Hidden Oaks by Ana Raine #ActionAdventure #boxset #RomanceBooks #PNR #shifters #Gay #LGBT @changelingpress

Hidden Oaks (Hidden Oaks 4)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

The Secret of Hidden Oaks: While working on his Master’s degree in psychology, Carson is offered an internship at a private research hospital. But Harbor Oaks hides a dark secret. His patients are Changelings, shape shifters, being held against their will, and Carson soon discovers he’s really the subject of the scientist’s experiments. His only hope of escape is Tate, a shy, quiet doctor with an agenda all his own.

The Secret of Harbor Springs: Carson and his mate Tate team up with Gaven and Lily to escape Federal agents who are trying to bring them back to Hidden Oaks. Carson holds an unusual power over other Changelings — a power the Federal task force charged with rounding up Changelings will go to any ends to make their own.

Liberate: Carson and Tate have been running for months, trying to evade the JIA so they don’t end up lab specimens for the ruthless organization. With their future on the line, Carson realizes the most important part of his life will forever be his mate, Tate, but how can he trust a man who never tells him the whole truth?

 

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Praise for The Secret of Hidden Oaks

“Ana has a pretty good imagination and can spin a wonderful story with it. It caught my attention from the start and kept my attention all the way to the end.”

— Lisa, MM Good Book Reviews

 

“If you like mysterious conspiracies and weird goings-on, if you enjoy reading about men who have a lot to hide and those who hunt them, and if you’re looking for a fun story with some dark secrets around shifters, then you will probably like this short story.”

— Serena Yates, Rainbow Book Reviews

 

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Ana Raine
Excerpt from The Secret of Hidden Oaks

“They are not human,” Dr. Kline explained.

“You are delusional,” I said, taking a step away from Dr. Kline, but unable to stop looking at the young woman. I was sure my vision was playing tricks on me, because the young woman’s arms were gone and in their place were fur-covered legs. Her dress split down her back and as she howled in agony, I saw her entire body was quickly being covered in fur. Her screams were over soon.

Instead of looking at a young woman, I was staring at a dark feline. I thought it was a jaguar. “W-what…”

“All of the patients here are a danger to society and to themselves,” Dr. Kline explained, hitting the red button again so the lights went out, leaving only natural light. Before my eyes, the fur receded back into the jaguar’s body and flesh began to cover her legs and back.

“What are they?”

Dr. Kline smiled and pressed the color button before touching my shoulder lightly. “We call them Changelings.”

* * *

My hands were still shaking, my knees knocking against each other as I fidgeted in the chair in front of Dr. Kline’s desk. What was wrong with them? What was wrong with me? Surely, that was some sort of trick and that young woman really hadn’t transformed into a jaguar? All lies…

“Have you decided?” Dr. Kline asked softly, as he pushed the two boxes toward me.

Stay or run away? Both options were equally unappealing. The drug he wanted to give me that would erase my memory would probably only work as long as I didn’t have any triggers. How could I forget when there were animals everywhere to remind me?

A knock on the door made me twitch. I turned to see the heavy oak door being pushed open. I was afraid of who was going to enter, not sure if a patient was able to escape out of their crisis stabilization unit and was going to come charging at me. Maybe instead of erasing my memory, they were really just going to erase me.

“Ahh, Dr. Tate.” Dr. Kline stood up and went around the side of the desk. I leaned away from him and I was sure he saw, but he just pursed his lips together and didn’t remark. “This is Dr. Tate, Carson. He’s one of our leading doctors, although these days he spends more time in our research department.”

“Hello. This is the new intern, Carson, was it?”

His voice made my back tingle. I focused on the desk, knowing if I looked at Dr. Tate I probably wouldn’t fare well. His voice was smooth and confident, the exact kind of man I preferred.

The way he’d said my name was already enough for my stomach to begin pooling with heat. I couldn’t keep staring at the same lines in the oak desk. Slowly, I looked up at the new doctor.

My breath hitched. He was tall, towering over Dr. Kline, who already towered over me. He had soft blonde hair, several shades lighter than my dark brown. His blue eyes were clear and focused on me, his lips upturned in a marvelous smile. But his body is what really got me going. He wasn’t wearing a lab coat, but instead dark pants and a crisp blue sweater that exposed just enough of his creamy skin at the base of his neck.

I should’ve known looking at him would be dangerous.

“Please tell me you are planning on staying with us?” Dr. Tate asked softly, as he crossed the room to me and took my hand. My hand was rather small inside of his. I felt trapped.

My mind went blank. “I’ll stay.”

Dr. Tate’s jaw locked, but Dr. Kline was the one who clapped his hands and exclaimed, “Excellent.” He grabbed the contract out of the box and shoved a pen in my hand.

I tried to scan the document, but although Dr. Tate had released my hand, he was still standing dangerously close. I could feel his eyes on me, and wished he would undress me instead. Shuddering, I passed my movement off as a twitch and signed the contract.

Dr. Kline scooped up the contract and placed it in a folder in his filing cabinet.

“So… what exactly am I supposed to do?”

“Dr. Tate is going to be your mentor. When you go into the patients’ rooms, he will be there to make sure everything goes well.” Dr. Kline waved a hand at the handsome man standing beside me. I almost felt a sense of possessiveness emanating from Dr. Tate. “He is a scientist, now, as I said. You will have time enough to shadow one of our psychologists here so don’t worry about getting your necessary experience. But we have a… more pressing use for you.”

My chest tightened. What kind of use?

Dr. Kline seemed to have read my mind. “We would like you to teach them how to be human, in a manner of speaking.”

“How?”

“Simply by being, although I am sure you will come up with some techniques and hypothesis on your own. The most important thing you must remember is to never wear or carry anything red. Do you understand?”

