Category Archives: Teaser Tuesday

TEASER TUESDAY: Iron (Hades Abyss MC) by Harley Wylde #MCromance

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A Dixie Reapers Bad Boys Romance

Hades Abyss MC, Book 11

Motorcycle Club Romance

Date Published: November 24, 2023

 

 

Nari – Pain. Humiliation. Those are the things my father taught me,
and every man I’ve met since. Running away from home didn’t fix
anything. Now I’m nineteen and back in the town my family calls home.
I haven’t told them I’m here, and I don’t plan to. But I
also didn’t count on a biker giving me a ride, and leaving me at the
Hades Abyss compound. They say they’ll help me, but can I trust them?
What if they’re just as bad as all the others?

Iron –I’m no stranger to the darker side of life. Sometimes
I’m the monster lurking in the shadows. Still, there’s a line I
won’t cross. I will never harm an innocent woman or child. The moment
I saw the tiny Asian woman cowering in front of Titan, I wanted to protect
her from the world. She’s been beaten, yet she’s not broken.
I’ve never met anyone like Nari before. Despite how timid she appears,
she’s stronger than she realizes. I know I’ll do whatever it
takes to make her smile and keep her safe, even if it means getting blood on
my hands. The moment her family tries to take her from me, I’ll show
them what it means for Nari to be mine.

 

WARNING: Iron is intended for readers 18+ due to bad language, violence,
and adult situations. There’s no cheating, no cliffhanger, and a
guaranteed happily ever after.


EXCERPT

Copyright ©2023 Harley Wylde

 

Nari

My cheek pressed into the carpet as Gio held me down. I knew I’d be
covered in bruises within the hour, if I wasn’t already. Nothing new.
It seemed all I had to do was breathe in order to piss him off. I’d
only stayed due to a lack of options. Leaving Gio would only mean taking a
chance on someone else. Men didn’t help runaway teens for nothing.
They either made us drug mules, thieves, or prostitutes. I couldn’t
think of a way to escape. Everyone I’d ever trusted had betrayed me.
Why should that change?

If things had been different, if my family had cared even a little, I never
would have run away. Living at home had been awful, but my life on the
streets was far worse.

“You stupid, worthless cunt! Where’s my money?” he asked
for the fifth time. As if my answer was suddenly going to change.

“I told you I don’t have it. I couldn’t find any work
today, Gio.” Or more accurately, I hadn’t found a mark. Stealing
was my forte.

He leaned in closer. “Then you have a choice, Nari. You can pay the
money by spending a few nights at the house on Spruce, or you find a high
paying job before morning. Which is it going to be?”

I swallowed hard. It wasn’t really a choice at all. I refused to go
near drugs, and I really didn’t want to be a whore. I couldn’t
understand the girls and women who chose that path. I didn’t look down
on them for it, but it wasn’t something I’d ever voluntarily do.
Of course, if I wanted a legal job, there was always the strip club. Except
I hadn’t really been blessed in the curves department. I didn’t
even need a bra. Who the hell would pay to watch me take my clothes off?
Now, letting him use me as a whore in his brothel? That was a different
story. Those men didn’t much care what a woman looked like, and I knew
he wouldn’t be sending his top customers my way. All they wanted was a
living woman to fuck, although it wouldn’t surprise me if some
didn’t even care if I was alive when they fucked me. I’d learned
the hard way just how screwed up people could be.

“I’ll find a job,” I said. “Please, Gio. I really
tried.”

He finally released me and stood. “Fine. By sunrise, you better have
something lined up. If not, don’t bother coming home. You either take
your ass over to Spruce, or you better run.”

As if running would do me any good. He’d track me down and things
would be even worse. But I had to try. I refused to go down without a fight,
or at the very least a last-ditch effort. If only I’d known I was
heading this direction the moment I walked out of my dad’s house. Not
once had I seen my picture on the news or in any papers. He’d never
bothered to search for me. Why would he when he had his precious Joon?

Maybe I could go home. Or at least back to my hometown. I didn’t
think Gio would ever think to look for me there. He knew how much I hated
that place, and the hell I’d been through while I lived at home. Yeah.
I should go back. I didn’t bring in enough money for him to chase me
across state lines.

I waited until Gio left, then packed a small backpack. It wasn’t like
I owned much anyway. Grabbing the little bit of cash I’d managed to
hide, I shoved it into my satchel and left the house for the last time. One
way or another, I was leaving this place behind. I didn’t care if I
had to hitchhike all the way back to Mississippi.

