Tomcat Jones by Willa Okati #NewRelease #GayRomance #LGBT #paperback @changelingpress @willaokati ‏

Shapeshifting, love-shy Tomcat Jones is falling for sweet
sex-bomb wizard MacGowan. Let the fur fly!

 

Tomcat Jones

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Box Set, Contemporary, Gay
Length: 405 pages

 

Tomcat Jones: Shape-shifting tomcat T.J. Jones never believed in love — until he runs into MacGowan, a smoking-hot beach boy with an open heart and a sweet smile.

Buddy Holiday: T.J.’s a man with a plan. He intends to ask his wizard lover MacGowan to officially move in with him and make this the best Festivus ever. He keeps getting distracted by MacGowan’s hot bod. Happy Holidays?

Karma Chameleon: Arden needs Shavey’s help breaking a chameleonic shape-shifting curse. There are a few things big bad bear Shavey would like to ask for — and intends to prove to Arden — in return.

Publisher’s Note: One of Willa’s funniest. Best not eat or drink while reading!

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press

Also available in paperback

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Willa Okati
Excerpt from Tomcat Jones

“Being ‘in love’” — T.J. made quote fingers — “never changes anything.”

Arden gave the grocery cart a hard shove to get it past a sticky mess of spilled pickle juice on the aisle floor. “The hell it doesn’t. Are you stoned? That reminds me. Corn chips or Pringles?”

“Why limit ourselves? Doritos.” T.J. stretched up to tip the topmost bag on the shelf into their cart. It landed with a crunchy paft!noise between two cans of guacamole and a tub of sour cream. “Mmm. I can feel your arteries hardening as we speak.”

“Mine?” Arden, tall and skinny and towheaded, grabbed a jar of peanuts and read the nutritional information, snickering to himself. “Where are you in all of this coronary failure, standing nobly by with a skull in your hand, saying ‘alas, we hardly knew you’?”

T.J. had to stretch up on tiptoe to manage it but bounced his palm off the back of Arden’s head with a sharp snap of the wrist. “No. For one, you’re misquoting. For another, there’s no way I’m eating any of this crap.”

“Liar. You say you’ll stick to celery, but before we know it, you’ll be in the ranch dip and then the tofu chili wings will go down. It’ll be slaughter, I tell you. Wholesale slaughter of innocent soybeans. Ugh. Speaking of which, ranch dip or blue cheese? If I’m having a heart attack, I’m taking you with me, pal.”

“Yeah, yeah.” T.J. swung the cart around to face due south. “Black bean burgers. That’s what I want.”

“You are a disgrace to testicles everywhere.”

“If it’ll make you happy, I’ll eat two of them on a white bun, add three slices of cheese, and douse the whole thing in ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise.”

“Soy cheese? How many things can they make out of one innocent bean?”

“You’d be surprised. And no, not soy cheese. Processed. American. Orange-colored glue. Mmm-mmm.”

Arden considered that. “Acceptable compromise.”

“Never should have gotten you that word-a-day calendar.”

“Smart-ass.”

T.J. shrugged. “We’re all good at what we’re good at.”

“Very Zen. Which is why, in the whole of God’s green creation, I don’t get a vegetarian cat.”

T.J. stopped the cart to grab Arden by the lapel and yank. “Not in public, jackass!”

“Like anyone would make the connection between one innocent teeny statement and your being a shape-sh –”

Arden.”

His friend had the grace to look embarrassed. Not convincingly, true, but at least he made the effort. “I’ll lower my voice if you tell me how that makes sense.”

T.J. let go of him. Reluctantly. “If you’d ever woken up with feathers stuck between your teeth, you’d understand.”

“Huh.” Arden took control of the cart, mounded high with junk food, and pushed it forward. His forehead furrowed. “So you’re saying you prefer the all-processed taste of Chik’n instead?”

“God, no.” T.J. kicked the cart’s squeaky wheel, stuck on a shred of a coupon. “Anyway, what I was saying was that it’s a Hollywood myth, love changing people. If you even believe in love. A few chemicals swirl around in a guy’s brain. He might lie, but he won’t honestly become a different person.”

“And I was rebutting you. Successfully.”

“Random swearing does not a ‘successful’ comeback make.”

“Usually works for me.” Arden propped his hip on the cart. “And here all I’d said was ‘love makes people stupid.’ Interesting response to my normal state of running off at the mouth. Methinks I tapped a hot spot. Share with the rest of the class.”

T.J. scrunched his hair, the curly blond-brown mess overdue for a cut forever in his eyes, out of his face and sighed. “Do you remember the tabloid we passed a couple of aisles back? You know, the one left open-faced on top of the toilet paper display?”

Arden snorted. Eloquently. “The one that swore Prince William was an alien?”

“That too. It also had a giant red headline: ‘IS YOUR LOVE CHEATING? SIGNS POINT TO YES!’ Look at the divorce rates. Look at how many people break up right before Valentine’s Day or Christmas to avoid buying a gift. They might have thought they were in love, whatever they decide love might be, but they and the rest of us sorry folk are basically liars, cheats, and bastards who’ll do what it takes to get laid and then walk away without regret.”

Arden’s eyebrow climbed skyward. “Bitter. Nice. Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning? You actually believe that line of crap?”

“Damn right I do, and I challenge anyone to prove me wrong. Jeez, what did someone spill on this part of the floor?” T.J. tentatively toed the glutinous off-white goop glued to the linoleum beneath his feet. “Before you say it, Arden, I don’t think it’s spunk.”

“Given how much you like the cock, I’ll take your word for it. Which brings me back around to pondering the mystery that is your being a vegetarian c-a-t.”

“Arden…”

“What? I spelled it.”

“If you weren’t my closest friend, I’d be obliged to kill you. You know I have the…” T.J. lowered his voice, “shifting under control now. I haven’t slipped up in almost a year.”

“Uh-huh. So that wasn’t you purring in your sleep in the passenger seat on the way to the store.”

“What? I was not. Was I?”

“I had to fight the urge to hang a bell around your neck and waft some catnip under your nose. It was adorable.”

T.J. looked at him. Silently. At length. Then, he moved on.

“I was kidding, you big dork.” Arden caught up. “Mr. Jontan wanted pizza rolls.” He put his foot on the cart to stop it rolling. “You’re a cat. Yeah, yeah, I know, shhh. You’re neat, clever, sweet when you purr, and you’re a sucker for being skritched behind your ears. Isn’t that love?”