I remembered the young woman convulsing on the floor. “Yes.”

“We would like to let the Changelings go back to society, but in order for that to happen, we need someone who has not been working with them to grasp what is different about them from humans. I expect you’ll keep a journal.”

“Of course.” They wanted me to document changes in behavior? This internship kept sounding stranger.

Dr. Kline stood up so I followed suit. He started to extend his hand toward me but then withdrew it on second thought. “Please come to me if you need anything.” He smiled at me and then gave Dr. Tate one experimental glance before going to his large bay window and turning his back to me.

“Come with me.” Dr. Tate nodded toward the door. Something about him was strangely protective. Just by standing near him I felt my fear about Hidden Oaks subsiding. God, I bet he was so good in bed.

Silently, I followed Dr. Tate, hesitating when we approached the elevator.

“Don’t worry,” he said kindly, “We’ll be going to the top floor where the lab is.”

“Why?” I managed to ask.

“My office is up there.” He grasped my wrist, pulling me onto the elevator with him. When he released me, I had to resist the urge to reach back out for him…

 

More from Ana at Changeling Press …

Ana is still figuring out what she wants to do with her life, although social work seems to be the most likely. Her best friends are a box of chocolate and her kitten who always sit beside her while she writes. When Ana was in high school, she often wrote about the LGBT community, but now her work is less…innocent. Ana enjoys writing anything and everything, including BDSM, dragons, shifters, magic, and more.

If you’d like to follow her, here is her blog site: http://anarainebooks.blogspot.com.

Dreams and Lovers (Duet) by Willa Okati #boxset #PNR #GayRomance @willaokati @changelingpress

Dreamers and Lovers (Duet)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

What if saying goodbye to all you ever thought you were sure of is only the first part of hello?

Lovers, Dreamers, and Me: Tolliver’s buried his life in taking care of his sister and the bookstore his grandmother left him. That doesn’t leave much time for romance. Sarah, his sister, decides to do a little matchmaking. Only her choice is another man, and Tolliver’s not gay! Noble’s not, either, but he is deeply attracted to Tolliver, and he’s not above using his psychic gifts to draw them together. The road to discovery has more twists and turns — and toys — than even he ever dreamed.

The First Hello: Shawn Tillerman thinks he’s losing his mind. Wary and damaged after a hard life filled with broken promises, he’s been having flashes of lives he didn’t live. He hasn’t told anyone what’s happening to him — he’s too busy keeping his twin sister away from Oxy. If he can sell the house he’s inherited, he can turn their lives around. Or not. Because Raleigh, the compelling stranger who wants their house, swears Shawn’s reliving memories. That he’s the man from Shawn’s dreams. Shawn doesn’t believe Raleigh — but he’s beginning to wish he could.

 

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Also Available in Print

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Willa Okati
Excerpt from Lovers, Dreamers and Me

It wasn’t love at first sight.

Sarah, Tolliver’s kid sister, saw him first. Perched on the Old Curiosity checkout counter doing her homework, she swung her heels and nudged Tolliver with the toe of her sneaker. “Incoming customer.”

Tolliver reluctantly turned away from the page of the old book he’d been halfway through, its faded type and strange serifs tempting him back in. “I got it. Keep working.” He closed the book and lifted his chin in the customer’s direction, his eyes still on the book’s worn leather cover. “Can I help you?”

“Hope so,” the man said, his voice a deep, melodious tenor that shaded toward baritone. “I was told you might have some hard to find tarot decks in stock. There’s one, a local artist — Judy Schuyler. She did an abstract Impressionism set. Do you have that deck?”

“We might have sold hers,” Tolliver said, not really paying attention to the guy and registering no more than a vague impression of height, tousled brown hair, and bare arms. He kept one eye on the flyleaf of the 1891 edition of Great Expectations, pencil poised to sketch his reseller’s price. Amazing. He almost wanted to keep this one for himself.

“Can you check?” The customer was persistent, and patiently unruffled. “Maybe for Sharice Donough, too? She’s not local, but she did a mountain music inspired. There’s a stringed instrument on the front –”

“Right. It was a mandolin, I think?” He’d caught Tolliver’s attention at last. Tolliver reached for an inventory log, still kept on paper for the most part — he was a traditionalist — and started flipping through pages. “I’d swear I remember getting one of those last year. Wait. Do you mean the Wisconsin Sharice or the Montauk Falls Donough?”

Tolliver’s fingers slipped on the light-lead pencil he held and sent it clattering to the floor. “Sorry, let me get that.”

“No problem,” the customer answered, his stance relaxed. “I’m not in a rush.”

Tolliver crouched, scanning the flotsam and jetsam he kept stashed under the old four legged breakfront he used as a checkout counter. “Did you check in the glass cases on the back wall?” he called. “Ha. There you are.” The pencil had come to a stop halfway in, halfway out of the desk’s boundaries.

“Hang on, I think I see it.” The tip of a sneaker, encasing a foot of amazing length, prodded the pencil. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

Tolliver had reached for the pencil at the same time. Together, they sent it skittering across the shop floor.

“I’ve got it,” the customer said, rich amusement lacing his tone. He crouched. “Do you always work this hard for this little?”

“I pay attention to detail,” Tolliver replied, slightly annoyed. He caught a glimpse of long, tapered fingers with solid knuckles snaffling the pencil.

He stood, brushing the layer of dust he’d acquired down there off the knees of his khakis and reached, still not looking, for the pencil. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” The customer tipped his head to one side and studied Tolliver. Tolliver noticed, sort of, the lionlike amber of his eyes and the generous width of a smile over white teeth. “The Schuyler?”

“Back wall, glass case,” Tolliver said, already drawn back to the Dickens. He ran his fingers reverently over the binding. Ruined from years of handling, but a piece of history all the same. “What you see is what we’ve got. If it’s not there, sorry, you’re out of luck.”

