Category Archives: Teaser Tuesday

TEASER TUESDAY: The Damned (Anthology) #horror

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Anthology Stories Include:

 

The Drain, The Enforcers, The Fog, On a Spring Day, and The Trial.

 

Flash Fiction, Horror

Date To Be Published: September 23, 2023


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Bite-sized horror stories are brought to you by thirteen authors. From
creepy crawlies to the seemingly normal pets. From hideous monsters lurking
in the dark to charismatic people showing their true colors.

Each tale is precisely 100 words and leaves a long-lasting chilling effect.
Some will make you question the security of the world around you, and
what’s more terrifying than that?

Featuring drabbles from Storm Lomax, Jonathan Reddoch, Zari Hunt, Kellee
Kranendonk, Andreas Flögel, Simon Clarke, Jacek Wilkos, Ferenc K.
Zoltán, Vanessa Bane, C.L. Hart, Natascha Eschweiler, Angela
Zimmerman, and J.E. Feldman.

 

Excerpt


The Drain

Professor Vladimir Reed-Field wished he had never taken the job at
Miskatonic University. He’d never had problems like this when he was
teaching at the University of Hawaii. A volcanic eruption would be  a
welcome change over the sound coming from that damn kitchen sink.

The plumber from Blizzard Pipeworks could find nothing wrong with the
drain. She’d scoped it, snaked it, and performed a full flush. She
said that sometimes the plumbing in Arkham’s old houses just made odd
noises.

The problem wasn’t the pipes themselves. It was the thing inside the
pipes that kept whispering the professor’s name.

 

Purchase Your Copy Today

 

 

About the Author

C. L. Hart, the owner and sole employee of Naughty Netherworld Press, is
spoken of in hushed tones. She is described as The Mad Scribe of the
Northeastern Colorado Plains, The Terrible Old Woman, and The Author That
Should Not Be.

When not penning sanity-destroying works of dystopian fiction, Lovecraftian
fantasy, or old-school horror with the occasional sweet romance thrown in to
upset the cosmic apple cart, Ms. Hart enjoys creating baked goods she hopes
will be considered palatable.

Ms. Hart shares a home in a remote rural town of 134 souls with her adult
son and three cats. Her sense of fashion is best described as Early
Twenty-First Century Unmade Bed. This disabled former nurse can usually be
found arguing with herself about subplots or rehabilitating eldritch
horrors.

 

Follow C. L. Hart

C. L. Hart Amazon Author Page

Naughty Netherworld Press Blog

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TEASER TUESDAY: Antler and Bone by Siondalin O’Craig #PNR #Fantasy

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(Celtic Magic 5): Mabon –Autumnal Equinox

 

Paranormal / Fantasy / Women’s Fiction

Date Published: 09/15/2023

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC


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Maine artist Libby McNulty’s dreams are haunted by the terrifying Wild Hunt
of Celtic legend. As if that isn’t bad enough, the landlord threatens her
and her friends with eviction in order to turn their apartments into more
profitable condos.

Tom O’Sylvan is a reclusive combat vet who serves as the building manager.
When Libby discovers Tom is also the Huntsman, legendary leader of the Wild
Hunt, myth and ordinary life begin to collide. Can the two of them face
their demons to save each other from danger?

 

Excerpt

Copyright ©2023 Siondalin O’Craig

 

Libby McNulty reached a paint-spattered hand toward the chipped mug on the
counter, not turning her gaze from the six-foot-tall canvas standing on a
low easel. Her brush remained poised in the air. A drop of chartreuse paint
clung to its tip, quivering as if envious of the heavy raindrops splattering
the studio windows.

The image of the woman in the center of the canvas looked a lot like Libby,
or rather what Libby would have looked like if she were a goddess of the
hunt in medieval Ireland. The painted huntress wore a green velvet gown
instead of threadbare Lee jeans rolled up around her calves, and her auburn
ringlets bounced free under the canopy of autumn beech leaves, rather than
tucked haphazardly under a bandanna. In her left hand, the woman on the
canvas held a bow, while her right clenched an arrow rather than a
paintbrush. Their luminous chestnut eyes were exactly the same though;
alert, intent, seeing something beyond the edge of the picture.

Libby took a sip of her tea and grimaced. It had gone cold, and the milk
was sour. Its taste spread across her tongue and pulled her mind back inside
the white-washed wooden walls of her studio. She shivered.

The air was cold and damp, colder than it ought to be in September. Soon it
would be Mabon, the autumnal equinox, when the equal length of day and night
brought balance before the long winter slide, through the pumpkins and
trick-or-treating of Samhain, into the darkness of Yule on the longest night
of the year. Usually, the Mabon season meant sunny T-shirt days and warm
sweater nights, but the persistent rain this year had Libby shivering in her
plaid flannel shirt.

She set the mug back down on top of a folded letter pocked with tea stains.
The letter was signed by Dave Wolf, Vice President and Senior Partner of
James Carbill Real Property LLC. In other words, her landlord. It said
something about selling the building.

Despite the fact that she had a five-year lease with a renewal clause, the
letter made Libby uneasy. That lease had so much fine print, so many pages
she hadn’t read. Her anxiousness to sign something that said
she’d have a home and a place for her art for five years had her
putting blinders on, made her impatient.

She ran a chipped fingernail over the thick paper. It was signed in real
blue-black ink from an expensive fountain pen. Libby knew ink and pigments
better than leases; she made most of her own from bits of trees, flowers,
mushrooms, and stones that she gathered from the forest and rocky shore
surrounding this little town of Lisna, Maine. She was able to make ink and
paints from the plants and barks and stuff she found walking through the
woods — materials that were free to anyone who could read the land. Yet
that blessing was so easily used for evil rather than beauty. She pondered
how many people’s lives around the world had been changed, even
eliminated, by the stroke of ink on paper, wielded for power rather than
art.

But I have my lease, Libby reminded herself again. They can’t kick me
out, at least not for another five years. Over the drum of rain, Libby could
hear the creaking floorboards that rested overtop of her studio’s tin
ceiling, footsteps of her little band of apartment neighbors. Straight
overhead was the apartment of dear little KatieMor. Next to that, retired
lobsterman Jim Johnson lived with Mario Perkins. Jim with his cane and Mario
with his walker both relied on the Limerick Block elevator as the only way
they could stay living out their end days in their own hometown. Donna
Constantine, the librarian. The Halls, who had a business training
nonprofits how to organize. And Tom O’Sylvan — Tomayo — the building
manager. Libby often heard his distinctive footsteps heading down the stairs
and out the door late in the evening, his big black Irish wolfhound padding
by his side.

Fingering the triskele medallion she wore around her neck, Libby stepped
back and took another look at the painting. Behind the Libby-as-Huntress
stood a cloaked and hooded figure, its face obscured. They stood at the
edge-line between a harvested field and a late-autumn beech forest. The
Libby-Huntress looked off-canvas, toward where, in the real forest just
north of town that it was painted to resemble, a mysterious standing stone
jutted out of the ground in a mossy clearing. The stone — a foot taller
than Libby, and covered with a patchwork of pale green and orange lichens —
had become a grounding point for Libby in her many hours of wandering
through the woods, gathering fiddleheads, ramps, and nettles to eat, along
with oak galls and dyer’s polypore mushrooms to make ink and
paints.

That man whose face lay hidden below the dark hood haunted Libby’s
restless dreams. She could feel him now, pulling her out of her studio
again, out past the brick walls of the Limerick Block, beyond the small
bounds of the village of Lisna, back into the painting, back into the
trees.

The bright green drop of paint let go and landed with an audible plop on
one of Libby’s black canvas sneakers. Libby looked down.

I just need a good long walk, she thought. If only this rain would let up.
A few hours in the forest would set her back to rights, let her get some
sleep, some real sleep, a night without fractured bits of nightmare shocking
her awake. Visions of the stone, the hooded man, a hunt, and all-consuming
flame.

