Category Archives: Teaser Tuesday

TEASER TUESDAY: Balor by Harley Wylde

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(Balor’s Saints MC)

 

Fantasy Romance, Motorcycle Club

Date Published: November 15, 2024

 

 

Tap into the magick, feel the heat, and ride along with the Balor’s Saints MC on this unmissable journey of danger and desire.

 

Belladonna: My father, the leader of my coven, is a monster. When I hear
him talking about selling me in marriage to another coven, I know I need to
escape. And there’s only one hope. I have to find the mage who
prophesied to father the most powerful child seen in centuries and get him
to sleep with me.

I knew tricking the notorious dark mage Balor Hades into bed was risky. But
I’d planned to be gone before my spell wore off. Just one
problem… He woke up before I did. Now he’s confined me to his
house… and he’s beyond pissed.

Balor: The witch should have never darkened my doorstep. She definitely
shouldn’t have cast a spell on me. But she did, and now I know
she’s mine… my fated mate. I’ve waited two hundred years,
and now that I have her in my grasp, I’m not letting her go.
I’ll put everything on the line to protect her, even from her own
father. But can the town of Darkwood survive a battle with her coven?

My brothers in the Balor’s Saints MC have my back, even if they
aren’t too sure about Belladonna just yet. With them on my side, I
know we’ll get through this. Except I’ve been keeping something
from them — my real identity. When they find out, will all hell break
loose? Or will they still stand with me to fight against the supernatural
storm brewing?

 

Dive into this supernatural romance that mixes spicy passion with
pulse-pounding action.

 

 

EXCERPT

Balor

Adjusting my leather jacket, I stepped into the clubhouse, letting the door
swing shut behind me. Casual attire suited my alter ego — jeans, a plain
T-shirt, and the jacket that was more than just a piece of clothing. It was
a symbol.

The low hum of conversation filled the room, mingling with the scent of
leather and beer. The clubhouse had an air of camaraderie, the kind that
came from shared secrets and mutual respect. Balor’s Saints MC — my
club. My men. Even if they didn’t realize it yet.

I nodded to someone across the room, my gaze sweeping over the familiar
faces. Collin lounged on the couch, his eyes fixed on the TV screen. The
crime drama playing out seemed a bit too close to home. I’d heard the
whispers when he’d come to town. Seen the warrant myself. He’d
seemed genuine when he’d said the crime had been justified. Still. I
liked to make sure he wasn’t killing anyone while he was here.

I’d built this club gradually, but the idea had come to me about
twenty years ago. Maybe slightly longer, or shorter. As long as I’d
been alive, forget days blurring together. Entire years did. Collin had
joined us about five years ago. I knew for a human that was a decent amount
of time. For the rest of us, it was barely a blip on our radar. None of
these men had known one another before I’d brought them into the club,
and they hadn’t all moved to town even close to the same timeframe.
But somehow, we worked well together, even though we all had a darker side,
including the human. My club brothers weren’t saints — despite our
club name — but we didn’t harm the innocent.

I took in the sharp angles of his face, the pale blue eyes that seemed to
not miss a thing. I didn’t think anything in the room escaped his
notice. Collin was always watchful. I’d wondered if it was because of
the life he’d led running from the law, or if it was something else.
Right now, he seemed at ease. His dark hair was short, the faintest hint of
a five-o’clock shadow along his jaw. He didn’t bother to look my
way as I crossed the room to take a seat beside him.

I watched Clay and Jackson play a game of darts. My gaze moved to the TV. I
didn’t need to look at Collin for what I had planned. I doubted
he’d even realize what I was doing. My magick slid along my skin, like
the soft caress of a lover. I let it slither out, searching. When it brushed
against Collin’s thoughts, I felt the familiar tingle in my
fingertips. He didn’t even flinch. No indication he knew what
I’d done. I’d gotten better at being subtle. No images of blood
or fear. I did see a few images of him fucking one of the strippers down the
road. I wouldn’t deny it made my dick hard. I’d never claimed to
be a saint. Even my club brothers didn’t know how true that was.

“Show any good?” I nodded to the TV.

He snorted. “It’s crap. But it’s better than
nothing.”

The low hum of the TV nearly drowned out the sound of the darts hitting the
board. Someone had turned off the lights in the front of the building, and
shadows crept along the walls in the great room.

Collin shifted on the couch. “Didn’t expect to see you
tonight.”

I offered a faint smile. “Had some business in town. Thought
I’d stop by, have a drink with my club brothers.”

Clay pulled a dart free from the board a few feet away. I watched as the
muscles in his back bunched under his shirt. He threw the dart, and I heard
the thud as it hit the target.

“Not bad,” Jackson Mays said. He pulled his own darts free and
stepped back.

Jackson’s gaze lingered on me for a moment, and I saw his eyes
darken. Not with lust. No. The necromancer didn’t want to fuck me. He
wanted to pull me apart and see what made me tick. I’d have to watch
him. I’d never admit it, but I didn’t know everything he could
do. I’d need to look into his kind a bit more, see how much of a
threat he could be. Another thing I’d been putting off. It
wasn’t like Jackson hadn’t been here for about a decade already.
Then again, there was a chance I wouldn’t be able to dig up much,
regardless of which contacts I used. He seemed like the type who knew how to
keep his secrets buried.

His raven hair was neatly trimmed, his clothing immaculate. I’d
noticed he preferred darker colors, and today was no different. The shirt
and jeans he wore were black, even his boots.

“Think you can do better?” Clay asked.

“I can try.” Jackson’s tone remained calm and
measured.

Clay threw his last dart and joined us, grabbing a beer from the fridge
before he settled into a chair. “You’ve got to be cheating.
There’s no way you’d consistently win against me, not when my
reflexes are better.”

“Just lucky.” Jackson’s lips twitched.

Ben, who’d been sitting at the table, looked up from his phone. He
seemed to see right through me. His dark hair was mussed as if he’d
run his fingers through it repeatedly. A perpetual smirk played on his lips,
and I could see the appeal he’d have for a lot of people. He had a
roguish charm and oozed danger. His looks and confidence didn’t hurt
either. I knew better than to assume he was harmless. I could see it in the
way he carried himself. The others didn’t seem the least bit concerned
about him.

I’d heard a little about him before he joined the club nearly twelve
years ago. Not enough to satisfy my curiosity. He kept to himself a lot.
I’d considered trying to read his thoughts but worried it might scare
him off. I’d wait it out. If he was a threat, we’d figure it out
sooner or later. I’d hoped it would be later. I liked him, and I knew
the others did too.

He stood and made his way over to us. His movements were almost ethereal in
their grace. There was something almost intimate about it, and it made me
understand why so many people offered up their necks to him, or any other
veins he wanted to sink his fangs into.

“This is what we’ve come to? Watching bad TV because
we’re too lazy to find the remote?” he asked.

I chuckled. “It’s not so bad. Beats staring at a wall.”
These men were my brothers, not by blood but by choice. And yet I lied to
them every fucking day. If they ever found out… No, it wouldn’t
do me any good to go down that road. Not until I had to. Sooner or later, my
identity would come out. Nothing remained a secret forever.

Clay took a swig of his beer. “Heard some weird things going on in
town. You hear anything?”

I shrugged. “I hear a lot of things. Some of them might even be
true.”

Ben snorted. “You’d think people would have better things to do
than gossip.”

“Humans have always gossiped,” I said. “It’s in
their nature. But supernaturals are even worse.”

Collin leaned back, stretching his legs out. “So, what’s the
word on the street, then?”

I let my gaze drift over him. “I hear there’s a human in town
who likes to play house with a bunch of supernaturals. As in keeping them
like pets.”

Jackson’s eyes darkened, and I wondered if he’d be seeking out
that person and liberating the enslaved people. Our people. There
weren’t a lot of humans in this town, not compared to the number of
supernatural beings, but the ones we did have didn’t typically cause
trouble. But this person was new and clearly didn’t know the rules
yet.

“Know what else I heard recently?”

 

 

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 on Facebook, Instagram, & TikTok: @harleywylde

 

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

 

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TEASER TUESDAY: Dreams Eclipsed by Kira Stone

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Sci-Fi, Futuristic Romance

Date Published: November 8, 2024

 

 

Janet’s orgasms are earth-shattering. At least they are when she’s Dreaming in the Zodiac, a virtual reality world created by Dr. Archer Tate. The problem is that, technically, a system shutdown shouldn’t be possible, especially not from a mere cyber-orgasm. Gamely, Janet reveals every intimate detail of her Dreams for the team’s troubleshooting analysis but several weeks later, the cause of the anomalous malfunction remains a mystery.