The customer laughed, low and rolling.

Tolliver frowned up at him over the book. “What?”

“It’s nothing.” The customer swung around, loose limbed and graceful, and tossed a casual wave at him.

“No, what?” Tolliver held his pencil point down on the counter. “Share the joke.”

The customer shrugged and half turned, the leonine cast to his features shadowed. “I’d heard the owner of Old Curiosity was cranky, but it was still worth shopping here. You never know what you’re going to find.” His grin was still bright. “Back wall?”

“Back wall,” Tolliver confirmed, frowning. He kept an eye on the customer as the man ambled away, long feet, lengthy stretch of legs, and arms held loosely comfortable at his sides, thumbs tucked into his belt loops.

Weird guy.

So, no. Not love at first sight.

Intrigue, though. That was part of it.

More from Willa at Changeling Press …

Willa Okati is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray cat hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for winter weather, a little more coffee, and a lifelong love of storytelling. She is definitely one of the quiet ones you have to watch out for.

You can reach Willa at willaokati@gmail.com.

Join Willa on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/willa.okati

 

 

 

Night Critters by Lena Austin and Tuesday Richards #boxset #PNR #futuristic #RomCom #UrbanFantasy @changelingpress @Lena_Austin

Night Critters

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Sahara Kelly

 

Must Love Dogs: By the mid 21st century, the human population has been decimated, but some still scream over racial purity — and not just among humans. Not only is Roni not a pure werewolf, she’s a crossbreed Chuskie — offspring of a Siberian Husky and a Chihuahua. Corbin is Alpha and heir to Thornburn pack, the richest pack in three states. Who cares if he dates a were-dog? Their parents…

Faux Paws: Lucky Thornburn, a Faux Paws, a shifter-born who can’t shift, meets a fiery Goth half-angel named Charm who’s trouble on the wing. She wants to renovate her mother’s old house into a home for foster children, but Lucky’s cold-hearted brother JR wants the property for a shopping mall. Charm’s not going to give up, and Lucky’s coming right along with her…

Paws to Heal: Two were-dogs welcome the return of their former lover after being enemy packs for so long. Duke, Katriena, and Eduardo must pause to heal the breach and bring the were-canines and lupines together.

Bad Fur Day: Staci Thornburn is determined to get an interview with the new Chinese UNESCO Ambassador, but Jiao Long, a Foo Dog-Dragon cross, is more than a little irritated. It’s a good thing dragons are fireproof, because things are about to get hot!

Santa Paws: JR Thornton seeks redemption by dressing up in a Santa suit to deliver gifts to an orphanage, but the angry wood fairy guarding the house is more interested in blowing his head off. Phaedra’s determined to give JR a piece of her mind. So why does she want so badly to sit in Santa’s lap?

Publisher’s Note: Night Critters (Box Set) contains the previously released novellas Must Love Dogs, Faux Paws, Paws to Heal, Bad Fur Day, and Santa Paws.

 

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press

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or Pre-Order at retailers for August 23rd

   

 

Praise for Must Love Dogs “Lena Austin and Tuesday Richards have created a humorous canine version of Romeo & Juliet… The chemistry was perfectly blended; the characters were strong and overall helped create a marvelously written book.”

5 Angels! — NeNe, Fallen Angels Reviews
Praise for Faux Paws “Lena Austin and Tuesday Richards have produced another hilarious tale pairing unique critters together in a very enjoyable saga.”

4.5 Nymphs! — Chocolate Minx, Literary Nymphs
Praise for Paws to Heal “Paws to Heal is a glimpse into the history of the characters featured in the first book in the Night Critters series. In this installment, the fabulous Lena Austin delivers an erotic love scene hot enough to give you a Heat Stroke.”

5 Nymphs! — Chocolate Minx, Literary Nymphs
Praise for Bad Fur Day “The sex is good but the story was even better. You can always count on Austin and Richards for some “get me some iced tea, I’m on fire” sensuality.”

4 Tombstones! — Kate, Bitten by Books
Praise for Santa Paws “Lena Austin brings to life these two characters in her short story Santa Paws. Bringing Christmas to the readers and showing them that just about every evil deed can be turned to good, given the right incentive. Many readers will enjoy this short story that shows just what Christmas can be all about, at least to the magical creatures of the world.”

— Stacy Link, PNR Reviews

Dire Wolves (Box Set) by Cynthia Sax, Lena Austin, and Shelby Morgen #boxset #PNR #BBW #interracial #werewolves #shifters #vampires #LGBTbooks @changelingpress @CynthiaSax @Lena_Austin

Dire Wolves (Box Set) (Dire Wolves Multi-Author 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

Blind Spot by Cynthia Sax: Years ago, Pavel lost his eye, three members of his pack and his position as alpha. Can Maggy help him find a reason to live again?

Whiteout by Shelby Morgen: Zan gives John a reason to want to live as a man again. But before he can make that kind of promise, he’s got unfinished business to take care of.

Silence by Lena Austin: Noel Miller, a vampire with a few scars of his own, wants to be more than Cam’s sign language interpreter. If only the werewolf will let him into his life — and heart.

White Heat by Shelby Morgen: Heather Grant’s got far too much experience working with stubborn males. She figures it would serve both Alphas right if their pride blows their cover. But someone’s got to salvage the mission.

 

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press

or pre-order for August 9th at:

   

 

PRAISE FOR DIRE WOLVES BOX SET

“…a collection that grabs the reader, takes them on a journey, and ensures some cold showers. Erotic, captivating, and deliciously carnal are how I would describe The Dire Wolves Anthology. It is definitely worth reading, worth adding to one’s reading library, and well worth re-reading.”