Every step made pain explode through my body. I stopped to put on my hoodie
and made sure my face was mostly covered. I didn’t need anyone seeing
the marks on my body and stopping to ask questions. A rumble of a motorcycle
came up behind me and slowed. I quickly glanced toward the street and
realized the man was eyeing me.

I assessed his overall size and wondered if I could outrun him. Men
prowling the streets for women always spelled trouble.

“Do you need a ride somewhere?” he asked.

I took in every detail of his appearance, from his Native American genes to
the leather cut declaring him part of the Reckless Kings MC. I hadn’t
heard of them, but there was a group of bikers in my hometown. They’d
been a little scary, but I’d never heard of them hurting kids or
anything. Was his club the same? Just because he looked rough and little
scary didn’t mean he was a bad guy. Sometimes, the ones who looked
like wholesome decent men were the most vicious.

He sighed and inched the bike closer. “Look. My name is Crow.
I’m not going to hurt you, but it looks like you’re in some
trouble and trying to get out of here. So you can get on the back of my bike
and I’ll take you as far as I can. Or you can keep walking and hope
whoever you’re running from doesn’t catch up. With the way
you’re moving, I’m going to assume someone beat the hell out of
you.”

I winced. He noticed that? “I’m going to
Mississippi.”

“What part?” he asked.

“Ever heard of a club called the Hades Abyss? I’m going to that
town,” I said.

He nodded. “I know them. Get on and I’ll make sure you get
home. It’s a little out of my way, but it’s fine.”

Without another thought, I climbed on behind him and put my arms around his
waist. It wasn’t my first time on a motorcycle, even if it had been
years ago. It also wasn’t the first time I’d put my trust in a
stranger. He’d either keep me safe, or I’d trade one abusive
asshole for another.

“I’m Nari,” I said. “Thanks for the
ride.”

“Sure thing, kid. Hold on tight.” He twisted the throttle ,
revving the engine, then eased the bike forward. As he picked up speed and
shifted gears, the wind whipped the hood off my head. I closed my eyes and
pressed my forehead to his back. For the first time in forever, I felt
free.

I didn’t know if I’d made the right choice, but there was no
going back now.

About the Author

Harley Wylde is an accomplished author known for her captivating MC
Romances. With an unwavering commitment to sensual storytelling, Wylde
immerses her readers in an exciting world of fierce men and irresistible
women. Her works exude passion, danger, and gritty realism, while still
managing to end on a satisfying note each time.

When not crafting her tales, Wylde spends her time brainstorming new
plotlines, indulging in a hot cup of Starbucks, or delving into a good book.
She has a particular affinity for supernatural horror literature and movies.
Visit Wylde’s website to learn more about her works and upcoming events, and
don’t forget to sign up for her newsletter to receive exclusive discounts
and other exciting perks.

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

Author on Twitter: @HarleyW_Writer


Publisher on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram: @changelingpress


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TEASER TUESDAY: Bewitched by the Bear by Jessica Coulter Smith #ShifterRomance

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A Paranormal Women’s Fiction / Shifter Romance Novella

Date to be Published: November 17, 2023

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

 

 

Discover the power of true love in this spellbinding tale of magic and
adventure.

All Amara wants is to live a life of adventure, without being tied down.
With the dark fae relentlessly pursuing her, she needs a place to hide. Her
gram’s cottage seems like the perfect spot, but the old witch’s
words leave Amara unsettled — What you seek is in Cutter’s
Creek.

Alpha bear shifter Hale is determined to safeguard those closest to him.
His life takes an unexpected turn when he crosses paths with a captivating
witch. Enchanted by her very presence, he’s unable to banish her from
his thoughts.

As destiny ties them together, not even the dark fae will destroy their
newfound happiness.

Uncover the magic in this fast-paced, insta-love story that’s sure to
warm your heart.

 

Publisher’s Note: Bewitched by the Bear is based on the previously
published short story Ruby and the Bear. Bewitched has been expanded and is
now twice the length of the original story, complete with a new ending and
steamier scenes. No cheating and a guaranteed happily ever after!