“Nope. Have you ever known a cat to play affectionate with anyone unless they felt like it? Or who didn’t walk away as soon as they were bored? I know what I’m talking about.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re not harshing my mellow, friend. I’m a hound dog all the way, and I’m a believer.”

“No, you’ll do anything that looks at you sideways and has a pulse. All you do, by existing, is prove my point. And hound dog, my ass. What you really want is a good master with a firm hand and a sack of treats. Admit it.”

Arden grumbled under his breath and looked away, pretending to give too much interest in a display of pudding cups. “Mistress,” he mumbled under his breath. “And no. You’re completely wrong. As usual.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” Scoring a point over Arden made for the highlight of T.J.’s day. He pushed hard and sent the cart squealing forward to the end of the junk-food aisle, aiming for a freestanding display of bite-sized powdered doughnuts. “Who’s the king?”

His cart collided with the edge of one approaching at a perpendicular angle and ricocheted into the juice boxes. An oof came from whoever had been manning the assaulted cart.

“Fuck. I am so sorry.” T.J. jogged to the end of the aisle, ready to blame it all on Arden, who’d probably let him get away with it. What else were friends for? “Are you okay?”

The man behind the cart, rubbing his stomach where the cart had hit him, looked up at T.J. through casual tumbles of hair streaked glossy sepia and ebony. His eyes were as gray as summer storms, and they twinkled. “I think I’ll live.”

“Mphurgle,” T.J. said, caught in the spell of the scent of sand and surf, coconut oil and leather, and something spicy that the man carried with him.

The man’s grin broadened. He held out a hand for T.J. to shake, his wrist bedizened with knitted, woven, and small shell bracelets. Small tattoos trailed a line from pulse point to elbow. “MacGowan Smith. Haven’t I seen you around somewhere?”

“T.J. Jones.” We haven’t met. Trust me, I’d remember you.

MacGowan’s palm and fingers were slim and nimble, hands designed by nature for precision work. Was he a surgeon, a pianist, a painter? There was no way for T.J. not to imagine that agile touch skimming down his chest, his legs, over his hips, kneading his ass… and that was as far as that thought needed to go, or he really would get a boner next to the Freeze-Em Popsicles. That kind of thing was hard to explain away to random strangers, smoking hot or not, especially red-hot-chili “hot.”

Lucky for him, MacGowan hadn’t yet looked below T.J.’s neck. He snapped his fingers. “The DuBrewer complex. You live there too, right? I saw you and that guy behind you, upstairs from me, when I got my keys.”

T.J. replayed that in his head to make sure he’d heard MacGowan right. “You’re moving into L-one?” The empty apartment beneath his, ground-floor level, with a front door that opened on the foot of his apartment’s staircase. No way. No one got that lucky. Especially not a mostly vegetarian tomcat-slash-man, or the other way around.

“Me and no one else,” MacGowan agreed sunnily. He had a sweet West Coast accent, Napa Valley maybe. It added both drawl and lilt to his way of speaking. He eyed T.J. His good cheer softened and warmed around the edges. “I’m glad I was right. I’d hope there’s no way I could forget a man like you.”

“A guy like what, huh now?”

“I should be all moved in by tonight,” MacGowan said. He wheeled his cart around. Chicken. Steak. Pork chops. Sausage. A six-pack of Pacific beer. One lonely zucchini in the middle. “Come by and visit, if you want.” He lingered over one last look before he turned to walk away, tipping T.J. a backward wave, shell bracelets clicking quietly. “Anytime you want.”

“Put your eyes back in your head and close your mouth before you start catching flies,” Arden muttered as he joined T.J. “You look like a constipated parrot.”

“Whatever.” T.J. stared after MacGowan. “Arden, what just happened here?”

“I’d say you got owned.” Arden studied MacGowan’s backside. “Huh. Not that I can blame you for drooling. I’d do him.”

“You’re not even gay.”

“My point exactly. So he lives downstairs? How very convenient. Naughty neighbors, I like it.” Arden patted T.J. on the back. “This could be interesting. For me, especially. You know I get off on watching, baby.”

T.J. shoved Arden halfheartedly. “Put a cork in it.” He closed his eyes to better breathe in and appreciate the last traces of MacGowan’s scent.

And purred.

He slapped a hand over his mouth while Arden, ever helpful, chortled. He slapped T.J.’s back. “Told you that you were purring on the drive in. Well, now. Life’s about to get a hell of a lot more interesting around here. Love at first sight is just swishy chemicals, isn’t that what you were saying?”

T.J. glared at him. He had a great insult on the tip of his tongue, but blast his luck, all he came out with was: “Purr.”

Interesting? Yeah. That’d be one way to put it.

 

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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

The Leopard Prince by Raisa Greywood #NewRelease #PNR #scifi #shapeshifter #aliens @Raisa_Greywood @changelingpress

I’ve accepted my mate and my leopard.
Can we protect our female from the evil pulling us apart?

 

Leopard Prince (Shifter's Mates 4)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Angela Knight
Genres/Themes: Futuristic, Paranormal, Scifi, Alien Encounters, Shapeshifters
Length: 107 pages

My brother is dead, executed at the hand of my beautiful and fierce snow leopard mate, Chen Daiyu. But Norkad was a pawn in a bigger game, and chose death over helping me protect my female. I want to resurrect him just to kill him all over again.

The bond between me and my elegant, deadly mate grows stronger every minute, until we know each other better than we know ourselves. She is perfection, body and spirit, and in her feral desires that heat the blood in my veins.

But there are those who would use my Daiyu for their own purposes. And when they take her from me, nothing will stand in the way of getting her back. For her, I would destroy worlds and dance in the ashes.

Get it Today at Changeling Press

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Raisa Greywood

My leopard lounged in smug contentment in a corner of our shared mind, purring as she washed her paws.

“Gloating is unattractive,” I told her.

So is pouting. Why are you unhappy, Xīngān?

“I want to be left alone with my mate. There are too many demands on our time. Why can we not have a few days to ourselves?”

She laughed, knowing exactly what I wanted. It included a bed, a locked door, no comms, and definitely no clothes.

Be patient, little cub. You will have your whole lifetime to enjoy Dakar’s company once we finish our duties.

Heat blossomed in my belly as I thought of all the things I wanted to do to my delicious mate. Dakar inhaled sharply and glanced at me as our shuttle approached his ship, leaving the muddy ball of Earth behind us. His eyes darkened and he smirked, revealing the points of his canines. The sweet, musky perfume of his arousal filled my lungs and I hid a smirk. I wasn’t the only one who wanted that locked room.