— 4 Stars from Nikki, Sensuous Reviews
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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019
Excerpt from Silence by Lena Austin

“Danse Macabre” was a lousy choice for a ring tone, but Detective Cameron Douglas always thought about it when he had the least amount of time to change the ring to something else. The tune was the last he’d ever hear. Cam didn’t know that sad fact, or he’d have changed the ring sooner.

Cam snatched the phone out of his pocket and flipped it open as soon as he saw it was his boss, Lt. Kraynak. “Hey, Mark! You caught me just leaving the mayor’s office.”

“Yeah?” Mark’s voice always sounded nervous, but at that moment, he sounded as squeaky as a girl. Cam always wondered if Mark was as closet gay as Cam himself. “How’d it go?”

Cam sighed. The investigation into the death of the mayor’s secretary, Margaret Lund, was supposed to be kept very quiet and low-key. “We got the blood from her apartment at the lab, looking for DNA. They seem to be consistent with the defensive marks found on her body despite floating around in the St. John’s River for a while. I’ve got a few good leads.” He had to be vague. Cam couldn’t exactly tell his boss he was a werewolf and he’d caught an odd, masculine scent in Margaret’s apartment. He knew any sort of masculine odor didn’t belong in that apartment because Margaret and his mother had been lovers for over twenty years. Not exactly what you want the whole world to know. Mom had been in the closet all her life, and he wasn’t about to out her when she was mourning “Aunt Maggie’s” death. Dad would turn over in his grave, the day care she’d run for fifteen years would close, and her life would be in ruins. What she and Maggie had enjoyed just wasn’t ever going to be public, and that wasn’t admissible evidence anyway.

He could see it now. Him, on the witness stand. “Yes, Your Honor. I’m a werewolf you see, and I sniffed this odor…” He winced, even to himself.

“I don’t like it, Cam. You shouldn’t be on this case. Ms. Lund was your mother’s best friend. You could be called prejudiced in court.” Mark popped another gumball in his mouth. Cam heard it rattle against his teeth before it crackled as he chewed it into oblivion. Mark’d been trying to quit smoking again, and kept a gumball bank on his desk.

“I don’t like it, either, Mark. Where His Honor got the idea I’d be the only detective who could do the job is beyond me.” Cam was in sight of his car at last. The covered parking garage across the street from City Hall was a piece of shit like all the rest of downtown. Half the security cameras didn’t work at the best of times, and the roof leaked whenever it rained. So where was he parked? On the roof. In the rain. Of course. So he was wet. It was Florida. Not like he would melt. He was a werewolf, not a witch, and this wasn’t Hollyweird.

The beep in his ear made him jump, and the caller ID told him it was Mom. “Hey, I’m at my car. Hang on a sec.” Cam flipped over to his mother’s call and sat down on a bench about fifty feet from his car, in the shelter covering the elevator. “Hi, Mom.” He frowned and noticed the hood of his car was slightly ajar. That was odd. He distinctly remembered changing the oil the previous Sunday and slamming the hood closed because he hated working in the hot sun.

He never heard her answer. Hell, he never heard anything except the biggest boom on the planet.

Waking up wasn’t like someone flipped on a light switch. It was more like a lazy Sunday morning when you didn’t have to be anywhere or do anything in particular, so you could roll over and laze in bed. That is, until your bladder or some other bodily need woke you up.

What woke him up was pain. Cam had the worst headache ever, even beyond hangovers and mild concussions from playing rugby. Cam felt like he’d been run over by a semi, too, with a backache from lying in one position too long on top of assorted injuries. Worst of all was the ringing in his ears. Tinnitus, he guessed. Not bad, since Cam had to assume he’d survived that explosion. Hell, he counted himself lucky when he opened his eyes and saw his left leg in bandages, not a cast. If a headache, a bum leg, and a case of tinnitus were all he had to suffer through, Cam was happy.

A nurse peeked in. She saw Cam was awake and smiled at him. Her lips moved, but he couldn’t hear her over the ringing in his ears. She frowned when Cam told her she’d have to speak up, and would she bring him something for the headache and tinnitus? She turned around and walked out without another word. She was back with something she shot into his IV. Whatever it was put him out like a light. Pain, tinnitus, and consciousness all went away at once.

When next Cam could put two words together in a coherent sentence, the clock on the wall and the darkness out the window gave him a clue it was 7:30 PM, not AM. He’d slept away the whole day. Great. Now his ears were sore.

A young man in a lab coat read a book in the corner chair, even though the only light source was the fluorescent above the head of Cam’s bed. The guy’s eyesight must have been superlative. He looked up slowly, and Cam was completely arrested — pardon the pun — by his eyes. They were big, blue and so world-weary Cam wanted to — maybe buy the kid a cup of coffee and give him a sympathetic ear. Then the newcomer smiled, and the world was all sunshine and cheer. The young man tapped on the keyboard of his laptop without taking his gaze off Cam’s face.

Cam moved restlessly under that intense blue gaze that did not in the least match with the smile. Cam opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when the screen on a laptop left on his lap table brightened. He frowned and studied the screen. “Can you read this?” Surprised, Cam nodded without thinking.

The blue-eyed man smiled and nodded. “Good. How’s your tinnitus?” lit up on the screen in a standard IM chat feature of a common website.

“Um… should I answer aloud?” Cam felt suddenly adrift in a strange sea, unsure of himself for the first time since college. Still, he did an internal check, and the buzzing still filled his ears like a thousand crickets on speed. “Yep, still have the crickets.” The realization hit him. “The explosion caused this tinnitus, didn’t it?”

“Yes, Mr. Douglas. Please speak more softly.” The IM kept up easily, and the young man’s hands flew silently but rapidly over the tiny keyboard. Damn, this guy was good.

