Hellacious by J. Hali Steele #DarkFantasy #ParanormalRomance @JHaliSteele

On Earth the sons of Satan create havoc, but nothing can protect them from the women who capture their hearts.

Sly Sathariel creates all sorts of havoc, though he never takes a life. His father, Satan, reserves that power, yet not even he can keep Sly from the arms of the pure and spiritual woman representing the Tree of Life. She entangles him in her roots, pulling Sly in a direction his hellacious soul dare not follow.

Slick Sathariel is Satan’s third born, the youngest triplet. He keeps the peace and makes everyone happy but himself. Not anymore. Slick can’t tell the woman he desires his family may be responsible for her lover’s disappearance, or that he’s the devil’s son. But when he sets out to capture her for himself, his family’s prying just might cause Slick to lose the one thing on Earth he truly wants.

Wicked Sathariel, the eldest son of Satan, has finally met his match, and at the oddest of times, she turns up in his head. Accustomed to having his father and siblings rummage through his mind, he can’t handle his woman seeing his hellacious thoughts. And when it becomes clear she’s heaven bound — all hell breaks loose!

Publisher’s Note: Hellacious (Box Set) contains the previously published novellas Sly, Slick, and Firstborn.

Now in Paperback!

Or get the eBook at Changeling Press


All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 J. Hali Steele
Excerpt from Sly

Momma had a sense of humor. Said she named us after three of Daddy’s better traits — Sly, Slick, and Wicked. She called us hellacious sons-of-bitches and Sathariel was the demonic surname she tagged us with in his honor. We were the sons of Lucifer himself, and since Mother had been human, we were permitted above, as were other unimportant demons who wreaked havoc on Earth and its inhabitants. It was in our blood to take absolute advantage of every glorious moment, even though a blast furnace of heat followed us everywhere. Still, nothing rivaled the fires of Hell. And unbeknownst to humans, cold was just as bad because Hell froze over each time some asshole muttered the fateful words, “’till Hell freezes over.” Never lasted long but it would be so fucking cold a demon’s nuts could crack.

Guess God had a sense of humor too.

* * *

Raucous music blared in the club, glasses clinked and people shouted over the din. Desire railed against Sly’s rib cage. Desire to unleash what he truly was, strip himself bare of the make-believe human image he wore and let loose the beast that ruled him. The hellish creature wanted nothing more than to crawl between big thighs and screw the brains out of the vision of loveliness dancing alone not far from where he stood. Pale, thin women didn’t excite Sly. He liked deep tanned, soft, curvaceous bodies with wide hips and ample breasts.

This one had it all.

Sly could barely contain himself as he watched her swivel and gyrate her ass in front of the stage where the DJ did his thing. Her raw scent, the smell of sweat and womanhood permeated the air, teasing his dick to a stiffness he couldn’t control — didn’t want to control. Horns and hooves wanted to burst through his skin, fingers wanted to reach into the pussy he’d sniffed for far too long now.

This wasn’t the first time he’d seen her. She had been here each night he came to this particular club for the last month, and something about the woman kept drawing him back.

Oh, man, I want some.

Looking across the crowded bar, he caught his younger brother smiling.

Stay the fuck out of my head, Slick. This one’s mine.

Sly, born minutes before Slick, could best him most of the time, run circles around him when need be. But the firstborn triplet wouldn’t be so easily caught off guard.

Sharpening his vision, careful not to let the red flames of Hell lick from his eyes, Sly searched the room for Wicked. He couldn’t feel him, no telltale smell of fire and brimstone that often preceded the eldest. Wick took anything he wanted when they walked on Earth, and it usually turned out to be something or someone his younger siblings had their eye on. Wicked skated on thin ice with the power below each time he used humans, then tossed them aside as if they were old shoes never to be worn again.

Except with their father’s express permission, they didn’t kill.

Disturbing the balance between good and evil wasn’t allowed. What Wick left behind bordered on dead. Mere shells of men and women, afraid of their own shadows, bereft of the spark of life in their sad, vacant eyes. In that broken condition they held no appeal for Sly or others like him who slipped from below to cavort in their very own human playground. Wick was off somewhere, and if Sly knew his father, he’d concentrate all his energy in the older brother’s direction.

Thank God, because he wanted this woman for as long as she could take his heated passion.


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

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

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

Jack (Summon a Bad Boy) by Megan Slayer #urbanfantasy #agegap #PNR @MeganSlayer

I call on the fates to bring my love to me. As I will it, so mote it be…

What if those simple words plus a name on a scroll could guarantee true love? The moment Mandy meets Jack, she knows he’s the one. Tall, dark, handsome and those tattoos… He’s quiet, smart and brooding, too. She wants to run her hands all over his body and taste his kiss. What’s a girl to do? Turn to the Summon a Bad Boy spell and take a cooking class with him?

Mix a bad boy with some magic and have faith. Anything’s possible, and Mandy won’t stop until she gets her man.

Available Today at Changeilng Press

Get it at Retailers on April 22nd – PREORDER HERE


All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Megan Slayer

Karey grinned. “I don’t want to sing karaoke all night.” She tucked against Jimmy. “Why not give yourself the chance to look for someone, but don’t expect him to be right outside. Let him find you.”

“Right.” She hated to admit Karey might be right, but she also hated to admit she wanted the guy to be right outside. Hell, anywhere close would work. Somewhere she’d find him.

“See you.” Karey left with Jimmy, abandoning Mandy at the bar.

So much for her friend. Nikki, Natalie and Sarah danced while various men ground with them.

Mandy shook her head. Her friends could want her to be there, but she refused to hang out at the bar. She needed some air. She ducked out to the patio and leaned on the fence. The chilly breeze cleared her mind but made finding her dream man a little more difficult. There wasn’t anyone else on the patio except for another bouncer.

She might as well talk to him instead of ignoring him. “Hi.”

The bouncer smiled. “Hi.”

“I’m Mandy.” She pulled her jacket around her tighter. “Chilly, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.” He nodded once and said nothing else.

She didn’t mind. She liked to talk. “I came here with my friends as the designated driver. I don’t drink, so that sort of helps. They wanted to go out, and I had nothing else to do,” she said. “I don’t know. Hanging out with them makes me feel silly. I feel left out. They’re all fun and easygoing, but then there’s me.”

He half-smiled.

Maybe he wasn’t listening. Maybe he didn’t care. She did. She stared at him. The man wasn’t bad-looking. Strong jaw, dark eyes, a little bit of scruff… or was it that he’d never be able to achieve a clean shave? The muscle in his jaw tightened, and he stood with his hands behind his back. His muscles strained under his tight shirt and leather jacket. He stood about half a foot taller than she did, just the perfect height.

The karaoke singing stopped and a song played on the speakers. She bobbed her head. “I like this band. They’ve got a way of hitting the groove, while keeping the feel of the song hard and getting the feel of the lyrics across.”

His eyes sparkled and he nodded slightly. “I like them.”

