Tag Archives: Changeling Press

TEASER TUESDAY: Dreams Eclipsed by Kira Stone

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Sci-Fi, Futuristic Romance

Date Published: November 8, 2024

 

 

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

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

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

 

EXCERPT

 

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

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

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

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

“Hotter than Maria’s gumbo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now that night had arrived.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

About the Author

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

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

 

Author Links

Author on Facebook

Author on Goodreads

Author’s Website

 

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

 

Pre-Order Today

 

PREORDER BLITZ: Trust is Fraught by Emily Carrington

Posted on by

 

LGBTQ, Dark Fantasy, Interracial Romance

Date Published: October 11, 2024


 

From insisting on a bed for their first time to protecting Amir from
everything, Oliver is stepping all over Amir’s last nerve. It’s
almost too bad the submissive wolf wants dominant Oliver in the worst
way.

Amir’s frustration with Oliver doesn’t cancel out his
attraction to the other wolf. As they fall deeper into the dangers of the
psychic world in an effort to rescue their leader, their love may be the
only thing keeping them sane.

As the leader of the werewolves sinks further into insanity, Amir and
Oliver are pushed to their limits to find out what’s causing his
decline. Once they discover the truth, it’s another struggle, this one
against prejudice and time, to rescue the alpha above all alphas.

 

EXCERPT

 

It was full dark when Oliver jerked awake. He sat up, smelling his own
sweat and the aftermath of sex.

He flashed back to the most traumatic time he’d woken to the stench
of spent jizz. Geoffrey, the beta of the Kreisha pack, had been standing
over him, cum dripping from his rapidly shrinking cock.

Oliver swung his legs over the side of the bed, fully expecting to find
himself surrounded by the enemy. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness,
and he picked out the shadowy form of a lampshade. He reached out, almost
knocking the lamp over in his need to shed light on the situation. When the
bulb glowed, he took a quick look around the room, feeling the urge to
ensure he was alone and safe. He didn’t quite dare to rise to his feet
because his legs felt like they’d turned to water.

He missed Kenneth Jeremiah in the worst way all of a sudden, and he was
unable to hide from the truth, that he missed his lover not for Kenneth
Jeremiah’s own sake but because his lover had kept the nightmares at
bay. Ever since being attacked, which had been two months before Kenneth
Jeremiah died, the nightmares had been threatening. But he hadn’t
actually dreamed of what happened until after his beloved was dead. Kenneth
Jeremiah had possessed a rare empathic gift, one that allowed him to soothe
others’ minds.

Sort of like Amir, he thought, but his terror kept him dwelling on the
past.

He was alone in the downstairs bedroom of the house he rented in
Washington, D.C.’s Northwest quarter. Why the hell did it smell of
sex? And why didn’t his ass hurt?

Oliver’s gorge rose. He swallowed against the need to throw up.
Gradually, his stomach settled and new information came to his nose. Yes, it
was his own jizz he smelled on the air, but it was mixed with another
male’s. The aroma didn’t spark a flashback but seemed to wrap
around him, comforting him.

Amir’s scent surrounded him.

He’d had sex, all right, except it had really been making love. There
was no fear or rage clouding the healthy leavings of two werewolves who
cared for each other. They hadn’t gone all the way. Oliver had refused
to claim Amir’s virgin body while they were so spun up from the events
of the last few days and when Oliver himself had been so desperate for
sexual contact that he hadn’t been sure he could be as gentle as was
needed. They’d had oral sex, and now that his head was clearing, he
realized he could taste Amir’s salty spend on his tongue. He licked
his lips, found a little more of the heavenly liquid at one corner, and
closed his eyes to savor it.

His cock stirred, although only a little as he fully realized he was alone
in the bedroom. Where had Amir gone? Had he woken as Oliver had, frightened,
and escaped into the house at large, or to the world beyond these walls?
What if Oliver’s nightmare had been prophetic rather than a misplaced
response to his joy?