Oops. Cam wasn’t stupid. He knew that those with hearing issues often spoke too loudly, trying to over-compensate for their loss. He modified his volume. “Um. Sorry.” He clung to the thin thread of hope that the tinnitus was causing his hearing loss, but he knew a bunch of cops who’d neglected ear protection at the shooting range once too often. Tinnitus could be permanent, or worse, the symptom of something much, much worse.

The IM lit up with several lines in rapid succession. “My name is Noel Miller, and I am your ENT therapist.” Now the cheer was gone, and the face serious.

Cam’s heart hammered, and he swallowed to help his suddenly dry mouth. Fear, ice-cold and cruel, raced up his spine. Part of him was grateful he still had painkillers in his system. Deep inside himself, a little kid threw a major temper tantrum, even if he held himself rigidly under control. “I’m deaf, aren’t I?”

 

More from Lena at Changeling Press…

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

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

More from Cynthia at Changeling Press…

Some girls dreamed of knights in shining armor. Cynthia Sax dreamed of dragons, magnificent flying dragons. Being a bloodthirsty little thing, Cynthia usually dreamed of these dragons eating the damsels in distress. Now, she dreams of them doing… ahhh… more pleasurable things.

Cynthia is happily married. Although her hubby has not yet shown any shapeshifting abilities, he does buy her medieval princess costumes to wear around the house. Cynthia’s rather traditional mother-in-law now always calls before visiting. You can learn more about Cynthia by visiting her website at www.CynthiaSax.com, her blog at http://tasteofcyn.com, or email her directly at Cynthia@CynthiaSax.com.

More from Shelby at Changeling Press…

Shelby Morgen loves writing offbeat tales that defy as many rules as possible.

She likes chocolate with her peanut butter, suspense with her romance, and kink with her sex, and she’s always had a hard time keeping science fiction, fantasy and paranormal from mixing with her kink.

Shelby shares her belief in electronic publishing with her longtime friend and partner, Bill, her husband of nearly four decades.

 

 

Preacher with Ryker & Badger by Harley Wylde #MCromance #bikers #NewAdult #SilverFox #RomanceBooks #NewRelease @HarleyW_Writer

Preacher with Ryker & Badger (Dixie Reapers MC Box Sets 3)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

Available in Ebook and Paperback!

 

Preacher (Dixie Reapers MC)

When I lost my family I closed off my heart and vowed to never let another woman in. Then the most tempting woman I’ve ever met gave me a night I knew I’d always remember. When she turns up two months later, she knocks me on my ass when she tells me she’s pregnant. With my kid. I don’t know that I believe in a higher power anymore, but maybe it’s time I start praying again. Because giving this woman everything she needs, being the man she deserves, is going to take one hell of a miracle.

Ryker (Roosters 2)

After 20 years in the military, I find myself doing my dad’s dirty work as the “prince” of the Hades Abyss MC, it’s expected of me. Doing a little recon in a small Alabama town should have been boring as shit, until the hot little minx I met at a bar turned my life upside down. If I’d known she was a virgin, I might have backed away, but now that I’ve had a taste I just want to keep coming back for more. Little did I realize that I’d just fucked the sister of a Dixie Reaper…

Badger (Roosters 5, with Paige Warren)

I went to prison for ten years after beating a man to death. He deserved it — I only wish he’d suffered more. Now I’m free, and the little girl I once saved is now a tempting young woman with curves in all the right places. She’s also the adopted daughter of my Pres. I should stay away, far away, but I’m drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Now what the hell am I supposed to do? I’m a longtime repeat offender. I can’t walk the straight and narrow. Can I? When I found out she’s pregnant, I know there’s nowhere to hide from the president of the Devil’s Fury MC.

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Harley Wylde
Excerpt from Preacher

“You here to see Johnny?” he asked.

“Yeah. Thought I’d surprise him.”

“Oh, he’ll be surprised all right. He’s inside,” the prospect said, tipping his head toward the clubhouse. “But then, you aren’t allowed in there are you? Too pristine for a place like that.”

“I’m not pristine,” I snapped.

I might be a virgin in the strictest sense, but I was far from angelic. I’d never technically had sex, even though I’d given a few blow jobs and fooled around, but I’d used my trusty vibrator to take care of my virginity. I’d heard it would hurt, and no way was I trusting a guy with something like that. Especially not since the guys I knew were selfish and fumbling. No finesse whatsoever.

“Just remember that you were warned.” The gate slid open, and he motioned toward the clubhouse. “Enter at your own risk.”

That sounded like something the creepy guy in horror movies says right before the heroine does something incredibly stupid, like enter a house full of mass murderers, or choose the darkened pathway filled with deformed, dying trees instead of the brightly lit path. This was just a clubhouse full of bikers, one of whom was my brother. How bad could it be?

I stepped through the gate and made my way across the lot to the building with Dixie Reapers across the top in neon, and slowly climbed the steps. The noise from inside was even louder now, and I pushed open the doors, not sure what to expect. The way my brother talked, I half-expected naked women and orgies going on out in the open. My gaze scanned the room, but I didn’t see my brother — or any orgies. The place was packed wall-to-wall with men and women in leather cuts with Dixie Reapers stitched across the back. Other than some smoking and drinking, I didn’t see anything wild going on. Not that those things were wild, but to hear Johnny tell it, all kinds of shit went down in here. They just looked like your average group of adults having a nice time.

No one paid me any attention as I moved farther into the room, but the fact I was the only one not sporting one of those leather cuts made me feel a little out of place. At least I’d worn my black top and not the red one I’d picked up first. Still, I didn’t exactly blend, even if some of the women present looked to be my age or close to it. I’d learned enough from Johnny to guess those were the old ladies. He seemed rather fond of the President’s woman, and I wondered if I’d ever get a chance to meet her. To hear Johnny tell it, the woman was up for sainthood. I didn’t think anyone could ever be that perfect.