The docking bay opened, its marker lights drawing a path into the belly of the ship. Akari whimpered behind us. I knew the eagle must be frightened, but I had no way of comforting her until we landed and the doors closed behind us. She was probably like most shifters; terrified and uncomfortable with confinement. The sensation must be worse for large birds.

My mother and sister would be able to help her. She would be more comfortable among female shifters. Jinjing’s calm presence would soothe her as well, but I doubted my sister by mating would leave Huang.

The bay doors closed behind us and the atmosphere equalized with a hiss of pressurized air. Dakar unfastened his harness and opened the shuttle doors. A male I didn’t recognize poked his head inside and grinned at Akari, but she hid her face behind the Dalai Lama.

“Welcome back, Commander. If you’ll step out, we’ll get you unloaded.” He disappeared from the door.

“Go ahead, and take the human with you. I’ll sit with Akari for a moment.”

Dakar blinked at me, giving me a questioning glance. “Are you –”

I glanced back at the young eagle. She was shaking badly and her pale skin darkened with the tracery of feathers. “I’m sure! We’re about to have a lot of trouble in here.”

He looked over my shoulder and frowned. “Miss Takamoto, I’m afraid you can’t shift in the shuttle.”

I growled and pushed him out. My leopard hissed and added a hard swat to his backside as he stumbled from the shuttle. Stubborn males! She chuffed out laughter as he stared at us from the deck. I’d have to apologize later.

“Akari, I’m sorry, but my mate is right. You can’t shift in the shuttle, but I know a place that will be big enough for you if you can hold it for a few more minutes.”

She exhaled, then wiped a hand over her face and stood up. “Yes, revered leopard. I’m ready.”

I took her hand and helped her step down from the shuttle. Males bustled everywhere and the noise of conversation and equipment was loud compared to the silence and peace of my home. I could hear Akari’s harsh breaths over the noise and the stench of her fear filled my nose.

She shifted several times as she tried to control her panic, making the males stop their work and stare. Their attention made her distress worse, and I wished I’d thought to clear the deck before taking her out.

Trying to control my irritation, I pushed my leopard’s strength out to encompass her in a bubble of peace. “Pick one shape, Akari. I don’t care what you do, but choose one and I will help you keep it.”

She whimpered one last time before settling on my arm, her feathers fluffed out to make her appear larger. I wished that I could hood her and tie jesses around her feet as the ancient falconers did. Her talons clenched tightly on my arm. The Ximeran fabric prevented them from digging into my flesh, though I knew she’d leave bruises.

She fought me with every step. Her immature body demanded that she protect herself against perceived threats. Her lack of control was worrisome and I knew we’d have to keep her secluded until she grew comfortable. I hurried through the corridors toward the holo, hoping I could keep her under control until we reached that place of safety.

Exhaustion from nearly twenty-four hours without rest made me irritable and easily angered. As the door shut behind us, I shook her from my arm. With a dismayed screech, she took to the air and perched on a branch above my head. I knew I shouldn’t take my aggravation out on her, but I was simply too tired to coddle her further.

“Someone will bring you food shortly, Akari. It will be a male, and I suggest very strongly that you don’t hurt him. You may hide if you wish.” Remembering the shy boy who served as the cook’s steward, I added, “Quite frankly, he’ll be more comfortable if he doesn’t see you. You will be confined here until you can regain control of your eagle.”

She flared her wings, clicking her beak angrily. I held my gaze on her until she settled, and said, “I’m sorry. I know you have troubles and I will speak with you later. Right now, I’m exhausted. My brother is badly injured, and I’ve insulted my mate. I must see them and rest before I can give you the attention you need.”

 

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Raisa is an up-and-coming author of romance with a dark and naughty twist. Her heroes are sometimes flawed but always the alpha in the room, while her heroines are atypical and can take anything those bossy alphas dish out.

The one thing that Raisa most loves is tipping tropes on their ears and making fun of them. She also adores alliteration.

She’s lived all over the world but currently resides in the Midwestern United States with her husband, two irascible cats, and a big bay rescue horse.

Visit Raisa on her website!

Throwback Thursday: Bad Boys Club by M. A. Church #GayRomance #BDSM #DarkDesire @nomoretears00 @changelingpress

Bad Boys Club (Bad Boys' Club 5)

 

Not all romances are sweet and fluffy.

Pounding music and writhing bodies fill the dance floor at Night Moves. A small, very elite group of friends called The Bad Boys Club use the place as their personal hunting grounds. Spoilt, powerful, and totally amoral, they use men without thought for the consequences of their actions. But each of these predators harbors a secret desire, a passion, that drives him.

And it hasn’t gone unnoticed.

Three dangerous paranormals on the prowl for a mate stalk the humans. Dark and deadly desires are their calling cards. A demon prince, an ancient vampire, and one of the deadliest werewolves to exist have their sights on The Bad Boys Club and their sensual secrets. Love comes in all forms, even for unscrupulous humans and lethal paranormals.

Publisher’s Note: Bad Boy’s Club contains the previously published novellas Lust and Ice, Into the Darkness, and Haunting the Night.

 

Get it at Changeling Press

 

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Copyright ©2015 M.A. Church
Excerpt from Lust and Ice

Kain, AKA Ice, moved through the Friday night crowd on the dance floor of Night Moves, a trendy upscale bar. For VIPs, the club had a decadent, kinky side. The second level was members only and membership was awarded on the basis of money, power, and prestige. The second level was where other jaded predators like Kain roamed.

The bottom level — the dance floor — was where the fresh meat was kept. After all, every predator needed prey.

Kain avoided the teasing hands that reached for him. No one caught his eye, but the night was young. He nodded to the bouncer guarding the secured entrance to the second level. Of course he wasn’t stopped. He was well known at the club.

Across the way he saw his childhood friends sitting at their usual table and made his way to them. Throwing his leather jacket on the back of his chair, he picked up the drink they had waiting for him. “Sorry I’m late. The old man was on my ass again.”

“What about this time?” Jordan asked.

“Some kid yelling I hit his car on the way home a couple of nights ago. He threatened to call the cops — claimed I left the scene of the accident.” Kain shrugged as his eyes scanned the dance floor. “More like a mercy killing. My damn watch costs more than that heap he was driving, but he carried on like a bitch in heat over it. The old man calmed him down, as always.”

“Meaning your dad had his lawyer pay him off.” Allen rolled his eyes. “What’s someone like that doing over here in our part of town?”

“What else,” Hugh said. “Looking for a way to make easy money. Those kinds of people shouldn’t be allowed over here.”