“Dale Krieger and Scotty Norman wrote this song.” She prided herself on knowing the lyrics and writers.

“I didn’t know that.” He leaned on the wall. “I’m impressed.”

“Yeah?” She dragged over a stool and sat beside him. “I listen to them and whatever’s on the radio at work. I work at the Craig’s store,” she said and took a breath. “I guess I like the band because they really seem to get me. They don’t know me, obviously, but it’s like they’re singing my life. They understand how sometimes I feel invisible. I know I’m not a bad person or a lousy girlfriend, but I never feel good enough.”

This time he didn’t reply. He’d probably heard plenty from other people while at the bar, and she annoyed him. She had to. How many times had Sarah told her to be quiet?

“I know I talk too much. I don’t do well with silence, and I hate sitting still,” she said. “I’m annoying you, aren’t I? I get that a lot.” She fidgeted with her ring. “I got this one from my grandmother. It’s not worth anything, but I love it because it reminds me of her.”

“It’s nice.”

At least she’d gotten him to talk. “I like your tattoo.” She touched his hand. “That’s neat. Did it hurt to have the top of your hand inked?” She’d think it would. “I don’t mind needles, but I hate pain. Where did you get them done?”

“Tattoo You.”

“My friend Karey’s boyfriend owns that shop.” She nodded. “I’ve only been there once. It seems nice.” She wasn’t sure what to expect from a tattoo shop, but his seemed decent enough.


“No, Jimmy. I like him. He treats Karey well and is polite.” She nodded. “I met Kurt once. He left when I showed up.”

“He’s private.”

She stared at him again. “So are you.” She held out her hand. “My name is Mandy.”

He dipped his head once and shook hands with her. “Jack.”


Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and white hot themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been nominated at the LRC for Best Author, Best Contemporary, Best Ménage, Best BDSM and Best Anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on various e-tailer sites.

When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library.

PREORDER: Monsters Freed (Her Five Monsters) by Alexa Piper #reverseharem #darkfantasy @prowlingpiper @changelingpress

After freeing five monsters from a video game prison, Emilia finds herself in the center of a conflict she can hardly begin to understand. She is still busy wrapping her head around the fact that magic is real, and that she is now bonded to a vampire prince, because apparently, fated mates are real as well.

The five monsters Emilia freed unapologetically lay claim to her, especially since she is bonded to one of them already. All five have been lovers since before Emilia came along, and now she has to decide if she wants to give her heart to them. All five are certainly eager to win hers.

While getting used to the new freedom Emilia gave them, Emilia’s five know they must put distance between themselves and the warlock Rook, who imprisoned them in the first place. They know Rook wants them back and will take vengeance on Emilia for freeing them.

New alliances shed light on Rook’s dark machinations and his twisted predilections. Emilia and her five can choose to run from the warlock or to put a chink in his magical armor, weaken the source of his strength. But Rook loves his illusions, and those illusions are real enough to cost our lovers everything.

Available TODAY at Changeling Press

Preorder for April 8th at your favorite retailers


All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Alexa Piper

The pitter-patter of rain against the window started sometime during the night, and it inevitably pulled Emilia from her uneasy sleep. She kept going back to the dream while she was warm in her soft, soft bed. House-sitting. A mysterious video game. The five men who’d been trapped in there, who had given her fantastic sexual encounters one after the other until…

Lightning struck, and Emilia’s eyes fluttered open once more, catching a room full of unfamiliar shapes and shadows that the lightning drew in sharpened detail. She jerked under the heavy bedding, the disorientation forcing her heart into a race. What the hell?

“Ssh, all is well,” he said. Before Emilia could recognize the voice, something in her very core reacted to the sound of it, relaxed. Home, safety. Porcelain flowers blooming under the midnight sky. That was what the voice was.

It was also the voice of Radovan, the vampire prince she’d freed from the tower inside a palace inside a video game, which apparently had not been a dream. “Oh, shit,” she said, pushing the bedding back and sitting up.

Lightning struck again, and she saw Radovan sit down on the bed next to her. The darkness that fell after the flash ebbed was less scary now that the vampire prince was there, which a rational part of Emilia’s mind knew to be odd.

“You should sleep more. It’s barely even been two days,” he said. He put a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back against the pillows. Her heart screamed for her to relax, do as he said, allow him to care for her.

But her head had a different idea. “Two days!” Emilia said, brushing his hand aside with her own. “I’ve been out for two days? What the fuck happened?”

He hissed something under his breath Emilia couldn’t make out. “You freed all of us from Rook’s prison. You remember that?”

“Yes,” Emilia said. Although all that was surreal and should have been a fever dream. “Uhm, any chance you can turn on a light? Where are we anyway?”

Radovan moved, and with a click, a reading lamp somewhere near the head of the bed came to life, blinding Emilia. She blinked, her eyes adjusted to the brightness, then she looked around. The light came from a Tiffany lamp, colorful and heavy-looking, and it cast tinted shadows across the large bed she was lying in, huddled under a duvet and a blanket. To her right, she spotted the handle of her own bag, and to her left, a large window let in the incandescent illumination of a city at night, doused in rain and the bright echoes of a thunderstorm.

“Sorry,” Radovan said. His hand brushed over Emilia’s shoulder again, and she could sense he wanted to take her into his arms, and she could also tell he resisted the urge. How Emilia knew this, she had no idea. “We are at a hotel. We… It seemed safest for now.”

Emilia blinked as she looked at Radovan as if that would help her get used to seeing him there. She remembered him, from the cut scene in the video game, from finding him in that tower. He’d been a Victorian prince then, but now he was anything but. He wore a black Henley that fit snugly and emphasized his shoulders and slim waist. She saw neatly fitted charcoal pants before she was drawn to his dark amethyst eyes and the velvet hair that flowed like a new moon black aura around his head and down to his waist. If he’d looked like a Renaissance romantic back in the tower, he looked like a sexy lit and philosophy student now.

Emilia cleared her throat, and Radovan sprang into action at that, poured her a glass of water from a carafe that stood on the bedside table. “Thank you,” she said and took the glass from him.

“You are most welcome.”

Emilia finished her water and stared at the vampire prince, who just stared right back at her. Instead of feeling awkward about it, this felt like… it felt nice.

But nice was not what this was supposed to feel like, and Emilia still had enough sense about her to know it. “Explain to me what is going on,” she said and put the glass back down. “Why am I in a hotel bed? And what were you doing in the room with me? Please don’t tell me you were being all sorts of creepy and watched me while I was out?” She swallowed, her throat dry again. “Are you really still a vampire?”

Radovan’s eyebrows flew up, and he gave her a critical look. “You should rest more,” he said.

Which was not what Emilia had needed to hear. “You are not telling me when I need to rest as if I’m some damsel,” she said and climbed out of the bed on the opposite side while Radovan just watched, looking like the dictionary definition of befuddled. “You were totally watching me sleep, weren’t you?” she asked as she got out from under the covers. Her feet stung slightly as she stood, and looking down, she found gauze bandages covered them. Emilia remembered her soles had been cut up in the video game, but for now, she ignored that the injury was just as real in the real world as it had been in the virtual one.