He tried to push himself to his feet, but his legs wouldn’t support
him. He flopped back onto the bed. Cursing softly, he performed a quick
self-analysis, looking for sore spots or other indicators he’d been
drugged. He detected nothing. Likewise, he felt no alien presence in his
mind. His psychic shields were up and strong.

Still, his legs trembled. Clutching his knees, he tried to get a handle on
his fear.

It hadn’t been all that long since he’d dreamed of the gang
rape Geoffrey Huntington had led. Maybe only three weeks. Still, he was
shocked every time it recurred. Hadn’t going through it once been
enough? Apparently not for his traumatized body. Oliver could have bested
three out of the four werewolves who raped him during that long five hours,
but he’d surrendered to their brutality to save Kenneth Jeremiah. When
the attack had begun, he’d expected to find Travers and Cobb involved
because they were closer to him in rank, both being lower gammas. But the
three besides Geoffrey, who was the beta of the Kreisha pack, had been Carl,
Matthias, and Scott, all very low-ranked wolves, although not quite
submissive. He’d always thought their ranks were why they’d
participated. Geoffrey might have forced them.

Thinking about that night, all alone in the midst of raving beasts,
wasn’t going to steady his legs. He needed to get himself under
control so he could go looking for Amir and ensure his new lover was
safe.

He forced himself to lie down on the bed. He inhaled Amir’s scent
rising from his pillow, an aroma made of sweat and excitement and just a
touch of disinfectant because Amir was a physician. Oliver breathed in and
out, counting the seconds for each inhale and exhale. He added three seconds
of holding his breath between these two acts and slowly his heartbeat
stopped racing out of control. Amir’s joy and release held a comfort
that Oliver hadn’t found since before the gang rape.

He sat up before that thought could take hold. He focused on the bedroom
door, which was ajar. He did another quick sweep of the room, this time with
nose fully engaged. He didn’t detect any blood or stench of fear. Amir
must have left the room of his own volition.

With this idea in his head, Oliver was finally able to rise. He tugged on
the pants he’d been wearing and started for the hallway. Following
Amir’s scent, he went into the bathroom across the way, where Amir had
apparently washed up because the tang of citrus soap hung in the air. Had he
come out here naked?

Needing to solve that mystery because Amir walking anywhere potentially
public without his clothes didn’t seem like the doctor of magical
creatures at all. Back in the bedroom, however, Oliver saw all of
Amir’s articles of clothing were still there.

Concern reared its ugly head again and he trotted from the room. He stopped
by the front door, but Amir hadn’t come this way. He trailed the scent
of soap to the stairs, and that was where it changed. The addition of
fur’s rich aroma told Oliver Amir had slipped from human guise to
lupine seeming before he went up the staircase to the second floor.

His night vision had fully adjusted to the dimness, and he climbed the
stairs silently, keeping his ears open for Amir or their mutual
patient.

Maybe that was it, he thought as he put his foot on the third step. Their
mutual patient, Tilthos Charles, the alpha above all alphas in the Americas
and Canada, was ill. Amir had managed to rule out any poisons or physical
cause for Tilthos Charles’s growing madness, leaving it to Oliver to
figure out the psychic cause. Oliver hadn’t yet solved the mystery
beyond the realization Tilthos Charles was being forced to share his mind
with five or six other werewolves who meant him harm.

Maybe Tilthos Charles was the reason Amir had left the bedroom and not
because he’d endured a terrible dream. Oliver purposely made a little
noise on the stairs to warn those up on the second floor that he was coming.
He couldn’t quite make himself call out or even whisper. His throat
had tightened, now with nervousness. What had he been thinking, making love
to Amir when they had a patient to look after?

He reached the landing between the first and second floors and paused.
Above him, out of sight because of the construction of the house, he heard a
very quiet growl.