“I never said it happened on our turf. I was slumming.” Kain turned back to the group with a cold, emotionless grin. Actually, he’d been mindlessly screwing some nameless guy in the hopes of losing himself, if only for a little while. “If you know what I mean.”

“Well, you know what they say. If you lie down with dogs…” Hugh shrugged. “On another note, boys, you owe me five thousand apiece. That sweet little thing, Chris? Yeah, I popped his cherry last night. Told you I would. Only took me two weeks, too, to convince him that we were meant to be.”

“You have the devil’s own luck,” Jordan groaned.

“Actually, that’s Kain. I’m still behind him by two virgins.”

“How do you find these guys?” Allen complained. “I’ve only managed to find two!”

“Oh shut up. You’re one ahead of me.” Jordan rolled his eyes.

“Back on subject, fellows. Did I mention how sweetly he cried?” Hugh smirked. “And get this… he’s thinks I’m going to keep calling him now, be his boyfriend. Seems like he was waiting for that special someone, the love of his life.”

“Yeah, right. What a loser.” Allen sneered. “How often did you have to tell him you loved him?”

“Too many times.” Hugh’s disgust was clear as he raised his glass and winked. “Like I’d be caught dead outside of a bedroom with someone like that.”

“Goes without saying.” Kain sprawled in his chair. “So, how’s it looking down there? Fill me in.”

“Jordan and I have a bet going about who’s going to do that redhead on the dance floor first,” Allen said. “He’s the one with the green shirt, there in the middle.”

“Why not do him together?” Hugh asked.

“We plan to.” Allen winked. “I said I’d do him first. We’ll tag team him later. Been awhile since Jordan and I got to do a double penetration.”

Kain’s hearty laugh boomed out, drawing attention from those around them. “I almost feel sorry for the guy.” Kain glanced around the group; several pairs of disbelieving eyes stared back at him. “Okay, no I don’t.”

“The legendary Ice feels sorry?” Hugh’s lips twisted. “That’ll be a cold day in hell.”

“Hell wouldn’t have me.”

“Oh yeah, it would. Personally, I think we’d end up ruling hell.” Allen smirked at Kain.

“Ah, someone has that position, remember?” Jordan shrugged.

“We could be kings, or lords.”

“There’s supposed to be seven princes of hell. One for each deadly sin.” Hugh rolled his eyes as his friends stared at him. “What?”

 

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M.A. Church lives in the southern United States and spent many years in the elementary education sector. She is married to her high school sweetheart and they have two children. Her hobbies are gardening, walking, attending flea markets, watching professional football, racing, and spending time with her family on the lake.

But her most beloved hobby is reading. From an early age, she can remember hunting for books at the library. Later nonhuman and science fiction genres captured her attention and drew her into the worlds the authors had created. But always at the back of her mind was the thought that one day, when the kids were older and she had more time, she would write a book.

By sheer chance she stumbled across a gay male romance story on the web and was hooked. A new world opened up and she fell in love. Thus the journey started. When not writing or researching, she enjoys reading the latest erotic and mainstream romance novels.

Blog http://machurch00.blogspot.com
Facebook author page http://www.facebook.com/ma.church3
Twitter: @nomoretears00 Goodreads http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5141393.M_A_Church

A Pack of His Own by Emily Carrington #PNR #UrbanFantasy #DarkFantasy #LGBT #GayRomance #NewRelease @CarringtonEmily @changelingpress

A psychic vampire, werewolf, foxgod – and a mother-in-law?
How can they make time for anything else?

A Pack of His Own (Duet) Vol. 2 (A Pack of His Own 2)

Publisher: Changeilng Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Box Set, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy,
Elves Dragons & Magical Creatures, Gay, Shapeshifters, Vampires

A psychic vampire, werewolf, foxgod – and a mother-in-law? How can they make time for anything else?

Tangled Up in You: Retired SearchLight agent Jason Campbell finds himself compelled by a fox demigod who gets to him through the magical medium of music. As Jason falls deeply in love with Reynard, he discovers Reynard is slave to a monster. Jason struggles to free both Reynard and the fox-god’s son, but he must do so without weapons, without backup, and without all the facts, which could lead to death’s retirement.

A Very Psychic Vampire Christmas: Charlie and Luis, A werewolf and a psychic vampire, have been mated for two years according to werewolf custom. They’re planning to get married, to comply with psychic vampire tradition, as well. Unfortunately, the psychic vampire matriarch wants her son to stay away from his werewolf lover — and she’ll stop at nothing to break them up.

Get it Today at Changeling Press

Pre-Order for November 16th at Amazon, B&N, iTunes, and Kobo

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Emily Carrington
Excerpt from Tangled Up in You

As commanded, Jason Campbell skipped through the wild flowers that divided his sister’s wheat field from the dirt lane.

No.

He walked. Neither shambling nor plodding, he walked. And although he had been ordered to “go skip in the daises” by his sister, he was only obeying because he wanted to be out of the house. He’d been in Kansas less than three hours, and he already wanted to run back to DC.

But nothing awaited him in Washington. The nation’s capital held nothing for him now that he’d been let go.

Jason stopped, head tilting as he caught the ringing, mournful sound of an acoustic guitar being strummed. He discounted it and kept walking. Any idiot could make the guitar sound what Jason called “surface beautiful,” meaning technically perfect but without a soul. It was a welcoming instrument, almost as easy as a child’s recorder and much more pleasant.

He stopped again, and he felt a slow smile stretch his mouth. The guitarist was plucking the instrument and making music. True and compelling runs of notes, like water over a fall. Jason nodded to the melody carried on the galloping accompaniment. He knew this one, and he began to sing softly.

“Papa, Papa, build me a boat
“That I might on the ocean float.
“To hail all ships as they pass by
“And to enquire for my darling boy.”

It was a griever’s song, full of loss and providing no promise of comfort. Jason loved it and would have, he told himself, even if he hadn’t been smarting from forced retirement.

He left the band of wildflowers and walked beside the dirt lane where only the occasional tractor passed. He would be trespassing in the neighbor’s field by following the music, but he had a hope that trespassing wasn’t as strictly watched and enforced here as in DC.

The melody rang over the broken chords, and the second verse flitted through Jason’s mind. He didn’t sing. It seemed blasphemous to cover the guitar’s voice with his own.

As we were out on the Eastern Isle
We lost four men
And your darling boy.

He entered another field of wheat, passing between the rows like a ghost, unseen and leaving little to no trace of his travels. Children of the Corn. He smirked briefly before letting it fall away. Child of the wheat is more to the point, but who ever heard of a horror story with that title? There were things that lived in corn fields. And wheat fields. Hungry things that called for human blood and were often sustained on birds and bugs while waiting for weary travelers.

