the Wolf Clan…

Wolf’s Promise: Ashrin knows Shana is his mate, and he’ll do whatever it takes to be with the woman he loves.

Half-Blood: A half-human shifter can’t afford to trust anyone. Yet Haden must find a mate or die.

Dante Burning: Love between humans and shifters is complicated… and wild.

Publisher’s Note: Animal Instinct (Box Set) contains the previously published novellas Runaway, Eyes of the Wolf, Wolf’s Promise, Half-Blood, and Dante Burning.

Praise for Runaway

“This is a very good story to add to anyone’s werewolf collection.”–Lydia, Rainbow Reviews

Praise for Eyes of the Wolf

“Eyes of The Wolf was an amazing read…. Well done!”— Noelle, Night Owl Reviews

Praise for Wolf’s Promise

“I enjoyed every page of Wolf’s Promise… an intense and enjoyable voyage into a fantasy world of virgins and demons.”— Stephanie E., Fallen Angel Reviews

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 AJ Graham
Excerpt from Dante Burning

I had to be dreaming. If I were awake, Devin’s head wouldn’t be between my legs, his full lips stretched around my aching cock, my fingers clenched in his shaggy wheat-brown hair. If this was real, he wouldn’t be looking at me like that, gazing up through a veil of soft, dusky lashes, eyes smoky with lust.

I watched his smooth, flushed cheeks draw inward, sucking me deeper.

God, he was beautiful.

I didn’t want to wake up, but I could feel the cold fingers of reality prying their way into my head in the form of a monstrous, throbbing hangover. I tried to hang onto the dream, but the dull red pulse behind my eyes wouldn’t be ignored. It dragged me, kicking and struggling, back to wakefulness. The blood banged in my head.

Oh man.

“Te? Te, are you all right?”

Devin’s voice. He was the only one who ever called me Te. To the rest of the world, even my mom, I was Dante.

I’ve always loved the way Devin said my name — the tap of tongue against teeth, the soft exhalation of air. Though at the moment, I wasn’t in any condition to appreciate it.

I opened my eyes a crack, then slammed them shut as sunlight blinded me. It looked like the sun had just gone supernova outside our apartment. “Ugh. Daylight.”

“Hang on…” I heard a rustle as he pulled the curtains shut, and the room got marginally less bright. “How’s that?”

“Better.” It still felt like white-hot needles were stabbing my eyes, but the needles were a bit less sharp now. There are certain things that go along with being a cat-shifter. One of those things is enhanced senses. A nice perk, most of the time. Not so nice when you’ve got a hangover.

A cool, damp cloth draped over my brow, and I sighed with relief. “Thanks.” I pried my sleep-crusty eyelids open and found myself looking into a pair of big gray eyes. Same ones from my dream. But instead of being glassy with passion, they just looked worried.

“What did you do last night?” he asked.

I gave him a strained smile. “Better not to ask.”

Most of the night was a blur, but I knew I’d done a lot of Mezcal shots. Mezcal is like tequila’s tougher, dirtier big brother. It’s smoky and earthy and burns a molten trail down your throat. It’s that stuff on liquor store shelves that usually has a worm or a scorpion floating in the bottle.

Had I actually eaten that scorpion on a dare? I hoped that was just a dream.

Devin bit his lower lip. “Te… are you okay?”

I looked away, knowing he was asking about more than the hangover. And I couldn’t blame him for worrying. This was — what, the third time this week I’d come home shit-faced? The worst thing was, he didn’t know the half of what I did or why I did it. I drank to numb myself, to forget. To blunt other urges.

I thought about the dream, and the guilt came rising up to choke me. My gaze flicked to his lips; then I quickly looked away. Thank God there’d been a blanket over me when I woke, or he might have seen the evidence.

I might be a cat, but just then, I felt more like a pig.

“I’m okay,” I muttered. “I’ve got it under control.”

He lowered his gaze. The guilt twisted in my chest like a knife.

Devin. My roommate, my best friend since third grade, the only person in the world I trusted enough to let near me while I was feeling this shitty… and the man whose body I secretly craved more than anything in the world.

No, not just his body. That might be easier. I wanted him. His mind, his soul. I wanted everything. But it wasn’t going to happen. So I did what I always did: I bundled up those feelings and tucked them away in the deepest, darkest drawer of my brain. Captain Denial, that’s me.

“You should eat something,” Devin said.

I made a face. He was probably right, but at the moment, food sounded like the most disgusting thing in the world. “Don’t think I could.”

“Have some toast, at least. Please?”

That tone melted me every time. He could wind me around his little finger like a piece of taffy, and he didn’t even know it. “I’ll try. Not promising it’ll stay down, though.”

I started to sit up, but he pushed me gently back to the bed. At the pressure of his hands on my shoulders, my heart jumped.

“Don’t move. I’ll take care of it.”

I sank back to the bed, closed my eyes, and nodded, wondering for the thousandth time what I’d done to deserve someone as good as him.

He brought me buttered cinnamon toast and a big glass of milk, and he sat and waited as I munched and sipped. I was hungrier than I’d realized, and once I’d had a few bites, my stomach settled.

“Don’t you have class?” I asked through a mouthful of toast.

“It’s Saturday.”

“Oh. Right.” I sank back to the bed and draped an arm over my face. I didn’t have work today either. Good thing too. If I stumbled into the pub in this condition, Rosaline would fire my fuzzy ass.

I moved my arm away from my face, enough to peer up at Devin through one bleary eye. I’d adjusted to the sunlight, and I could see the way it caught in his hair and highlighted the curve of his cheek, his neck. I knew from experience how soft that skin was. Over the years, we’d brushed against each other so many times — his hand grazing mine, our bare arms pressing lightly together as we sat side by side. I knew what he would feel like. And he was wearing a soft blue sweater, the sort of thing that would be easy to slide my hands beneath and —

I slammed the door shut on that thought, but it was too late. My hard-on was back, in spite of the raging inferno in my head.

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 at Changeling Press: Summer with Sexy by Treva Harte #RomCom #ContemporaryRomance @HarteTreva @changelingpress

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Available Today at Changeling Press
Get it January 14, 2022 at retailers

Zoe Pappas doesn’t want her new boss, A. Gordon Haigh, as a housemate. She’s not even sure she likes him, much less wants to live with him. But when she discovers the poor little rich boy is broke and his family has decided to punish him for the summer, she has to stick up for the underdog.

She still can’t quite figure out how that leads to her foster dog, Sexy, adopting Gordon, her very Greek family falling in love with him, and her realizing he’s very hot in a corset. But summer is the right time for new adventures — and also for accepting they end in the fall. This guy is only hers for the summer… unless somehow he changes her mind.