At the end of the bar, a man sat alone, a line of shot glasses in front of him, and an old worn Bible nearby. I hadn’t taken the club for being religious, but then this man didn’t seem quite like the others. He wore the same cut as everyone else, but as I studied him, I realized he was more somber. There was almost a haunted look to him, as if he were trying to drown his demons in whiskey, or whatever he was drinking. I felt this pull, as if I were supposed to get closer to him.

Slowly, I made my way across the room and slid onto the stool next to his. He didn’t even so much as glance my way, but I could tell from the way his mouth tensed that he was more than aware of my presence, and didn’t seem to care for it. I didn’t know what he was trying to run from, and it was honestly none of my business, but I’d found that sometimes people just needed to be reminded they weren’t as alone as they thought. Despite the fact the room was full of people, not a single one had come to sit by him. Maybe he’d chased them off, or maybe they left him alone because of the vibe he was putting out. Neither was going to deter me. Someone as sexy as he shouldn’t be drowning their sorrows. Not alone anyway.

The guy behind the bar came over, a swagger to his step and a cocky smile on his face. His cut said Prospect, but thankfully he wasn’t someone I knew. The minute my brother found out I was here, he’d likely escort me back to the gate and send me home, which was the last place I wanted to be.

The guy leaned on the bar, his arms folded so that his biceps bulged. I assumed I was supposed to be impressed, but he looked just like every other asshole in my neighborhood who wanted in my pants. Not happening, buddy.

“What can I get for you, beautiful?” he asked, his lips tipping up on one side in a way I supposed most would find sexy. It wasn’t making me drop my panties, that was for sure. I was completely immune to guys like this one.

“Rum and Coke,” I said.

The guy next to me snorted.

“What?” I asked, turning my attention his way.

When his gaze clashed with mine, the breath in my lungs froze. Dark hair and a close-cropped beard were sexy enough, but damn… The man’s eyes were truly things of beauty. I saw blues, greens, golds. Maybe even a hint of gray. Those were the kind of eyes a woman could get lost in, the kind of eyes that would make her do something really stupid.

“You ever actually had a rum and Coke?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth.

“Maybe.”

He smiled a little. Not a full-out smile, and not even a smirk. It was almost like his lips had turned up without his permission because it was gone almost as fast as it happened.

“Why don’t you give her a Sex on the Beach?” the guy next to me said.

The Prospect leered at me. “Oh, I’d be delighted.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Just the drink, thanks.”

I could tell he wanted to say something, but he refrained, walking off to fix my drink. I focused on the guy sitting next to me again, and noticed his cut said Preacher

 

Praise for Preacher (Dixie Reapers MC 5)

“I love that Kayla’s kind heart did more for Preacher than even he knew. I loved that Ms. Wylde made this character someone who could give solace even as she knew it would go no further…or could it? I loved meeting Preacher and Kayla. Their beginning may have started with pain but I love how they still found a way.  I thoroughly enjoyed this addition to this series and look forward to Ms. Wylde returning to this world she has created.”

— Titania, Manic Readers Review

Praise for Ryker (Roosters, Dixie Reapers MC)

“This was a wonderful roller-coaster of emotion and struggle sprinkled with the love that you can only read about when you get deep into the Dixie reapers world. I absolutely adore this book and the author that wrote it.”

— 5 Stars, Goodreads

 

More from Harley at Changeling Press…

Short. Erotic. Sweet. Harley’s other half would probably say those words describe her, but they also describe her books. When Harley is 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.

Website: harleywylde.com

Twitter: @HarleyW_Writer

 

 

Bedtime Stories by Shelby Morgen, Anne Kane, Lena Austin, and Marteeka Karland #boxset #futuristic #PNR #RomCom #RomanceBooks @changelingpress @marteekakarland @AnneKane @Lena_Austin

Bedtime Stories (Box Set) (Bedtime Stories Multi-Author 8)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Renee George

This story’s about how Sam saved Troll’s Blog by coming up with one of the coolest ideas ever. Bedtime Stories Publishing…

Shelby Morgen — Troll’s Blog: Perfect skin, dusted a light powder blue. Bright burgundy Mohawk. 6’4”. Dark blue uniform. Big shiny gun. Yeah. I’m the Troll under the bridge. But if you’re reading my blog, you know that. That’s why I call it Troll’s Blog. Duh. But I digress. This story isn’t about me. Not exactly. It’s about my blog. And Sam. And another one of Sam’s great ideas. You’re gonna love it. Really.

Lena Austin — Ugly Duckling: Jean-Paul, incubus editor for Bedtime Stories Press has been assigned a new author. Dominick may be a fantastic author, but when he gets aroused, the situation gets ugly. Literally. Jean-Paul is sure he can handle Dom. Maybe…

Anne Kane — Pixie’s Playmates: “While the story had an engaging quality, I feel that the flavor of the sex was too vanilla for Bedtime Stories Press.” When Bedtime Stories Press review coordinator Pixie calls the reviewer into the office she finds out “B.J. Smith” is really two very drool-worthy males who want to demonstrate their toys. What’s a pixie to do?

Marteeka Karland — Shut Up! As official kitty of the Bar and Grille for the Bedtime Stories readers and authors, Callie has the last say in everything she does and with everyone in her vicinity. Then Troll makes a proclamation that could very well get someone killed. Anyone who can get the last word in on Callie gets to have his way with her in bed. It’s a proposition Eli can’t refuse. Callie’s about to get all the loving from Eli she can stand. If she can just shut up.

Note: Bedtime Stories in no way represents any actual publishing company. Any resemblance to the staff and authors of Changeling Press is purely coincidental.

That’s our story and we’re sticking to it.