Jason had killed some of them.

He shrugged the memories away and fixed his gaze on the single grain silo that lifted its head above the drowsy August world. There was a farmhouse beyond the structure but a good distance off, leaving the gray and cylindrical exclamation point all but alone.
The music seemed to be coming from the tower’s top. And impossible as that surely was — grain silos were places of storage, not sitting — Jason shielded his eyes and squinted, looking up for the first glimpse of the player.

“I’m too far away,” he whispered as the music left off “The Sailor Lad” and went into a skipping tangle of notes he didn’t recognize. “I can’t possibly see him. Or her.”

Still he peered, and much sooner than he would have thought, he’d reached the base of the grain silo. There was a broken ladder on its side, a rusted thing that hung in defiance of the building’s otherwise well-tended look.

He began circling the massive cylinder, searching for another way up. Because the music was definitely coming from above him, and he needed to find the guitarist. He needed to.

And while he sought, the laughing melody went on.

* * *

Reynard sensed the gnat far below, and his heart ached. He fell into a faster rhythm in an attempt to relieve the pain. Go away, he thought at the gnat who was really an innocent of some kind. A human innocent of some kind. Go away. Save yourself. Not that he was dangerous on his own, but he was bound to a ravenous beast.

“Go away, go away,” he chanted against the plucking of his right hand. “Go away, go,” he muttered as his left hand found chord after chord and changed, without Reynard’s conscious desire, to another depressing ballad. This one was without words, and Reynard hated the silence left when he quit speaking.

He purposely changed the music and, unable to keep away from the mildly dirge-like, began making up one of his own.

“Fly, little, fly, little,
“Fly, little bird.
“Far away from me,
“Far away from him,
“Far from your own desires.”

That wasn’t half bad, and Reynard went on:

“Run, little, run, little
“Run, little bear.
“Dangerous parents you have.
“Dangerous you will become,
“But dangerous I am.
“Run. Run. Run.”

But the gnat — the man — was now prodding at the ladder below. If he kept doing that, he would discover the silo’s secret. Then there would be little Reynard could do to keep him away. To keep him safe.

He bent a touch more magic into the song, hoping it would affect the man as his first attempt with small magic had not. And he sang.

“Creep, little, creep, little,
“Creep, little gnat
“Far from me.
“Far from here.
“Far from your death.”

For an instant, this seemed to work. The man hesitated with his hands not quite resting on the invisible rungs of the ladder that only looked rusted.

Then he began to climb.

He did it fast, as if he was afraid he’d rethink his actions. Or maybe, Reynard decided when he caught a glimpse of the man’s briefly upturned face, as if he had climbed invisible ladders before. The act might be completely commonplace.

What sort of man is this? Reynard stepped back from his window as the stranger neared. Why isn’t he affected by my music, by my magic? A frisson of excitement rushed to the ends of all his fingers and curled his toes. There had never been a mere mortal able to resist him. Who was this man?

Maybe he isn’t a mere mortal human. But when Reynard had sent out his magic to stop the stranger, he had felt no answering magic. The immune newcomer was as mundane as sliced bread.

He allowed himself a brief smile as the memory of his childhood, years without sliced bread, years of loaves never precut, flitted through his mind. He’d lived long enough to see something that had once seemed ostentatious become common. This man, too, might become the accepted thing.

But not now, he thought, as the stranger climbed through the window and stood in the same room with Reynard in spite of the “go away” melody. Now he is a miracle.

Reynard bowed, not wondering at his sudden desire to be formal. “Welcome.” That sounded as if he’d expected the man. “You are a surprise.” That sounded rude. Quit analyzing your words and say something that is truly you. “You are welcome here, miraculous stranger.” That at least seemed like him, even if it remained overly formal.

The average-looking man returned his bow. “Thank you. I am Jason Campbell.”

Weren’t names a thing of power? Yes, but this man seemed unafraid of that.

 

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Emily Carrington has been writing m/m erotic romance (specializing in urban fantasy) since 2010. She is currently branching out into the other letters of the LGBTQ rainbow. She lives in Maryland with her guide dog. For short stories about the main and side characters in her books, please visit her website.

Website: emilycarrington.com/

Goodreads: goodreads.com/author/show/4619715.Emily_Carrington

Facebook: facebook.com/emily.carrington.370

Twitter: twitter.com/CarringtonEmily

Dixie Reapers MC paperback, Volume 1 #MCromance #bikerromance #newadult #olderhero #NewRelease @changelingpress #HarleyW_Writer

One fucking look. That’s all it took. I branded her. I let her go.
Now she’s back, and she’s mine.

Venom/Torch Duet (Dixie Reapers MC Print 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Action/Adventure, MC Romance,
New Adult, Silver Fox, Contemporary
Format: Paperback

Venom (Dixie Reapers MC 1)

Ridley: My daddy was a biker, and I was definitely Daddy’s girl. When I found out my stepdad had something horrible planned for me, I ran. Straight to the Dixie Reapers. But it wasn’t my daddy’s arms I ended up in. Venom makes me feel safe, and his kisses make me ache for so much more. I want him — all of him — and damn the consequences.

Venom: I hadn’t risen to the rank of VP of the Dixie Reapers MC without getting my hands dirty. I’d been deep in blood and dirty money for over twenty years. But when an angel I hadn’t seen in fourteen years came back into my life, all it took was one look and I was a goner. Now she’s mine, and I’ll do anything to keep her, even if it means starting a war.

Torch (Dixie Reapers MC 2)

Isabella: I was seventeen when my daddy gave me to Torch. He inked me, then watched me walk away. Now I’m back, ready to face whatever fate awaits me. It never occurred to me he’d kiss me so deeply, so passionately I’d be begging for more. He’ll be my first, my last, my only… because I’m his, and he’s never going to let me forget it.

Torch: I’ve kept my distance, watching over the girl I claimed as my own. I know it’s only a matter of time before she comes home. There may be thirty years between us, but fuck if I care what people think. She’s mine, and I’m going take her any way I can, as often as I can, and when I’m done, she’ll never again think of walking out the door. Because she’s done the impossible… she’s claimed the heart of a man who didn’t think he had one. No one’s going to come between us, especially not the man who gave his daughter to me — not even if he has the entire cartel army on his ass.

Available at Amazon

Prefer ebook? Venom and Torch are available separately in ebook from Changeling Press.