Archer blames Janet for the Zodiac’s glitch. He just can’t figure out how
she’s triggering it. Doesn’t help that listening to her reveal her
lusty Zodiac Dreams, orgasm by orgasm, is driving him insane with lust for
her. For the sake of the project and his sanity, he decides to Dream with
her so he can catch her in the act and put this business to rest.

There’s more to Janet’s orgasmic Zodiac Dreaming than mere mechanics. It
takes someone who knows Janet’s heart as well as her mind and body to create
the disruptive orgasm. When the team psychologist, Liam, insists he’s better
suited for the job, Archer realizes he could lose something more precious to
him than Zodiac. Will sharing Janet with Liam solve their problems, or will
he lose her forever?

 

EXCERPT

 

Janet Widgeon sauntered into the smoky jazz club, her stiletto heels
clicking on the varnished wood floor. Notes of sweet, sassy blues rolled
down the dimly lit hall to welcome her. She was early, far earlier than she
normally arrived at the Zodiac Club, but pacing in her apartment
hadn’t lessened her anxiety.

Is he as excited about tonight as I am? Is he already here, waiting for me?

The burly bouncer stationed at the entrance greeted her.
“Evenin’, Miss Janet.” His thin black lips curved slightly upward as he took in her skintight, siren red dress. High praise coming from the stoic man.

Though she wore three-inch heels, she had to stretch to kiss the beefy man’s cheek. “Evening, Trent. How’s the mood tonight?”

“Hotter than Maria’s gumbo.”

Janet chuckled. “Don’t let her hear you say that, or her next batch will violate our fire code.”

Trent ducked his head in agreement. “True that.”

She fingered her slim, sequined purse — it was the same shade as the dress and shoes — as she surrendered to her curiosity. “Any messages for me?”

“None of the friendly sort, if that’s what you’re asking.” Even in the dim light she could see his brown eyes sparkle with amusement.

With a nod, she deftly spun on the points of her shoes and headed toward the bar’s crowded interior.

“Going to your office, Miss, or should I ask one of the girls to bring a glass of white wine to your table?”

Her gaze roamed the dim interior as she considered her answer.
“I’m far too restless to concentrate on paperwork tonight. I think I’ll mingle first, and then find a seat when Jim begins his first set.”

“You have yourself a fine evening then, Miss Janet.”

Janet penetrated the hazy atmosphere where a broad mix of patrons congregated around small tables in front of the stage. Tonight’s headlining act was a real coup for the club. Jim Byrnes owned a nightspot in Vancouver and rarely played anyplace else. How her manager had sweet-talked him into taking a trip to her little place in bayou country was a secret that man wasn’t telling.

A relatively new kid on the national jazz scene, Chris Thomas King was
currently warming up the room with good, old-fashioned songs. Janet hummed
along with his rendition of the old Blues classic John Law as she circulated
through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with old and new friends.

Jim’s name was a big draw, and Janet was pleased to see her staff
keeping up with the clientele’s high demand for fresh, full glasses.
Most of the customers wouldn’t want a meal so late at night, just a
few Cajun snacks to keep the alcohol company. Janet noted that Maria and her
kitchen staff seemed to have those requests under control as well.

There was only one question remaining on her mind. By the time she
completed a full circuit of the room, Janet had that answer too. He’s not here.

Instead of being disappointed, a tremor of excitement rippled along her
spine. He wasn’t here. Yet. But he would come. She was sure of it.

Janet signaled for a barmaid to bring over a drink as she sat down at an
empty table, the one reserved for her exclusive use, in a dark corner at the
right edge of the stage. Usually, she invited others to join her, but not
this time. The only person whose company she desired now knew where to find
her — and would, sometime before the night was over.

It had been exactly a month ago that she’d first met him, a friend of
a friend who shared her fondness for delta blues and late-night
conversation. They’d talked until dawn threatened to cross the line
from speculation to fact. He’d left her with a passionate kiss and a
promise to return the following Saturday.

In fact, he’d come back again and again to the Zodiac Club, never
staying beyond closing, never asking if he could take her home or inviting
her to his place. But after their last encounter, she knew their next
meeting would end differently. The sexual tension between them had hit a
boiling point. Next time, they’d either turn up the heat until their
rising passion was finally given a chance to burn, or they’d shut off
the gas for good.

And now that night had arrived.

Janet sat alone and waited for him to appear through the blues of Chris
Thomas King and then Jim Byrnes’ opening set. She enjoyed both
musicians thoroughly, yet part of her remained aware of the lingering
emptiness beside her.

As Jim’s second set began, Janet succumbed to a trickle of doubt. Had
he forgotten about their date? Lost interest? Met someone else? Normally she
didn’t allow the presence or absence of a man at her side to cast
doubt on her self-worth, but this man was the exception to every personal
rule she had about dating. She’d been so sure he felt the same way and
now…

“Why do you wear such a sad face, cherè?” a rich,
masculine voice asked from the shadows behind her.

She gasped in surprise. She’d never heard him approach, but somehow
he stood beside her, a living advertisement for sin.

Inside the dark club, his face looked chalk white. The rest of him was
encased in black from neck to toe. A lightweight ribbed turtleneck tucked
into a pair of pleated pants. A sports coat hung over one arm, the opposite
hand rested in his pants’ pocket. So much the man she remembered,
still more shadow than substance. The only part of him that vibrated with
life was the pair of quicksilver eyes which now pierced her soul.

Irritated that he’d made her doubt herself, she snapped,
“You’re like a damn ghost.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he pointed out, moving
to her side.

Janet knew his courtly manners wouldn’t allow him to sit in the empty
chair until it was offered. She’d keep him on pins and needles for a
few more seconds to satisfy her moment of pique. “You’ve missed
most of the show. Jim Byrnes, for heaven’s sake!”

“Is this transgression so severe you’d rather I go?” His
whisky-smooth voice whispered against her ear.

Pure lust snaked down her spine. How could she be inches away from orgasm
just from the sound of his voice?

 

About the Author

Kira Stone has been around the block…the writer’s block, that is.

From vamps and witches to historical heroes, from futuristic scientists to paranormal corporate executives, from Canadian werewolves to off-world
shifters, Kira has written about them all. Manlove has sparked hot and heavy
in many of her plots, but Kira also finds a lucky lady to keep the sexy
heroes company from time to time. While Scotland remains her favorite place
in the world, Kira is constantly in search of new adventures to add to the
creative primordial ooze where her best stories are born.

 

Author Links

Author on Facebook

Author on Goodreads

Author’s Website

 

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

 

Pre-Order Today

 

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TEASER TUESDAY: Deadline by William G. Hyland, Jr.

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Fiction Thriller

Date Published: 11-01-2024

Publisher: SIMON & SCHUSTER/ARCHWAY


 

 

You may not believe in ghosts, but you cannot deny terror.

 

To uncover the truth about her mother’s mysterious disappearance
years ago, the estranged daughter of a renowned illusionist must overcome
her fear and spend three nights in her father’s secluded gothic
mansion, where he has vowed to return from the grave. Helped by an
adventurous reporter, she discovers a terrifying childhood secret that
thrusts her into a world of deception and jeopardy, confronting a haunting
supernatural presence and dark family secrets.

 

 DEADLINE is a supernatural, suspense thriller with a strong female
protagonist, a deeply terrifying antagonist and a series of disturbing
surprises that build to an ultimate shocker of an ending, blurring the lines
between reality and illusion.

 

 

 

PROLOGUE

 

An hour ago, I was almost burned to death. My life was saved by something
supernatural, something not from this world. Call it what you will. A ghost,
a spirit, a presence.

The events I now chronicle were the real thing. They happened to me at
Sebastian Castle, the mansion of the famed illusionist, Nicholas
Sebastian.

Thomas Veil stopped typing and stared at his computer screen. The smell of
smoke and ash still lingered in his hair and clothes as he edited the
article. He had changed the working title three times in the last five
minutes:

Life After Death?

The Mystery of Faith

Do You Believe in Ghosts?

Nicholas Sebastian: A Modern Horror Story

          
         by Thomas Veil

                    Features Editor, The Los Angeles Mirror

A darkness stirred within Veil that he could not comprehend. The hair on
the back of his hands prickled upward as he typed: “The oldest and
strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of
fear is fear of the unknown.”(H.P. Lovecraft) If that is true, I can
assure you of one thing. Spiritual forces exist. I have no doubt about that
now. Evil is something real. Over the past three days, I became part of an
obscene horror story. How easy it was to be drawn in.

But this story’s origins began twenty years ago—with one
man’s obsession with his wife, and life beyond the grave.

Veil stopped writing.

His mind sprinted in circles as his right hand trembled with exhaustion. He
knew there would be no sleep for him tonight.