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Treva Harte

“We have a new assistant manager,” Tracey told me.

At one point, the last actual manager who worked here had hinted I was in line to be assistant manager. Right. Like I’d believed that. I yawned to show the depth of how much I cared about the news.

“How many does that make this year?” I asked. “Five? They can’t even hang on to assistant managers, much less hire a real manager. I bet this one lasts a week.”

The crazy thing was, it was easy work. I could do the job with my eyes shut. Of course you got paid less, after bonuses, for managing than you did for sales. At least you did if you were good at selling. I was damn good.

“This is even crazier than usual.” Tracey leaned forward. “Get this! It’s a guy.”

“What guy would work here?” I asked. “Wait. A cross-dresser?”

“I have no clue. But that is just weird. I wonder what the customers will think.”

“Maybe they’ll ask him to do their fittings.” I tried not to smile. Why not a cross-dressing guy as a manager? It was a free country, and some parts were even progressive. Not here, particularly, but there was a first time for everything. “When is he going to show up? Want to bet he doesn’t?”

Tracey hissed and froze. I took a deep breath. I hadn’t heard the front door chime for anyone opening it, but that could mean…

“How do you do?”

The guy’s voice sounded a little peculiar — but then mine might if I’d just heard an employee saying I wasn’t going to show up when I was right freaking behind her. Or maybe he’d heard about the cross-dressing. Shit. When would I learn to stop snarking? He had to be the assistant manager. He’d used the back door. The one that required a key to enter so it didn’t have to chime.

I needed this job. There were other ones in town, but none of them had such convenient hours and required so little of me. I hadn’t even had the chance to show how good I was at the job before I sabotaged myself in front of the new assistant…

I turned with my widest smile — it hurt, I was smiling so big and fake — and held out my hand.

“Pleased to meet you, sir.” I used my sweetest Southern-girl voice. “I’m Zoe. Zoe Pappas.”

If only I’d had a sweet Southern name and face to match the voice. Then again, I was special. Not everyone could have the looks to match their heritage the way I did.

He took my hand to shake it, his face very serious. I kept looking up. Damn, he was tall. And skinny. While I was cataloging his looks, he was a ginger but not really the pretty kind. More the pasty-skinned, big-nosed British inbred kind. He’d make a lousy cross-dresser with that Adam’s apple.

And I was nervous. I had just blown my first meeting with my new boss, and I wanted him to be the problem. That wasn’t being fair, but it was one of my many flaws. When feeling defensive, be offensive. As offensive as possible. “Think nice thoughts, Zoe.” That’s what my counselor had told me in high school when I got into trouble.

Hmm. My boss had a nice, strong handshake. My dad had always said that was important in a man.

“Gordon Haigh. The new assistant manager.” His voice was beautiful. I planned to minor in acting, and I had a thing for voices. His was deep and resonant and… he fell silent again.

Tracey didn’t introduce herself. She was probably trying to look like part of the wall. I wasn’t sure what else to say without making things worse, and for once, I wasn’t going to try to do that.

“As long as there aren’t any customers around, we should start today by doing some retraining,” he said.

Yeah?

He walked over to our sign-in sheet — why did anyone have anything that old-school in a store nowadays? — and wrote his name and time in. I edged over to the sheet and looked down. Nice handwriting. A. Gordon Haigh was written in a lovely script.

I jerked my gaze back to his face when he spoke again.

“We can start with work on how we introduce ourselves in the store and making that good first impression.”

We all did that the first week of our training. He must know that. Of course he knew.

So. Ouch. I was being spanked for talking about him when he walked into the store. He should have just told me something up front.

I was also pretty sure that he looked a little longer toward me than Tracey after he spoke — but not directly at me. At the girls.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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

Visit her website at www.trevaharte.com.

New at Changeling Press: Legally Claimed by Alexa Piper #LGBTQ #vampires #urbanfantasy @prowlingpiper @changelingpress

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Legally Claimed (Elvenswood Tales)

By Alexa Piper

Published by Changeling Press

Peter is good at being a lawyer. He also happens to be a vampire, which — in his experience — is far less exciting than the books make it out to be. The most romance he gets these days is watching others fall in love. But this vicarious lifestyle isn’t something Peter minds or even wants to change.

Theo escaped an abusive relationship and is determined to get his college degree, even if prostitution is how he pays for it. No stranger to the supernatural, he has agreed to let vampires bite him for money, but his first client in the new city is nothing like Theo expected.

Peter has no good reason to tuck Theo into bed after that blood donation, but he does. Peter also has no reason to fantasize about Theo, and yet, Peter’s mind is soon drifting to the pretty, black-haired, jade-eyed boy he doesn’t even really know.

A chance encounter at New Elvenswood University brings Peter’s fantasies close to reality. Theo’s vampiric ex soon becomes a problem Peter will have solve. And he won’t use his skills as a lawyer to do it, either.

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Alexa Piper

Sitting behind his desk at his law firm, Peter Collins stared at the spreadsheet that was currently open on his work laptop. But the columns and all the numbers made no sense. Spreadsheets never did when Peter hadn’t had some nice fresh blood in a while, even if he normally loved himself some Excel magic. Sighing theatrically for the benefit of exactly no one because he was alone in his office, Peter leaned back in his ergonomically optimized chair and glared at the damned spreadsheet. It still made no sense, and obviously, his glaring was wasted on the damn screen. With a dismissive gesture, Peter closed his laptop and got to his feet.

He had the corner office, naturally, because he had founded the law firm Collins & Partners. Most days he liked the room that had been designed with an eye to justifying what his clients were billed for an hour of his lawyery time. But right this moment, Peter couldn’t spend another second in here because the cubist paintings just seemed gaudy.

Peter swung the glass door open with a touch and hurried down the hallway, the nice scowl on his face forcing everyone to move out of his way. Peter barged into Michael’s office, and the handsome siren looked up.

“Anything you need?” Michael asked.

Oh, Peter had a list of things he conceivably needed from Michael, and that list had grown ever since Michael had started working for him. At first, Peter had entertained thoughts of a nice, tempestuous affair with the delicious-looking siren. Peter had never had siren’s blood, and he’d wondered what Michael’s blood would taste like in the throes of passion.

However, Michael had not been interested, and Peter was not one to force his own desire on others because, the bother. Then, Michael had started dating a human, the cutest little librarian in all New Elvenswood, and that had been better, because Peter got to watch those two being adorable together. He’d also gotten to watch the cutie-pie librarian go up against a Yule cat to protect Michael, and then the three of them had enjoyed a vacation with a little zombie extravaganza on the entertainment front. It had been such fun.