She was only wearing a T-shirt and some soft cotton shorts. The clothing was hers at least, and she dully remembered that one of the others — Pheus, she thought — had mentioned they’d dressed her. Dressed her after they’d torn her ruined clothes off, the ridiculous outfit she’d worn in the video game.

“I… had to watch over you,” Radovan said, his eyes wandering from her face to her legs now in a way that made warmth bubble up inside Emilia. Not that he was leering. He just looked as if he’d never seen anything like a girl sleeping in shorts and at the same time, he looked like he could never see enough of it. “I had to make sure you were safe, and I wanted to be here in case you woke. In case you needed anything.” He stood, the bed now between them. “I apologize if I overstepped, but as I told you before, you are quite safe with me. And with the others.”

“The others. Right.” She took a deep breath and crossed her arms in front of her. “So you are a vampire? Really?”

He smiled. It changed his face drastically, made him look less like a tragic hero and more like the sweet wizard who could win hearts with half a spell. Which just reminded Emilia that magic seemed to be a thing that existed now.


Alexa Piper writes steamy romance that ranges from light to dark, from straight to queer. She’s also a coffee addict. Alexa loves writing stories that make her readers laugh and fall in love with the characters in them. Connect with Alexa on Facebook or Instagram, follow her on Twitter or TikTok, and subscribe to her newsletter!

NOW IN PAPERBACK: Tobias/Justice by Marteeka Karland #mcromance #suspense #agegap @marteekakarland @changelingpress

She’s my angel. My savior. Anyone tries to hurt my woman, they’re dead.

Tobias (Salvation’s Bane 7):
Tobias: Kitty’s a highly trained athlete in the body of a beguiling young woman. Everything about her calls to my protective instincts –especially when I find her putting herself in the hands of the very tormentor who broke my sister.

Kitty: After blowing out my knee just before the Olympics, an audition for a renowned performance troupe seems like a dream come true. Instead it ‘s a nightmare. Then Tobias comes to my rescue. I’m crazy attracted to him, even though he’s got more than a little violent streak. I just roll with it — until I can get him to claim me for his own.

Justice (Salvation’s Bane MC 8):
Justice: I expected to spend the rest of my life in prison — until a prim, curvy female comes to my rescue. I know I want her. But after eight years in the big house I’m not sure she can handle all I have to give.

Mae: Justice may not be innocent, but he’s not guilty of the crime he went to prison for. When I got him out I didn’t count on being attracted to the big, tattooed brute. Too bad he’s an arrogant asshole out of bed. Unfortunately I ruffled some feathers at the DA’s office. To make matters worse, our clubs aren’t exactly friends. Oh, and those ruffled feathers? They’re coming after me. And Justice.

Get the paperback at Amazon

Also available in Hardback


All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Marteeka Karland

One thing Tobias had decided over the last few weeks was that little girls ought to be able to be little girls. Oh, and gymnastics moms were bitches.

Like right now. There was a busty redhead yelling at a kid who looked like she was maybe in her late teens. Tall with flame-orange hair, the girl looked like she was on the verge of crying. Which pissed Tobias the fuck off. He wanted to punch the bitch in the face. Let her take a fall. Maybe she’d find out the fucking mat wasn’t so fucking soft when she landed.

Just as he was about to intervene — it was his Goddamned gym in the first fucking place — another girl inserted herself between the two. This girl looked close to the same age. Slight of build, she carried herself with confidence. It was the only indication she might be older than a teenager. Her mahogany-colored hair was braided into a long, thick tail at the back of her head that fell almost to her hips. It was what gave her away.

Kitty was obviously very good with the kids, but she also seemed to be an accomplished gymnast on her own. Not much bigger than the orange-haired kid, she had more muscle in her legs and arms, though she was much shorter than the adult redhead. She talked to the older woman for a moment, smiling a megawatt smile, seeming to smooth things over. The older woman backed off, but shook her finger at the young girl once before turning back to the mothers’ area.

Tobias watched as the two girls interacted for a while, Kitty obviously giving some pointers before putting a hand on the other girl’s shoulder and urging her back to the large, square spring floor. Tobias had no idea how they kept everyone from slamming into each other, but each gymnast seemed to have his or her own section, depending on what they were working on. He watched for several minutes while the two girls went through some moves, then Kitty encouraged the other one to do the skill she’d previously fallen on. Immediately, Tobias could see how the stuff they’d worked on for a scant few minutes fit with the skill the kid was trying to learn. She stumbled a little on the landing, but she didn’t fall on her face, and it was obvious she was pleased with the change.

The orange-haired kid jumped up and down, clapping her hands, and threw herself into Kitty’s arms. They both laughed for a few seconds before the girl did the skill again. Then again. Repetition was a staple of gymnastics.

Not for the first time, he wondered why he’d taken on this responsibility. He’d volunteered to hire a decent coach and install the recommended equipment. Not high-end, but sturdy and competition legal. Three days a week, he opened the gym for the coach and her band of tumblers. They ranged in age from about five or six to high-school boys and girls. Classes were free to the students through level seven. Everything beyond that was preparation for elite-level gymnastics, which he knew from previous experience was basically Olympic level. Professionals. This coach said she didn’t teach that level, and most of the kids were just that. Kids. Either in cheerleading or school gymnastics. Even though Salvation’s Bane had discovered she was trying to break into elite gymnastics, they paid the coach for her time and gave her a decent, rent-free place for her students to train. In return, Bane used the place as a tax write-off and sometimes, occasionally, every once in a very little while, laundered money when they were paid for some paramilitary operation inside the US without permission. Happened from time to time when Thorn took jobs outside of ExFil, the security company run by the president of their sister club, Bones. Or something like that. Tobias didn’t do tax shit. He punched things.

The reason Tobias had taken on this responsibility was twofold. First, he wanted control over the remodel of the building. He was the instructor for any police or military organization they trained, so he wanted a say in what it was OK to change. Second? Yeah. He really hated gymnastics moms. Always had. In his opinion, they were worse than Little League dads and pageant moms. They pushed these tiny little girls into doing things they could — and often did — hurt themselves doing. Tobias saw it as his mission in life to make sure any mom who was out-of-bounds got called out. Dads didn’t seem to be as bad, but there were one or two. The come-to-Jesus meetings had been swift and eye opening for those men.

As he watched, the two girls continued until Kitty encouraged the younger one to continue on her own. Kitty gave a little wave and went to the balance beam and started working out, stretching and doing handstands and such on the narrow surface. The younger girl’s mother, instead of praising the girl like Tobias thought she should, gestured wildly at her, obviously displeased about something. Fucking bitch.

Tobias made his way from his office to the stair on the balcony overlooking the massive gym. The place was three stories of open space. When he was training the guys, they built scale models on the floor to replicate urban settings or whatever they needed. Now, it was filled with local children on competitive gymnastics apparatus. He trotted down the stairs and stalked straight toward the orange-haired gymnast and her mother.