When the thrumming wind blew an overhanging tree branch against the roof,
Veil flinched. The muscles in his throat tightened. It was still there: the
fear seeped in. Ghastly images rose, emotion overtaking reason, filling
Veil’s mouth with a bitter taste like a copper penny. The image of her
face was cemented in the shadow of his mind: black galaxies of eyes shot
with red.

In that moment, he declined his head and felt a shiver plaiting up his
back.

Somehow Thomas Veil sensed that someone loomed behind him, even before the
hand fell on his shoulder.

 

 

About the Author

WILLIAM G. HYLAND JR. is the award nominated author of four widely praised
historical biographies, published by St. Martin’s/Thomas Dunne Books,
(2009) and Regnery Books (2019). He is also a member of Mystery Writers of
America, the American Screenwriters Association and has attended numerous
writing seminars including Harlan Coben’s and Lee Child’s Master
Class Fiction Writing Courses on BBC MAESTRO. He holds a B.A. from the
University of Alabama and J.D. from Samford University. Before law school,
the author held a TOP SECRET security clearance and worked for the Arms
Control and Disarmament Agency.

 

Contact Link

Website

 

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TEASER TUESDAY: Deacon (Iron Tzars MC) by Marteeka Karland

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Iron Tzars MC, Book 12

 

Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap

Date Published: September 27, 2024

 

 

Apple — I gave Deacon my heart, but he said I was too young. So he left.
For over a year. Didn’t want me around. Hurt and humiliated, I left
for Grim Road MC. If anyone will understand my need to hide and lick my
wounds for a while, it’ll be my sister Lemon. Of course, Lemon’s
also a royal bitch. When I get shot, first thing she does is call Deacon —
the last person I ever want to see again. Then she sicces him on the man who
ordered the hit. Not sure who I’m gonna kill first — Deacon, or
Lemon.

Deacon — All I ever wanted was to keep Apple safe. To protect her. Mostly
from me. When my president sent me to infiltrate a trafficking ring, I
gladly accepted the assignment. I thought once I was gone, Apple’d
have time to grow up. Fall in love with someone her own age. Someone better.
Then my enemies went after Apple. When Lemon tells me she’s been shot,
her call pushes me over the edge. Now, I’m going to unleash hell.
Maybe then, Apple will forgive me for pushing her away.

 

EXCERPT

“I don’t want to wait, Deacon,” I whispered. “Not
anymore.”

“Me neither, baby. But I’ve gotta give you your property patch
in front of the club. You also gotta get inked.”

“But –” He silenced me with a kiss before laying me down on
the bed and covering me with his heavy body. His actions belied his words. I
found the ridge of his cock and rubbed myself against him.

“No, Apple.” His tone was stern, but he continued to kiss me,
nipping at my jaw and neck before placing a lingering kiss to the swell of
my breast. He stood, reaching for me and pulling me to my feet. “Not
until I give you the vest.” He grinned. “And not in the
clubhouse. We’re goin’ home.” He cupped my face and kissed
me once more before unlocking the door and pulling me after him back to the
common room.

Deacon grinned, draping an arm over my shoulders possessively. He looked
proud to have me with him. Several of the guys clapped him on the shoulder
good-naturedly and gave me respectful nods. The Iron Tzars might be as wild
as any other MC, but they were respectful of their women. Besides, everyone
knew Lemon would have their balls if they weren’t. Also, Wylde would
likely have done his worst. Which, he might be the tech guy, but Wylde was
more than what he showed on the surface.

“Deacon!” Roman called to him from across the room. The party
had started, though the place was more sedate than I’d seen in the
past. Especially since me and Lemon were the guests of honor, so to speak. I
was sure that was why there were only a couple of club girls in the area,
and they were there strictly to keep the food coming when Iris told
them.

Deacon raised his hand to the enforcer. Instead of a welcoming smile,
however, Roman looked serious. Like he was displeased in the extreme.

“Deacon? What’s wrong?” I gripped Deacon’s hand in
both of mine, looking up at him. There was a look of dread briefly before
his expression closed off. I glanced back at Roman who was giving Deacon a
hard look in return.

“Nothin’, Applejack,” he murmured, leaning close to my
ear. “I’ll be right back.” Deacon kissed my temple as he
wrapped his arms around me in a fierce hug. He strode to Roman, who took him
into Sting’s office and shut the door. It was over an hour before the
three of them exited the room. Roman said something to Deacon, who nodded.
Sting gripped Deacon’s shoulder, before slapping it in a show of
solidarity and encouragement. Whatever had happened couldn’t be too
bad. Right?

Deacon scanned the room until he found me. He flashed a tight smile before
heading in my direction. Once he reached me, he pulled me back into his arms
and hugged me tightly for several long seconds.

“What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain in a minute. Let’s go home
first.”

“Right now? The party’s just started.” I grinned up at
him. Unease had settled in my belly. I knew something was wrong and
wasn’t sure I wanted to go with him right now. The longer I put off
leaving, the longer I had this one night with him. Because I knew something
was about to happen I wouldn’t like.

“I’m sorry, honey. This can’t wait.” He gave me a
sad, gentle look, but I could see the truth in his eyes.

I shook my head. “I don’t want to, Deacon.”

He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Gripping my hand firmly, he
tugged me after him. When we got to the parking lot, he led me to his bike
and climbed on. “Ride with me, Applejack.” He held out his hand
for me to grip for balance if I wanted to climb on. He almost willed me to
take his hand.

As if I could deny him anything. I loved Deacon.

He rode me around the property for a while. I always loved the feeling of
the wind in my hair as he sped over the hard paths. It felt like I was
flying. The one time I’d been on the open road with Deacon especially.
Even with a helmet, I’d never felt more free in my life.

All too soon the ride ended and Deacon pulled up outside the little house
we’d been given. I should have been excited. This was the moment
I’d been waiting for. To be at the house with the intention of having
sex with Deacon. Only, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. He
hadn’t given me his property cut. So, whatever was about to happen
wasn’t going to be welcomed.

He helped me remove my helmet and lashed it to the back of his bike. Then
he took my hand and we went inside. Deacon locked the door but stood with
his hands on the door, his forehead against the wood.

Carefully, I placed a hand on his back. “What’s about to
happen, Deacon?” My voice was so soft I wasn’t sure if
he’d heard me, but after letting out a deep breath, Deacon turned to
face me.

“You know I love you, right, Apple?”

I nodded. “Yes. I know.”

“Then I need you to trust me. I’m going to have to wait to give
you your property cut.”

“Why?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but I was very near
tears. “This was the plan. We were going to be together.”

“We will be, Apple. I just need a year. One year. Use it to spend
time with your sister doing stuff young women your age normally
do.”

“What is this, Deacon? I don’t want to go on trips or to
parties unless it’s with you.”

“Honey, there is something I have to take care of. It’s going
to require I be gone a lot over the next several months. I don’t think
it’s fair to ask you to wait for me.”

“Wait… “ Dread washed through me and I shook my head.
“Are you… are you breaking up with me?”

“One year, Apple. Give me a year. If you haven’t found someone
you want more than me, I’ll be home and I’ll beg you to take me
back.”

“Are you going to be with other women?”

“Honey, I swear to you, I’ve not been with another woman since
I made a commitment to you. Not in the whole three years since I’ve
known you. That’s not going to change. Not as long as you’re not
in a relationship.”

I watched him for a long time, studying his expression. His eyes. Looking
for anything that might give me some hint as to what was going on. I found
nothing.

With a sigh, I nodded. “I’ll be waiting on you when you come
home. I don’t want this to be the end.”

He gave me a gentle smile. “It won’t. I promise.”

“Why did you want us to come here? If you’re not giving me your
cut yet, are we still, uh, are we going to sleep together?”

“We’re not going to have sex tonight, honey. But I want to
spend the night with you. I want to hold you all night while you
sleep.”

“We can still make love, Deacon. I want you.”

“I want you too, honey. But I have to leave in the morning. I’m
not sure when I’ll be back, and even when I am, I might not be able to
stay long. I’m not using this as an excuse to take what I want without
committing to you.” He cupped my face in both his hands, leaning over
to brush a tender kiss over my lips. “I’m going to hold you
while you sleep. You’re going to give me this one night. After I
leave, we’ll revisit us in a year.”

“I’ll wait, Deacon. Just… try to talk to me as much as
you can? Make sure to see me whenever possible?”

He smiled reassuringly at me. “I promise to do everything possible to
stay in contact with you, Applejack.”

I took him at his word. He held me all night long. With Deacon wrapped
around me, I’d never slept so well as I did that night. Sure, I woke
occasionally, but only to shift my position. Always, Deacon whispered softly
to me until I dozed back off. It was paradise.