 

About the Author

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender
women’s speculative fiction. Seeking a world made of equality, she
created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its
problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a
host of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires. And in the
contemporary world she’s named “Sticks & Stones,”
Emily has vowed to create small towns where prejudice is challenged by a
passionate quest for equality. Find her on Facebook at Shapeshifter Central
or on her website.

 

Contact Links

Author’s Website

Emily on Facebook

Emily on Twitter

 

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

 

Pre-Order Today



TEASER: Demon Lover by Kate Hill

Posted on by

Paranormal Romance, Halloween, Age Gap

Date Published: October 11, 2024


When John Standcliff, Satan’s bounty hunter, is summoned to Earth to claim
the soul of a serial killer, he finds the worst of hell’s tortures can be no
worse than the pain of falling in love with a mortal woman.

Corinne Rogerio has come to Maine to research six murders that took place
back in 1656. She has no idea that the handsome stranger she meets in an old
cemetery is actually the murderer she’s been studying. Even worse, he’s been
sent to track down a serial killer who is closer to her than she ever
imagined.

EXCERPT

 

Sparks shot from John’s ax each time it struck the trunk of the steel tree.
Every blow jolted through his aching arms and rang in his ears, yet he
almost welcomed the racket. He’d lost track of how long he’d dwelled in the
steel forest, chopping tree after tree without pause for food, water, or
sleep. His demon’s body could survive for decades without rest or
sustenance. If he ceased chopping long enough, the bleeding sores on his
palms would heal and his muscles would almost magically stop aching.
Unfortunately he must continue the drudgery until given the order to
halt.

All around him, the smooth gray trees stretched for miles. As punishment
for his crimes, John labored alone, chopping steel trees in Satan’s forest,
only ceasing when sent to collect yet another evil soul to toil in
Hell.

“Hello, John.”

The sneering voice echoed throughout the forest and made John’s skin
prickle with disgust. Pausing, he listened to his own panting breath in the
stillness. Sweat dripped into his eyes and trickled down his torso, soaking
into the wet waistband of his black trousers. He waited for the voice to
continue. Usually when Bee called, it was to send him on one of his gruesome
missions.

“Oh, John, your services are required. Won’t it be nice to go home
again?”

“Home, Bee?” John curled his lip. The little bastard loved
playing with people. Three-hundred-forty-eight years ago, John had been far
more gullible. The first few times Bee had promised him a meeting with his
sister or even a chance to escape from Hell, he had actually believed
him.

At first he had looked forward to visiting the mortal world, but eventually
the illusion shattered. Without friends or family, the world was a lonely
place. People feared him and kept their distance. It was as if they sensed
the evil inside him and instinctively stayed away. Never again would he
experience the comfort and total relaxation of sleep, to close his eyes in
complete surrender. Perhaps worst of all was his inability to fully enjoy
lovemaking. He could pleasure women and feel intense sexual stimulation, yet
climax eluded him.

“Can’t you think of a better story than that?”

“It’s not a story. Your hometown reeks of evil. Our master has been
smelling it for quite some time now and he wants it. You go get it for him,
John, and this time there might be something in it for you.”

“Beelzebub, leave us,” said a soft, musical voice. It sent a
tingle down John’s spine and filled him with such warmth that he nearly
panicked. After so many years in Hell, nothing touched him anymore. What
sort of evil had Bee conjured that could stir his emotions again? The voice
continued. “Once a soul is condemned to Hell, it is rarely allowed a
chance for redemption. There are sometimes cases of a good soul doing evil,
and though it is not condoned, under special circumstances someone like you
may be given the opportunity to move on, providing certain specifications
are met.”

John closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. “It’s not going to work,
Bee. I no longer believe in fairy tales.”

“Bee is gone. His kind cannot abide me.”

“I suppose you’re from up there?”

“I’m from everywhere. I know no bounds. Listen carefully to what I
tell you, John Standcliff. Fulfill the task set for you and send the evil in
your hometown to Hell. Do it without harming an innocent soul, and you will
be freed from Satan’s realm and allowed your chance at
redemption.”