 

About the Author

Siondalin O’Craig writes romance with the slow burn of a peat fire on an
autumn night deep in the woodland hills. Sip a glass of Irish whiskey, turn
the page, and let the magic overtake you. Siondalin lives in the mountains
of New England where she walks under the trees celebrating the wheel of the
year, grows a luscious garden full of magical herbs, and plays a wicked
Irish fiddle. Follow her on Facebook and email her at
siondalinocraig@gmail.com to sign up for her newsletter.

 

Author’s Facebook

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, and Twitter:
@changelingpress


Pre-Order Today



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TEASER TUESDAY: Maui (Savage Raptors MC) by Harley Wylde #mcromance #agegap

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Savage Raptors MC, Book 3 – A Dixie Reapers Bad Boys Romance

 

Motorcycle Club Romance

Date Published: June 23, 2023

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

 

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Casey — It’s been a year since I showed up on my dad’s doorstep with my
surprise, you have a daughter bomb. He took me in. Gave me the first true
home and family I’ve ever had. But now I want more. There’s been one man
who’s always watching over me. Maui. He’s one of the club’s officers, and so
much older than me. To me, age is just a number. Does he feel the same? Or
is he only taking care of me because I’m his President’s daughter? With
Maui, I want everything, but will he want someone as broken as me?

Maui — I told myself I was too old for her. Tried to just be her friend.
Then I hear her screaming in her sleep, and I realize what types of monsters
she’s been fighting on her own. She needs me, and I need her. Whatever it
takes, Casey and her baby will be mine. But first, I need to get a little
bloody because there’s no way I’m letting anyone live after they’ve hurt my
family. I’ll wipe them off the face of the earth so Casey won’t be scared
anymore. I hope she accepts the darker side of me. Either way, she’s mine
and I’m hers.

 

WARNING: Content intended for adult readers. Maui contains darker subjects
which might trigger some readers, as well as violence and bad language.
Guaranteed happily ever after. No cheating. No cliffhanger.

 

 

 

EXCERPT

Copyright ©2023 Harley Wylde

 

Maui

Everyone thought Casey would be excited to celebrate her birthday. The
young woman I’d been watching didn’t look like today was the
least bit special. She’d been through hell. If anyone had a right to
not feel like celebrating, it was her. She’d shown up at the
clubhouse, seventeen and pregnant, and I knew it had been a big blow for her
dad. The Pres had never mentioned having a woman, or a kid. I wondered how
long it had festered inside him, hiding all the pain of losing his
family.

During the time I’d spent with Casey since she arrived, I’d
learned quite a bit about her. Like the fact she’d never really
celebrated her birthday, wouldn’t divulge the name of the guy
who’d knocked her up, and she planned to live her life for her
daughter. She’d taken on a lot of responsibility, and I’d done
my best to help her shoulder some of it.

Which was why I found myself on her porch, with Rebel. Atilla and Solena
had sent us over with a note. Basically, we were to let her pick who she
wanted to spend the day with, then give her a memorable birthday. Just not
memorable enough to have Atilla threaten our lives. He’d already made
sure we knew what would happen if we touched his precious daughter.

“You going to knock?” Rebel asked.

“You do it.” I was an asshole. Why did I make him knock?
Because if we woke up Casey, I didn’t want to be the one at
fault.

She opened the door and looked like she might drop at any second.

“Hey, guys. Did Dad send you over to get me?”

Rebel flashed her his signature grin, guaranteed to drop panties, and I
fought the urge to throat punch him. Instead, I shoved my hands in my
pockets and let him dig his own grave. She didn’t look ready to handle
his bullshit today.

“You have a choice,” Rebel said. “The note explains
it.”

He handed her the envelope. I knew what was inside. A birthday card from
her dad and Solena, along with a message from each. I’d read it as
they’d written it earlier. Atilla had kept things somewhat simple. You
have a choice to make. I asked Rebel to take you to dinner, dancing, and
make sure you had the best birthday ever.

Then there was Solena’s message, which was why I hadn’t dressed
up too much before coming over. Unlike Rebel, who’d styled his hair,
doused himself in cologne, and gone all out. Solena was on my side, and her
message proved it. Maui is there to give you whatever you really need for
your birthday. I doubt it’s a night out on the town like your dad
thinks. But you should know both were threatened with death and
dismemberment if they laid a hand on you.

Casey snickered after reading the card. Good. She needed to laugh
more.

“So, which of us will you be spending the night with?” Rebel
asked, wagging his eyebrows at her suggestively. She shook her head at his
antics. If he wasn’t such a nice guy, I’d have been tempted to
kick his ass right off the porch.

“I hate to disappoint you both, but…”

“You aren’t up for going out,” I said. That meant I had a
better shot at spending time with her than Rebel. “When did you last
sleep?”

“I sleep every night,” she muttered.

“You know what I mean,” I said. “Don’t be a
smartass.”

She sighed and rubbed her hand over her face. “Becca had a fever, and
she’s still having reflux. I still have to be careful if I don’t
want her to throw up her food.”

“She’s eight months now, isn’t she?” I asked.

“Yeah. I’m starting to get her mashed up banana, yogurt, and
other things like that. Those do better with her than the pureed baby food.
Do the two of you want to come in?” Casey asked.

Rebel shook his head. Smart man. “I think I’ll head out. I hope
you’ve had a happy birthday, Casey. I’ll take you out for lunch
sometime soon.”

Sure he would. Over my dead body. As much as I didn’t want to be one
of those asshole cavemen, when it came to Casey, all bets were off. I
didn’t like how close she’d gotten with Rebel. At the same time,
I knew she needed the support of everyone around her. It felt like I was
caught between a rock and a hard place.

He waved as he stepped off the porch and wandered off into the night. I
studied Casey, wondering if she was still okay with me going inside.
She’d never turned me away, but typically I came over to help with
Becca. Tonight, it would only be the two of us. I’d heard Atilla
offered to babysit. Had he already picked her up? Lately, it felt like
something was building between me and Casey, but I didn’t know if it
was wishful thinking on my part. Casey could have any man she wanted.

For a lot of people, the age gap between us would be too much. As far as I
was concerned, it was just a number. Who the hell cared? As long as it
didn’t bother Casey, then I was fine with it. Her dad might take a
little convincing, although he tried not to be too overbearing after not
being part of her life for so long. As he often said, she’d grown up
just fine without his input.

“You coming in?” she asked, taking a step back.

“Where’s Becca?” I scanned the room as I entered her tiny
home. Solena had mentioned babysitting, but it didn’t mean they
already had her. I’d assumed it was only Casey at home right now, but
it might not be the case. If Becca was here, I wasn’t about to send
her away.

“She’s sleeping at Dad’s tonight. Now I know why he took
her.” She patted my arm. “I really appreciate you wanting to
take me out for my birthday. I’m sorry I’m not up for
it.”

“It’s your day, Casey. Which means we do whatever you want.
Looks to me like you need some help around here more than you need dinner
and a movie. Although, there’s no reason we can’t still do that
right here.” I rolled up my shirt sleeves. She could relax while I
cleaned, cooked, and prepared a special night for her.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” she asked.

“Go take a hot bath or a nap. Your choice. I’ll pick up around
here and get dinner going. Any requests?” I asked.

“No. Anything is fine.” She paused before going into her room.
“Solena brought over a cake this morning. We can have some for
dessert. It has fruit filling and whipped frosting.”

“Already had some?” I smiled, picturing her digging into the
cake. Her cheeks flushed, and she nodded. So damn cute. “Go relax.
I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

I picked up what little trash I found in the main living areas, emptied her
kitchen garbage can, loaded the dishwasher, and dug through the cabinets to
figure out what I’d cook. I’d just preheated the oven when my
phone started vibrating in my pocket. I’d turned the ringer off, not
wanting anyone to disturb my time with Casey.

Wire’s name flashed across the screen, and I knew I needed to take
the call.