Now, Peter’s siren and the cute librarian were planning their wedding, and Peter, to whom the sweet little librarian had given the epithet “the Terrible,” felt he was not involved enough. Yet, Peter could not outright state the injustice, because then he would have to explain his desire to be more involved, and the bother.

But still, in the face of a properly engaged Michael doing some paperwork or other, all Peter wanted to say was that he needed to be consulted on wedding decisions.

The goddamn bother. “Just checking in. I wanted to make sure you were dealing with your current caseload. I would understand if you needed more time with Corvin right now.”

Michael smiled up at Peter. “It’s fine, actually. Corvin’s excited and he’s still processing that his best friend is dating an Elf. And a vampire.”

Peter nodded. “Those are Lord Laurette’s lovers, yes?” That sweet, bookish Corvin was friends with one of the Elven lord’s lovers was, frankly, a wonderful happenstance. Peter had high hopes of meeting them and watching that story unfold. If an Elf such as Laurette of the Silver Moons had claimed two lovers, that romance truly had to be epic. Peter would like nothing better than to watch that love story from the sidelines, but still close enough to where the action was happening. Michael and Corvin would always be Peter’s favorites, but an Elf, a human, and a vampire? There was just no way that was not a romance built for swooning over in secret.

Michael nodded. “Yes. Corvin can’t believe he had to be engaged to a siren and survive a horde of zombies before getting told about all that.”

“Understandable. Perhaps we should go to the library? To surprise your Corvin, of course. I should like to make sure he is fine after that drama with the garden shears in Morrowvale.”

Really, Michael had to give Peter that. It wasn’t an unreasonable request, and Peter loved seeing Michael and Corvin kiss, touch — all that wonderful intimacy.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Alexa Piper writes steamy romance that ranges from light to dark, from straight to queer. She’s also a coffee addict. Alexa loves writing stories that make her readers laugh and fall in love with the characters in them. Connect with Alexa on Facebook or Instagram, follow her on Twitter or TikTok, and subscribe to her newsletter!

Find Alexa Online: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | TikTok | BookBub

New at Changeling Press: Satisfcation by Megan Slayer #LGBTQ #SciFiRomance @MeganSlayer @changelingpress

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Darryl Tackas needs a miracle — he wants to find the man who makes him whole. Running Start Me Up and helping other men find their happy endings is great, but Darryl wants a happy ever after of his own. When he learns Lew has a crush on him, Darryl hopes magic will spark between them.

Lew George has wanted Darryl for so long, but he’s been too shy to make a move. When a mutual friend hooks them up, Lew can’t hold back. He’s sure he’s found the one, but can they really have a forever together?

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Megan Slayer

1981

Darryl watched the pretty boys at the bar, and part of him wished he could convince one to come home with him. The rest of him knew the handsome young men wouldn’t choose him. He had fifteen years on most of them and had seen life. They’d want someone with fewer miles on them.

He wouldn’t be the right fit.

He shifted on the barstool. One day, he’d find someone. He’d thought he had with Owen. He’d loved Owen. Thought they’d have a long future together. That they’d grow old and have a house together.

Then the accident happened, and his life changed.

Fucking hell. He’d never forget seeing Owen on the ground. His heart remained with his lover.

But he couldn’t grieve with everyone else. He’d had to watch from the sidelines when Owen was buried because Owen’s family despised him. They didn’t want Owen to be gay. Besides that, he’d never really healed because, after five years, he hadn’t given himself the chance to move on. It was time, but he had no idea how to do it or with whom.

He had the gift to bring people back from the dead, to give them a second chance at life, but he couldn’t fix his own. What a shame!

“Darryl.” Bob, the co-owner of Start Me Up, their electronics shop, joined him at the bar. He sat next to Darryl. “Watching the wildlife?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “I guess I am. What are you doing here? Aren’t you going to see Louise?”

“I was, but she’s busy.” Bob shrugged. “We do this sometimes, you know? We take breaks. It’s a matter of time. We’ve been together for ten years, but we get tired. It’s silly, but the off-time makes us stronger.”

“Whatever makes you happy.” He didn’t see the point of breaks, but he’d have to be with someone first.

“It doesn’t always work, but we come back to each other.” Bob ordered a beer. “Why don’t you get a date?”

“I don’t know if I’m ready.” Would he ever be ready? “Who would want me? I spend a lot of time at the store and in the dark. I’m a nerd.”

“No, you’re not. You’re hurting.” Bob bumped shoulders with him. “But there are guys out there who could love you in the way you need.”

“Yeah?” He finished his beer. “Got any suggestions?”

“Actually, I do.”

“What? I can’t imbue one of my robots with Owen’s spirit. It’s too late.” He placed the bottle on the bar. “None of these guys, right? They’re too young.”

“Hell, yes, they are. You weren’t even born in the same decade.” Bob laughed. “No, the one I have in mind is Lew.”

“Lew?” He stared at Bob. “You’re kidding. He and I are friends. I don’t know if it’d work to change the relationship. He helps us.”

“He does, without expecting payment,” Bob said. “Do you really think he does that out of the kindness of his heart? He does it because he loves you.”

“He told you that?” He’d never gotten a hint that Lew felt that way.

“He didn’t have to say it out loud. It’s obvious.” Bob downed more of his beer. “Why don’t you go to the shop? He’s got a line on someone needing your special help.”

“Another soul to save?”

“Satisfaction guaranteed.” Bob finished his beer. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He left the bar.

Darryl snorted. Bob had left without paying for his beer. The jerk. Darryl paid for both and left a tip, then walked out of the bar.

Darryl strode into the night and headed for his shop. Summer parties rang out from the various apartment balconies. He enjoyed parties. Hell, he’d had a good time with Rascal and Gage at their parties. But he hated being alone.

When he opened the door to the shop, he spotted Lew at the counter. “Hi,” Darryl said. He locked the door behind him. “I hear you have someone for me. Who is the person needing help?”

“Not just anyone,” Lew said. “I want you to help me.”

“You?” He tamped down his intrigue and rounded the counter. “How? You’re not dying, are you?” Fuck, he didn’t want that to happen.

“No, I’m not.” Lew chuckled. “But I need satisfaction.”

“Oh?” He leaned on the counter. “I’m listening.”

“I’m tired of being alone. I’m tired of going home to an empty apartment. You seem to know who to help and who to ignore. I’m hoping you can help me with that special gift you have. Find that perfect someone for me.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and white hot themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been nominated at the LRC for Best Author, Best Contemporary, Best Ménage, Best BDSM and Best Anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on various e-tailer sites.