 

 

 

Excerpt

Lunar Cycle’s dance floor cleared the moment the wolf and the bear
began circling one another. Hale Klein watched as his cousin, Duncan Hunt,
flexed his claws in his partially shifted wolf state. It took a hell of a
lot of anger to hold a partial shift, and Hale figured Duncan had to be
running on pure rage. He had to admit, he had it coming. Hale didn’t
know what had come over him since losing his father, but something inside
him had twisted. He’d taken a lucrative business of being a security
consultant and warped it. For years, he’d been a gun for hire, for the
right price, regardless of whether he was fighting on the side of good or
bad. But as his cousin faced him, fighting for the place of alpha within the
pack, he realized perhaps he’d gone too far. His hold, at first, had
been tenuous, as the adopted son of the rightful alpha.

This fight wasn’t pointless, exactly, but Hale could think of better
things to fight over — no woman was worth bloodshed. Not that’d
he’d wanted Marissa. It was more that Duncan had wanted her, and
suddenly she’d become the most attractive of women to Hale. He loved
rubbing his cousin’s nose in his alpha status, but this time,
he’d overstepped. Even he could admit it to himself at any rate.
Tricking Marissa into his bed and then tossing her aside like
yesterday’s garbage might not have been the best of plans. In his
defense, she’d been eager enough. If she’d truly loved Duncan,
she would have never strayed.

Looking back, Hale had to say that he wasn’t proud of himself. As
he’d gotten to know Marissa, he’d realized what a sweet girl she
was, and she truly hadn’t deserved what Hale had done to her. Even
still, her heart hadn’t completely belonged to Duncan. Hale had to
wonder if she’d only accepted his cousin because of his status in the
pack. Either way, was it really Hale’s fault she’d run away?
Duncan seemed to think so.

“Your reign over the Silver Crescent Pack is at an end,” Duncan
growled through his shifted snout. “It’s time for justice to
come to our lands.”

And you think you’re the wolf for the job? Hale taunted
telepathically. No one had been able to beat him in the seventy years
he’d been on this earth — what wolf could beat a bear? — and
definitely not in the twenty years he’d held the position of alpha.
What made his cousin think today would be any different?

“It’s time for a wolf to rule the wolves.” Duncan snapped
his jaws.

Bring it!

Duncan lunged at him, arms opening wide, claws brandished like the weapons
they were. Hale was bulky in his current form, but he also had power the
wolf couldn’t hope to match. Rising to his hind feet, Hale towered
over his cousin. Swiping out with a paw, he caught Duncan right across the
cheek, his claws sliding into the wolf’s skin like butter, leaving
three perfect slashes.

The wolf howled in outrage, twisting to come at Hale once more. Before the
bear could scramble out of the way, the wolf’s claws embedded in his
sides, leaving gouges in his tough hide. Hale snarled and broke free,
spinning to immediately launch another attack at his cousin. As his massive
bear paws arced through the air, his cousin charged.

Hale braced himself for the impact, claws aimed right for his
cousin’s flanks, their razor-sharp points digging into meat and
muscle. Duncan howled in outrage again, this time falling to his knees
before the bear. Hale didn’t want to kill his cousin. He only wanted
to prove a point. Opening his jaws wide, he fitted his mouth around
Duncan’s neck, forcing the other shifter to his hands and knees in
supplication. Hale growled long and low, not stopping until Duncan whimpered
in defeat.

Backing away from his whipped cousin, Hale shifted back to his human form.
Towering over the shifter now covered in wounds, Hale flexed his muscles,
ignoring the twinge in his sides from his open wounds, and kept his gaze
steady as he stared down at Duncan.

“Are we done?” he asked.

Duncan changed back to his fully human form and nodded. “We’re
done.”

“I’m sorry Marissa ran away, Duncan, and I’m sorry for
taking her from you. But there is no way that woman was your mate. If she
was, she wouldn’t have fallen into bed with me so easily. She would
have fought to be by your side, not caring whether or not the alpha was
interested in her. All she wanted was power, despite her sweet nature.
Females are all the same. They want the strongest in the pack, unless they
find their true-mate. Then no other male will do.”

“You don’t know that she wasn’t –”

“Yes, I do. And if you think about it, you’ll realize it too.
Since you’re worse off than I am, I’ll let you see the healer
first. Get your wounds tended and go home.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

Shaking his head in disgust, Hale turned, grabbed his shredded clothes off
the floor, and made his way through the crowd and outside the club. It
wouldn’t be the first time he’d driven home naked, and he
doubted it would be the last. There would always be someone wanting to
challenge him, someone thinking they were bigger, tougher. It hurt that his
cousin had been the one to instigate a fight with him. They’d fought
over the years, but it had always been more like sibling rivalry, not a
to-the-death fight over being alpha.