“Find something?” I asked. It had been months, and so far,
neither he nor Lavender had dug up anything. Except they said the
guy’s record was too clean, as in it had been doctored by
someone.

“Maybe. We know who his closest friends were back then. They
aren’t quite as clean as Casey’s ex. One is currently doing time
for rape. Another left the country, and the third is still in the same town
as Casey’s ex. They have a beer together at least once a
week.”

“That’s all?” I asked.

“Lavender has an idea who cleaned the kid’s records. If she can
get in touch with the hacker responsible, and feel him out, we might be able
to put a few pieces of the puzzle together. Just don’t hold your
breath.”

I whistled. “Man, you mean to tell me there’s something the two
of you can’t do? I’m in shock right now.”

“Shut it, fucker. We aren’t getting any younger, and some of
the fresh blood out there is nearly as good as we were at their age. Give
them time, and a few might surpass us.”

“Keep me posted. It’s her eighteenth birthday today, so
I’m at her place making dinner. If I don’t answer, I’ll
call back when I can.”

“Understood.”

I ended the call and put my phone away before working on dinner again.
I’d found bell pepper and onion in the fridge, as well as hamburger
meat and shredded cheese. While Casey didn’t seem to have any taco
shells, I’d found some taco bowls. I baked them in the oven while I
browned the meat and veggies, seasoning it enough to add some flavor without
making it too strong for Casey. Cilantro lime rice was the next thing to
start. Dinner might not be fancy, but I knew it was something she liked,
since I’d made it for her before. Unless she’d lied to spare my
feelings. Too late to worry about it now.

Once everything was done, I set the table and called out to her.

“Casey, dinner is done.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” she said.

I hadn’t realized she’d come out of her room and gone into the
bathroom until I heard the water sloshing before the sound of the tub
draining. I cleared my throat and adjusted myself. The thought of her
standing just one room away, and naked, had my cock’s full attention.
Last thing I needed was to sport wood when she came out of there. She might
very well run screaming from the house.

Since I’d never cared much for sweet tea, Casey always kept some soda
stocked. She’d offered to keep beer in the fridge for the times I
dropped by, but I wasn’t a big drinker. Not to mention I didn’t
want to drink around Becca. My brother had driven his car off the side of a
winding highway, down an embankment, and into the ocean. He’d been
drunk off his ass and the accident had kept me from alcohol for a long time.
I had the occasional drink with my club brothers, but it didn’t happen
often.

I set out a soda for me and a glass of tea for Casey. She came to the table
wearing an off-the-shoulder top and leggings. Barefoot. The woman was
driving me crazy, and she wasn’t even trying.

About the Author

Harley Wylde is an International Bestselling Author of MC Romances. 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.

Author’s Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook: @harleywylde

Author on Twitter: @HarleyW_Writer

Publisher on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram: @changelingpress

 

Preorder Today

 

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TEASER TUESDAY: Giant’s Garden by Siondalin O’Craig #DarkFantasy #Suspense

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(Celtic Magic, Book 4)

 

Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal Women’s Fiction, Romance,
Suspense, Urban Fantasy

Date Published: June 16, 2023


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A grant to do doctorate work in a bleak corner of Northern Ireland is Penny
Gallagher’s last chance to find her wings and break free of her
oppressive industrialist boyfriend.

When she finds her time there has been engineered for her boyfriend’s
profit, it takes a voiceless giant of a man to help her discover her own
magic.

 

Excerpt

Copyright ©2023 Siondalin O’Craig

 

Penny

The Giant’s Causeway

Sean Feeney took another long drag from his pocket flask. Heavy gold chains
around his wrist grated against the flask’s metal rim. Penny Gallagher
watched him sway unsteadily in his skinny designer jeans and black Converse
high tops.

He reached out and draped his bony arm around her shoulders. She
couldn’t tell whether it was to keep himself from falling over or an
awkward maneuver meant to be making a pass at her.

She hoped it was the latter. First off, they were standing at the top of a
cliff. Not just any cliff, but a bare, windswept cliff tumbled with black
hexagonal stone columns jutting out into the North Channel of the Irish Sea
between the north coast of Ireland and the west coast of Scotland. If Sean
dropped onto those lichen-pocked rocks it would mean a fatal mess involving
a lot of paperwork and long, dim conversations with uniformed authorities.
And if I fell… no, she told herself firmly, we’re not going
down that line of thinking right now.

Secondly, she hadn’t gotten laid since James Carbill threw her over
six months ago for some new interior designer he had fallen for. And to tell
the truth, she had not been laid decently for months before that.
James’s steel-blue eyes had started wandering elsewhere long before
that ugly day when he’d told her that she needed to move out of the
Beacon Hill apartment he had been keeping her in, and that both of her
positions — as his personal assistant, and as his sexual partner and dinner
party arm candy — were terminated effective immediately.

James had softened the blow a bit by pulling some strings to secure this
grant so she could finish her doctorate degree in psychology from
Boston’s Fauntel University, and that’s how she wound up
standing on top of a windy cliff, watching Sean’s long, shaggy blond
hair blow into his eyes, which were fixed vacantly on the horizon.

She reached up to her shoulder and twined the fingers of her right hand
with Sean’s, hoping to lower the odds that they’d both go off
the cliff. The smell of salt spray on stone mingled with alcohol fumes. She
reached for his flask with her left.

“Give me a hit of that,” she said, raising her voice over the
wind. “You can’t have all the fun yourself.”

He handed her the flask absent-mindedly, its cap dangling from a little
silver chain. She took a swig. Smoky, peaty whiskey seeped into her tongue
and the flesh of her throat, straight into her bloodstream. She would swear
it never even hit her stomach.

“All this,” Sean said, gesturing broadly with a wobbling sweep
of his arm. Penny braced her feet, but they did not topple over. “When
you write your… your… thing.”

“My thesis.”

“Your thee, your thing. On all this. You’ll make millions of
dollars. We’ll all make millions of dollars. Because everyone will
want it.”

Penny took another hit of the whiskey. It felt mellower this time, as if
she and the whiskey were getting acquainted. “No one ever made
millions of dollars on their psychology doctorate thesis,” she
said.

“Oh, but you will.” Sean turned around, his face close to hers,
and poked her hard in the chest with the point of his index finger.
“You will. I will. Everyone will. Because this,” he swept his
arm out again along the horizon, “this is the Giant’s Causeway.
You’ll write about why it makes people feel so good — you feel good,
right?”

Penny nodded skeptically. He didn’t wait for her response before
rambling on.

“Because it makes people feel so good that they will all want to live
here, and I’m selling my land to the American developer who will give
them all a place to live. And everyone else will too. Just as soon as you
are done.”

Penny smirked and shook her head. It’s true that her doctorate
proposal had talked about the intersection of landscape and psychology, and
the grant that James had helped her secure had sent her to this bleak,
forsaken, vertical drop-off to write about it. But in point of fact, she had
not yet started writing, and now that she was here, she could not for her
life figure out what to write about.

“Sean, you handsome devil,” she said. “It’s a pile
of rocks.” Basalt, she noted to herself, recalling one of the
guidebooks she’d read on the plane. Lava from a volcanic episode,
cooled slowly, formed hexagonal columns. Why do people find the myths more
interesting than the science?

 

 

About the Author

 Siondalin O’Craig writes romance with the slow burn of a peat fire on
an autumn night deep in the woodland hills. Sip a glass of Irish whiskey,
turn the page, and let the magic overtake you. Siondalin lives in the
mountains of New England where she walks under the trees celebrating the
wheel of the year, grows a luscious garden full of magical herbs, and plays
a wicked Irish fiddle. Follow her on Facebook and email her at
siondalinocraig@gmail.com to sign up for her newsletter.