When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library.

Now in Paperback: Three Brothers Fair by Emily Carrington #LGBTQ #darkfantasy @CarringtonEmily

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According to prophecy, three brothers must find their mates. But prophecies are often both right and misunderstood.

Prince of Seas (Three Brothers Fair 1): What’s the worst thing about being a water demon? You can’t tell your husbands apart. Of course, it doesn’t help when your newest mate-to-be disguises himself as his brother to win your hand.

Prince of Land and Fire (Three Brothers Fair 2): Against his will, Lord Tian has fallen for a magical land creature — a gnome. Prophecy says he must wed a land creature and become a destroyer and spy. When Tian and Alastair play at BDSM and love they set in motion the destruction of the status quo.

The Zephyr Prince (Three Brothers Fair 3): Andy is the eldest son of the ruling kelpie family. His two brothers have found their lovers, in accordance with an often-misunderstood prophecy. Now it’s Andy’s turn…

Get it at Amazon

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Emily Carrington
Excerpt from Prince of Seas

Comfortable in the high-backed armchair, Hans watched his brothers.

“The hair dye won’t stay for more than a few hours.” Tian grimaced at his reflection. “Andy, what the hell’m I supposed to do?”

Andy didn’t look away from the book on his desk. “You could start by not croaking like a new-hatched chick.”

The armchair was positioned in a corner, well out of the way of the teasing and annoyance that always flew between Tian and Andrew Weinberg. With a mug to warm his hands, Hans smirked. He loved listening to his brothers bicker without true heat.

Tian stalked over to the desk and gave one of its legs a hard kick.

The book jumped, but Andy didn’t react.

“What’m I gonna do?” Tian’s voice rose. “He’s a hideous, self-centered water demon.”

“Is there any other kind?” Hans asked, his voice barely audible to his own ears. Although he thought Prince Felimid mac Lugh rather attractive for a water demon. Yes, his skin tended to resemble that of an eczema sufferer when he walked in air-breather form, but his grace when he swam… Hans drank deeply of his tea in an effort to hide the flush of his cheeks with the liquid’s heat. In an effort to distract himself, he considered the archaic form of the prince’s last name. Mac meant “son of.” And lugh was some sort of sea god. The space between both names wasn’t common anymore, but from what Hans knew, the mac Lughs were a highly traditional people.

Tian stomped back to the mirror and whined, “Andrew, help me.”

“You’re pathetic.” But Andy got up from his desk at last and crossed to Tian. “You know our bodies don’t hold human chemicals well. Why did you waste time trying?”

Hans watched as Andy flicked a hand through Tian’s hair. Gray dye flaked off into the air and dropped to the carpet.

“Were you thinking to pretend you’re an ancient mortal?” Andy raked his fingers over the part in Tian’s chestnut mass. “The prince — or at least his parents — know we’re triplets. The moment Hans and I walk into the room, your secret will be out.”

Color blazed high in Tian’s cheeks, but his voice carried less prissy outrage and more fear. “I wanted to make myself unattractive to him. I’m too young to be married off this way.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male, female/female, and transgender romance. She has been writing since 2011 and has dedicated her career to two universes: SearchLight and Sticks and Stones. SearchLight is all about magical creatures finding their HEA, and Sticks and Stones finds happily-ever-afters for her contemporary characters. Sticks and Stones tends to happen in small towns, whereas SearchLight happens all up and down the East Coast and across the United States.

New at Changeling Press: Cunning Man by Lena Austin #urbanfantasy #PNR #gay @Lena_Austin @changelingpress

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St. John Everett ekes out a living as a bartender in New Orleans. Then the pandemic strikes and things begin to shut down — including the bar where he works. Things start looking up when Jin is notified that he’s inherited a cottage in England from a great-uncle he knew nothing about. Out of a job, with no employment opportunities on the horizon, Jin boards a plane to London.

He falls immediately in love with the small cottage and the tiny village of Manuden, and in lust with his new solicitor, Rick Harrow. But Rick isn’t just his solicitor. He’s descended from a long line of Guardians of the local Cunning Man — the title and powers Jin inherited along with the cottage. No longer just a bartender, Jin is now a legendary male witch who uses prophecy, herbalism, and witch bottles to protect the local community.

With his three magical white mice, his Guardian/lover, and the Witches of Essex, Jin must use his new powers as The Cunning Man to save the village, his lover, and his new friends from a pandemic gone wild. And who knows? If his talent making witch bottles is as good as it is with juggling booze bottles, he might even save the world.

Save 15% Today at Changeling Press

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Lena Austin

Jin sat in stunned silence with the rest of the employees of the Last Call Bar, just off Bourbon Street. The smell of the recently departed customers — a combination of sweat, smoke, booze, and musk — still clung to the air. No one moved or spoke until Jenny rasped out one short sob. Then all hell broke loose.

“What do you mean, we’re closing?”

“How long, Barry? How long will this fucking pandemic lockdown last? I got bills to pay!”

Barry looked ready to cry. He was a dead ringer for Santa despite the aloha shirt he wore year-round. Jin knew why and jumped up and put his thin arms around the big man for a sideways hug. Barry’s whole body shook with a sigh.

Jin turned to his coworkers and gave them his best Calm Down look. Every bartender had one. Even while Jin quite literally juggled bottles, he usually could quell all but the rowdiest with his. He waited until they all subsided. “We all know Barry’s brother just died up in New York because of this. Even if the pandemic seems isolated to New York and Washington right now, none of us are stupid enough to think it’s going to stay there. Barry’s just being preemptive. You all know it’s coming, and we work in a place where everyone is spreading their germs all over each other and us.” He grinned wryly at them all. “Booze isn’t anything folks need to live. Time for us to think ahead. What do folks need when they’re trapped in their houses and afraid to come out? Food? Like, delivery? Everyone, get your butts out there and hire yourself to all the food delivery places. Pizza, grocery delivery, whatever. Your side hustles just became your main income. Barry can call us when he reopens. Right?”

This was his one secret gift, in action. He’d always had the ability to read a situation, organize it, and usually could find a solution to the chaos out of the millions of weird facts he locked in storage in his brain. He hated it, most of the time. It felt Machiavellian, like playing chess with real people. This time, it felt right to use it.

There were mumbles, but almost everyone had their thinking caps on instead of panicking. That was the main thing. Barry generously handed out a split of the night’s money, giving everyone a chance to ramp up their side hustle or go find other work. He got hugs and murmured words of reassurance in return. By 3 AM, most had cleaned up and departed.