* * *

The next few months, Deacon called me at least once a week. Then it backed
off to once every other week. By the time our year was up, I hadn’t
talked to him the entire last two months before he’d promised
he’d be home.

It was another two months before he finally came back to Iron Tzars MC.
When he did, Deacon wasn’t the same person he’d been when
he’d left.

 

 

About the Author

Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double
life as an erotic romance author 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: March (Underland MC) by Harley Wylde

Posted on by

 

(Underland MC)

Motorcycle Club Romance, Age Gap, Suspense

Date Published: September 13, 2024

 

 

Sometimes the most forbidden love can be the most
irresistible…

 

Violet — My life has never been a bed of roses, especially after I lost my
brother. He gave his life for his country, and without him, I lived in pure
hell. My family was the type you read about in horror books or bad news
stories, but I was doing my best to survive. It wasn’t going so bad. I
went away to college, thought everything would be better… Until I
went to a frat party that went horribly wrong. Now I’m pregnant, lost,
and so very alone. So I did the one thing I told myself I’d never do.
I used my computer skills in a not very legal way to look up my
brother’s best friend — Marcus Blevins. He’s the only person I
can think of who might be able to help me, to keep me from drowning, or
doing something stupid. Never once did I think he’d find me
suspicious. But once he let me in, I knew I’d do anything to
stay.

March – I ran like hell from my old neighborhood by joining the
military, and even after I was discharged, I never looked back. My friend
and brother in arms lost his life. I watched the life fade from his eyes.
There’s no going back after that. How could I ever face his little
sister, Violet? I never once thought she’d track me down — or that
she could — but when she shows up on the clubhouse doorstep, I can’t
help but be suspicious. I have enough on my plate without adding her
problems to it, but once I know what happened to her, I can’t look the
other way. I’ll make them all pay for what they did. The more time I
spend with Violet, the more I realize she’s all grown up… and
the more I fall under her spell. If her brother knew the sorts of thoughts
I’m having, he’d come back from the dead to kick my ass. But
just maybe I need Vi as much as she needs me.

 

Suspense, passion, and second chances — are you ready to dive into this
captivating tale?

 

WARNING: Intended for readers 18+ due to adult situations, language, and
violence. March has a guaranteed HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.

 

EXCERPT

“March, Ben knew,” Hatter stated, firm and resolute. “He
knew.”

“Knew what?” I asked, even though I feared the answer.

“That we’re brothers. All of us,” Hatter replied. I knew
what he meant. Sometimes family went beyond blood.

“Brothers ‘til the end,” Cheshire echoed quietly, and we
drank to that unspoken truth.

The silence lingered like a thick fog, heavy enough to choke on. Cheshire
broke it first, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “We’ve
all got ghosts, brother. Some just scream louder than others. You and
Ben… Well, you had a longer history than the rest of us had with him.
And you were right there when it happened.”

No shit. Some nights, I still felt the spray of his blood coating my skin.
The warmth of it searing me like hot coals.

“Damn right,” Hatter added. “Lost too many to count. Each
one leaves a mark, but you keep going. Because that’s what warriors
do.”

My fists unclenched slowly, the white of my knuckles fading back to flesh.
Their words, raw and honest, chiseled away at the walls I’d
built.

“Remember Rico?” Cheshire asked, tipping his chair back, his
blue eyes clouding over. “Took three bullets meant for me. I hear his
laugh sometimes, in the wind. It’s like he’s still here, riding
with us.”

“Rico was a good man.” Hatter nodded solemnly. “Died a
warrior’s death.”

“And Ben… he died a hero’s death,” I murmured,
finally finding the strength to lift my gaze.

“Heroes, every last one,” Hatter agreed. His piercing eyes held
mine, not letting me sink back into the dark. “And we carry them with
us, every mile of the road.”

“Every damn mile,” I echoed, feeling the truth in his words
weave through the pain.

“Look around, March,” Cheshire said, gesturing to the crowded
room. “This is family. We’re your brothers, through thick and
thin. We may not have all made it out of there alive, but our fallen
brothers will live on in our memories. As long as we remember them,
they’ll never truly die.”

I scanned the clubhouse, the familiar scents of oil and leather wrapping
around me like a balm. Laughter bounced off the walls, and the warmth soaked
into me. This place, these men, they were my sanctuary in a world laced with
chaos.

“Family,” I whispered, allowing the word to settle in my
chest.

“Always,” Hatter affirmed, reaching across the table to clasp
my shoulder.

“Let’s drink to that,” Cheshire said, an edge of his grin
returning. He raised his beer, and Hatter and I followed suit, our bottles
clinking.

The tension drained from my body, seeping into the floorboards below. In
its place, something warm unfurled, a sense of peace I hadn’t felt in
a long time. It never lasted. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t. I took what
little bits of solace I could find here and there. It was the only way to
remain even somewhat sane.

“Brothers,” I said, meeting their eyes. The bond between us,
forged in blood and fire, was unbreakable.

“Until the end,” they replied in unison.

For the first time in what felt like forever, laughter bubbled up from deep
within me, genuine and freeing. I was home, surrounded by my brothers, and
for now, that was all I needed. And when the nightmares returned, I’d
have to remind myself of this moment, and all the ones like it we’d
shared since we became civilians again.

The room hushed as I stood, beer in hand, eyes scanning the faces of my
brothers. Each one carried scars, tales etched in flesh and soul. The air
was thick with unspoken understanding, an electric current of shared loss
that hummed beneath our skin. I knew they could tell by the look in my eyes
that I’d been fighting my demons before I came in here. Each man had
done the same, countless times.

“Tonight,” I started, “we remember those who aren’t
here to raise a glass. Ben. Rico. Tate.” My throat tightened, a noose
of grief tugging with every name.

“Vick,” Rabbit said, lifting his beer.

“Jarret,” Tweedle said.

“To our fallen brothers, may the road they ride be smooth and
endless,” I said.

“Ride free,” the chorus echoed back, a haunting melody of
respect and remembrance.

I drank, the bitter brew sliding down my throat. Swallowed past the lump
that never quite faded. With each sip, a silent oath to never forget.

I lowered my bottle, the weight of brotherhood heavy in my chest. A
patchwork family bound tighter than blood could ever dictate. It gave
purpose to the pain, a beacon in the tempest that was my mind.

They didn’t know how much they kept me anchored, these men who shared
my demons. How the roar of engines and their gruff voices were the only
lullabies capable of quieting the cacophony of war that still played on a
loop in my head.

“March,” Hatter’s voice cut through my reflection.
“They’d be damn proud of you.”

“Damn right,” Cheshire added, his smirk betraying the moisture
in his eyes.

Pride mingled with the sorrow, a bittersweet cocktail that warmed from
within. This club, this duty I bore, it was more than a title or a role. It
was a lifeline — a reason to keep pushing when darkness clawed at my
edges.

“Thanks,” I managed, my voice raw. “Couldn’t do it
without you bastards.”

Laughter erupted, a salve to the open wounds. In their company, even the
deepest cuts seemed to heal, if just for a moment.

Once a Marine, always a Marine. But here, in the Underland MC, we were
more. We were guardians of each other’s sanity, keepers of stories too
grim for the light of day. And protectors of this town.

I looked around at my brothers, their faces as hard as the lives we led,
yet there was warmth there too. They were the pillars in the chaos, the
constant in a life that had offered little else.

In the safety of shadows, where the world couldn’t reach us, we were
invincible. And in that moment, I allowed myself to believe it. We’d
already battled several times in this place we now called home, and
we’d been lucky enough to not lose anyone.

Outside these walls, danger prowled, hungry and relentless. It clawed at
the edges of our sanctuary, waiting for a crack to slip through, a weakness
to exploit.

“Tomorrow’s ride is going to be dicey,” I said.
“But we ride together, through whatever shitstorm comes our
way.”

 

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 on Facebook, Instagram, & TikTok: @harleywylde

 

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

 

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TEASER TUESDAY: Dread (Scorned Devils MC) by J. Halie Steele

Posted on by

 

Scorned Devils MC, Book 1

 

Contemporary LGBTQ MC Romance

Date Published: 9/6/2024

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC


 

Dread: Nicholas “Dread” Derickson is all about his MC, Scorned
Devils — until he spies a young man who sets his rebel blood on fire. Sexy
bastard might be his undoing if Dread can’t get the president to turn a
blind eye to his entanglement, which is cutting into club business just as a
splinter group from another club moves into the area. One rider of the
wayward gang rubs Dread the wrong way — particularly when he discovers the
biker had a prior relationship with the man Dread wants to make his.