 

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EXCERPT

Excerpt from Troll’s Blog
Shelby Morgen
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Shelby Morgen

I was so wrapped up watching the ’50s vintage Harley coming toward me I didn’t even notice he wasn’t registering on my screen. As in 1950s. Well over a hundred years old, and still on the road. That machine was really flying. Well, no. Not really flying. That’s an old euphemism for moving. Speeding.

God knows what he’d put in the tank. Probably running on moonshine. Nothing legal’d have it cranking like that. The sound of that motor purring down the road toward me had my blood heating up. I closed my eyes for a moment, ready to breathe in the scent of ancient exhaust.

Then it hit me. Sigh. No. Not literally hit me. My brain engaged — enough to see the century-old motorcycle was not registering on my vid panel. Nothing. Flying completely under the radar. And he wasn’t slowing down. In fact, the closer he got, the farther he laid himself out along that tank. Rider and cycle shot past me in one long black blur that had my mouth watering — and my hand on my gun. He might be sexy as hell, all black leather stretched out long and lean over that tank, but nobody — and I mean nobody — runs the gate on my watch.

Alarms and sirens went off, and lights flashed down the next mile of bi-way, warning the felon that he’d best slow down and pull over before the Toll Collector caught up with him.

Not that he slowed in the least. In fact, I’d have bet a month’s salary he gunned it about then.

Fine. If that’s the way he wanted to play it, the chase was on.

Damn, but that view looked even better from behind.

I shook my head as I jumped into my patrol pod, a three-wheeled Flitter that was airborne at a safe hover of a half-meter or so by the time I got my Mohawk crammed into the cockpit and the door slammed shut. What the fuck was he thinking, trying to outrun a Toll Collector?

The bridge itself is a long, straight shot of highway with equally long approaches, spanning just under two kilometers of unquiet waters. This isn’t just any bridge they’ve entrusted to me. No. It’s the Golden Gate, linking Old San Francisco to Marin Co., California. One of the longest bridges in the world. One of the few still in constant operation. Sure, a lot of people use Flitters these days, rather than ground vehicles, but Flitters aren’t exactly safe hovering over rough water, and the bay’s never calm. So unless you’ve got a full pilot’s license, and something jet propelled, if you’re going south, you’ve got to pass over my bridge.

And pay my toll. Which this asshole had elected not to do.

I’m not exactly an inexperienced pilot. I know my bridge like she was my baby. She’s 2.7 kilometers, from abutment to abutment, laid out straight and true as an arrow shot from a master’s bow. We crossed her in just under one minute, and if I hadn’t been so pissed off, I’d have been scared shitless.

Yeah, even a Troll can experience fear. Doesn’t happen often, I’ll admit, but chasing that leather-clad backside across that bridge through sheering winds high above some of the roughest, coldest water this side of hell at 200 KPH is more of a thrill than even a Troll is used to.

I could tell, too, from the way he hugged that tank, that he was really getting off on the chase. Every time the wind hit him he’d roll his shoulders, leaning back into it like he was riding a lover. He glanced back at me once, facemask lifted enough for me to see him grin. I’d bet my pension he had a boner the size of his ego. When I caught this idiot of a Human he was going to get a piece of a little more than my mind. I might even resort to police brutality — before I friggin’ killed him.

No Human scares a Troll and gets away with it.

 

More from Shelby Morgen at Changeling Press …

More from Anne Kane at Changeling Press …

More from Marteeka Karland at Changeling Press …

More from Lena Austin at Changeling Press …

 

 

Rocky/Bull Duet by Harley Wylde #MCromance #boxedset #olderhero #MayDecember #bikerbooks @HarleyW_Writer @changelingpress

Rocky/Bull Duet (Dixie Reapers MC Box Sets 2)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

Rocky (Dixie Reapers MC 3)

Mara: My stepbrother Sebastian wants what he can’t have — me. When I crashed down a mountain the man who pulled me from the wreckage rescued me in every way that counts. Rocky is the biggest, sexiest badass I’ve ever seen. The stubborn man says I’m too young. I’ll just have to prove him wrong.

Rocky: I never expected that past to show up in the form of a sexy-as-fuck woman — a woman I shouldn’t touch. I’ll do anything it takes to keep her safe, even go home to Alabama. My brothers, the Dixie Reapers, will help protect her. I’m just not sure who’s going to protect her from me, because I’m never going to let her go.

Bull (Dixie Reapers MC 4)

Darian: I can tell he wants me, even though he’s fighting himself. But he doesn’t have to… because I’m his. I’ve held onto my virginity all these years, but I want him more than I ever thought I’d want someone. For once, I’m going to get what I want. And I want Bull.

Bull: There’s more than twenty years between us. I wanted to be a better man, to walk away, but I can’t. She begs me so sweetly, and soon I can’t resist anymore. She’s mine. And any fucker who tries to take her from me is going to die a slow and painful death.

 

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Praise for Rocky

“Every bit of the book is interesting and it keeps getting better and better with every book in the series. Mara and Rocky has an instant chemistry. With every interaction between them, the relationship deepened and [the] chemistry got better. It had enough action, romance and all things naughty to keep me completely engaged.”

— 5 Stars from Sorrel, Long and Short Reviews

Praise for Bull

“I really enjoyed seeing Bull get his happily ever after… I also loved seeing him with Darian.  Darian expects very little from others so I thoroughly enjoyed seeing the care Bull had for her.  I loved seeing her innocence and joy with each new experience. This story by Ms. Wylde is a joy to read.  I love the sense of family she has conveyed throughout this series.  And I can’t wait to see where she will take us next.”