Jin helped Barry lock up the bar and took home the celery and food in the bar fridge. He would enjoy the garnishes as a meal before bed. He didn’t like admitting it to his now-former coworkers, but he knew he’d have the hardest time finding a delivery job. He didn’t own a car. He rode a bike, walked, or took public transportation. He’d never learned to drive. Orphans who aged out of the foster system didn’t have the advantage of parents to teach them. He didn’t know how to do anything but serve in restaurants and tend the bar. Well, that and peddle his assets. That’s what he’d done as a hungry, lonely teenager, and if necessary, he’d sell blowjobs again. But that was the last resort. Well, not quite the last resort. He could use his degree for once. He’d bet even his bachelor’s in medical plant chemistry would be needed. He gave one bark of derisive laughter. Who would have guessed his useless degree might come in handy? In the meantime, he’d need an income. He had to pay rent. Student loans were the bulk of his budget but rent made sure you didn’t sleep in the rain. Therefore, rent money was a top priority.

Well, he’d have to look around at the local food joints to see who might need… shit. What? New Orleans wasn’t closing down yet, but it would. And Bourbon Street would become a ghost town. Jin rode his bike down the dark streets of early morning New Orleans and pedaled home. He reminded himself he had time. A few weeks, probably. Then every major city would shut down. Louisiana would be one of the last because New Orleans depended on the tourist industry. That was just an economic reality. Jin shuddered, knowing he was living in a giant Petri dish. Masks. He’d need masks. Maybe that was a side hustle he could do. He could sew. He just didn’t have a sewing machine. Maybe he could borrow one or find one in a thrift store. Okay, option one. Sew masks. That was a start.

The gates to his apartment were wide open, and Jin turned into the driveway and sped to the back of the large house and right up to the side of the former carriage house. He locked his bike to the stair as an improvised gate and made his way up to the little studio apartment he called home. His mail was tucked into the basket by the door as usual, but this time a large manilla envelope bulged out above the junk mail. Curious, Jin grabbed it all and got inside. His top hat and purple coat were hot in the humid early spring air, and he was happy to get out of the steampunk outfit he wore as a sort of trademark. In a matter of minutes, he had a mug of tea and the curious envelope in his hand. Barefoot and in loose cotton pants, he blinked at the address.

“To Mr. St. John Everett…”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Someone cursed Lena Austin with “may you have a life so full you’ll have many tales to tell your grandchildren.” Lena’s a “fallen” society wench with a checkered past. She’s been a licensed minister, hairdresser, Realtor, radio DJ, exotic dancer, telephone service tech, live-steel medievalist swordswoman, BDSM Mistress, and investment property manager. Not necessarily in that order. She never finished that degree in marine archaeology, but did learn to scuba — she’s got a lifetime of “Research material!”

Hey, why waste these stories on kids who won’t listen anyway? Writing them down is a nice way to spend her retirement. What? You expected an ex-BDSM Mistress to take up crocheting or something?

Awakening by Mikala Ash #steampunk #romance @Ash_Mikala @changelingpress

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Anne Device, daughter of a prostitute turned spiritualist, has seen it all — degradation, desperation, anger, pain, and sorrow. Unbroken by the rough and dirty streets of Whitechapel, Anne’s world revolves around her family — her mother, sister, and brother.

Enter the charismatic and attractive Lord Carlyle, a gentleman magician who sees in Anne the potential to move worlds. For the first time Anne experiences the magic of romantic love. A rags to riches story she’d only imagined possible in a Faerie tale.

On her glorious wedding night she willingly gives her body, but the days that followed will test her very soul.

Get it at Changeling Press

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Mikala Ash

I await my husband.

My name is Anne Device. I am nineteen years of age, and this is my wedding night. Already I am in error. Is this the first lesson of my new life? That it is not possible to truly let go of the past?

My new name is Lady Anne Carlyle, the virgin bride of Lord Lucian Carlyle of Lancashire.

How grand that sounds. I whisper it aloud, over and over, hoping it is all real, and not some silly and impossible dream. I began this chronicle to quell my nerves, for truly, my hand holding the quill trembles, and ink drops litter the page like the footprints of a confused imp.

My husband, how strange it is to write those words, for they seem to resonate in my mind like the incantations spoken to create an earthquake or a tumultuous storm at sea.

My husband, my husband, my husband, my husband.

Indeed, what tremors will I soon experience in the marriage bed behind where I sit?

I read what I have written, and a strong desire has taken an irresistible hold. I seem compelled to record my new life so I can remember in my dotage what these times are like. The more I think about it I realise general sentiments will probably mean little to my future self. In fifty years will I remember the context? Probably not. With that in mind I’ve decided to keep as detailed a record as possible of my new state, and how it came about.

My husband, Lucian, is downstairs in his marvellous library. “Prepare yourself, my little dove,” he had said when his closest friends, a curious collection of serious men of science had left. “I return you to your mother’s care for a final word before you become Lady Carlyle in spirit as in law.”

Lady Anne Carlyle. I wonder if I should ever get used to the title, or indeed to people bowing and curtsying as I pass, as they did today at the church.

To think, ten years ago I was barefoot with dirty rags draped over my scrawny shoulders, with my empty belly growling like a wild dog while I hawked matches on the corner of Commercial and Fournier Streets in Spitalfields. Gone now from my life were the slums where my mama sold herself to soldiers and sailors in the cramped room that also housed my younger brother and sister. Jennet and James, both of different fathers, and both unlike me in nature and disposition. Fragile Jennet so meek and mild, and James boisterous and impatient. That James would turn to soldiering was no surprise. He saw enough of them to acquire their rough ways and wanderlust. The mystery was how Jennet and I remained intact. How my mama withstood the temptation to sell our virginity, for we would have drawn a goodly price, is testament to the fact that she has principles, though she disguised them well enough when dealing with her men.

How to explain my conversion from ragamuffin with dirt smudged on my hollow cheeks to a sweet-smelling young woman able to attract the love of a lord? Though seemingly miraculous, and I will not deny the magical quality of the transition, the reason is simple enough.

My mama loves us. Of that there is no doubt. No matter the countless difficulties she endured and overcame, she insisted on educating us. In between male callers and our jobs; my selling lucifers on the corner with Jennet shivering beside me, and James off running telegrams for tuppence a day, she taught us our letters and sums, and how to behave in front of our betters. I grew up on a healthy diet of penny shockers, and sensational novels published in serial form. My favourite stories were those rags to riches tales. I enjoyed them because they were so fanciful, and for a little time they took me out of the squalor that was my daily fare. Never did I imagine I would emulate my brave and virtuous heroines. Mama instructed me in other things denied to Jennet and James. Things I was ordered never to speak about, lest we all ‘end up dangling at the end of a rope.’ A rule I am now breaking, though none shall read this but my future self.