Marvin: Marvin Branch hadn’t planned on attending an outlaw biker club
party with a woman he’d met at his new job, but now he can’t stop eyeing the
handsome older guy who’s definitely a member. Marv’s last liaison ended
because the biker he hooked up with refused to be open about their
relationship. Vowing not to go down that road again, Marv can’t help being
enthralled by Nicholas. Soon Marvin struggles with his new lover’s actions,
and his fear of what will happen when he walks away gets the better of him.
The man is not only possessive, he’s hell-bent on keeping Marv until he’s
had his fill.

 

Excerpt

 

Dread

“Nicholas, about the two prospects.”

Dread hated these damn open-air parties. The park was jammed with bodies.
Giving back to the community was necessary now and again. They deserved
something, because unless things really got out of hand, the two small local
police forces turned a blind eye to most of the Scorned Devils motorcycle
club’s bullshit.

More importantly, he hated being called Nicholas. Nicholas Derickson had
ceased to exist a long time ago. His death had occurred the first time Dread
killed a man. The culprit had missed being on the Scorned Devils MC’s
radar, but he should have been. That body had never been found. Never will
be, either.

There had been two others. Members who’d become disruptive and had to
be dealt with outside the law. Dread felt no guilt, as they understood the
rules when they prospected. There had been one more. Club president Barton
“Battle” Graves hadn’t been sure of the last death. Even
after finding the man’s cut in the clubhouse chest only he and Dread
had access to, Battle left it alone at first, ignoring the incident for a
time because Dread was Scorned Devils inside out, and Bat knew beyond a
doubt he intended to protect his club and anyone they vowed allegiance until
Dread took his last breath.

Hell, the man had screwed around with Bat’s older and only sister,
Glory Graves. Treated her like shit. She’d been abused, then abandoned
after the bastard fathered the pres’ niece, Belinda. He’d
occasionally turn up when he was down on his luck, to demand money, or a
room for a few days. If it was easier for Bat to believe the man walked away
for good, so be it.

Bat had asked about the disappearance once. Dread never responded. And that
skull never got painted on Dread’s bikes. However, if he delayed
answering Battle now, the jackass would never shut up.

“Nicholas, you hear me?”

“Don’t fucking call me that.” Dread had not taken his
gaze off the stranger who’d arrived accompanied by Bat’s niece,
Belinda. Jesus, he’s hot! The thought surprised Dread. The man was
lean, clean shaven and, fuck, downright pretty — and those types never
excited him. Something about the way the man carried himself, how he
returned Dread’s scrutiny without blinking, excited him, though.
Bastard exuded confidence.

Nodding in their direction, Dread asked, “Who’s that with
Belinda?” Dread had no interest in diving back into the same pond he
swam in for the last six months. His sex life had drifted into no
man’s land, but the youngster he eyed was a bright spot on the
horizon. I will fuck him until he can’t walk.

“How the hell would I know? Ask Belinda. No matter how much I bitch,
she cozies up to some man. Shit, she calls you uncle more often than
me.” Attempting to imitate his niece, Bat mocked, “Why
can’t you call me Bell, like Uncle Dread?”

“What’s the big deal?”

“My sister’s crap’s the big deal. She’s biting my
ass. Doesn’t like her daughter anywhere near me. Hell, I don’t
either.”

“Barton, grab your balls and tell your sister to fuck off.”
Dread’s attention remained on the newcomer.

“Kiss my ass. Anyway, he likely works with Belinda at one of your
establishments.” Kicking the dirt, Bat added, “All the strangers
here, you’re concerned by my niece’s latest
conquest?”

Holding eye contact, Dread smiled at the fucker. He knew the sexy young man
slinking behind Belinda wasn’t a lady’s man. “He’s
not her type.” There would be no complaint from Dread about her
dragging this one along, yet Dread made note to talk with his managers, keep
better tabs on who they hired. “You asked me to give her a job,
Battle. It was Cutters or Hell’s Lair.”

“She’s not to be in any part of the Lair, Dread. Bar,
clubhouse, nothing. I mean it.”

Dread observed Bell’s friend laughing at something a member’s
old lady had said. He is not Hell’s Lair material, either. Dread owned
both Cutters, a nice restaurant featuring live music on weekends, and
Hell’s Lair, a straight up hole-in-the-wall biker’s bar. He
received nice compensation monthly from the Scorned Devils MC treasury for
renting them the large, wide-open storage area behind the bar. It doubled as
the clubhouse.

The spot had had another name before Dread changed it to Hell’s Lair.
Paid pennies on the dollar when he violently wrestled ownership from a man
who didn’t deserve it. Jackass mistreated his employees and fired
anyone he discovered was gay. For a moment Dread wondered where that bastard
had ended up after being beaten to within an inch of his life and chased out
the city. One thing Dread was sure of, the son of a bitch would never open
his mouth about what had occurred.

Subsequently, the bar made enough for Dread to snatch Cutters up when it
came on the market. Only a handful of his crew were aware who owned Cutters,
and none ever set foot inside. Too fancy for their liking. Even he
couldn’t buy respectability, but Dread liked having one thing in his
life that felt decent.

“Too much talk in the Lair’s bar area. That shit must be
addressed and I don’t trust Belinda to follow my rule about visiting
the club.”

“I’ll handle the loose lips. Anyway, our guys know not to
permit your niece inside. If she sneaks in, you or I will get a call. If
they ever touch a hair on her head, they’ll see me sooner than
later.” Angling toward Battle, Dread slapped the pres’ shoulder.
“That’s what you have me for.”

“And sometimes you worry me.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Dread was the only one who dared speak to
the club president like that. “What were you saying about
prospects?”

“A vote on patching is necessary. They’ve both proved
themselves.” Bat’s sigh filled the air. “We got to watch
those five hellions out of Philadelphia. Shit, been too long since I had a
sit-down with the pres of Bayside Specters. Sons of bitches didn’t
even have the courage or respect to announce themselves. Still, I’d
like to avoid trouble. Devils have grown. We established ourselves in the
county and Coatesville is home. It’s a small city and trouble of any
sort marring our MC’s reputation will not be tolerated.”

Growth was important. Thirty-four members strong, Scorned Devils had become
a club to be reckoned with in Pennsylvania but Bat was right.
“We’ll take it up at the next meeting. This isn’t the time
or place.”

Over the last couple months, several instances had developed that Dread
wished the president had allowed him to handle. He understood Bat’s
caution, yet appearing weak wasn’t suitable. Dread had turned down
running the Devils, or becoming vice president as Battle had hoped, as they
moved up through club ranks. Dread liked his position of sergeant at arms.
Trusting anyone else to ensure club rules would be followed and appropriate
punishment doled out when necessary didn’t suit Dread, either.

“Don’t know how you can tell, but you’re probably right
about that young man. Anyway, I know I’m not getting anything useful
out of you until you make yourself known to him.” Turning serious, Bat
added, “Be careful.”

“Careful?” Bat knew who Dread was and he also understood some
things would never change. “That shit flew out the window twenty years
ago when I screwed the fourth prospect who patched for the Devils. I can
handle members who scoff at what I am.” A few hard cases, kept under
Dread’s scrutiny, disdained gay activity, but not one of the Devils
would dare say a word about his or any other member’s sexual
inclination. “Terror’s not here to protect the fuckers, and they
like having their teeth.”

The Scorned Devils vice president was near the end of a three-year sentence
for assault. Nineteen years younger than Dread, Terror was fucking nuts, and
Dread didn’t relish the time he would return. Made him wish,
sometimes, he had accepted vice president under Battle. Luckily, Bat had
succeeded in keeping them from tearing each other apart. At least for now.
But the day would come.

“You know what the fuck I mean. He’s not one of us. He’s
too clean cut for the likes of us, and he reeks of decency. Hell, the kid
isn’t even your usual hairy type.” Bat’s eyes shuttered.
“Not as if… Look, Dread, club culture doesn’t favor
settling down.”

“What? Fuck that, man, I’m not looking for anything permanent.
Scorned Devils requires my attention, I’m here, Battle. That shit will
never change.” Jerking away, Dread made his way through the crowd to
lay claim to his next conquest.

About the Author

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

J. Hali Steele wishes she could grow fur, wings, or fangs, so she can stay
warm, fly, or just plain bite the crap out of… Well, she can’t
do those things but she wishes she could!