 

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Venom (Dixie Reapers MC 1)
Harley Wylde
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Harley Wylde

My heart thundered in my chest as I locked myself in the bathroom off the foyer. The air duct over my head had always carried sounds from the dining room, and I listened in horror as my stepdad and Mr. Montoya discussed me like I was cattle.

“She’ll do,” Mr. Montoya said. “I’ll have fun breaking her in. Once she’s been properly trained, I’m sure she’ll fetch top dollar.”

My stomach pitched, and I nearly threw up.

“Of course, I’d prefer to see all the merchandise before paying our agreed upon price,” Mr. Montoya said. “After dinner, I’ll see exactly what I’m paying for and maybe take her for a test drive.”

“Whatever you need,” my mom said. “This deal is very important to us.”

Holy shit! My own mother was selling me? Shit like this just didn’t happen. Not to girls like me. Yeah, sure, you heard on the news about women being sold overseas to brothels, but to have it brought to own my front door… My hand shook as I slowly turned the knob and let myself out of the bathroom. I removed my heels so I wouldn’t make a sound.

Marta, the housekeeper we’d had since I first moved here, was quietly standing near the front door. Out of sight of the dining room. With a quick glance toward the door that led to where my fate awaited, I dashed to Marta’s side. She handed me my purse and car keys.

“Be safe,” she whispered. “Go straight to your father.”

“Marta, I…”

She shushed me and gave me a tight hug. “I love you like you were my own. I won’t stand by and let this happen to you. Now go, before they realize you’re not coming back.”

“Thank you,” I said fervently, then soundlessly opened the front door and made my escape.

My car, a Mercedes Richard and Mom had bought on my sixteenth birthday, was parked around the side of the house. The engine was quiet, and if I kept my headlights off, no one would even know I was leaving. I slipped behind the wheel and tossed my purse and shoes on the passenger seat. Fastening my seatbelt, I shut the door as softly as I could and started the engine.

The car crept around the fountain and down the driveway. The gate remained open from when Mr. Montoya had arrived, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Once my tires touched the road, I flicked on my headlights and headed for the highway. It was a long-ass drive to Alabama, but except for gas, I wasn’t fucking stopping until I saw my daddy. Mom might have done her best to separate us, but I would always be Daddy’s little girl.

When I’d been on the road for hours, my stomach began to cramp from hunger and my car was almost on empty. I pulled into a small town somewhere in North Florida. After filling my tank, I left the car parked at the gas station and walked across the street to a diner. But what I saw when I stepped through the doors froze me in my tracks. My face was plastered across the TV with a ticker running underneath. Ridley Johnson is reported as being unstable. If seen, contact the police immediately.

I tried to pull my hair forward as much as possible to hide my face and claimed a spot at the back of the diner, where the lighting wasn’t so great. My hands fumbled with my purse, and I quietly counted what was left of my cash. I’d seen enough crime shows to know my credit cards could be traced, so I’d paid cash at the gas station and I’d pay cash for my meal. An older waitress came over, looking dead on her feet.

“What can I get you, doll?”

“A burger and fries with a sweet tea.”

She nodded and scribbled my order down, not even looking at my face once. As she moved away to place my order with the kitchen, some of the tension eased from my shoulders. The place was nearly empty, but I had a close call when a sheriff’s deputy stepped inside. I sat frozen, scared to even breathe, until he picked up his to-go order and went back out to his cruiser.

My meal arrived a few minutes later, and I ate quickly, leaving enough money on the table to cover the bill and a tip. Gathering my purse, I headed back to my car, every nerve in my body on alert for any kind of trouble. I hit the road again and didn’t stop until I’d cleared the panhandle.

The town was shabby, the sidewalks cracked, and the buildings crumbling. I stuck out like a sore thumb, but it was time to change. I stopped to top off my tank at a gas station that was well lit, just in case I got stuck with the car a while longer, and grabbed my backpack from the trunk. In case my family had gotten nosy, I’d hidden it in the spare tire compartment, which meant if I had a flat I was shit out of luck because both the tire and my bag and boots hadn’t fit.

After filling up the car, I stepped into the grimy bathroom and stripped out of my dress and heels. I washed my face in the sink with the harsh soap provided in the dispenser and blotted it dry with the stiffest damn paper towels I’d ever touched. Pulling an elastic from my bag, I pulled my hair up into a ponytail, the long curling mass falling down the center of my back. After I had shimmied into a pair of tight, ripped jeans and put on a black tee with teal swirls and white skulls across the front, I slipped on some socks and the biker boots I’d picked up at a Harley Davidson store.

A smile flashed across my face as I studied my reflection in the cracked mirror. Aside from the golden curls, I didn’t even look like Ridley Johnson anymore. At least, not the Ridley Johnson Mom had molded me to be. I hated that girl and never wanted to be her again. I stuffed my dress and heels in the trash, picked up my bag, and went back out to my car. The guy behind the counter didn’t even look up from his magazine.

Now I just had one more problem. The damn car. There was no way my stepdad had put out that bulletin on me without also telling the cops what I was driving. It was a fucking miracle no one had pulled me over yet. I knew what I was about to do was risky as hell, but so was driving around in this damn Mercedes for another minute.

I’d hung around my dad long enough to know what I was searching for. Our visits might have been few, but he’d always made them count. Mom thought we were taking drives to the park or the beach, but he’d been teaching me about his way of life, and introducing me to some people she wouldn’t have approved of.

I pulled up to a garage on a darkened street corner. A light inside told me someone was around, even if the place wasn’t officially open. My palms were sweating again but I blew out a breath and braced myself. It was time to put the socialite behind me and be every inch my father’s daughter. I pulled the keys from the ignition and boldly walked inside.

“You can’t be here, bitch,” a voice said harshly from deep inside.

“I need to make a trade,” I said.

A man with a leather cut strolled out of the garage, the lighting just good enough that I could read Devil’s Boneyard MC — V.P. — Scratch.

I had no fucking clue if it was a rival club of Dixie Reapers or not and knew I needed to tread carefully. We studied one another, his gaze taking me in from head to toe. Not in an I want to fuck her kind of way, more like he was assessing if I was a threat.

“I have a problem,” I said. “I have a hot car and need someone to take it off my hands. All I need in return is something that will run well enough for me to get a few states away.”

Scratch rubbed his jaw and looked beyond me to the silver Mercedes.

“If you change out the VIN or strip it for parts, you can make a decent amount off it,” I said. “I don’t care what piece of shit you give me in return as long as it gets me where I’m going. I need reliable, not flashy.”

He took in my appearance again. “You know how to ride?”