Though he does not know everything about us, Lord Carlyle is fully aware of our lowly state, Mama’s pitiful occupation, and what she had sacrificed for her children. We have hidden little of that time from him. It bothers him not. That is a miracle, and one for which I am grateful.

So much for that chapter of my life. That strange creature who bore my name is gone forever, and I now embark on a new story. I will awaken in the morn a different person. A woman.

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.

Sidetracked (Q for Quarantine) by Lauren Alsten #RomCom #BDSM #contemporaryromance @LaurenAlsten @changelingpress

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Sidetracked (Q for Quarantine) by Lauren Alsten
Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Angela Knight
Genres: Romantic Comedy, Suspense, BDSM,
Contemporary Romance, Second Chance Romance
 
 

Librarian Allison Callahan, aka “Encyclopedia Allie,” has always loved her steadfast and dependable best friend, Dane. She’s just never admitted it to anyone, including herself. But Dane keeps trying to kiss her, and it’s changing their relationship status from friend-zone to danger-zone. Sure, Allie wants more, but what if Dane finds out she likes her hanky panky with a side of spanky?

He’ll freak, that’s what. So she rebuffs his advances, tries to shake things up… and unbeknownst to him, discovers one of his best-kept secrets.

Meanwhile, Dane is so frustrated he fantasizes about taking Allie over his lap. A good spanking would serve her right for refusing to acknowledge what they both already know: they’re perfect for each other. But he’s so busy trying to make partner at his law firm, he doesn’t notice something’s a bit off about his bestie.

Between the shock of the secret she never knew and her lukewarm launching of the library’s virtual book club, Allie’s ready to let loose. At her and Dane’s high school reunion, it’s clear they’re ready to take the next step, but after a red-hot night of lust and love, will the next morning’s Walk of Shame ruin everything?

 

Preorder for December 31, 2021

Available Now at Changeling Press

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021Lauren Alsten
 

Allie

Back when I was a kid, the library held a solemn mystique, a haven away from the mayhem of everyday life, the shrillness of school and a noisy neighborhood. The zigzaggy avocado-green carpet would always make me dizzy on the way to the card catalog, but I loved all the neat, half-handwritten, half-typed index cards. These days, no cards remain, except for a few relics memorialized in framed prints on the walls in stacks. The old pine cabinets have been retrofitted into mock-vintage PC terminals, where you can still search non-fiction’s trusty Dewey decimal system. Fiction titles are arranged much like a bookstore, and while the comfy green reader chairs now sit ten feet apart per regulations, the kids still move them. It’s no use scolding; nobody listens.

Following two rounds of quarantine, everyone is all too happy to get out and mingle, only now they mingle louder to compensate for their masks. Enforcing the face covering rule is hard enough, but keeping the noise level to a dull roar is an exercise in futility. I head back to my desk, irritated and defeated, recalling simpler times, when this institution was used for research instead of a social hangout.

Yes, I, Allison Callahan, the normally quiet, studious, and ultra-organized librarian… am cranky.

The past year’s been tough. Instead of slacking off and burying my nose in a book all day, I’m back at work patrolling the main floor. I’d much rather be devouring the latest release in my current genre obsession — erotic romance, which I nicknamed the Filthies. My e-reader contains over 200 of them, and my large roster of book boyfriends has taught me a few very important things. Mainly, that I’m a secret horndog with a preference for heavy-handed men.

I secretly lust after all the Filthies’ ass-slapping alphas. And… my real-life alpha best friend, Dane. He’s the man I’ve known for twenty years, the same man who, ever since he was involved in a minor accident a few months ago, has tried to kiss me every chance he gets. I don’t let him. It’s not because I don’t want to, or even because I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship (which I don’t), but because I’m…

… the biggest chickenshit on the planet. My Mom and my sister Tara would scold me for swearing, but really, chickenpoop just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

Now, between being unable to read and frustrated at having to learn video conferencing technology, my workday seems like it’s lasted forever. Dane texts the minute my shift ends, promising me dinner and a movie if I help him pack for his upcoming move. I drive over, kicking my pinchy shoes off as soon as I enter his bedroom. If he’s surprised, he hides it well. I hardly ever cross the threshold from the enormous living room into his private suite. He turns his imposing six-foot-two self toward me and smiles a little too big.

“Hey there, AllieKat. Take a seat. Just a few more boxes, and then we can watch Girl on the Train, okay? Pepperoni pizza is on the way, I got you a huge bag of kettlecorn, and there’s pumpkin pie for dessert.”

“What girl on which train? And triple yes on the ‘za, corn and pie.”

He opens his mouth to explain his movie choice, but I just laugh and flop backwards on the bed. It’s convenient when your bestie understands your serious sweet tooth. His bedroom isn’t so risky tonight since my sister and his brother are home. Tara and Jared have been playing house for over a month, trying to integrate her two cats and their new puppy, Bentley, who’s a holy terror. Bentley finally learned not to mess with the felines, but now he’s taken to stealing things and leading everyone on a mad chase around the house. Within five minutes of my arrival, he’s already stolen a potholder, the roll of packing tape, and a pair of Tara’s leather boots.

My usual propriety takes a backseat as I recline on Dane’s bed, his cool comforter sliding beneath my hands. I stare up at the ceiling, cross my bird-like legs and ponder how to mention the reunion without ticking him off. He already knows something’s up, though. Usually, I say no to Dane during the week; we’re both too busy. But he needs help packing, and I need to convince him our ten-year hybrid-virtual reunion this Saturday will be fun. After a year and a half of social miss-tancing and another four-month delay because two other venues cancelled, I need to hang out with old friends, in person. Safely, just not alone.

I’m still wary of running into Thomas Hyde. He was a no-show at our five-year and hasn’t RSVPed to this one yet. Thomas was our movie-star quarterback, the only boy who asked me to my senior prom. When he picked me up for the dance, he told me I was beautiful. Later, swaying to an angsty ballad, he whispered, “No man is ever going to want to date you, Allie Callie,” right before he abandoned me on the dance floor.

Was he a jerk? Absolutely. But his words wormed their way into my psyche: a man can tell you that you’re beautiful in one breath and dump you the next. Since then, I’ve had scant few dating offers (four, if I count one disastrous blind date) and even fewer boyfriends (two who couldn’t deal with my having a boy BFF).