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

 

Author on Instagram/Facebook: @jhalisteele

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

 

 

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TEASER TUESDAY: The Fear Doctor

Posted on by

 

Stories: Armageddon, Betrayal, The Cabin, Darkness, Deathly Silence,
Don’t Speak, The Flavor of Death, The Frame, Night of the Living
Stomach, Mystery of the Living Stomach, The Silence, Speak of the Devil,
Transmission of Salvation, Whispers In the Dark

 

Flash Fiction, Horror

Publication Date: September 23, 2024


 

Bite-sized horror stories are brought to you by twenty-five 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 by Bernardo Villela, D.J. Tuskmor, Paul Lonardo, Joshua
Ginsberg, Amanda Bergloff, Kelly Barker, Zari Hunt, Yuliia Vereta, Andrew
Buckner, T.L. Beeding, K.J. Watson, Kelly Matsuura, Jonathan Reddoch, Petina
Strohmer, Jacek Wilkos, Kailey Alessi, Vanessa Bane, Andreas Flögel,
Natalya Monyok, Mattie Hernandez, Ken Whitson, Liam Kerry, C.L. Hart,
Geneviève Lowe, and J.E. Feldman.

 

Excerpt

Night of the Living Stomach

The body was dead but the stomach was not. It lurched its way out of the
incision and landed with a plop on the autopsy room floor. It inched along
tasting cleaning fluid until it found the spotless break room. It climbed
onto the pristine counter and enveloped the shiny coffee maker.

The stomach recoiled in disgust at the flavor of more cleaning products
combined with bitter coffee grounds. It missed its host. Isaac Head never
failed to feed it on command. In fact, he’d been about to bite into a
juicy burger when he plowed into an oncoming semi.


About the Author

C. L. Hart is the owner and sole employee of Ornery Owl Ventures, is an
editor who writes or a writer who edits. 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.

Ms. Hart is a member of ACES Editing Society, The Denver Horror Collective,
First Coast Romance Writers, The H. P. Lovecraft Society, Passionate Ink
(writing as Lil DeVille), and Rocky Mountain Romance Writers.

 

Follow C. L. Hart

 

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TEASER: Newton’s First by Stephanie Burke & Areana Senoj

Posted on by

A Cyberpunk Novel

Motherboards & Magic, Book 1

 

Cyberpunk / Science Fiction

Date Published: August 2, 2024



 


Newton’s First Law: An object in motion remains in motion. Until an
outside force screws it all up.

As a grieving child in a burned-out husk of a body, Asher Syphamus was
given an impersonal room within the Company’s cold labs — until he
was offered a second chance with illegal and painful cybernetic
augmentations. Now, after many decades of martial arts training and mental
conditioning, Ash is the all powerful DPL’s top agent and never misses
a target. Along with his beautiful, hyper-sexed purple partner, Vers, the
unstoppable duo hunts down the most dangerous hackers and criminals for
punishment or elimination.

Korya Funo is full of privileged DPL information downloaded into her brain.
If caught, she would be deleted from the census. That keeps her running —
until her luck runs out in Paradise, Nevada. When she’s captured by
Ash and Vers, Korya accidentally reveals the truth about Asher’s
parents’ deaths, and then all hell breaks loose.

Now with all their lives on the line and the fate of the planet riding on
their backs, they trio will show the world why Newton’s First Law is
not to be screwed with.

 

EXCERPT

Copyright ©2024 Stephanie Burke & Areana Senoj

“Fuck, Vers. Where are you?” Asher Syphamus muttered softly,
knowing the cochlear implant installed just above his jaw bone and below his
ear would pick up his words.

The wind whipped back the few tendrils of hair that escaped the tight bun
containing his long hair. The bun hid locks tipped a rich blue almost
matching the color of his cybernetic left eye.

As he walked away from the Virt Dive, the virtual reality diving bar where
his mark had been lost earlier in the Blue, he wondered why people even
bothered to hide from real life. The fucking Blue was where everyone logged
in, turned on, and turned up in cyberspace. The Blue was a whole world
inside the actual world, one that many used to escape life, spread joy,
disappear into a sea of information, of education… to be your avatar
while you fled your body and got lost in a way that only total computer
immersion could bring. And above the Blue was the White.

The White was a shady, dangerous place where only the most experienced
divers dared to venture — the environment was just too dangerous for a
diver used to only dealing with the Blue. The White was physically a small
blank plane existing between the connection of the Blue and the person
putting out information. Here, the world’s best hackers snatched
dangerous information from accidental info dumps from those who purposefully
stole and sold the data to the highest bidder. No matter how many protocols
were put in place to protect the vulnerable space, the White divers always
found a way in. And his latest ping had come from the mark he’d
finally tracked down to this dive.

He felt the signal he was tracking start to move again and watched as his
target slipped out, looking over her shoulder as if she knew he was there
and following her. As he walked past the large, mirrored wall to the shop,
he caught a quick glimpse of himself as he passed. His face was pale, creamy
tan, the same as his mother’s. He had her eyes too, large but with an
epicanthic fold that proclaimed his Asian ancestry. His eyebrows had some
thickness but with a natural arch that made his eyes rather pretty. He had
his African father’s full lips, though not the same concentration of
melanin, more’s the pity. He could use more sun protection in this
bright-assed desert. His nose was broad though, its bridge straight as a
knife, and his cheekbones were high and sharp, like his dad’s. His
thick, wavy hair was kept long and confined now so it wouldn’t get in
his way.

Though he only caught a glimpse of himself as he followed after his mark,
he could barely stand to look at his reflection. He was a damn near perfect
combination of both his parents from what he could recall, though he
didn’t dwell on that much. The pain of it all was still too
crushing.

The air circulating through his lungs was quiet as he pulled in his
emotions. Barely a sound emerged from his body as his booted feet slammed
down on the concrete when his body lurched forward. His little trip into
nostalgia had given his mark time to run and now he had to give chase.

His heart would be racing if it actually had the capacity to pump hot blood
through his veins. His target was pulling a jackrabbit, dodging in between
early morning foot traffic on the busy city street as she looked around her,
prey knowing she was being stalked by an apex predator. Only the bright and
very visible green of her plaits kept him from moving any faster. No matter
how much he wanted to knock people aside to reach his target, he knew that
drawing more attention to himself would be detrimental to their
mission.

“I’ve been at this since the ass crack of dawn and I would
really like to get some accurate intel from you, you one-being
orgy.”

Don’t get cheeky, Vers responded. You’re just upset you don’t get laid.

Vers’ answer through Asher’s implanted microphone sounded more
amused than insulted. That wasn’t what Asher had hoped for. When Vers
was annoyed, his work efficiency increased by almost three percent and he
could use some of that efficiency now, at least until he caught up with the
woman who pinged on his internal sensors.

“Hmph,” Asher huffed. “Can you keep your mind out of your
pants and on the job? I need to know if she’s the one.”

The green-haired woman in question cast one more furtive look over her
shoulder before trying to hide herself in a gaggle of schoolchildren, all
racing and gleefully dodging through the streets teeming with people
traveling to get to their jobs and appointments in the watery light of a new
sun. With their connection pads in hand, the tourist masses were an
explosion of color, a flock of bright, chattering birds that raced through
the smiling crowds. Their laughter was contagious, and it made Asher grit
his teeth. In a firefight, mundanes always seemed to run right in the path
of danger. He wished they would all just disappear.

I’m working on it. Give me a mo. Paradaise has a complicated network
of —

“You just don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.”
Asher managed to dodge several children, keeping one eye on the green of his
mark’s hair as she ducked around a corner. He was closing in.

He moved faster, desperate not to lose her or give his position away. She
couldn’t know if he was actually chasing her and he wanted to stay in
that pocket of the unknown. She might sense someone or something was hot on
her tail, but she had no idea from which direction the attack would come.
And it wasn’t like there were a lot of places to hide in Paradaise,
Nevada.

And then he wanted to smack himself stupid for thinking that a woman who
could possibly be the government hacker he was sent out to find
wouldn’t be wily enough to actually give him the slip. Underestimation
was going to cost him dearly because the moment he turned the corner, he
lost sight of her in a sea of green, low-flying kites.

Hey buddy, guess what? Did you know there’s a butterfly kite flying
festival today? There’s gonna be a lot of kids and old people so maybe
you wanna keep an eye out for that.

“Gee, thanks, Vers. You couldn’t fucking tell me that five
minutes earlier?” As he spoke, he heard a cheer, and a wall of sound
rushed past him as the hum of several hundred robotic and some basic silk
cloth kites took to the sky. People looked up in awe as dancing holograms of
colorful transparent butterflies took to the sky, spinning and dancing as
safe holographic fireworks exploded over them.

Well, it’s a point of historical interest, as they’ve been
having the butterfly festival for over a hundred years. Get some culture,
you asshole. You need it more than you need to get laid.

“What I need is a way around this mess.” Asher looked around at
the mass of people, made up mostly of children and old people gathered in
groups, each holding massive butterfly kites of their own. Some held remotes
that controlled the flight of the butterfly kites, both real and illusory.
Most of them, unfortunately, glittered and glowed the same primarily green
color that matched his mark’s hair.