His question momentarily startled me. “Ride?”

He tipped his head and sauntered back inside the garage. Against my better judgment, I followed. There was an older motorcycle sitting off to the side. The pewter gray tank and fenders had seen better days, but as I circled the bike I saw that it was in pretty decent condition. The Harley emblem, though tarnished, was a welcome surprise. I wasn’t a bike expert by any means, even though Dad had tried, but I thought it was a Harley Soft Tail, which meant it would be light enough for a woman like me to handle. Unlike the big monster my dad rode.

“How well does it run?” I asked.

Scratch walked over to a wall and pulled down a key, tossing it to me. I snatched it midair and straddled the bike. The key turned in the ignition easily enough and I twisted the throttle. The engine rumbled, and a smile spread across my face. God, I’d fucking missed that sound. The thrum of the bike between my legs made me feel like I was coming home. Dad had taught me to ride when I was fourteen, and he’d rented a bike for me every time he’d visited after that, even if I hadn’t been exactly been legal to drive the first few years.

“Even trade?” I asked.

The gaze Scratch gave me said he saw more than I liked, but he nodded.

“I just need to get my stuff from the Mercedes. It’s unlocked,” I said, handing him the car keys.

When I returned with my backpack strapped to me, my purse stuffed inside, he held out some papers to me. I glanced at them and saw it was everything I’d need to make the bike legal when I got to where I was going.

“I don’t know who you belong to, baby girl, or what you’re running from, but you don’t fucking stop until you reach your man.”

“You know who I am,” I said softly.

“Picture’s been all over the news tonight, statewide from what I hear. You don’t appear all that unstable to me, but that family you’re leaving… they’re bad news. Richard Benton III is not a nice man.”

“You know my stepdad?” I asked without thinking.

“Know of him. My crew won’t have anything to do with the shit he’s mixed up in.”

I straddled the bike again and nodded.

“Who taught you to ride? Socialites like you don’t know shit about bikes.”

“I’m not a socialite. I’m a biker’s daughter.” And that was as much as I was going to tell him.

 

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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.

Visit Harley at harleywylde.com!

Playing with Michael by Cameron Allie #FriendstoLovers #RomanceBooks #NewRelease #authorinterview @CamAllieErotica @changelingpress

Making the jump from friends to lovers. Is it really worth the risk?

Playing With Michael (Love Me or Leave Me 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: BDSM, Contemporary, New Adult
Length: Novella

When his long-time crush Nikki gets dumped, Michael decides to make his move. She’s the perfect girlfriend — so perfect so that she’s never single for long. Michael knows his window of opportunity is limited. It’s now or never.

When her best guy friend Michael breaks all the rules and kisses her at the bar, Nikki’s stunned. Michael’s the guy Nikki always turns to when her heart is broken — again. He’s a friend, a confidant, and, best of all, he’s safe. She can tell him anything. But once the shock wears off and she has time to sort out her feelings, she decides he’s worth the risk. Time to find out just how compatible they really are!

Get it Today at Changeling Press

Pre-Order for November 16th at Amazon, B&N, iTunes, and Kobo

 

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Do you have a favorite type of hero or heroine to write?

I like to write spunky heroines. I’m quiet and rather timid IRL so it’s fun when I get to write a heroine that says what she’s thinking. As far as heroes go, I tend to write the “friend” character. The nice guy that always gets looked over. In Playing with Michael he gets fed up of being passed by and decides to do something about it. I am however, very much looking forward to writing a few assholes in upcoming stories.

How long have you been writing, and how long did it take before your first book was published?

I’ve been writing since I was 15 but the stuff I wrote back then is just awful. I’ve come a long way in 16 years and hope I continue to improve. I was first published in 2016. It took me about a year to write My Mistletoe Master, and since then I’ve learn how to write much, much faster. I’ve got four novels, five short stories, and one novella out. By the end of the year I’ll have two more shorts, and I’m currently working on four contracts for two different publishers. I hope I can keep up!

Do you have a routine you follow when you’re working on a book? A certain time of day when you write, or a snack you keep nearby?

I recently had a baby. My daughter is seven months old and any sense of routine went out the window when she was born! Now that she’s sleeping through the night I generally get a chance to write in the evenings. My “sprinting” partner, Dena Garson, and I often try to get a few words in every night.

Writers Block. Is it a problem and if so, what do you do to break through and start writing again?

If I get stuck, or I’ve stepped away from writing for too long and I’m having a hard time getting back into it I do one of two things. I either sprint with a partner and just push through it, until it clicks again, or I start something new. I might change and work on a different story, or I’ll skip through and start a new scene. Generally that shakes something loose.

Is there a book, movie, or song that inspires you when you’re working?

Lately, I’ve been finding the band Imagine Dragons really inspirational. When their stuff comes on the radio I just start seeing scenes from my book. Characters start popping up.

As a writer, I’m sure you also love reading. Do you have a favorite book and what do you love about it?

I do love to read. I have a few favourite authors that I like to read. Gaelen Foley, Lori Foster and Laurelin Paige are my favourites. I really enjoy the writing styles of Foley and Foster. I like the way they write series and the connection between the male characters. I strive for those types of relationships in my own writing.

Marketing. I know most authors have a love/hate relationship with it. Have you found that to be true, and do you have any recommendations for new or aspiring authors?

Marketing is so tricky. It’s not easy to do, and honestly it’s really expensive. Whether it’s paying for FB ads, or for blog tours. Some authors pay a company to do their promotion for them. Buying swag is costly, as is going to conferences to try to get exposure. What I find very difficult is that I write under a pen name, so trying to keep the divide between my personal and profession life is hard. I think I’d pull in more sales if I could talk more openly about writing erotic romance.

My best suggestion is to have a newsletter, social media pages and an easy to navigate website which includes an active, INTERESTING, blog. I often host blog interviews or tours which somethings include contests. I have one coming up for Christmas.

What advise do you have for those who think they want to write professionally?

When I was first starting out I remember someone saying “Before you’re published, when you finish your first book start on the next one, then the next, because once you sign with a publisher they want books fast!”

That’s a great piece of advice and I wish I’d listened to it more. As I mentioned I’ve got 4 contracts going, 2 I’m finishing up and 2 I’m just starting, all for series. You need to be able to write quickly, because they can pump it out quickly!

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Cameron Allie

“You really think tonight is the best time?”

Even though his brother couldn’t see him, Michael rolled his eyes. They’d had this discussion multiple times. He wasn’t interested in hearing it again. After lifting his ass off the nylon upholstery, Michael dug his wallet from his back pocket and fished out a twenty to pay the cabbie. “Now is the best time. Yes.”