Hale dug his keys out of his pants pocket and slid into the large truck in
the parking lot. As the door slammed shut, he tossed his clothing on the
passenger’s seat and put his key into the ignition. The engine turned
over and he backed out of the space, then pulled out of the lot. He knew he
should just head home, to the alpha’s house in town, and call it a
night, but he wanted solitude, time to think, time to regroup. Being the
alpha meant he had an open-door policy, ensuring his pack could come to him
for whatever they needed regardless of the time. Change was coming. He could
feel it in the air, and he wasn’t certain if it was the good kind or
the bad kind.

About the Author

Jessica Coulter Smith is an acclaimed romance writer with a passion for
storytelling. Her works showcase the power of love and its ability to
transcend boundaries, capturing the hearts of audiences worldwide. With a
unique writing style and perspective, Jessica continues to inspire and
entertain readers from all walks of life.

Author on Facebook

Author on Instagram

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

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TEASER TUESDAY: Ice (Bones MC) by Marteeka Karland #MCRomance

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(Bones MC 14): A Bones MC Romance

 

Motorcycle Club Romance

Date Published: November 10, 2023

 

 

Ice — The second to last thing I expected when Cain called Church was for
him to resign as president of Bones. The last thing I expected was to be
voted in as president myself. So when I found myself on a rescue mission for
the daughter of the Devil himself? Well. I wasn’t surprised at all.
What did surprise me was the woman herself. Sure, I’d met her on more
than one occasion, but the teenage girl I’d seen a couple of years
before is definitely not the woman I pull out of the rushing water when she
gets stranded in the middle of a hurricane.

Dawn — Coming home during a hurricane isn’t one of the smartest
things I’ve ever done. Neither is getting mixed up with the man who
was the reason for me taking such a risk. So when I’m stranded with
water overtaking my car, I thought I’d finally tempted fate for the
last time. Until my guardian angel plucks me from the water and saves me. In
more ways than one. He’s the new president of Bones MC and a man I
can’t deny I want with every fiber of my being.

 

WARNING: Ice features a protective hero, a determined heroine and includes
graphic violence and adult situations that may be triggers for some readers.
Eventual happy ending and no cheating, as always.

Excerpt

 

Marteeka Karland

All rights reserved

Copyright ©2023 Marteeka Karland

 

“Dawn!” The man had to raise his voice over the wind though we
weren’t to the point where he had to yell. Yet. “We need to get
back to my ride.” I looked up at the man who held my arm in a firm but
gentle grip. He was gruff and insistent, and I thought I recognized
him.

“Cliff?”

“Yeah. They call me Ice now. I’m takin’ you back to the
Salvation’s Bane clubhouse. Are you injured?”

I shook my head. “No. Just wet. I’m sorry I left the
car.”

“The storm surge is starting. With high tide coming, the
water’s gonna rise fast. You didn’t have a choice.” He
took off his rain jacket and put it around me, helping me thread my arms
through it before zipping it up and pulling the hood over my head. He
tightened down the laces so the wind wouldn’t immediately blow it
off.

“We’ve got to go three blocks that way.” He pointed in
the direction he wanted to take me. “All you have to do is stay on
your feet and keep your head down. Can you do that for me?” Looking up
into his face, I nodded. “Good. Let’s go.”

Ice had a firm grip on my hand as he led the way. We moved quickly through
the flooded streets, the water now up to our knees and rising fast. The wind
was howling around us. Even though he’d tightened it almost
uncomfortably, my hood didn’t last two seconds once we were out of the
relative shelter of the doorway. My hair whipped into my face, making it
almost impossible to see where we were going. But Ice was a strong presence
beside me, guiding me through the chaos with a steady hand and a sure sense
of direction. Every so often, he would lean in close to my ear to be heard
over the wind, giving me a few words of encouragement or advice.

“Keep your head down, Dawn! We’re almost there!”

I nodded, gritting my teeth against the driving rain and pushing on through
the water. My legs were aching with my effort and my clothes were soaked
through, but I refused to give up. I trusted in Ice and his ability to get
us both to safety because my dad trusted him. No one failed my dad. Not if
they wanted to live.

Finally, after what felt like hours of trudging through the water, we
reached a parking garage. Ice took me up one level to the second floor. It
was low to the ground but up high enough to keep us out of the water. I
hoped.