Pinging your location, Vers purred in his ear after a moment of quiet while more and more people
filed onto the special moving sidewalk heading toward the restored MGM
Grand, singing and chanting as they moved. Oh! You aren’t far from the New Bellagio. One of these days I’m
going to get you there for a real upgrade instead of the crap the powers
that be keep sending you to.

“Vers –”

I mean it. You’re in a town right outside of Vegas, baby! Almost to
the cybernetic playground of the whole entire continent ever since the
redesign of the area. To get anything better you’d have to hop a
streaker across the Pacific to Japan. It’s amazing what they can do
with both artistry and circuitry.

“Whatever the fuck,” Asher grumbled, casting his gaze around.
He ignored the small vibration in his brain as the ocular implant adjusted
and repositioned, sending his mind a feed of information calculating the
height of the buildings and the large vehicles passing by.

Turning to a small three-story building to his right, Asher took three
fast, bounding steps then flexed his leg muscles. With a mechanical whisper,
he launched himself skywards, a blurred silver flash through the backdrop of
colorful fluttering kites, before he landed on the flat solar tiles of the
roof.

Bent over, he raced along the edges of the closely placed buildings,
jumping the odd ones that bordered on alleys, leaping up to the higher ones,
his eyes constantly searching, feeding him data so he could adjust his
flight.

He was contemplating going back to the ground and following her along the
crowded streets when he saw a blur of green headed away from the celebration
and toward a small, dark street that led away from the sound of laughter and
merriment.

There, in between a closed toy shop on one side and ironically, an adult
toy shop, was where his prey was fleeing.

To the left, Casanova, Vers confirmed softly with the just the right amount of sarcasm for the
nickname. And you better move swiftly. She’s about to head to a parking lot and
if she has her vehicle shielded, well, we are shit out of luck, Ash. If she
gets away, you’d be better off hitting a pleasure palace and getting
your freak on ‘cause that signal is going to be scattered and lost. And
I urge you to take advantage of the many wonderful and erotic amenities that
this run-down trash heap of a city provides. Besides, your cherry needs
plucking ‘cause that bitch is overripe.

 

 

About the Authors

Stephanie Burke 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. 

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

Areana Senoj is a multi-genre writer of erotic romance, paranormal, and sci-fi fantasy
fiction. She’s been an actress, singer, dancer, educator, and, briefly, a stay-at-home
“tennis, soccer, and band mom,” as well as a small business entrepreneur. Now she’s
enjoying a new career living life as a full-time writer. She’s thrilled to join Changeling
Press, where she’s teamed up with USA Today Best Selling Author Stephanie Burke,
co-authoring Motherboards and Magic. 

Author’s Blog

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

 

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

 

 

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TEASER TUESDAY & GIVEAWAY: The Maker of Worlds by David Litwack

Posted on by

Fantasy

Date Published: 05-22-2024

Publisher: Evolved Publishing


 

If you had the chance to remake the world, what kind of world would you
choose?

When tragedy strikes Lucas Mack’s young life, he desperately yearns to
escape its sorrow, and takes an improbable leap through the mythical
maelstrom. Rather than splashing down on the far side like his neighbors,
he’s transported to a magical realm where he has the power to redefine not
only who he is, but the world in which he resides.

As he stumbles about trying to find his way, he meets Mia, an equally
troubled fellow pilgrim. With the help of a mystical guide and an aging
wizard, they navigate the enchanted land while learning to control their
newfound powers. Yet this realm is more complex than they expected, with
seasoned sorcerers who’ve been corrupted by the sinister side of
magic.

Limited by natural law and seduced by magic’s power, they are tested as
never before. Will the gift of magic bring renewed hope or drive them to the
edge of the void? 


Excerpt

Chapter 1 – The Departure

All stories begin with a question, and this is mine: if you had the chance to remake the world, what kind of world would you choose?
Let me start from the beginning. 

 The day before my leap, spring had peeked above the horizon. A bolder sun had inspired buds to sprout on the branches, so tiny they stood out only when moistened by the morning dew. A smattering of flowers had bloomed as well, daffodils and the tips of tulips that showed more as promise. Forsythias bulged yellow, lilacs blossomed and spread their fragrance, and the air tasted fresher too, as if purified by the increased sunlight. A time for hope. 

But not for me. The arrival of spring did nothing to remove the cloud that had shadowed my days and darkened my dreams these past six months. 

Addy had always chided me for living only part time in the real world, the rest of my time filled with flights of fantasy. 

I disagreed. My approach had always been a conscious choice, a matter of perspective. After all, what was so wonderful about reality? 

Her answer: only in the real world would I find her. 

I discovered too late how harsh my life would be without her. 

I’d slept poorly that night, my sleep disturbed by dreams, but when I awoke well before dawn, my resolve remained. Though I’d sleepwalked through my coming of age five years earlier, my circumstance had now changed, replaced by a lingering sadness, a malaise that would not heal. I’d become inclined to imagine another life elsewhere, desperate to try out an alternate path. On this day, I intended to test the maelstrom. 

The maelstrom appeared as a swirling circle of water for only three days each year, starting at the equinox—an unusual anomaly that behaved in a manner different from a proper whirlpool. This vortex hovered a foot above the lake’s surface and, more bizarrely, stood vertical. 

Townsfolk debated its purpose. The more rational claimed a perturbation of light, like a prism, caused by sprays of seasonal runoff and the angle of the sun. Others believed it to be magic, though none existed in our world. 

Of course, what we called magic might be nothing more than a label for things beyond the boundaries of reason. Natural phenomenon might still be magic. The sun’s rays lifted our spirits, and the advent of spring lightened our hearts. 

Each year, as the equinox approached, young boys who’d reached their eighteenth year would boast about their intent to challenge the maelstrom. In practice, few did. By eighteen, most had narrowed their path through life, following the example of their elders, or rebelled and chosen a contrarian course. With age, the lust for adventure diminished to bluster, tall tales told to impress their younger peers. 

Those who took the leap landed with a splash on the far side to the derision of their mates, but rumors alleged one had vanished years ago as villagers gaped, never to return. Philosophers speculated the swirling water might be a gateway to the gods, but only for those with sufficient faith. 

At eighteen, I would never have abandoned Addy, but once she was gone, my desire for change stirred. While I lacked the required faith, this was caused by the cruelty of the world, and did not reflect my belief in magic. My desperation grew until, in the spring of my twenty-third year, I determined to go. 

I’d leave before sunup, guaranteeing solitude on the shore. Should I stumble through the maelstrom to no effect, no one would witness my folly. Still in a daze, I stowed provisions in my backpack: a day’s worth of salted mutton, a loaf of hard bread, two dried apples, a full waterskin, a knife, a flint, and a rain slicker to ward off the morning chill. 

At the doorway of my Queen’s Hill cottage, I hesitated. This morning’s excursion would likely be a fool’s errand, but what if it turned out to be something more, a journey to who-knows-where? As I gazed down to the lake, a sense of foreboding crept over me. No matter. Foolhardy or not, I was committed.

 I slipped across the threshold and navigated the switchbacks in the dark. 

 The maelstrom hovered over the shallows a dozen paces offshore, in the dim light showing as nothing more than a disturbance in the air. I yanked off my boots, knotted the laces and slung them around my neck. As I rolled my trousers above the knee, I cast a lingering glance up the hill to catch a last glimpse of my cottage. 

I waited until the eastern horizon reddened and waded into the lake. 

An arm’s length from the gateway, I reached out, keeping as far away as possible while my fingertips brushed its surface. It felt like… nothing, likely no more than an illusion. In half an hour, I’d be back in my bed, no closer to comprehending the universe. Yet I’d yearned for a portal to another world, one that might allow me to deviate from accepted norms. I longed to float off to a fresher fate. 

Once, I too would have followed the safe path, with no risk of surprise, but then life did surprise me with a cosmic slap across the face that left me shattered—the taking of Addy. At twenty-two, misfortune had cleared the slate, leaving me alone and adrift. 

I drew in a breath and plunged through. 

In the light of pre-dawn, and in my half-awake state, no difference struck me at first, other than the chill waters deeper than expected, soaking the rolls of my trousers. Out of the mist on either side, giant evergreens loomed graceful as usual, rising until their tops blurred. The view so distracted me that several heartbeats passed before I realized the change. 

Perhaps I was still sleeping in my bed, for where the channel to the west lake should have been, a broad flood plain spread. The water had washed over the banks and crept inland for a hundred paces, leaving the trees the only witness to what once had been dry land. 

Beyond the trees, nothing. 