Publisher on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram: @changelingpress

 

 

Preorder Today



RABT Book Tours & PR

TEASER TUESDAY: Atlas (Iron Tzars MC) by Marteeka Karland #mcromance #agegap #suspense @marteekakarland @RABTBookTours @changelingpress

Posted on by

Iron Tzars MC, Book 4

Motorcycle Club Romance, Age Gap, Suspense

Date Published: May 12, 2023

 

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Bellarose — My drive to my new job didn’t go as planned. Me and my
“photographic memory” got lost, ending up on a private road in
the middle of Nowhere, Indiana. Worse, I got a flat. And it was getting
dark. When a dangerous, sexy biker stops to help, I’m not sure if
I’m fortunate or not. Double that when I find myself mashed against
said dangerous, sexy biker with him kissing me like he wants to devour me.
Then things get really weird.

Atlas — I’m in so much trouble. Not only in the girl in my care the
most enchanting woman I’ve ever encountered, she’s the daughter
of one of the richest men in the world who happens to also be one third of
the Shadow Demons. Which means, that kiss I stole might have signed my death
warrant. Every instinct I have is telling me I need to call in my brothers
to get her out and end the operation I’ve been deeply embedded in for
months. But my little hellion has other ideas. I just hope we haven’t
waited too long. If I have, we’re both dead.

WARNING: Graphic violence, adult situations, and references to human
trafficking and domestic abuse that may be triggers for some readers. Happy
ending and, as always, no cheating.

 

EXCERPT

Copyright ©2023 Marteeka Karland

 

Atlas

What a fucking mess. This fucking club in Terre Haute was rotten to the
fucking core. I knew enough about it to make it implode with all the secret
deals going on inside, but I hadn’t been given the go ahead from
Sting, our president. Iron Tzars was an old MC, dating back to World War II.
Back then, they’d been off-the-radar Nazi hunters. Meaning, they
killed any they found and didn’t ask permission from anyone to do it.
Now we hunt down pedophiles and human trafficking rings. Occasionally we
infiltrate domestic terrorist organizations, but most of those are on the
government radar, and we let the FBI and ATF do their thing. This bunch,
however…

They were as sadistic a bunch as I’d ever seen. Not only did they
have their hands into the obligatory guns and drugs, the women and girls
they took weren’t trafficked. Oh no. They kept them. Used them. It had
put me in a tenuous position because I couldn’t keep my cover at the
expense of innocents. With the help of my brothers at Iron Tzars, I’d
managed to pull all of the underaged girls out — there weren’t many,
thank God. There were two other women still in the compound. One was happy
to be there. Said so herself as she took one man after another with a smile
on her face. The other one… wasn’t in good enough shape to
express her wishes.

That had been two months ago. Nothing had changed except I’d gotten
the leader of this bunch to leave the unwilling woman alone. It
wouldn’t last long, though. The willing woman was fast becoming an
unwilling woman. Which meant I’d run out of time.

I drove down the road back to the compound. The bike I was on was an older
chopper, but it was still a Harley, if heavily customized. It wasn’t
my own bike, but I tried to still treat it with respect. The meeting
I’d just had, the plans being put into action, had me on the extreme
edge. Which was likely why I nearly missed the woman crouched on her knees
beside a new-model Ford on the side of the road.

I swerved, and I thought I heard her scream. Pulling over to the side of
the road, I looked back over my shoulder. She was flat on her ass, gasping
for breath. When she glanced in my direction, she scrambled to her feet and
snagged the tire iron next to the car, holding it like a baseball bat.

With a scowl, I turned the bike around and drove the hundred feet or so
back to her car before stopping and shutting it off.

“Did I hit you?” Despite my worries, I never wanted to hurt an
innocent. The mere fact I hadn’t seen her until I was right on top of
her showed how distracted I’d been. A mistake like that could get me
killed in this fucking club.

“I — I…”

“Come on, girl! Are you hurt?” I snarled the question like a
demand. Which it was. She took a step backward and rounded the back of the
vehicle, putting the car between me and her.

“Don’t come any closer! I know how to use this!”

I couldn’t help but snort. “That thing probably weighs more
than you do. Now, tell me if I hit you with the bike, li’l
bit.”

She shook her head slightly. “No.”

I glanced at the driver’s-side rear tire. Sure enough, it was flat.
“Do you need help?” Again, she shook her head but didn’t
relax one bit. I sighed, scrubbing a hand over my beard. I didn’t need
this. Not now. “Look. We got off on the wrong foot. I shouldn’t
have snarled at you. I didn’t think I’d hit you, but even if
I’d clipped you, you could have been hurt. It scared me as much as I
scared you. Now. Are you sure you’re OK?” I tried to soften my
tone when it wasn’t my nature. Women usually looked at my size, tats,
beard, and muscles and ran straight into my arms, begging for a hard
fucking. I had no interest in any woman who didn’t.

“I’m fine.”

I barked out a laugh. “I hate it when women do that, girl.
You’re not fine. I scared you to death.”

“It’s all right. You said it scared you too.” Her voice
was soft and lyrical, wrapping around my insides like silken ties. What the
fuck was wrong with me? I wasn’t hard up for female companionship. In
fact, until I’d been planted in this fucking club, I’d had a
different woman practically every night. More than one sometimes. Now, a
little bit of timid innocence was burrowing inside me within a few seconds?
Fuck…

“Not the point.” I raised my open hands in a non-threatening
gesture. “At least let me change your tire. Can I come
closer?”

Finally, she lowered the tire iron slowly. “I suppose so. If
you’re sure you don’t mind.” She was so small I had doubts
she could hold the damned thing for much longer anyway.

“I don’t mind at all. It’s the least I can do for nearly
running you over. Besides, I don’t leave women alone to fend for
themselves. No matter how much they don’t trust me.” I’d
meant the last to be a small joke. To lighten the mood. Because the fear on
her face in the fading light hit me viscerally. I didn’t like her
thinking I’d hurt her or meant her ill will. That was the last thing I
wanted after what I’d been through the last few months.

“I appreciate the help.”

I knelt by the car, positioning the jack properly before inserting the jack
handle and cranking to raise the car. “What are you doing on this
road? It’s pretty out of the way. Not many folks live around
here.” Because the club I was currently embedded in kept everyone out
of their territory through terror and destruction.

“I got turned around,” she said as she squatted beside me,
holding the lug wrench at the ready. “I realized I was in the wrong
place when the road went from four lanes to two. I don’t remember
passing another road, but I might have missed it.”

“Where you headed?”

 

 

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.

Contact Links

Author on Facebook

Author on BookBub

Author on Instagram

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, and Twitter:
@changelingpress

 

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TEASER TUESDAY: How Not to Date a Dragon Master by Stephanie Burke #LGBTQ #ParanormalRomance #DarkFantasy @changelingpress @FlashyCat @RABTBookTours

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Dark Fantasy, LGBTQ, Paranormal Romance

Date Published: May 5, 2023

 

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War is upon them — armies are clashing at their doorstep. Ulvissar’s
heat is becoming uncontrollable, and tension between him and Nithe is higher
than ever before.

With his Dragon Lord and her new mate leading his warriors, will Ulvissar
be able to destroy those who would betray them, and will Nithe be strong
enough to claim both the title of Dragon Master and his Ulvissar? How can
anyone withstand the wrath of an angry omega dragon?

 

Publisher’s Warning: How Not To Date a Dragon Master contains scenes of
graphic violence and adult kink with blood play that may be triggers for
some readers.

 

 

EXCERPT

Copyright ©2023 Stephanie Burke

 

The wind blew bitter cold on the overcast early morning when Prince Ranid
the Bold and his army rolled into town, and it matched the attitude of the
people. The few men who were left in the ranks watched the bedraggled and
exhausted inhabitants stagger toward their town’s entrance, while the
sounds of their war horses’ shoes loudly striking the dirt-covered
cobblestones encouraged a lone hound to throw back its head and howl
mournfully at the still present moon.

The few lights glowed enough to illuminate the remains of a once prosperous
town now fallen into ruin. A lone, sickly-looking goat bleated as it
wandered through, its dented bell clanking miserably in the night air while
a lone owl hooted in the distance.