My track record with men in general is sketchy, and with Dane specifically, it’s abysmal. One visit to his frat house at Harvard proved we weren’t meant to be. My teenage crush on Criss Angel came in handy, because nobody suspected I faked throwing back four shots. Only the fifth one was real, and I gagged. Malört is evil. I started acting tipsy, figuring it was now or never. I sat next to Dane, tried to French kiss him, and when that didn’t work, went for broke, pitching face-first into his crotch. Told him I wanted to lick his Danesicle. Disgusted, he picked me up and put me to bed — alone. I left him a note in the wee hours (claiming Malört Memory of the prior night’s events) and slunk back home to die a private death of mortification.

I used to think I was a prude, but after that, I knew Dane is the most sexually conservative person I’ve ever met. Even the word sex makes him cough and sputter. Tara’s extremely open, I’m more the “keep it under wraps,” type, and Dane — well, even his current bedroom furniture is prudish and perfunctory. Square, plain. Mission-style. As in “missionary.”

For now, I drag my mind out of the gutter and prop myself up with a pillow. Watching him sort and pack soothes me, his biceps flexing under the weight of heavy law books he’s dumping into random boxes. The sight of his corded forearms, the biceps hiding inside his tight Henley, the curve of his muscular thighs filling out his jeans. All these things turn me on, but tonight my heart races because I really need to sell Dane on the reunion thing. I don’t want to play the loner librarian, especially if Thomas shows. Overthinking is my specialty, so I swallow the lump of reticence to cue up my rehearsed Reunion Ruse. By the looks of it, I’m not the only one about to take a chance.

Dane is going to try to kiss me again. He always angles for a peck, usually on the cheek, and he’s predictable as ever: his face gets this dopey, hopeful expression, followed by the twitch of his left eyelid. It’s kind of cute, considering.

Mr. Twitchy would freak if he knew how sexually conservative I’m not. To him, I’m still Encyclopedia Allie, strait-laced, straight-A and headed straight for 2.25 kids in a white picket fence suburbia. Dane would never look at me the same again knowing I have less-than-vanilla preferences, and while I don’t think spanking is that strange, he would. People who color outside the lines, like my sister, make him uncomfortable. If he knew my preferences, he’d run. And if he did? I’d die.

So Dane trying to kiss me? Not going to happen. I love him too much as a friend. To him, I’m a nice, vanilla girl, and I want to stay that way, even if it means one day seeing him with someone else.

I still fantasize about him taking me over his lap and whipping my ass to a cherry red, though. I just keep that freaky little fantasy to myself.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

When she’s not obsessing over her latest characters and dreaming up meet-cutes for future books, Lauren Alsten loves photographing wildlife while hiking under a warm sun and bright blue skies. Her writing journey began with A-list movie star fan fiction, but these days she prefers penning humorous tales of emotional upheaval served with a side of snark. She currently lives with two ungrateful cats who never lift a paw to help around the house.
 
Find Laura Online: Website | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter 
 
 

 

 

New at Changeling Press: Phantom (Devil’s Boneyard MC) by Harley Wylde #mcromance #agegap #AsianHero @HarleyW_Writer

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Charisma — My mother died when I was a teen. My dad had never been in the picture, and I ended up in the system. When the high school quarterback took advantage, no one believed me. Then I landed in true hell… my foster mom was a monster who preyed on the children in her home. When I aged out of the system, I stayed in the hopes I could save the boys who were assigned to live with her. She let me, as long as I paid in blood. The never-ending cycle of abuse sickened me and wore me down. I felt powerless. Until he showed up. Phantom…

Phantom — My mission was simple. Find the woman preying on young boys and end her. I didn’t count on the bewitching young woman, little girl, and two boys living with the monster. Now they’re mine. My family. When their demons come searching for them, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep them safe. Even call in reinforcements from other clubs. Someone should have warned me I needed to protect myself as well. I never counted on Charisma’s dad showing up, nor could I have ever guessed who he was. Things just got complicated.

WARNING: Phantom contains darker subjects that may trigger some readers as well as bad language, violence, and adult situations. No cheating, no cliffhanger, and a guaranteed Happily-Ever-After.

Save 15% Today at Changeling Press

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Harley Wylde

Phantom

It had been a few months since I’d learned a hard truth. Something I should have suspected, if I’d paid closer attention. Instead, I’d been too caught up with my own life to dig deep into why my cousin seemed to be wired a little different from the rest of the family. Listening to him talk about the abuse he’d suffered, and right under our family’s nose, pissed me off to no end. How the hell had the babysitter gotten away with that shit without any of us knowing? Had my aunt and uncle really been that damn clueless?

It explained why Samurai had wanted to come stay here and prospect for my club. He’d been running, and no one had realized it until a tiny woman had noticed he was hurting. She’d seen something in him, a wounded creature she’d recognized every time she looked in the mirror and had been able to do something no one else had. She’d saved him.

I’d given myself a little time, let the news settle. Or more like roll around inside my brain and make my stomach burn every time I pictured that young woman hurting my cousin. Just because he’d gotten off didn’t make it right. She’d given him no choice in the matter. No wonder he’d always wanted to hold women down to fuck them. It had been the only control he’d ever had when it came to females.

Samurai had settled into his new life as a dad and husband. While he’d managed to put the past behind him, Heather still needed to pay for her crimes. I’d sleep better at night knowing she wasn’t out there somewhere, possibly still hurting boys. And I had a feeling it would lift a weight from Samurai’s shoulders as well.

I eyed the paper in my hand before looking up at Shade. “This everything?”

“More or less.”

“What’s the less?” I asked.

“Heather Grant, on paper, looks like a model citizen. She’s a foster parent, thanks mostly to her late husband’s money, but she has some questionable cashflow. I haven’t been able to trace it yet. Wire and Lavender offered to help if I can’t break through soon.”

“What else?”

He ran a hand over his freshly shaved jaw. “She only takes in boys, as a general rule. Until a decade ago. She took in a seventeen-year-old girl. After the girl aged out, she remained in Heather’s home. But there’s more. She was pregnant when she got there. Twins. One baby, a boy, was stillborn. Cord wrapped around his neck according to hospital records. I looked into the mom. Charisma Marsh. All her medical records indicate it was a healthy pregnancy, despite how she got that way. Girl claimed she was raped by the quarterback at her school. No one listened, and they brushed her aside.”

“You look into it?” I asked.

“I did. From what I can tell, the school and the boy’s parents did their best to make the problem go away. Official word in the files claims Charisma agreed to sex and felt guilty after so decided to yell rape. I call bullshit. The guy looks like a fucking douchebag. He went on to college, played ball there, and now he owns a car lot in town.”

“Seems like my trip may need to be extended a bit. The girl’s other baby was all right?”