Nowhere a dock or a mooring, not so much as a hint of early morning smoke rising from a chimney. Nowhere the cottages of Queen’s Hill. Nowhere houses at all. As I gaped, the edges of branches shimmered as if undecided whether to remain intangible or become real. In a panic, I realized the folly of this quest. Better to return to a safer, albeit gloomier life, to go back through the portal at once. 

Behind me, the maelstrom still swirled, a fleeting comfort as it had started to recede. While I stared at the last link to my old world, the orb diminished, shrunk to a size I could cover with my hand, and then to that of the tip of my thumb. Before I sloshed more than two steps closer, it winked out. 

Now, to the north and the south, nothing showed but water. I stumbled to shore, my movements causing the slightest wake in the surface, which lay so still I could make out my astonished features in the reflection. 

I’d spent much of my young life with Addy, like a mate sailing across a forever lake. She’d been with me through calm and storm. I’d yearned to find renewed hope on this side of the gateway and return home to a new life, yet now the gateway, like Addy, had vanished.
 

 

About the Author

The urge to write first struck at age sixteen when working on a newsletter
at a youth encampment in the woods of northern Maine. It may have been the
wild night when lightning flashed at sunset followed by the northern lights
rippling after dark. Or maybe it was the newsletter’s editor, a girl with
eyes the color of the ocean. But he was inspired to write about the blurry
line between reality and the fantastic.

Using two fingers and lots of white-out, he religiously typed five pages a
day throughout college and well into his twenties. Then life intervened. He
paused to raise two sons and pursue a career, in the process — and without
prior plan — becoming a well-known entrepreneur in the software industry,
founding several successful companies. When he found time again to daydream,
the urge to write returned.

David now lives in the Great Northwest. He no longer limits himself to five
pages a day and is thankful every keystroke for the invention of the word
processor.

 

Contact Links

Website

Facebook: David Litwack – Author

Twitter: @DavidLitwack

Goodreads

Instagram

 

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TEASER TUESDAY: Obsession by Harley Wylde

Posted on by

 

(Raven’s Vale Psychos)

Contemporary Dark Romance

Date Published: June 28, 2024

 

 

I’m a monster.

The Boogeyman.

The thing you fear in the dark.

I’ve killed countless men and women, and I have no plans to
stop.

They locked me up. Called me insane.

Until I escaped.

 

Raven’s Vale is mine. Well, partially mine.

Crash and Kane help me rule over this small town.

I’ve never wanted anything other than watching the life fade from
someone’s eyes after I’ve taken my knives to them.

Until Hollis.

 

She makes me question whether there’s still a heart beating in my
chest.

For some reason, I want her… and I don’t want to kill
her.

I want her under me. Submitting to my every whim.

But I crave her fear too.

She’s my obsession…

And I’ll stop at nothing to make her mine.

 

 

WARNING: If you have triggers, please proceed with caution. This is not a
sweet romance. The Raven’s Vale Psychos series contains very dark content,
including a true anti-hero. For everyone who enjoys twisted tales, morally
gray to totally depravedcharacters, and lots of adult action in your books
— this one is for you!

 

There’s no cheating. No cliffhanger. And a rather twisted version of
happily-ever-after.

EXCERPT

Riot

Smoke filled the room as both Crash and Kane smoked like fucking chimneys.
The shit bothered me, and they both damn well knew it. Not that either of
them gave two fucks. They’d settled in for a game of cards, but the
darkness outside called to me. My skin itched and my fingers twitched. How
long had it been since I’d last killed?

Too long.

“What the fuck crawled up your ass?” Crash asked.
“Isn’t it almost your night? You should be pretty damn
stoked.”

“Not soon enough,” I muttered. “Besides, being offered a
lamb to slaughter isn’t as much fun as hunting one.”

Kane nodded. “I get it. They reek of fear either way, but it’s
always sweeter when they aren’t expecting it.”

“There’s something seriously wrong with you two,” Crash
said. “I don’t understand your fascination with getting all
bloody. My way is much better. Nice and neat.”

Kane snorted. “They still end up dead, don’t they? Don’t
pretend you’re any better than us.”

Crash shrugged. It was an old argument. The three of us had stumbled across
this town when Crash and I had barely been considered adults. Kane was a bit
older than the two of us. Freshly escaped from an institute for the
criminally insane, we’d needed a place to hide. Raven’s Vale
boasted a population of no more than five thousand. Cut off from the larger
towns and cities, it had been the best place for us to lie low.

If it hadn’t been for the fire we’d set, or the fact we’d
managed to keep them guessing over how many bodies had burned to death, the
law would most likely have been searching for us all these years. Instead,
they believed we were dead. Anywhere else, we’d need things like
driver’s licenses, birth certificates, or something to prove who we
were. Not in Raven’s Vale.

Then our cravings had kicked in. We hadn’t been able to help
ourselves. Not long after we started slaughtering anyone who crossed our
path, we found ourselves face-to-face with the mayor and sheriff. It had
been easy enough to convince them to bow to us. After the mayor received a
few pieces of his daughter, and the sheriff realized we had his two girls as
well, the tides had quickly turned in our favor. We’d released them
back to their families once we knew the mayor and sheriff would toe the
line. They both knew we could snatch them again at a moment’s
notice.

Now we ruled Raven’s Vale. No matter how many we killed, no one was
coming for us. None of them dared. And as far as the outside world went,
none of them knew we existed. We didn’t leave a paper trail.

“Get the hell out of here,” Kane said. “You know you
can’t wait.”

I flashed him a smile and flipped off Crash before I grabbed my knives and
headed out. Eyeing my motorcycle, I bypassed it and decided I’d track
down prey on foot tonight. The bike was fun to ride but noisy as fuck.
Everyone would know I was coming long before I got there.

Although, sometimes it was fun to chase the rats when they started to
scurry. Tonight wasn’t one of those nights, though. Right now, I
wanted to instill fear before they even realized who was stalking them in
the shadows.

Most people feared the night and stayed indoors as much as possible. No one
knew when one of us might strike.

Movement caught my eye, and I crept closer, clinging to the shadows. A
young woman hurried down the sidewalk, her head bowed and shoulders hunched.
If she was trying to make herself invisible, she’d failed miserably. I
kept pace with her but remained out of sight. Something about her seemed
different from the others in this place.

There was no way she didn’t sense my presence. At some point, even
the most dense individuals would realize a monster was stalking them. If she
did, the woman never let on. She continued to wherever she was going.

For once, I didn’t experience the urge to snuff out her life.
Instead, I wondered what made her entirely oblivious. Was it a self-defense
mechanism? She disappeared into an apartment building, and I figured that
meant she was home for the night.

Going back the way I’d come, I walked the streets, hoping to find
interesting prey. Two punks were doing their best to break into a car. The
fact they didn’t have permission to do this sort of shit in my town
pissed me off. Rushing toward them, I ended one of their lives quickly with
a slice across his neck. The other dropped his tools and backed up several
steps.

“Holy shit!” He stared at his friend with wide eyes.
“What the fuck?”

“That’s what I’d like to ask.” I prowled closer.
“Who gave you permission to break into cars in this town?”

“Huh? What are you…” He paled. “Shit. Fuck!
You’re one of them, aren’t you? One of the Raven’s Vale
Psychos.”

I grinned. “Is that what everyone calls us?”

He tried backing up again and tripped over his own feet. The moment he
landed on his ass, he pissed himself. Crouching in front of him, I held the
knife where he could see his friend’s blood coating my blade.

“Don’t kill me,” he pleaded. “This was all
Rob’s idea. I didn’t want to do it.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Before he had a chance to move, I stabbed his
thigh with my knife. The little pissant screamed and I stabbed the other
leg.

He crab-walked backward, trying to get away. No point. He couldn’t
exactly run. Even if he did, I’d find him. Standing, I reached down
and grabbed his collar, then dragged him along behind me. Down a dark alley,
across another street, and into yet another alley. Dropping him by a
dumpster, I took my time, sliding my knife into his belly, his legs, slashed
his arms.

I could see the light fading from his eyes, and I sat to watch, taking it
all in until he’d taken his last breath.

It didn’t leave me feeling as satisfied as I’d hoped. Deciding
there wouldn’t be any others, I went back to the apartment building
and watched the windows, hoping to spot the woman from earlier. I found her
on the third floor, staring out into the night. She’d changed her
clothes, and her nightgown molded to her curves. Even from here, I could see
the peaks of her nipples through the material.

My cock hardened and I wanted to feel her under me. Chained to my bed,
begging for mercy. The thought of her crying, hearing her pleas for me to
set her free, was enough to make me smile.

I didn’t know who she was, but I wanted to find out.

She was the first in over a decade to make me want something other than
death.

 

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 on Facebook, Instagram, Patreon, & TikTok: @harleywylde

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

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