John laughed humorlessly. “You don’t give up, do you, Bee?”

“Believe what you will, but you have only this one
opportunity.”

“Oh, just one?” John’s voice dripped sarcasm.

“At least in this millennium. You’re not the only demon in Hell who
deserves a second chance.”

“Then give one of them my turn. I don’t want it.”

“I understand why you don’t believe me, but keep my offer in mind
during your return to the world of the living. If I’m lying, then you’ll be
no worse off than you are now, but if I’m telling the
truth…”

The voice faded. Moments later, Bee appeared beside John. He was nothing
more than a dark cloud, loosely resembling the shape of a man. Bee
shuddered. “Glad she’s gone. Now. Are you ready to get to
work?”

“Who am I after this time?”

“As usual, I can’t give you too many details. After all, I’m not
supposed to be catching the soul. That’s your job.”

“Bee…”

“It’s a serial killer. Here’s his scent.” Bee’s cloudy black hand
swept beneath John’s nose. The faint aroma was all a demon required to track
his prey. “While you’re there, why don’t you break your own rules and
hack apart some humans? The master loves it when his demons terrorize the
living.”

“Just send me out of here so I can get this over with.”

Blackness enveloped John, and in those dark moments between Hell and Earth,
he absorbed the details of his new identity and a crash course on life in
the twenty-first century.

 

About the Author

Always a fan of romance and the paranormal, I started writing over twenty
years ago. My first story was accepted for publication in 1996. Since then
I’ve written over one hundred short stories, novellas and novels. I
love to blend genres. I also love horror and a happily ever after, so if
you’re looking for romance with witches, aliens, vampires, angels,
demons, shapeshifters and more, there’s a good chance you’ll
find something to your taste here.

When I’m not writing, I enjoy reading, watching horror and action
movies, working out and spending time with my family and pets.

 

Contact Links

Author on Goodreads

Author on Twitter

Follow Kate on Amazon


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


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

Posted on by

Iron Tzars MC, Book 12

 

Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap

Date Published: September 27, 2024

 

 

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

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

 

EXCERPT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s going on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I love you, right, Apple?”

I nodded. “Yes. I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you going to be with other women?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

 

 

About the Author

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

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

 

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

Author on Facebook

 

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

 

 

Pre-Order Today

 

TEASER TUESDAY: March (Underland MC) by Harley Wylde

Posted on by

 

(Underland MC)

Motorcycle Club Romance, Age Gap, Suspense

Date Published: September 13, 2024

 

 

Sometimes the most forbidden love can be the most
irresistible…

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

EXCERPT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Until the end,” they replied in unison.

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

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

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

“Vick,” Rabbit said, lifting his beer.

“Jarret,” Tweedle said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

About the Author

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

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

 

Author on Facebook, Instagram, & TikTok: @harleywylde

 

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

 

Pre-Order Today


TEASER: Ringo (Grim Road MC) by Marteeka Karland

Posted on by

 

(Grim Road MC)

 

Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap

Date Published: August 23, 2024

 

 

Calista – When my stepfather decides the best way to get himself out
of trouble is to trade me to the man who owns his gambling debts, I know
it’s time to get the hell outta Dodge. Before she died, my mother told
me my real dad was a hero, but what he’d done in the military was so
secret, he had to disappear. She gave me a name and a bunch of numbers to
memorize. Made me repeat them every night for as long as I could remember.
Just before she died, she told me the words Dominic and Grim Road — my
father’s name and the group he belonged to. The numbers were
coordinates for the group’s headquarters — a motorcycle club where I
could find my father. I can’t think of anyone else I can go to for
help. But once I find Grim Road’s compound, I realize there are far
more dangerous things waiting for me there — like a man who could steal my
heart.