The place smelled of neglect and misuse. Most of the buildings that
surrounded the courtyard and what looked to be the center of town appeared
derelict, missing windows, wood siding sliding off of their sides, paint so
old and weatherworn that it looked like it hadn’t been refreshed in
years.

Prince Ranid the Bold, on his once proud white steed, stood up in the
stirrups and declared for all to hear, “What a fucking
dump.”

“Well, fuck you too, asshole!” a drunk leaning on a pole
outside of the town’s only tavern called out. “Fuck you and the
horse you rode in on.”

That gave the whole army pause before a tall, black-haired, green-eyed
man’s laugh barked out, startling the few who wore his bright red
colors before they began to chuckle as well.

“What?” The green-eyed Prince Colton of Rinastas called to the
other disgusted prince’s soldiers. “Out here with no resources
but what little nature has left, you expected to find a lavish palace fit
for your royal ass?” He shook his head, amusement plain in every line
of his body. “This is war, boy. No one is going to be around to hold
your hand or wipe Your Highness’s backside for you. The people who
live in this area make do with what they have.”

“And who do these people hold loyalty to?” Prince Ranid
demanded, settling back into his saddle, his face slightly red because yes,
he expected some sort of accommodation for the royals at least. He
didn’t expect this place to be so… desolate.

“I believe they pay a once a year tax to the people of the Eastern
Kingdoms — the missing princess’s kingdom — and then they are
largely left alone. This is dragon territory after all,” Prince Colton
explained. “No one has a real hold on it but because part of it
scrapes against the princess’s kingdom, it is to her people that these
hard-working individuals pay their taxes and what little tribute they can
give.”

“No way.” Ranid rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and pouting
like a child as he absorbed what Colton was telling him. “The kingdom
renowned for its beauty wouldn’t let a place like this exist and
tarnish their good name. This is a disgrace.”

From beside him on his own warhorse, Lord Petyr of The Eastern Kingdoms
shook his head in embarrassment. How had he ever found the loud, obnoxious,
and abrasive prince beautiful? Things had cooled significantly since he
started seeking his own privacy and comfort in the bold red tent that Prince
Colton had lent him. Sure, he was no longer in the man’s bed but
anyone would think about waiting a full five minutes before another filled
Petyr’s former position there. And Petyr knew from personal experience
that when Ranid was distracted or angry, the whole act would take about five
minutes… from start to finish.

“If you say so.” Colton snickered to himself, unwilling to
engage the spoiled brat of a prince in any type of intellectual debate. As
far as this asshole was concerned, if something wasn’t up to his
ridiculous standards, then he would most likely dismiss it, and Colton was
not up for this kind of stupidity. He could be back at his tent getting some
shut-eye after a long and tedious… in every way imaginable…
campaign march. He was tired, his ass hurt for all the wrong reasons, and
now his head was starting to hurt as well from listening to the bitching and
griping of the brat prince. The only amusement he’d found during this
whole rush to an ass kicking was the delightfully sarcastic Lord
Petyr.

The man was pretty, though his downcast eyes and guilty expression
detracted from that somewhat. The man did know his mind though, and only
consented to be abused a short time before, with some encouraging words, he
struck out on his own. He was intelligent and sharp as he offered several
pride-protecting alternatives to the idiot prince as they traveled that
would allow him to pull out of his stupid march and still save face.
Colton’s favorite idea was to just play this was an inspection and
introduction tour to see what changes needed to be made before they reported
back to the King of the Eastern Lands.

Of course, Rancid the Bol — Ranid… Ranid the Bold ignored every
idea offered and was hellbent on completing his quest no matter the cost. So
far, he’d managed to lose a few tents, a few of his soldiers deserted
because of the insanity that they were surrounded by, diseases was starting
to run rampant through his men — the sexually transmitted kind of course,
because at this point the prince had more camp followers that loyal soldiers
— and he was losing the best aide-de-camp that Colton had ever seen.

Filled with righteous indignation, Ranid dismounted his tired horse with a
huff and led the poor beast to what appeared to be an inn and tethered him
to the post out front.

Petyr and Colton also dismounted and followed the upstart prince inside.
They stepped into the dim light allowed by the open shutters of what
appeared to be windows with some kind of glass. The rough wooden floors were
dusty. Goodness knows how everything in this town was not covered in dust,
but it looked like someone had tried to sweep it relatively clean. Several
long wooden bench-style tables sat in rows on either side of the room, the
bar along the back wall blocking access to what had to be a small kitchen in
the back.

“You call this place an inn?” Rancid was already ranting at a
disinterested woman who was slowly wiping down a battered bar with a dirty
rag.

“That’s what the sign used to say.” She snorted, rolling
her eyes and dropping the rag to the floor.

“Used to,” Ranid snarled, leaning on the bar… only to
jerk his hand back as it encountered what had to be the remains of
someone’s greasy dinner… or a body fluid. Who could tell?

“Used to.” The woman walked over to stand before him, her hefty
body covered in a stained smock, her arms crossed over her chest as she
stuck out her chin in an aggressive manner. “That’s what I said.
Are you fucking deaf or something?”

“Do you know who I am?” He bent closer to growl in her
face.

“No.” She leaned forward as well, growling back in his face.
“And I really don’t give a fuck who you are. Do you want
something or are you wasting my time?”

“I am the prince of your kingdom and I demand respect.”

“No,” the woman shook her head, a sardonic look spreading
across her face. “Our kingdom doesn’t have any princes, unless
you count the assholes that the princesses are supposed to marry. And you
didn’t demand my respect, you demanded my utmost attention and
you’re not worth my time… which you aren’t going to
get.”

 

About the Author

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

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

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

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

 

Contact Links

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, and Twitter:
@changelingpress

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TEASER TUESDAY: Arcane Deception by Angela Knight #DarkFantasy #BDSM @RABTBookTours @AngelaKnight @changelingpress

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Dark Fantasy & BDSM

Date Published: April 21, 2023

 

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When her grandfather wanders off, witch Kate Marshall enlists a handsome
neighbor to help find Eli, who suffers from dementia. She doesn’t know
Mark Delaney is a magic-using undercover agent trying to bring down a gang
of drug dealers with deadly spirit animals.

Soon Mark and Kate find themselves falling in love, even as he wrestles
with lying to the woman he’s fallen for. Unfortunately, the gang lord
is having them watched, so Mark can’t come clean.

When the gang lord kidnaps Eli and Kate to force her to collude in his
crimes, she must trust Mark to help them escape, despite his lies, the risk
to her heart and the threat to her beloved grandfather’s life.

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2023 Angela Knight

 

Kate Marshall hurried along the path as fast as she dared, scanning the
surrounding woods for a flash of white hair. Anxiety coiled in a sick knot
in her belly. Good thing it was late spring. If it had been winter,
she’d have to worry he’d forgotten the way home and succumbed to
hypothermia.

No sign of him. Nothing but squirrels rustling through the leaves as
courting birds sung from the pines, oaks, and maples looming around
her.

Dammit, where is he?

Kate stopped in her tracks, closed her eyes, and scanned again, but nothing
glowed behind her closed eyes. No sign of Eli Riley’s Talent shining
through the trees. Except…

Wait. Not a glow, but something. She concentrated, focusing until the sense
of power grew more acute. It seemed to be emanating from the lake.

Her eyes flew open, and she took off in long strides just short of a run.
“Granddad? Granddad, where are you? You’re scaring
me!”

Some days, Eli seemed just like the man who’d raised her during those
idyllic childhood summers, endlessly wise, skilled in art and magic and the
intersection where the two met. On bad days, he became a six-foot
three-year-old, prone toward tantrums and violent outbursts. Even worse was
the lethal combination of his raw magical ability and his failing memory,
which could easily kill him if he made an error with a spell. Which was why
she’d panicked when she’d woke up this morning to find him
gone.