Shade nodded. “Healthy little girl. Named her Nova Marsh. Kid is nine and seems healthy. I’m keeping tabs to make sure they make it away from Heather Grant in one piece. I’ve got a friend out that way. He owes me a favor. One call and he’ll get the two of them the hell out of there. I have a feeling the woman has some sort of hold over them.”

“Heather have any other kids in her home?” I dreaded his answer, especially when I saw the flash of pain in his eyes. It told me plenty.

“Two boys. One is twelve and the other is his fifteen-year-old big brother. Phantom, we need to get those kids out. Now. I’m not sure how much longer they can hold on, or if the oldest will make it out at all.”

“Explain.” I tossed the papers aside.

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!

Now in Paperback: Blood/Stryker by Marteeka Karland #mcromance #agegap @marteekakarland

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Blood (Salvation’s Bane MC 5)

Alizay — Nothing in my life could have prepared me for the man called Blood. He’s so sexy it actually hurts. Unfortunately he’s not a fan of physical therapy. I’m not sure any woman is strong enough to ignore him…

Blood — She thinks she’s leaving when she’s done with me, but I’ve got other plans for Alizay. When I drag out my recovery my club decides to bring Christmas to me. Bones, Salvation’s Bane, and the Shadow Demons, all under one roof. What could possibly go wrong?

Stryker (Salvation’s Bane MC 6)

Glitter: I work at Angels, and the crowd here loves me. Stryker’s looking out for me. For some reason he thinks I’m a magnet for trouble. I know what I want, and now that I’ve got his full attention, I’m going to prove him right.

Stryker: There’s another club encroaching on our territory, setting up a BDSM club as a front to run drugs. And who do I find right in the middle of the mess but Glitter. She’s their prisoner — a sub who has no idea what it means to be a sub — but she thinks she wants to learn. Challenge ‘effin accepted.

Get it at Amazon

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Marteeka Karland
Excerpt from Stryker

There was no possible way for Stryker to ignore the little pixie dancer twirling around the pole half naked. He’d been watching her every fucking night she’d worked for a couple of months now, unable to take his focus someplace else. Glitter was not a woman he’d normally pursue. She was too innocent for the likes of him. He’d known it from the moment she plopped herself down in the chair across from his desk and told him her name was Glitter. And that, yes, that was her real name. Laugh at his own peril.

But here he was. Prowling the main room at Salvation’s Angels instead of checking on things over at the Playground. So he could watch Glitter’s set. Or, more accurately, so he could watch Glitter. Period.

The girl haunted his dreams. She wasn’t what one would call a classic beauty, but she had a force of personality that everyone she met loved and wanted to soak up. When she danced on stage, she was a temptress. When she played off stage, she was like a little kitten. Stryker wasn’t normally attracted to the bubbly type, but Glitter was more than just her personality. He had no idea why, but underneath the sex appeal he sensed a vulnerable woman. There were times when Stryker could see her scanning the room when she thought no one was watching and she just looked… tired. Especially when she had to mediate one squabble or another with the girls in the dressing room. It was that vulnerability that fascinated Stryker and made him want Glitter with everything in him.

Well, tonight he was going to have her. He was a patched member of Salvation’s Bane, and she was an employee at Salvation’s Angels. They weren’t supposed to fraternize with each other, but Stryker wasn’t above bending a few rules. Thorn might kick his ass if he found out he’d fucked the bubbly little dancer, but it would be worth it. And any man who wouldn’t risk the wrath of his president to sample a woman didn’t want to taste her bad enough.

Finally, Glitter sashayed her sweet ass out onto the stage in front of the long runway. She was dressed as a naughty kitten, complete with a long, silky tail she twirled when she walked. When she turned around, she made the fucking thing dance as she shook her ass and snapped her hips back and forth like a belly dancer. As always, she had the crowd mesmerized with sexual electricity.

As she revealed inch after inch of creamy, lightly freckled skin, Stryker became wound tighter and tighter. He wanted her. Wanted her with a fierce passion that bordered on the insane. The mere fact that other men were watching from the floor below her nearly put him in a killing rage because they coveted what he considered his. Which was insane, because he would never let any woman of his work in a place like this. Not because he thought it was beneath her. On the contrary. He was proud of her. She was the most beautiful, most desirable woman there, and she should be proud to show everyone how truly gorgeous her body was. No. He’d never let her work here because he was a jealous son of a bitch. While he had no problem showing off his woman in public, he needed to be at her side when she stood there naked. Every man in the fucking place might know they could look, but he’d kill anyone who even thought about touching.

He watched Glitter as she danced, twirling around on the poles, spinning upside down in only the garter that held her tips. Her thong had long since come off. God! The things he could do to that lithe little body of hers! He’d fantasized about so many things since the first day he’d laid eyes on her. When he finally fucked her, it was going to take days to explore everything he’d imagined. Weeks even.

They were on the second of three tiers in Salvation’s Angels. Glitter always worked tier two. Occasionally she allowed a patron to take her to tier three for a lap dance, but it was rare. In fact, he’d only known of two times she’d done it. Both times the money she’d turned in as the house’s take had been astronomical.

The first tier of the club was like any other strip joint. The women kept on their thongs and generally went about topless the whole time. Lap dances were closely monitored, and the hands-off rule was strictly followed. Tier two was for patrons who were willing to pay more for admission, and dollar bills were swapped in favor of tens. But the girls were nude, there wasn’t an enforced hands-off policy on that tier. The girls didn’t have to allow touching if they didn’t want to be, but most of them enjoyed the interaction, and those who didn’t usually worked the first tier anyway.

The third tier was where the more uncensored lap dances were bought. Penetration was prohibited, but there had been more than one woman who’d allowed things to go further than strictly allowed. As manager of the club, Stryker gave the girls on this tier free rein. If they wanted to let their patron pay them for sex, who was he to stop it? As long as it was consensual and no one went blabbing to the cops, he couldn’t give two fucks. And the patrons paid enough for the privilege of being on that third floor that he knew they weren’t going to go to the cops. Any who might… well. They didn’t get as far as the second tier. The only hard and fast rule was that members of Salvation’s Bane were off limits. Not that the brothers would immediately claim a woman they’d fucked, but the Angels were a huge draw. If word got out there were brawls over women, they’d lose the wealthier clients who wouldn’t take kindly to the police raiding them every fucking night.

Tonight, Stryker decided he was going to take advantage of his role as manager and boss of the club. Maybe he wouldn’t get Glitter to let him fuck her, but he was getting a lap dance, and it would likely keep him awake at night with a horrible case of blue balls for a very long time.

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.