“Tobias.” The warning came from the gallery where some of the parents waited for the lessons to be concluded. Stryker gave him an exasperated look. “You can’t go beating up on women you don’t like. It’s bad for business.”

“Ain’t like we’re gettin’ money from this anyway. It’s a fuckin’ tax write-off.”

“Yeah, but we still need it. I know you’re headed to the redhead, and I’d say with good reason, but keep it down, OK? We don’t want people afraid to come here.”

“They yell at their kids like that, maybe they need to be afraid.”

“Yeah, well, if you run them off, what happens then? Be nice so the kid has a safe place to go if she needs it.”

Tobias sighed. He and Stryker always had each other’s backs. But sometimes it was a bitch when Stryker was right.

“Fuckin’ bitches are just as vicious as I remember.” Tobias still stood there, watching. The mother seemed to sense his presence and glanced in his direction. Did a double take. Then she stood up straighter, her entire focus on Tobias, her daughter and the girl’s perceived failure forgotten. She pushed her chest out and slinked his way.

“Yeah,” Stryker chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “I hear ya. Good luck with that.”

“Wait. You leaving?” It was all Tobias could do not to burst out in a maniacal laugh. It wasn’t that he was afraid of the woman. More that he was afraid of what he’d do to the bitch if he had to be in her company more than a few seconds.

“Only stepped in to calm your tits. How you proceed from here is all you, brother.”


As the woman approached him — eyefucking the living hell out of him — it took everything in Tobias not to take a step back away from her. The only thing making him stand his ground was his Marine pride. No gymnastic-mom bitch was making this Marine retreat.

“Hello there,” she purred. Perfectly manicured nails reached for his chest. Before she could touch his shirt, however, Tobias caught her wrist. A not-so-subtle hint she shouldn’t touch him. “I don’t remember seeing you around. I’m Madonna.” She glanced behind him, not making an effort to hide what she was doing. “Where’d your friend go?”

“None of your fuckin’ business.” Rude, but Tobias wasn’t in the mood.

Red just shrugged. “His loss, but no matter.” She gave him a carnivorous smile. “You’re still here. We could…” She trailed off, her smile going even wider, “pass the time in private until my daughter’s finished for the day. Could take a few hours.”


Erotic romance author by night, emergency room tech/clerk by day, Marteeka Karland works really hard to drive everyone in her life completely and totally nuts. She has been creating stories from her warped imagination since she was in the third grade. Her love of writing blossomed throughout her teenage years until it developed into the totally unorthodox and irreverent style her English teachers tried so hard to rid her of.

Find Marteeka Online: Website | Facebook | BookBub

Sojourn’s End by Mikala Ash #steampunk #darkfantasy @ash_mikala @changelingpress

London, 1861. In the fog shrouded streets, powerful magic stirs, and three tortured souls collide.

More than ten years have passed since newlywed Lady Carlyle used magic to save her unborn children, and every day she dreads the return of her demonic husband.

Linked by death, the gallant Captain Justin Quin and his troubled lover, Lady Julia Molyneux, are on the hunt for a killer. When their paths come together malignant forces of undreamt power are unleashed — forces that will shake an empire.

Available Now — Only $4.24 at Changeling Press

or Preorder for April 1st at your favorite retailers


All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Mikala Ash

A sensible man would have been lying between the luscious thighs of Lady Julia Molyneux, enveloped by her sensuous aura, breathing in her intoxicating scent, kissing her red pouting lips, and drowning in her unconditional love, not chasing revenge through the cold soulless streets of London.

Thick cloying tendrils of yellow fog, the city’s renowned “particular,” clung to my legs and followed me into Mistress Keene’s Fashion Boutique on Curzon Street. Euphemistically called an Introduction House in the latest edition of The Adventurous Swell’s Night Companion, the three-story building wedged between a respectable haberdasher and a reputable stationer was simply one of the thousands of discreet bawdy houses boasted by the heart of the world’s greatest empire. Like many other establishments of this type, Keene’s masqueraded as a successful business by day, a modiste in her case, to be transformed after the streetlights flared into an even more successful house of debauchery. It had the added attraction of an upstairs gaming room which supplemented its fleshly appeal with the fickle charms of chance.

The odious miasma, the unwanted and seemingly permanent feature of the city for the past few years, lingered billowing about like platform steam as the colossus of a doorman, a Cumberland automaton, slammed the oaken door shut behind me. Dressed as a liveried footman he was at least six inches taller than I, and broad across the shoulders. The men of iron were becoming more common despite the riots following the attempt on the queen’s life only the year before. Rumours of their involvement in the attack which left Prince Albert severely wounded and on his deathbed had inflamed the patriotic fervour of the mob against artificial men. Personally I didn’t like them. They had no aura, no colours pulsing around them reflecting their emotions for they had no feelings, nor a soul for that matter.

He turned to face me with his dead fisheyes staring right through me. I wondered what he actually saw. “Welcome, sir,” he said. His voice was deep and resonant, a recording of a famous actor’s voice playing on some sort of reel. I could hear the squeaking of the mechanism behind the mask that was its face.

As if by magic an artfully rouged hostess, thankfully human and wearing a silken nightgown that clung possessively to her natural hourglass form, appeared before me. Now here was life! Her aura was jumping from her skin, a roiling rainbow of colours that danced merrily about her, vibrating with mischievous energy. To her outstretched hands I divested myself of cape, overcoat, gloves and hat. I retained my ebony stick which housed within its stout shaft a silver-tipped blade.

The hostess deftly passed my trappings over to a pair of pale disembodied mechanical hands which reached out from between heavy crimson curtains. With a courteous smile, she appraised me with practiced eyes. “Welcome, my lord,” she said after assessing the quality of my attire. She offered a deep curtsey, providing a full view of her deep bosom.

“Not a lord,” I corrected. “Captain will do.”

She dipped her head. “Forgive me, sir. It is an easy error to make, for you have the manner and elegant bearing of the aristocracy.” The syrupy compliment rolled sweetly from her tongue. Her voice was unexpectedly cultured. I briefly wondered what chain of ill-fated events had led her to this place.

“May I fetch you a glass of champagne before introducing you to my friends?”

I let my gaze sweep across the richly decorated parlour taking in the dozen or so young gallants smoking and drinking beside the pianoforte. Several laughing girls in various states of dishabille cavorted about while singing The Tomcat’s Dance, a bawdy ditty currently popular in the music halls. My quarry was not among the group, and I returned my gaze to my attentive hostess. “Thank you, no.”

My response was met with an expansion of her aura, a slight purse of the seductively curved lips and a flash of anticipation in her bright grey eyes. “Perhaps you have more pressing needs?”

“My friend,” I said, dropping a sovereign into her palm. “He entered some minutes before me. A gentleman. Short, slim build, well dressed.”