Eli hadn’t been in the studio crafting something fatal, though his
backpack of magical gear was missing. She’d searched the rest of the
old Victorian house and its extravagant garden, but no luck.

What worried her most was the lake. Her childhood summer haunt was less
than a mile away from the house. Way too close for comfort.

He can swim. Hell, he taught me. But what if…

Flickering light flashed through the trees ahead — sunlight glinting off
the water. The sense of power was stronger now. Splashes sounded, suggesting
someone swimming.

Or drowning. Her heart shot into her throat.

“Granddad, dammit!” Kate broke into a sprint, ignoring the thin
branches that whipped across her face. “Granddad!” I can’t
lose him too. She burst from the trees. “Granddad!”

But when she spotted the swimmer, it was not her grandfather. Not with the
long blond hair slicked around broad, bare shoulders that gleamed in the
morning sunlight. The man stopped swimming and turned, treading water,
wiping a big hand down his dripping face. “I’m sorry,
what?”

“Have you seen an old man?”

“No, nothing but couple of deer and about a dozen squirrels.”
He started back to the shore, muscular arms stroking the water, sending
droplets flying through the arc of a rainbow. “What’s the
problem?”

“My grandfather… He’s got dementia. I woke up this
morning to find him gone. He comes out here to paint.” Kate raked both
hands through her brunette hair, absently plucking out leaves and twigs from
her heedless run. “Oh God, he could be anywhere. The road — he could
have been hit by a car. Sometimes he doesn’t remember to check before
he crosses…” She started to turn away.

“Hang on, let me get dressed and I’ll help you look.” He
waded out of the lake, water streaming down a body like a gladiator’s,
all hard, carved muscle. He wore only a pair of black swim trunks and a
glowing golden tattoo in the center of his chest, a circle surrounded by
sigils. Looked like some kind of protective spell. And he was big, easily
six-one. On any other day in any other situation, she’d have
drooled.

“Where do you live?” He walked over to a pile of neatly folded
clothes. Picking up a towel, he started drying off, muscle flexing in his
broad chest.

“In the Victorian a mile that way.” She jerked a thumb over her
shoulder and looked away, trying not to ogle.

“Oh, you must mean Eli. I didn’t know he’d gotten that
bad.” He pulled on faded jeans despite his wet trunks, then shrugged
on an equally faded black T and stuffed his bare feet into running shoes.
The shirt’s white lettering read “USAC Academy.”

He was Arcane Corps. No wonder he radiated so much power, she’d felt
it a quarter mile away. Kate was tempted to close her eyes and check the
glow of his magic, but that would be rude.

He extended a hand, a frown of concern on his face. “Mark Delaney.
I’m so sorry about your grandmother.”

A spasm of pain stabbed her, but she forced a tight smile as his long
fingers enfolded hers. His skin felt calloused and cool. “Thank you.
I’m Kate Marshall.” She studied that tough, intensely masculine
face. Beard stubble roughened his square jaw and broad, cleft chin, blond
brows slashing over Feral gold eyes. It was hard to tell, but she thought
his hair would be honey blond when it dried. His lips were thin and
masculine, but they looked soft, kissable. Tempting, despite the
nerve-wracking situation she was in.

After a carefully calibrated squeeze, he let her go. “Don’t
freak out, I’m going to manifest so I can track him. I’m a
Feral.” Golden light exploded around him as his magic became visible
in a flare of sparks and whirling energy. A heartbeat later, it coalesced
into a huge shaggy figure with a long bullet-shaped head and foot-wide paws.
The raw power of the animal spirit beat at Kate’s senses as it towered
over her, almost ten feet tall. Mark was only dimly visible in its center,
cocooned within it like a man in armor.

 

 

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.

 

Contact Links

Facebook: @AngelaKnight2002

Twitter: @AngelaKnight

 

 

Publisher on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram: @changelingpress

 

 

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TEASER TUESDAY: Henry (Devoted Guardians MC) by Harley Wylde & Jessica Coulter Smith #shifters #mages #PNR @HarleyW_Writer @RABTBookTours

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(Devoted Guardians MC)

 

Motorcycle Club, Fantasy, Paranormal Romance, Shifters, Mages

Date Published: February 24, 2023

 

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Raya — Elias kidnapped me nearly a decade ago and used me for his awful
experiments. His goal: to create a superior race. How could that possibly go
wrong? Now I’m no longer fully human and I’ve lived a life in
hell. But I adore my two kids, no matter how they were conceived. I thought
we’d die before we ever found freedom, but it arrived in the most
unexpected way. The big biker shifter is scary as hell, but it’s
either go with him, or remain chained and starving.

Henry — The dark mage killed my mate and unborn child. There’s
nothing I want more than revenge. It never occurred to me he’d have a
woman and kids chained in his cellar. They reek of black magick, enough so,
I hated them on sight. I’d planned to leave them behind. Until I heard
their story. My club won’t be happy when I walk in with three people
covered in the stench of black magick. But something unexpected happens when
I catch Raya’s true scent. She’s my fated mate, and now I have
the difficult task of not only gaining her trust, but the children’s
as well.

 

WARNING: Contains subject matter some readers may find difficult to read.
Recommended for ages 18+ due to adult situations, bad language, and
violence. Guaranteed happily-ever-after, no cheating, and no
cliffhanger.

 

EXCERPT

Copyright ©2023 Harley Wylde & Jessica Coulter Smith

 

Raya

Elias paced the small cabin. I didn’t know why we’d come here.
He’d spoken about this town before. Many times. I knew a shifter
nearly killed him thirty years ago. Fatally wounded, he’d escaped to a
community of mages, where they’d healed him. It had taken years for
him to regain his health and full power. He’d often bragged about
surviving.

Why return now? He’d dragged us all over the country. At first,
I’d thought he was running from something. Now I wondered if
he’d simply been heading toward Wolf Creek. Even though I’d been
with him for years, he never confided in me. Not about anything important.
There was no reason for it, since I was little more than a prisoner. His
slave.

I heard the chains clink in the cellar and fought not to wince. It
wouldn’t be long before I joined them. My babies. No matter how
they’d been conceived, I’d love them with all my heart until the
day I died. They were my reason for living. And the only way Elias
maintained control over me all this time. If it weren’t for my
precious children, I’d have run before now.

“It’s nearly time,” he muttered. “I’ll take
her just like the others. I’m sure she’ll be useful. Stupid
fucking dhampir doesn’t know why I invited him to Wolf Creek.
Everything is falling into place.”

Her? I didn’t know who he was talking about, and I would not ask. And
a dhampir? Did he mean the man I’d heard him speaking to a few times?
It didn’t matter. The less I knew, the better. I’d learned that
the hard way. Although, his words bothered me a great deal. Was he going to
enslave someone else? I reached up to lightly touch the collar around my
throat. I hadn’t been the first, nor the last. However, I’d been
the only woman to survive.

Elias not only used black magick, but he also liked to experiment.
He’d abducted countless women across the globe, all in the name of
creating a better species. It wasn’t something recent, either. From
what I’d learned during my time with him, he’d been working on
this project for decades. Even before he’d fled Wolf Creek thirty
years ago. I didn’t know what made me so special. Why had I survived
when others hadn’t?

I lifted my hand and stared at my fingers. Even now, black tendrils of
smoke shifted around the digits. I’d been completely human until Elias
snatched me off the street. Through pain and suffering, he’d infused
me with some of his black magick. I couldn’t actually use it, but it
had become part of my cellular structure, which meant I passed those traits
to my children, which had been his intent all along.

“It’s time.” He rubbed his hands together, a wide smile
on his face. “Into the basement. You know the rules. Keep your mouth
shut. But first… I’m going to prep you for a special guest
arriving within the next two days.”

I knew exactly what that meant. He removed a syringe from his pocket and
injected me with the serum that would make me mindless with need. While he
preferred for me to get pregnant without it, and enjoyed hearing me scream
in pain, he’d used this on me several times before. I honestly thought
he got off on hearing me beg for someone to fuck me. At least, it
didn’t take effect immediately.