“But she just got dumped today.”

Michael snorted. He doubted she was the one who got dumped.

Nikki had texted him partway through his work day to inform him her boyfriend had been cheating on her, and tonight she wanted to let off a little steam. Their friends were meeting at Club Ivy. She wanted to know if he was free.

From that point on it had been nearly impossible to focus on work. Tonight he’d finally have his chance with Nikki.

“He cheated on her, Jer,” he told his brother through the phone. “I think she did the dumping.”

“Still, it’s fresh. Why don’t you wait a week or so? You don’t want to crowd the poor girl.”

“I can’t wait, and don’t ask me why, because you damn well know why.” Nikki never stayed single long. Each time one of her relationships came to an end Michael had given her space, all the while plotting his move, and each time he waited too long. The last time she was single was over a year ago. He’d promised to give her a week, then he’d ask her out. Turned out a week was too long.

“I don’t want to see you get your heart broken.”

“I’m a big boy, Jer. I can handle it.” And if she rejected him, well, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. “Look, I got to go. I’m there.”

The cab pulled up to the entrance of the club. A line was already beginning to form at the door. A few men were scattered among the hordes of women in tight dresses and plunging necklines, all waiting to be let inside. Michael handed the driver his bill and told him to keep the change.

He pulled the handle on the door and stepped into the refreshing evening air. Through the phone his brother said, “Whatever happens in there tonight, good luck.”

“Thanks,” Michael replied before disconnecting the call and pocketing his phone. He knew despite Jer’s worry he really did hope for the best. Jer was the only one who knew how hung up on Nikki Michael was, and understood how miserable he was watching from the sidelines as she steadily dated men who were all wrong for her. Men who weren’t him.

 

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Romance author Cameron Allie grew up in a small town north of Toronto. As a child she loved stories, and after reading her first romance novel at age fifteen, her dreams of writing became singularly focused on the love story. She is currently living in Ontario with her husband, their young daughter and with their cat, who is constantly trying to interrupt the writing process.

Visit Cameron at: https://www.cameronallie.com/

Stray Cats by Megan Slayer #PNR #UrbanFantasy #shifters @changelingpress @MeganSlayer

Stray Cats (Stray Cats 5)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genre(s): Paranormal, Romance
Theme(s): Shapeshifters (Other), Magic

 

He’s got cat class and cat style — she’s got the flash. Together they’ll create magic.

 

Hildegard’s given kittens to a few special young women, but her cats aren’t all they seem. Each skeptical owner plus her affectionate shifter equals love cat-style — but will love prevail over the evil threatening to kill their furry best friends?

Together these cat shifters and a very special witch will create magic.

 

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Copyright ©2016 Megan Slayer
Excerpt from Cat Class

“If I don’t let Godzilla out, I won’t have curtains. Again.” Hayden stepped outside the restaurant and jabbed the numbers on her phone to call her friend, Cole. She needed a ride home.

She clutched her pepper spray in one hand and her purse in the other. No way she’d let some creep-o terrorize her. “I’ve got to get to Godzilla,” she chanted as she waited for her friend to pick up the phone. “I never should’ve let that asshole take me out. Damn grabby hands.” Visions of shredded curtains and one pissed off black cat came to mind. But just like a dog or his monster namesake, if he didn’t have time to wander around the backyard, he destroyed things in her house.

“You never should’ve gone to lunch with him,” a voice said. “Not on Halloween.”

Hayden screamed and whipped around, her purse leading the way. If she was going down, she’d go down swinging. “Who the hell are you?”

The person who’d spoken stepped out of the shadows. “Chill.” He put both hands up. “I’m not armed.”

Hayden inched closer to get a better look at him. Dear God in Heaven, the man was naked and in front of a restaurant full of people. Her gaze roved down his lean torso to the thatch of black hair at the base of his cock. She swallowed hard. Naturally, the crazy man would be good looking. Her luck didn’t run any other way.

“Hayden, honey, I don’t want to hurt you.”

A shiver ran up her spine. Didn’t want to hurt her? How the fuck did he know her name? “Who are you?”

“Godzilla. It’s a stupid name for a cat. My brother would be named Godzilla. He likes to bite and scratch. Although, naming him Fang worked, too. Hildy thinks it’s funny to name us after things we do.” He shrugged. “I just destroyed that set of curtains by accident. I never meant to piss you off.” The man folded his arms. His black hair shimmered, and his eyes glowed the same shade of green as her cat’s. He even had the same odd way of staring at her as if he knew what she was thinking, and he talked like he knew all about her cat.

“Do you want my purse?” She stuck out her hands. “Take it.” The guy might remind her of her cat, but cat shifters were the stuff of legend. Besides, didn’t Halloween bring out the crazies? Yes, he was some lunatic in character trying to scare the shit out of her… and it was working. She shivered. “Take it.”

“I’m taking you home.” He swatted her hands down. “There’s a long story I need to tell you, but the short of it is, yes, I’m a shifter. I chose you as my human, and now I’d like to go home and explain where you won’t freak out.” He inched toward her. “I won’t hurt you, but I will rip the limbs off the asshole who dicked you over at lunch. Now let’s go. It’s freezing, and I’m not fond of showing my ass off in public.”

“No.” She held her ground. “I don’t know you from Adam and you want me to take you home? No way, buddy. Blow.”

“Now that’s just mean.” He scratched his brow. “Okay, look, I come from a long line of shifters. Black cat shifters. My litter had four. Hildy knew about us and protected us from a scientist who would like to use me for some crazy-ass experiment. Somehow she knew you needed me. I’m glad you took me home because I knew you were the one for me.” He stepped closer to her. “Hayden, I need your help. We aren’t legend, and some bad people know about me. You’ve got to help me.”

He crouched down before her and curled into a ball. His human form morphed into a cat. After a moment, the cat sat on his back legs and stared up at her. He even had the tiny white tuft on his chest — the same tiny white tuft like Godzilla had.

“Godzilla?” Hayden swayed on her feet. This wasn’t happening. Her cat was a cat, not a shifter. She collapsed on the nearest bench and rested her head in her hands.

A pair of bare feet strode over to her. She glanced at the legs connected to the feet. The man squatted down in front of her. The mystery man who claimed to be her cat. Tears blurred in her eyes. What else could she do? Laugh or cry?

“Hayden, honey, shifting destroys my clothes.” He tipped his head to look her in the eye. “Let’s go home. I’ll explain everything there. I’ll show you what I am.”

 

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