Feigned disappointment was followed by a small nod of recognition. “Cards your fancy then, Captain?”

Cards. Of course. “Aye.”

“Upstairs, second door on the left.” Her aura quivered with an urgent pulse, and she gave me an encouraging smile. “May I serve you there, my lord?”


Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on Twitter.

SPOTLIGHT: The Layover by Gale Stanley #ContemporaryRomance #LGBTQ @GaleStanley @changelingpress

Inside the cockpit, Captain Paul Miller is always in control. But on the ground, he constantly feels adrift. His marriage is crumbling, and life has become much too complicated.

Jamey Conley has worked hard to make his café in the Frisco airport a successful venture. He loves his work – and especially the airport scenery. He goes gaga over guys in uniform, but when he meets Paul, sparks really fly. Too bad his ideal man is married — and straight.

Now Available — Only $3.39 at Changeling Press

or Preorder for April 1st at your favorite retailers


All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Gale Stanley

Captain Paul Miller made a descending turn over San Francisco, and configured the airplane for a landing. Despite the wind and turbulence, he nailed a perfect touchdown. Switching to ground control, he taxied to the gate, and then stood at the flight deck door to bid farewell to the passengers.

Some pilots skipped the goodbyes, but not Paul. For the last five hours, these strangers had put themselves in Paul’s hands, trusting him to transport them through some pretty crappy weather, six miles above the earth. The least he could do was show them the face behind the voice on the speaker.

Several travelers congratulated Paul on the landing. Their relief at being on the ground never ceased to amaze Paul even though he knew fear of flying was a common phobia. Flying was hardwired in his DNA, and he couldn’t wait to be up in the clouds again. Inside the cockpit, Paul was in control. On the ground, he felt adrift. Life was complicated.

Paul smiled and nodded so many times he felt like a bobble head. Ah, finally, the last passenger. “Enjoy your stay in San Francisco.”

The young man stopped and held out his hand. “Thank you, Captain.”

Paul responded automatically and shook it. A scrap of paper passed between them. The man winked, then he was gone, leaving behind a scrawled phone number. Paul stared at it.

“Looks like you have an admirer.”

The copilot’s smirk pissed him off. Frowning, Paul made a big deal of tearing up the paper and tossing it. “Don’t you have some checklists to check?”

Sully chuckled and headed back inside the cockpit, giving Paul a chance to escape on his own. Paul was new on the Frisco run, but he’d already heard plenty of gossip about his thrice-divorced copilot. The flight attendants called him a dog who went after anything in a skirt. Paul intended to keep his distance. Happily married, well, married anyway, Paul didn’t want his reputation tarnished by a player who couldn’t keep it in his pants.

Paul’s stomach growled and his thoughts turned to breakfast and a mug of strong coffee. Airport and good food didn’t belong in the same sentence, but Paul’s hunger pangs demanded attention. The Layover café across from gate seven looked promising, but it had a long line at the door. Paul was about to pass it by, when the door opened and the rich smell of brewing coffee stopped him in his tracks. He joined the queue, and fortunately, the line moved quickly. No sooner did Paul get through the door, than a kid with caramel hair came running up, and shoved something into his hand.

“Sorry for the wait, Captain. This will…” The rest of his words were lost as the boy hurried off.

Paul stared at his hand, now clutching a pastry wrapped in waxy paper. What the —

An elbow to his arm jarred Paul back to reality. Another customer was ogling his pastry.

“Hey Cap, you gonna eat that? If you don’t want it, I’ll take it off your hands.”

Paul took a quick bite to stake his claim, and an exquisite taste exploded delightfully in his mouth. The turnover was tender, flaky, and filled with real apples. Paul licked the last crumbs from his lips as a woman with a gray bun, beckoned him to a small bistro table in the back. She pulled out one of the wrought iron chairs for him.

This woman knows how to run a restaurant. Impressed by the restaurateur, Paul smiled. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“The name’s Emma.” She pointed to her ample bosom, where a tag covered most of the logo on her white polo shirt.

“Thank you, Emma. For the chair, and the pastry.”

“You can thank Jamey for that.” Emma pulled a menu from a pocket on her navy bistro apron. She handed it to Paul, and then leaned in and lowered her voice. “We take care of our flyboys. Order the egg, potato, cheese and bacon burrito. It’ll fill you up till dinner.”

Paul’s lips twitched with amusement, but he took her advice. “Done. And coffee, please.”

The meal not only satisfied Paul’s hunger, but his taste buds as well. He pushed away his empty plate, just as the pastry-boy came out of the kitchen with a coffeepot. The name Jamey was embroidered under the logo on his white polo shirt.

“Refill, Captain?”

“Yes, please. And thanks for the pastry, Jamey.”

“Was everything okay?” Jamey asked, as he poured. “Can I get you anything else?”

“It was more than okay. I would have licked the plate if I wasn’t so full. I don’t think I’ll eat again this week.” Paul stirred sugar into his coffee. “My compliments to the chef. Oh, and tell your boss this is now my go-to stop whenever I fly to Frisco.”

Jamey’s mouth twitched with amusement. “I’ll do that.”

The boy’s smirk hinted at hidden secrets. Intrigued, Paul wanted to continue the conversation, but Jamey raised the pot in a salute. “Till we meet again.”

The door barely swung shut behind him when Emma appeared with the check. “I’ll just leave this here, Captain.”

“Thanks for everything, Emma. Your café is tops in my book.”

“Well, thank you, but it’s not my café. Jamey is the owner.”

It took a second or two for Emma’s words to sink it. Paul’s smile vanished, wiped away by astonishment. He felt like an ass. His feelings must have shown on his face.

“Don’t worry, Captain. Lots of people make that mistake.”

“I’d like to see Jamey before I leave.”

“Sure, I’ll tell him.”

Paul expected Jamey to ignore his request, but a moment later, Jamey appeared at his table.


Gale Stanley grew up in Philadelphia PA. She was the kid who always had her nose in a book, her head in the clouds, and her hands on a pad and pencil.

Some things never change.

Find Gale Online: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

NEW RELEASE: Arcane Heart (Paperback) by Angela Knight #darkfantasy #shapeshifters @AngelaKnight

The wildest passion has claws.

When a pair of cops with magical abilities become the target of a hate group, they must unravel the plot against them before it costs them their lives — and love.

Deputy Erica Harris is a witch who can see the magical auras of those around her, a talent which helps her determine when someone intends to commit a violent crime. Her partner, Deputy Jake Nolan, has a psychic link with an African lion that allows him to manifest the animal’s powers.

But it’s tough to serve and protect when demagogues stoke public fear of you. As the two cops fight to unravel a politically motivated web of hate and deceit, Erica and Jake are targeted by a magical assassin hired by the plotters.

While dodging murder attempts, they begin to fall in love. But as Jake’s desire makes his inner lion more possessive, his self-control erodes. Can they afford to take a chance on love when so many lives hang in the balance?