Elias tossed the syringe aside and gave me a shove, and I walked to the
hidden door. He opened it and I went down the steps into what I assumed had
once been a root cellar. My children perked up when they saw me. Elias
followed me into the hole, attaching a chain to my collar. I held open my
arms and my babies ran to me. Their chains barely reached, but we were close
enough I could hold them.

I smoothed the hair of my precious little girl, Marigold, and kissed the
forehead of my son, Logan. Mari had not only inherited some of the black
magick, but she’d also gained her father’s ability to shift. As
for Logan, he only had black magick. His father had been a dark mage like
Elias.

“I’m scared,” Mari said.

I hugged her tight and wished I could ease her fears. Instead, I did my
best to tamp down my own. I didn’t think we’d ever escape Elias.
One day, he’d sell my children. When I became useless, he’d kill
me. As it was, I’d lost the last two babies. I knew he was searching
for another male to impregnate me. He’d desperately wanted a baby that
was half vampire and half dark mage. It seemed my body rejected the
vampire’s offspring, as both babies came from the same male.

“When I’m older, I’m going to get us out of here,”
Logan said. “With my magick, I’ll take down Elias and free us
from this prison.”

I placed my fingers over his lips. “Hush, sweetheart. If he hears you
say such a thing…”

He nodded, understanding what I meant. I hated that my children had to grow
up so quickly. They’d never been able to play, make friends, or enjoy
their lives. If I thought it would be possible to run away with them,
I’d have done it long ago. But I knew Elias would hunt us down and
punish us.

The door upstairs slammed, and the tension in my body eased. At least he
would be gone for a while. I felt bad for whatever woman he’d lured to
this town. Would her fate be the same as mine? I hoped not. I didn’t
wish this existence on anyone.

Mari began humming The Itsy Bitsy Spider, and I rocked her. Logan slumped
against my side and stared at the opposite wall. Elias hadn’t even
left us with anything to occupy ourselves while he was gone. There’d
been times he’d left a rubber ball or a pack of crayons and a coloring
book. I knew it wasn’t out of the kindness of his black heart.
He’d claimed it made the children less whiny and more tolerable.

“One day, if we’re ever free of Elias, you’ll get to
enroll in school so you can learn new things. You’ll make friends.
Play outside. Go to the movie theater, the park, learn to swim. We’ll
have so much fun.” I smiled wistfully, thinking of all they’d
missed out on, and the things I’d taken for granted before Elias
kidnapped me.

“Do you really think we’ll ever get away from him?” Logan
asked.

My heart ached at the despair in his voice. My little angel already knew
the answer. No matter how much I’d tried to instill hope in my
children, Logan somehow knew we’d be the property of Elias until he
either sold us or killed us.

I couldn’t answer him, refusing to lie.

Mari dozed a bit, and even Logan closed his eyes for a little while. Every
second was even more agonizing, because time stretched endlessly in the
cellar. At least the lightbulb hadn’t gone out. The dim light helped
little, but it dispelled some of the darkness. Being locked down here in
absolute blackness would have been much worse.

Mari whimpered in her sleep, waking Logan. I smoothed her hair and murmured
to her, hoping to ease whatever nightmare she might be having. Logan blinked
and rubbed his eyes before sitting up a little straighter. I knew he’d
fight to stay awake now. My little boy had grown up entirely too fast.

Mari woke twice and dozed off again each time. While she napped, I told
Logan a story. Mari liked the romantic fairy tales about princes. Logan,
however, wanted action and adventure. His favorites were tales of pirates or
explorers. So I talked about One-Eyed Willie, Captain Jack, and the others
I’d watched in movies when I’d still had my freedom. He ate up
every word, and it helped pass the time.

My stomach rumbled, and so did the children’s. Mari woke again,
yawning and leaning away from me a little. I knew she wouldn’t fall
asleep again anytime soon. Every time the monster who owned us made her go
hungry, she’d be awake for hours. Unlike Logan, who said sleep made
him feel less hungry.

Elias hadn’t left us with any food or water. A bucket in the corner
served as a toilet, but none of us had been desperate enough to use it
today. We’d each had a chance earlier to use the bathroom upstairs to
relieve ourselves and clean up a little.

“He’s been gone a while,” Logan said. “He
didn’t forget us, did he? I’m not sure starving to death is much
better than suffering whatever he’s planned for us.”

With no windows, I couldn’t tell what time of day it was by now.
However, my butt had gone numb from sitting on the hard ground. I had to
have been down here for more than an hour. I listened intently, wondering if
Elias had managed to quietly return. Minutes ticked by, and when I was going
to give up, I heard booted steps. They seemed to scout the entire
house.

Would they find the hidden door to the cellar? Did we want them to? I
caught Logan’s gaze, and he gave me a slight nod. Whatever he sensed
or smelled seemed to make him feel as if the person upstairs wouldn’t
harm us.

“Help! Please, we’re down here!” I yelled as loud as I
could. By the fifth time I’d called out, the door at the top of the
stairs opened and a large silhouette moved toward us. My breath caught when
the man approached. I couldn’t tell his age and depending on what he
was, he could have been hundreds of years old and still appeared
young.

“What the fuck?” he muttered. His gaze narrowed on me before
shifting to my children. I held them tighter, wondering if I’d made a
mistake by calling for help. “Who are you?”

Author Contact Links

Harley Wylde on Facebook , TikTok, Instagram: @harleywylde

Jessica Coulter Smith on Instagram: @jessica_coulter_smith

 

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TEASER TUESDAY: Beastly Tales edited by J.E. Feldman #paranormalromance #anthology @RABTBookTours

Posted on by

Paranormal Romance

Date to be Published: February 21, 2023

Publisher: Dragon Soul Press

 

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Monsters deserve love too…

From werewolves, vampires, and even Bigfoot, these beasts manage to find
love. Whether they are able to sink their claws into that love and keep it
is another story. When it comes down to it, don’t judge a book by its
cover. This anthology brings a mixture of what ifs and happily ever
afters.

Featuring stories from T.C. Mill, A.K. Moss, Toni Mobley, Barend
Nieuwstraten III, Ashley L. Hunt, Charles Kyffhausen, Lil Deville, Kelly
Piner, Jess Monica, and Karen Bayly.

Graphic sexual content is included within this anthology.

 

The Beasts of Hank’s Wood by Lil DeVille

Joe Schola III is the eighteen-year-old son of Joseph Schola Junior, a
fire-and-brimstone preaching Fundamentalist televangelist. While young Joe
is far less homophobic than his father, he is struggling to come to terms
with his own sexual orientation. Will Joe dare accept the invitation to
become part of a clan of shapeshifters, and will he accept the love being
offered to him by the handsome fox shifter Lovell Azarola?

 

Excerpt from The Beasts of Hank’s Wood

 

Reverend Jed didn’t miss what was happening between me and her gorgeous friend. Taking my hands in hers, she smiled.

“There’s nothing wrong with letting nature take its course,” she advised. “Then again, you don’t want to dive into deep waters too soon. I’ve known Lovell all his life. He’s not the casual and fleeting kind.”

“I’m not either,” I reassured her. “The truth is, I’ve never been in a relationship. Because I don’t know a thing about letting someone know I’m interested in them or establishing if they’re interested in me, I don’t want to make a mistake. Straight people have it hard too, but I think it’s even harder when you’re not straight. If a
straight guy hits on a girl who’s not interested, he probably won’t get his backside handed to him, unless she has a jealous boyfriend he doesn’t know about.”

“The thing is, I wouldn’t have said anything if I hadn’t seen what was happening between you and Lovell. He definitely noticed you.”

“Um…Forest didn’t, you know, notice Vic, did he? ‘Cause Vic’s straight. Vic won’t kick his butt, but I wouldn’t want Forest to waste his time on a straight guy.”

Reverend Jed burst out laughing.