He led me to the Bronco I’d been expecting and opened the back.
“I’ve got some dry clothes and food. Might be too big for you
but you’ll be warm and dry.”

Exhausted, I slumped against the vehicle, breathing hard. Once we’d
made it to the parking garage, the going had been much easier, but the wind
still howled through the structure and I was spent.

Ice opened the back of the truck. The tailgate swung out and he urged me
behind it. He stood on the other side and turned his back, effectively
guarding the open side from prying eyes. Surprisingly, the place seemed
deserted. I’d have thought there would be other people taking shelter,
but the town was small. Maybe they got everyone evacuated or to an actual
shelter before the storm started.

He turned his head to the side, not looking at me, but like he was trying
to see if I was moving. I wasn’t.

“You good?”

“I-I d-don’t know.”

Carefully, Ice turned farther until he saw I was still dressed, then he
turned all the way and stepped closer to me. “You’re safe, Dawn.
I swear I’ll keep you safe. I’ll protect you with my
life.” Intense, dark eyes bore into my own. He was so tall and big, he
loomed over me. I should have been intimidated but I wasn’t.

It was in that moment I realized why my dad trusted Ice so much. He was
capable, strong, and fiercely loyal. He was also my calm in the middle of
this storm. Literally. I also knew that like Cain and El Diablo, Ice was
every bit as capable and sure of himself as they were. As I looked up at
him, I saw a flicker of something in his gaze that made my heart race.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice hoarse from the wind and the
rain.

Ice’s hand found my chin, tilting my face up to his. “Trust me
to see you through this. Yes?” I nodded. “Good. Get some dry
clothes on. I’ve got your back.”

As I looked up into his face, one strangled sob escaped me. I thought he
might look disgruntled or annoyed. Instead, Ice’s eyes got big and he
rocked backward like he was going to step away from me. Then he shook his
head and reached for me.

“Come here, honey.”

Having Ice pull me into his arms was the very last thing I expected. He
surrounded me with his big frame, those strong arms holding me tightly when
I felt like I was going to fragment into a million pieces.

I wanted to break down. Wanted to let the fear wash through me so I could
cleanse myself of it. Get it out of my system. But this was only the
beginning. I knew the worst was yet to come, and that was assuming we could
get out of this stupid parking garage and to the Salvation’s Bane
clubhouse.

“Take some deep breaths for me.” His gruff voice was oddly
soothing. His arms around me kept me grounded when I knew I was so in over
my head — literally — there was no way I could fight this on my own. I
could feel the heavy muscles of his chest where I had my cheek on his wet
shirt. The water was hot from the heat of his skin and as he rubbed one hand
gently up and down my back, the tension lessened inside me somewhat.

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry. This is a pretty scary situation.”

Strangely, I felt a laugh bubble up in my throat. “You can say that
again.”

He grunted, holding me a few seconds longer before pulling back. “You
can do this, Dawn. Get some dry clothes on and I’ll do the same. Then
we’ll check in with Thorn and Ripper. They’re keeping an eye on
the weather minute by minute.”

“I think Shotgun is too.”

“I’m sure he is. Likely, he and Ripper are in constant contact,
conferring with each other and figuring out the best course of action for
us. They’ll get me the most accurate information they can, and
I’ll decide what we do next.”

Again, I nodded. “OK.” I took another breath. “OK. I can
do this.”

He nodded sharply at me. “Of course, you can. You’re El
Diablo’s daughter.” He raised his chin looking proud. Of me?
Then he turned his back so I could have some privacy.

 

 

About the Author

International bestselling author Marteeka Karland leads a double life as an
erotic romance writer by evening and a semi-domesticated housewife by day.
Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes pleasure in
spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited, vulnerable
heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful
ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her writings are
speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning delight
entwined with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying conclusions that
elicit a sigh from her readers.

Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband
with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for
preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts
(which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with
Marteeka’s latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her
website. Don’t forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you
with a potpourri of Teeka’s beloved recipes, book suggestions, autograph
events, and a plethora of interesting tidbits.

 

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

Author on Facebook


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


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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


 

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

Naughty Netherworld Press Books

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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


 

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


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

Posted on by

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

 

Motorcycle Club Romance

Date Published: June 23, 2023

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

 

 

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

 

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

Posted on by

 

(Celtic Magic, Book 4)

 

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

Date Published: June 16, 2023


 

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

 

 

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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

 

 

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

 

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

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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

 

 

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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