Get the paperback at Amazon


All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Angela Knight

It was sheer, stupid impulse, and she knew better. But when Deputy Erica Harris’s gaze fell on the Potions sign, she whipped her patrol car into the nearest empty parking space. For a moment she sat there, listening to the cooling engine tick and staring at the nighttime crowd streaming past her cruiser. “You really are an idiot.”

Shaking her head, she picked up her radio’s handset mic and clicked the button to call dispatch. “Laurel County, Alpha 22, going 10-8 at Potions.”

“10-4, Alpha 22.” The dispatcher sounded bored. No surprise; it had been a slow night.

So now Jake knows where I am. Question is, will he show up?

Yeah, Potions was Jake Nolan’s favorite restaurant, and she hadn’t heard him go 10-8 — the Laurel County police code for “out of service” — to take a dinner break. That didn’t mean he’d take one now and join her.

So go for it. Call the man and ask him to meet you

Yeah, no. Much as she wanted to see him again, only a masochistic twit would want another ride on the Nolan merry-go-round. The last time had damn near destroyed her.

Yet here she was, masochistic and twitty, with the need she’d felt for months threatening to overwhelm her sense of self-preservation.

Screw it. If he shows, he shows. If he doesn’t, I’m still hungry. Erica got out, a spring breeze sighing cool against her cheeks. The Friday evening crowd surged around her, heading in and out of the bars and restaurants along Faraday Square. Her stomach growled, and she headed up the sidewalk toward Potions. She’d been too busy working a traffic accident to grab dinner. It was eight o’clock now, and she craved the greasy goodness of a cheeseburger combo.

Almost as much as contact with Jake Nolan. Her two Mideast tours as a member of his Arcane Corps team had turned the man into an addiction. Hunting terrorist sorcerers together built emotional connections that were hard to break.

The thought of the war made her automatically check the crowd, though she shouldn’t have to worry about terrorists in Laurel County, South Carolina. Still, last year’s attack by the polar bear Feral and his witch partner proved even Laurelton wasn’t immune to psychos. The Faraday Square Massacre had occurred months before Erica had joined the department, but even she could tell the whole community still suffered the aftereffects.

Breathing in to center herself, she opened her awareness to her Talent. Most Arcanists had to close their eyes to see the arcane energies surrounding all living things, but Erica was much more sensitive.

Suddenly those around her wore glowing overlays of healthy blue and green, though splashes of red here and there indicated pain — headaches, feet hurting from pinching high heels. That poor bastard on the right probably had a bleeding ulcer; that shade of red wasn’t right for cancer.

All pretty standard. She started to close her Talent down…

A block ahead, the crowd parted, revealing a tall man just as white light exploded across his aura like a bomb blast.


New York Times best-selling author Angela Knight has written and published more than sixty novels, novellas, and ebooks, including the Mageverse and Merlin’s Legacy series. With a career spanning more than two decades, Romantic Times Bookclub Magazine has awarded her their Career Achievement award in Paranormal Romance, as well as two Reviewers’ Choice awards for Best Erotic Romance and Best Werewolf Romance.

Angela is currently a writer, editor, and cover artist for Changeling Press LLC. She also teaches online writing courses. Besides her fiction work, Angela’s writing career includes a decade as an award-winning South Carolina newspaper reporter. She lives in South Carolina with her husband, Michael, a thirty-year police veteran and detective with a local police department.

SPOTLIGHT: Lawdawg (Black Reign MC) by Marteeka Karland #mcromance #agegap @marteekakarland @changelingpress

Eden: The first time I saw Grady Bassett was when Samson brought Charlotte home. Turned out my brother’s woman is Grady’s daughter. Naturally, the man’s focus wasn’t on some camgirl at a MC he had no desire to be around. When he finally does notice me, he can’t see me for my position within the club — a woman who has sex on camera for strangers. But I noticed him… and I’m a woman who knows what she wants.

Lawdawg: Eden’s the most naturally sexy woman I’ve ever seen. Sure, I’d been worried sick about my daughter, but the second the danger to her was past, I became obsessed with Eden. I even downloaded every one of her videos. Which meant I binge watched. I gave Samson hell for wanting my daughter when he’s so much older, but now I’m in the same position. I need to let her go, to be the better man. But now I know Eden has an online stalker. He knows where she lives and who her friends are. Black Reign is compromised, so I reached out Cain at Bones MC. She might be young enough to be my daughter, but she’s still mine. No one will ever harm her. This stalker will have to go through me to even get close.

Available Now at Changeling Press

Preorder at retailers for March 25, 2022


All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Marteeka Karland

“Do me a solid, will you?”

“Anything, sweetheart.”

“Don’t tell Samson. He’s got enough to worry about. I’m sure he’ll find out at some point, but I think he likes this girl he went after, and I don’t want him to concentrate on anything but her.”

“Can’t promise that, sweetheart, but I’ll give it a few days. Maybe we’ll get lucky, and Shotgun will nail this fucker.”

“OK.” It wasn’t the answer I wanted, but it was all I was getting. I was lucky Hardcase agreed to wait any length of time. And I knew Samson would have a shit fit when he found out. Then a thought struck me. “Maybe I need to lay low on the camming for a while.”

Hardcase sighed. “It might not be a bad idea. I didn’t want to suggest it, but…”

“Yeah. I get it. Let me think about it, but don’t put me on the schedule.”

“OK. We can talk about it later if you want to. I’ll see if Shotgun was able to find anything from this round.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, dressing before facing the two of them again. “I’m really sorry about this.”

“Not your fault, baby,” Iron said, sitting up. “We’ll get this bastard.”

I smiled. “I know.” Then I was off to see our guests. I shot Samson a text, making sure he’d taken the woman to Fury’s clinic. I hoped this was the woman for Samson. Lord knew he needed a good woman in his life. He was a good man. Any woman would be lucky to have someone so protective. As much as I loved my big brother, he needed someone to obsess over besides me. He tried to stay out of my life, but he was a little intense sometimes.

I jogged to the back entrance where I could hear the various vehicles and bikes rolling in. That’s where I’d find this woman’s father.

I wasn’t exactly sure what I was expecting, but the man who jumped out of the big-ass F-450 wasn’t it. He was older — maybe mid to late forties. Though he had a large frame, it looked like it was all muscle and sinew. Not an ounce of fat. He was dressed in faded jeans and a black T-shirt that looked like it might give under the strain of his muscles.

And he looked pissed as fuck.

The Black Reign men who’d pulled in ahead of this man were headed off on their own. This guy looked around, clearly frustrated to be left with no direction. He got a determined look on his face that said he was about to tear this place apart. So I ran up to him. Out of sorts and still trembling from the appearance of my stalker, I tried my best to look like I wanted to be there helping him.

“Hey!” I called, running up to him.

“I don’t have time for this horse shit,” he muttered before turning to me with an exasperated expression. “What do you want?” He sounded as angry as he looked, and it kind of pissed me off because I knew exactly what he was getting at. I was a club girl — therefore I was looking to fuck the new fish.