“Forest is straight too. He simply sensed a kindred spirit in Vic.”

“I guess my gay-dar is broken,” I said. “’Cause he looked me up and down and I kind of thought he might be checking me out.”

“He was checking to see if you were safe for his brother. The boys are very protective of each other.”

“Well, I’m safe,” I reassured Reverend Jed. “But maybe a fine guy like Lovell isn’t going to be too keen on an inexperienced dude like me.”

“He’s keen,” Reverend Jed said. “It’s up to you if you want to encourage his interest.”

 

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TEASER TUESDAY: Galactic Treasure by Theodora Marie Adams #LGBTQ #SciFiRomance @RABTBookTours

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Sci-Fi Romance, LGBTQ, Alien Encounters, Multiple Partners

Date Published: February 17, 2023

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Connor Masterson has finally managed to take some time off and go to Earth Con. For three days and nights, he’s going to get his geek on without worrying about work or the latest edition of his science fiction manga. He never expected to find two men who embody all his dreams and fantasies there and certainly not right after signing in. 

Neither Valvik nor Zaraheed are looking forward to their current
assignment: go to the Earth Con located in Austin, Texas and track down any
and all rumors on the Ark scrolls, an ancient collection needed for the
betterment of their dying people. Neither warrior expects to be drawn to a
human, especially the same one.

The two men are determined to stay as low key as possible while searching
for the scrolls, but that might be hard to do when an intergalactic killer
wants the scrolls for himself.

 

 

EXCERPT

Copyright ©2023 Theodora Marie Adams

 

“I truly cannot believe you have somehow convinced me to participate
in this harebrained scheme of yours,” Valvik growled through clenched
teeth as he looked around the lobby. It was filled with people clustered in
groups. Some were talking loudly, others were whispering as though fearful
someone other than their neighbor would hear their innermost secrets. There
were humans dressed in their favorite character’s attire, aliens, human and
alien scientists, intergalactic explorers and military men and women, and
everything in between represented in the lobby of the center housing this
weekend’s Earth Con.

Valvik pulled at the hem of his simple white T-shirt. He felt ridiculously
underdressed seeing as more than a quarter of the people there were dressed
to the nines in their costumes and regalia, particularly those with an
intergalactic military background. “I should have worn my
uniform,” he snarled.

“This is an important assignment given to us by General Tsubotai
himself.” Zaraheed turned slightly and looked over his shoulder at
Valvik. His handsome face was a mask of displeasure. One dark eyebrow
arched. “We are attempting to fit in. We are already conspicuous
enough,” he whispered harshly, glancing around at the many eyes
watching them in curiosity.

At six feet eight, Valvik felt Zaraheed should be accustomed to being
stared at on Earth. They’d been dealing with the looks the whole cursed
assignment. Not that Valvik himself was much less physically impressive at
six feet five inches.

Valvik stifled the urge to roll his eyes. It was a very human reaction, and
really he was going to have to stop watching all their television, no matter
how entertaining it was. “Humans are short. We look like giants
compared to them. Second, we stand out because we are wearing regular
clothing, or are you too blind to see everyone else is wearing their native
ensembles? We are meant to be as discreet as possible.”

“By dressing as humans, we actually stand out more,” he grumbled.
He glanced around the lobby again and blinked. “Isn’t that a
Pulloxian?” Valvik asked, and jerked his chin toward the being in
question.

The being wore no disguise, at least none that Valvik could recognize. The
male, and Valvik could tell its gender from the marks on his fur and their
placement, was not trying to hide his large droopy eyes, medium green skin
with black splotches, or his four-fingered, claw-tipped hands. To a human,
the Pulloxian looked like a two-legged basset hound with slightly smaller
ears and green fur. He was as conspicuous as one could get.

Zaraheed followed his gaze. He sighed and his broad shoulders slumped
slightly. His amber eyes searched the group gathered around the Pulloxian.
“Maybe you are right, as that one does seem to be basking in their
attention,” he admitted after a moment of contemplation.

“True.” Valvik continued moving through the crowd so he could
reach the check-in table that stood right in the middle front of the lobby.
His superior hearing was able to capture bits and pieces of the conversation
flowing around him. It seemed the Pulloxian was going to be a “shoe
in” for best costume.

“Still, General Tsubotai was clear about what he expected of
us.”

“I read the mission parameters. There is no need to remind me. I would
just like to point out that if we were allowed to wear our uniforms we would
not be unarmed.”

Zaraheed snorted. “You expect me to believe you are unarmed at the
moment. Do not play me for a fool, Valvik the Glorious. You are probably
carrying no less than five blades on your person.”

Valvik allowed a small smile to settle across his mouth. “I am not as
armed as I would like, and that is the truth. I am sure you feel the same,
Zaraheed the Valiant,” he retorted, looking his compatriot up and
down.

Zaraheed’s dark hair was bound into a single plait. The tail end of his
sable hair swung just between the strong muscles of his back. A few strands
had pulled free from the braid and framed the sides of Zaraheed’s sharply
planed handsome face. His most startling and mesmerizing feature was his
eyes. They shifted colors depending on his emotion, going from the lightest
sunset orange to the darkest color of a flame. Valvik had never seen such
eyes before. He doubted he’d ever see another pair again.

Zaraheed caught Valvik staring. His gaze tightened. “What?” he
asked.

Valvik shook his head. “Nothing. Forgive me. It seems I was lost in my
thoughts,” he admitted as he waved a consoling hand through the
air.

Valvik was still trying to get accustomed to Zaraheed’s dark complexion. As
far as he knew all the members of the House of the Gallant had light hair
and eyes. Valvik’s house, Disciplined, had similar coloring. Valvik had pale
blond hair and lavender eyes.

His dark hair and lightly tanned skin made Zaraheed an outsider, just as
his gorgeous eyes did.

He’d heard rumors that Zaraheed was only half Tolkian. Valvik had done his
best to ignore them as he wasn’t much for gossip but he couldn’t help
wondering about the source of Zaraheed’s mesmerizing features.

This was the second mission the two were working together so it wasn’t that
he’d never seen Zaraheed or noticed his unusual coloring, but there was
something about seeing him in the lobby, wearing the preferred dress of the
North American human male: white short-sleeve shirt and dark denim jeans,
waiting in line for them to sign in for the Earth Convention that made
Valvik all the more aware of his rich coloring.

The clothing should have made him appear as pale and washed out as it did
Valvik, but Zaraheed looked magnificent. A small tendril of desire curled in
his gut when he first walked into the convention center and spotted the
Valiant warrior.

“I hope they are here,” Zaraheed murmured, breaking him out of
his thoughts.

Valvik grimaced, thinking on his words. It would be a shame if the scrolls
they were searching for weren’t on Earth. He personally thought it was
ridiculous that the scrolls their whole legion had searched a thousand years
and several galaxies for was supposedly on Earth and at a science fiction
gathering. He laughed long and hard, until his stomach muscles protested,
when his commanding officer relayed the information, thinking it was a
joke.

Three standard months later and Valvik was in Austin, Texas, waiting in
line for the Earth Convention.

Personally, Valvik didn’t think there was a chance in all the known solar
systems of the Ark scrolls being at the convention, but he went where his
commanding officer sent him. Even if it was the stupidest mission ever.
“If it is… I’m not entirely sure what I will do, but I know it will
include lots and lots of blood,” he muttered. And intoxicants. He would
need barrels and barrels of wine to drink away the insult.

Zaraheed stilled. Valvik turned to look at his compatriot in question.
Zaraheed shook his head as though confused, then, eyes bright, laughed. The
booming sound caught the attention of the people waiting around them and
they watched, mesmerized.

Valvik knew how they felt…

 

 

About the Author

Theodora is an avid traveler who discovered Japanese manga and anime in her
youth, closely followed by yaoi. She’s been in love with pretty boys who
love equally attractive men since then. Theodora can usually be found in a
local coffee shop drinking black tea and typing furiously.

 

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