— Titania, Manic Readers Review

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Harley Wylde
Excerpt from Rocky (Dixie Reapers MC 3)

Mara

My hands clenched the wheel tighter as my small car careened around another curve on the icy mountain road. How the weather could be this bad in early fall, I didn’t know. My heart raced in my chest, and my gaze shot to the rearview mirror. Still alone. If they were following me, I didn’t see them. Even Sebastian’s men wouldn’t be dumb enough to drive these roads as fast as I was taking them, would they? They were New Yorkers, though, and would be used to bad driving conditions. I, however, was a California girl and hadn’t had much experience driving on icy and snow-covered roads.

Something darted across the road, and I reflexively hit the brakes. My car fishtailed, then started to slide. A scream tore from my throat as the small compact crashed through the railing and down the side of the mountain. The crunch of metal made my heart beat faster, and I wondered if I was about to die. Glass exploded into the car as it bounced against the mountainside. My head slammed into the steering wheel more than once, and black dots swam across my vision.

The car landed upside down at the bottom of the craggy cliff. My harsh breathing filled the air as I tried to focus. I was dazed and hung limply from the seat belt, my hands brushing the roof of the car. Blood trickled into my hair and more ran down my arm. I groaned, feeling battered and bruised, but thankful to be alive. I didn’t know how long I hung there… minutes… hours… but the crunch of snow alerted me to another presence. I hoped like hell it wasn’t Sebastian or his men. I’d rather die than see them.

A gruff voice cursed, one I didn’t recognize.

“Hello?” I called out, my voice weaker than usual. “Help. Please, help me.”

For a moment, I wondered if I should have kept quiet. Just because I didn’t recognize the man outside my car, didn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt me. I didn’t know everyone in Sebastian’s employ, and there were monsters out in the world other than the man who wanted to claim me. As if I’d ever let him touch me!

Denim-clad legs came into view with massive feet encased in brown boots. The man dropped to one knee, his gloved hand braced in the snow as he peered into what was left of my car. Blue eyes met mine, and my breath stilled. Fine lines fanned from the corners, and his nose looked like it had been broken at some point. But that was all I could see of the man. His face was covered in a beard, and the parts of his hair not covered by a hat spilled around his face, looking as if it hadn’t seen a brush today.

“Don’t move,” he said.

Something about that voice, dark and commanding, sent a chill down my spine. Not in a bad way, though. Something about that voice made me want to obey. The man rose to his feet, and his hands closed around the door of my car, or what was left of it. The metal groaned as he ripped the door off and flung it away. My mouth dropped at the brute strength on display. How strong exactly did you have to be to rip off a car door? I’d never seen anything like it.

His hands, now bare, reached for me. The seat belt wouldn’t release, and he reached into his pocket, withdrawing a knife. He easily sliced through the belt. I fell to the top of the car, and hands far gentler than I’d have expected, pulled me from the wreckage. As the man stood, lifting me as if I were no more than a child, I realized that the hunk of man who had helped me was way taller than my first impression. And much, much broader.

“My bag,” I said softly.

He grunted and eased me down. I wobbled a moment, my hand braced on his wide chest. When I got my footing, he released me long enough to pull my bag from the front seat. It didn’t have much in it, but wherever I was going, I would need the things inside. The man slung the bag over his shoulder before lifting me once more, then we were off, striding through the knee-deep snow. Or rather, he was walking through knee-deep snow.

“I’m Mara,” I said. “Mara O’Malley.”

His gaze flicked down to mine. “Rocky.”

I waited, but no last name was forthcoming, and I wasn’t going to press him for it. He didn’t have to pull me from that car. He could have left me for the wildlife to find, or to freeze to death and not be found until spring when everything thawed out.

Snow began to fall in thick gusts, and soon I couldn’t see in front of my face. The man holding me trudged forward, through the ever-thickening snow, not stopping, not even slowing down. I didn’t know how long we walked, but soon I saw a structure come into view. No. A cabin. There was a wide porch across the front and a large stack of wood near the door. Another pile of wood peeked around the corner of the house with a tarp over the top.

Rocky clomped up the steps and pushed open the front door. The crackle of a fire welcomed us, and I moaned as the warmth from inside the house licked at my skin. I was frozen everywhere. He eased me down onto the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace and pulled a blanket from the couch, wrapping it around my shoulders.

My teeth chattered with such force I thought they might break, and I trembled from head to toe. I watched the mesmerizing flames as Rocky stepped away. I heard him trudging upstairs, only to return a few minutes later with two thick pairs of wool socks, some sweatpants, and a flannel shirt clutched in his massive hands. He crouched in front of me and slowly removed my shoes and socks.

I let out a squeak when he reached for the top of my jeggings and began sliding them down my legs. Too stunned to do much but stare, I didn’t protest as he pulled the blanket from my shoulders and removed my coat and sweater. Even though his gaze didn’t stray anywhere for too long, I felt exposed. No one had ever seen me in my underwear before, and I knew I should say something. Then again, he probably didn’t like women with as much meat on their bones as I had. My thighs were thick and jiggled when I walked, my ass should probably have been assigned its own zip code. And while my breasts were large and sometimes drew male attention, they weren’t big enough to make my rounded stomach look any smaller.

His gaze roamed my body before he rose to his feet and disappeared again, leaving me mostly naked in front of the fire. When he returned, there was a wet rag clutched in one hand and a tube of ointment in the other. Rocky crouched in front of me again, gently wiping the blood from my body. I winced as he applied the ointment to my cuts. There was one on my forehead and another near my collarbone, and my arm was dotted with smaller cuts from the broken glass. He sat back on his heels and studied me again, his gaze caressing every inch of my body. Did he like what he saw?

 

More books from Harley at Changeling Press …

 

International Best Selling Author!

Short. Erotic. Sweet. Harley’s other half would probably say those words describe her, but they also describe her books. When Harley is 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.

Website: harleywylde.com