“Not what you think or what you’ll be begging for later,” I snapped. “But I will take you to your daughter. Of course, I’m just assuming you’re the father of the woman my brother and his men risked their lives rescuing.”

Instantly the man’s full attention was on me, those glacier-green eyes boring into me like daggers. “You’re Samson’s sister.” It wasn’t a question.

“I am. Do you want to see your daughter or not?”

He gave me a once-over, his gaze drifting from my face down my body before returning to meet my eyes once more. “Yeah. You know where she is?”

I held up my phone. “We youngsters have a thing called text messaging nowadays.”

His scowl deepened. “Just get the fuck on with it.”

“My, my, my. So touchy.” But I headed off in the direction of Fury’s clinic. The walk was short, but I jogged in that direction, just to piss off the big guy. He kept pace with me easily, his long strides eating up the ground better than mine.

When we reached the clinic, I paused outside. He looked like he’d rather just burst in, but I stood in front of him, blocking his path. “You don’t go into Fury’s clinic without knocking unless you’re recently missing a limb. Even then it’s not a good idea.”

“If my daughter’s in there, I could give a good Goddamn,” he snapped, trying to get around me again.

“Just hold up! It costs you nothing to be polite and barging inside like a bat out of hell might make whatever is going on in there worse. Just chill!”

He might have just pushed past me if Noelle, Fury’s ol’ lady, hadn’t opened the door. She glanced at the guy before looking at me. “Your brother’s fine, Eden.” She looked up at our guest. “So’s Charlotte, Sheriff Bassett.” She stepped away from the door and motioned for us to enter. “Try not to make any loud noises or sudden movements. She’s a bit traumatized.”

“Sheriff, huh?” I chuckled. “Lawdawg.”


Erotic romance author by night, emergency room tech/clerk by day, Marteeka Karland works really hard to drive everyone in her life completely and totally nuts. She has been creating stories from her warped imagination since she was in the third grade. Her love of writing blossomed throughout her teenage years until it developed into the totally unorthodox and irreverent style her English teachers tried so hard to rid her of.

SPOTLIGHT: Driven to the Limit by Alice Gaines #DarkFantasy #Shapeshifters @AliceGaines @changelingpress

Published by Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Renee George
Genres/Themes: Second Chance Romance, Dark Fantasy, Shapeshifters

Get it Now at Changeling Press
Preorder at Online Retailers for March 18th

After rehab, Lauren King returns to the only home she has… a rock star’s compound everyone calls The Pit. She also returns to her only friend… an antique German motorcycle she’s nicknamed Jake.

Little does she know that the cycles Klaus Mannhof made have the ability to shift into human men. Mannhof designed Jake especially for Lauren. Using his special brand of magic, Jake’s going to teach her to love him — and to love herself as well.

Praise for Driven to the Limit (Mannhof 2)

“A surprisingly poignant story about what happens when people lose themselves and get involved with the wrong people….Alice Gaines has written a wonderful addition to her series about Klaus Mannhof and his creations and I can’t wait to read more books in this series!”— 4.5 from Kerin, TwoLips Reviews

“I am not walking, but running to get the first one to read. I loved how different this story was from the usual. The author took a woman that was kind of broken and gave her a man that showed her that she was worth so much more than what she thought she was. It was very well written and I look forward to reading more by this author.”— Nicole Harvey, ParaNormalRomance.org


All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Alice Gaines
An Authorized Excerpt

After rehab, Lauren King went right back into The Pit.

Kid Dagger’s ranch and recording compound had a huge main house, three guest cottages, a recording studio, tennis courts, a state-of-the-art gym, and an Olympic-sized swimming pool. But everyone who worked there called it The Pit. The nickname fit Dagger’s personality, which on a good day bordered on psychotic. Bad days didn’t bear thinking about.

Still, Lauren had called the place home for over ten years. Her job was here. Frankly, she had nowhere else to go.

As soon as she dropped her suitcase in her room, she went out to her only safe place — the small garage behind the larger one where Dagger kept his collectible cars.

She flicked on the light and looked at the closest thing she had for a friend — the antique German motorcycle. The Mannhof. “Hi, Jake.”

The bike never answered, of course. Still, she felt a link to it. The Mannhof resisted all of Dagger’s attempts to control it, something she’d never managed.

She walked to the bike and ran a hand over the leather seat. “What’s a nice machine like you doing in a place like this?”

“You decided to come back.”

Dagger’s voice. She turned and found him standing the doorway. “Did I have any choice?”

“We all have choices.” He dangled a baggie with a quarter of an inch of white powder in it. “Want some?”

She stared at him. Only Dagger would offer cocaine to someone just back from rehab. “I gave up poison for Lent.”

Anger flashed in his small, brown eyes for a minute, and then he gave her one of his phony smiles. “Okay, then, how about a quick fuck?”

“Like I said. I gave up poison for Lent.”

“Your loss.” He crossed his arms over his bare chest and leaned against the doorframe. Without the elaborate stage make-up and the costume that gave him a huge crotch bulge, Dagger, whose real name was Craig, looked like everyone’s little brother’s creepy friend. The one who kept trying to set puppies’ tails on fire. Somehow, millions of girls found him sexy. Lauren had once, but then she’d gotten to know him. She’d also seen him flipped out on various substances. Someday, he’d hurt someone — badly.

He stared at her for a minute, as if expecting her to change her mind and jump his bones. Finally, he pushed away from the wall. “Get back to work. Media bookings went to hell while you were gone.”

She sighed. “In a few minutes.”

“You going to stay out here with that hunk of junk?”

“It’s one of the finest motorcycles ever built. You paid half-a-mil for it.”

“It doesn’t run.”

True, the Mannhof had refused to start ever since the auction house had delivered it. No mechanic had ever managed to fix it, either. Hopelessly broken, just like herself. No wonder they’d become friends.

“Junk.” Dagger waved a hand at the bike. “Someday, I’m going to melt it down into a paperweight.”

“Have I told you lately that you suck?”

“Yeah, fuck you too.” He turned and left the garage.

She looked down at the bike, her friend, Jake. “Don’t worry. As long as I’m around, no one’s going to turn you into a paperweight.”

She walked to the door, switched off the light, and turned to go into the house.

Why do you put up with him?

Huh? “Who said that?”

She flipped the switch again and looked around. The room was empty except for herself and the bike. Come to think of it, the words had formed in her brain rather than coming in through her ears.

I’m glad you’re home, Schatzie. I missed you.

Her eyes widened as she stared at the Mannhof. “Did you say that?”

The air shifted around the bike, seeming to turn liquid. Currents shimmered around the tires, the gas tank, the handlebars. She rubbed her eyes, but the image didn’t get any clearer.

Holy shit. Was this some kind of withdrawal-induced hallucination? She hadn’t even done that in rehab. Rough nights, yes. Air you could swim through, no.

She backed up until her rump hit the wall and stood there on weakening knees. In the middle of the room, a light radiated from the Mannhof, making the bike’s image even harder to see. She squinted, staring into the waves of light and air around Jake. Something was happening in there. Some kind of changes taking place. The tires seemed to melt and change color from rubber to a pale tone that looked for all the world like human flesh.

Oh, no. Too weird. Too fucking weird. Some kind of Invasion of the Body Snatchers in reverse. After all she’d gone through, her mind had snapped. The counselors should have warned her.

Now useless, her legs gave way, and she slid down the wall until she sat on her butt, hugging herself.

The changes in the middle of the room continued. The form shrunk, curling into a ball of what looked like human flesh. A person. A man, lying on the floor in a fetal position without a stitch of clothing on his body. The glow disappeared, and the air went clear again, leaving only the man — powerful legs pulled up against his body with the ankles crossed. An adult-sized human baby.

A voice whimpered in fear. Her own voice. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her throat constricted. If she could get any strength in her legs, she could get up and run like hell. Still, as spooky as the whole experience was, it was pretty cool in a Hollywood, special effects way.

The person moved finally, sitting up. Buck naked, the man had pale skin and platinum hair that hung around his face to the jaw line. His eyes opened, revealing irises so crystal blue they almost seemed transparent. He smiled, his face taking on an innocent look of delight, like a baby who’d just learned to smile. He took a deep breath, or rather, the air around him went into his chest in a whoosh. Then, he opened his mouth and a sound came out — the deep roar of a motorcycle engine revving.

The sound plastered her against the wall, stealing her own breath. She sat there paralyzed for a moment, staring at him. He made no move toward her but gave her the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen on a man’s face.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. “Who are you?”


USA Today bestselling author Alice Gaines has published several sensuous and erotic works. She prefers stories that stretch the imagination, highlighting the power of love and sex. Alice has a Ph.D. in psychology from U. C. Berkeley and lives in Oakland, California, with her collection of orchids and her pet corn snake, Casper.

PREORDER: Souped Up by the Alien Vampire Mechanic by Crymsyn Hart #SciFiRomance @crymsynhart @changelingpress

Published by Changeling Press
Cover Art by Karen Fox
Genres/Themes: SciFi Romance, Alien Encounters, Vampires

Preorder for March 18th

Pulled from her life on Earth, all Melony Pike wants is to return home. Instead, she’s on a distant planet with her sister, Abigail, and Abigail’s alien mate. She knows they can’t return to Earth — she’d be hunted down and experimented on for the alien technology implanted in her neck. But even with other human women on the planet, she still feels out of place. She sure isn’t looking for a green alien mate.

Brax is a fixer, an alien mechanic. He’s been alone for a long time and he’s not looking for anyone. Then he meets Melony and his world shifts. However, a looming invasion threatens the one thing he wants. He will do anything to cement the relationship between him and Melony and will stop anyone from getting to her.


All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Crymsyn Hart

Melony trailed her fingers through the fine black sand, as smooth as the contents of an hourglass broken open and standing still. The vastness of the beach made her feel as frozen as time did in this place. Turquoise ocean waves lapped at the shoreline, pulling back the sand as the tide went out. With each wave, it felt like more of her previous life washed out into the foreign ocean. The sulfuric tang of the air stuck to her tongue. She let out a long sigh.

While the picturesque landscape reminded her of a Caribbean island, the sky’s slightly purple sheen and the three moons hovering above her reminded her daily she was on a planet called Tilleron, ten light years away from Earth. All because her sister, Abigail, had fallen in love with a green alien who sucked blood and was obsessed with plants. Jaril had brought the sisters to his planet to save their lives. The Earth’s military had been about to experiment on her sister because they wanted the technology implanted in her neck.

The cool breeze fluffed her auburn hair and her stomach grumbled. The sun glinted off a silver spaceship as it descended from the sky. It sailed over her head and landed somewhere close by. It resembled the ship which Jaril had used to whisk them away, but her green-skinned brother-in-law and her sister were both on the planet enjoying mated bliss. Three months had passed since Melony had last had a decent meal. All the weird fruit and meat from this planet didn’t taste bad, but it wasn’t an Italian sausage and mushroom pizza. Lord, she missed peanut butter.

“There you are. We haven’t seen you all day.” Abigail’s voice came from behind her.

Melony curled her fingers into the sand and took a deep breath. She had argued with her sister on many occasions about returning home. Melony counted to ten before turning around and forcing a smile. “Just needed some space. You two are worse than teenagers when you get all moon-eyed over each other.”

Abigail sat next to her and rubbed her knee. The quick flash of red on Abigail’s cheeks reminded Melony how much Abs loved her alien mate. “You don’t have to run away every time you see us kissing. I know Jaril’s not the easiest person to get along with. He gets on my nerves when he starts on a tangent about his plants — I have to remind him I’m in the room. But he means well.”

“Don’t you want to go back to Earth and have a relationship with a human?” The words slipped out, but Melony already knew the answer to this particular argument. They couldn’t go back.

Her sister squeezed her thigh. “I’ve already told you how it works with them. Once he heard me moan, he knew I was his mate. He’s my other half. This place is different, but you’ve always been about unique experiences. It doesn’t matter to me he’s not human. Why do you hate them? Think about all the sucky boyfriends you’ve had.”

“They were all dead ends, like my jobs. If you recall, the reason I moved to California was to get a fresh start. I don’t hate Jaril or the rest of them. I’m just… This wasn’t what I had planned.” Abigail wasn’t wrong. Melony had ended up with some strange guys. The ones with too many tattoos who had a weird fetish and wanted her to pee on them. Mel shivered when she thought of Nicolas. Then there had been Edvard. Everything had been fine for the first couple of months until their date fell on a full moon. He confessed he was a werewolf. She’d had another who yearned to suck on her nose. Melony could rattle off a list of strange men as long as her arm.

The same with her jobs. She’d worked in a bakery and pulled taffy in a sweet shop, and waitressed on roller skates at an old-fashioned diner. Mel had a great resume of life experiences, but it wasn’t until she moved to California that she’d had a chance to put her skills together to use with a national chain of sweet shops. It was going great until the military rolled up in a black Hummer and pulled her out of a meeting saying her sister was in trouble. She still had nightmares about them not telling her anything about what was going on with Abigail. Hell, it had been even worse than when her sister had disappeared for several days the year before that. They had been on their last camping trip into the mountains before she departed for California. The panic she’d felt when her sister disappeared replayed in her dreams. Then Abs had reappeared talking about a green man who’d saved her…


Crymsyn Hart is a National Bestselling author of over eighty paranormal romance and horror novels. Her experiences as a psychic and ghostly encounters have given her a lot of material to use in her books. Vampires, grim reapers, shifters, and other paranormal creatures tend to end up in her books no matter how hard she tries to keep them away.

She currently resides in Charlotte, NC with her hubby and her three dogs. If she’s not writing, she’s curled up with the dogs watching a good horror movie or off with friends.

To find out more about Crymsyn, check out her website on: www.crymsynhart.com