Ringo: When a little spitfire walks up to the gates of Grim Road demanding
to see our sergeant at arms, Dominic, I know I’m in trouble. She looks
vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place her. Something inside me
warns me I need to figure it out fast, though. Preferably before the
prospect manning the gate does something to get himself killed. When she
refuses to leave, he gives her a good, hard shove. The expression on her
face of shock and fear triggers a memory. A little girl — this girl —
falling backwards off the front porch steps into the flower bed. Calista.
Dom’s daughter. Only she’s not a little girl anymore.
She’s the most stunning woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I’m
gonna make her mine. I just need to figure out how to keep her father from
killing me.

 

EXCERPT

When I finally approached the edge of the city, I gave up all pretense of
trying to blend in. I took off at nearly a sprint. The longer I was out in
the open, the greater the chances Sam or one of Borris’s other men
would spot me. I had to make it through a few more city blocks, then across
the highway — another risk since not many people crossed on foot — and
into the woods. Once I had the cover of the trees, I’d find a place to
settle down for the night and hopefully make it to the compound tomorrow. I
didn’t want to get lost, so I had to take the chance they
wouldn’t come this way looking for me. Or, if they did, that
they’d wait until daylight, so they had a better chance of tracking me
accurately.

All I had was an old compass my mother had given me with a tiny map folded
inside tucked into my bra, and the flashlight I’d stolen. No food. No
water. No protection from the elements. Just the compass and map, and a
flashlight. And stories about a place my mother told me about, but I’d
never seen. This was all kinds of crazy, but it was my choice. No one
else’s.

By the time I was deep in the woods and far enough away from the road as I
could safely get, it was full dark. I didn’t want to use the light yet
as it was still early enough Sam might still make a try on the chance I
hadn’t gone far, and Sam might still make a try if he could figure out
where I’d gone into the woods. Plus, I had no idea how long the
battery would last. Hopefully a while. Though I’d thought I was
prepared mentally for a couple of days out in the wild on my own, I
hadn’t thought about how dark it would actually be. And I wasn’t
even thinking about the possibility of snakes.

Or alligators.

The air was thick with humidity, and every leaf seemed to whisper nefarious
secrets as I pushed farther into the undergrowth. My limbs ached, my heart
pounded in my ears, and fear clung to me like the dense fog that began to
roll in from the nearby swamp. The noises of the night grew louder, a
cacophony of insects and distant howls that did nothing to ease my
nerves.

I tried to keep my breathing steady, reminding myself that panic would only
make things worse. The darkness was absolute – even the faint glow of
moonlight struggled to penetrate the thick canopy above. Every rustle in the
bushes sent a spike of adrenaline through my system. Was the noise from a
predator stalking me? Was it Sam? More of my stepfather’s goons? I
wasn’t sure if I was more afraid of giant snakes or my stepfather.
Borris Illivitch was a cold-hearted bastard. When he found out I’d
blazed…  If he caught me, I’d be in a world of pain. Death
would be a release.

I pressed on, trying to use what little moonlight filtered through the tree
canopy to guide my steps. Which… yeah. Occasionally, I’d see a
sliver of moon, but that was it. The air grew cooler as the damp night
deepened, and an occasional breeze should have felt good in the Florida
humidity but only seemed to grate on my nerves instead of soothing me.
Despite the risks, knowing it was a bad idea to stumble around in the dark,
I felt this urgent need to press on. Keep moving. Stay ahead of the thugs I
knew would be after me.

I continued on for as long as I could. When I finally reached the point
where exhaustion overrode the adrenaline, I leaned against a tree. Not the
smartest move, but I was beyond caring at this point. My lungs burned, as
did my leg muscles. I was scraped all over, my clothes even ripped in a
couple places. The only thing I’d risked in standing out with regard
to my appearance was the combat boots I wore. Not uncommon, but also
noticeable. Thankfully my suit pants had been flared at the bottom and had
hidden them. The boots were the only things allowing me to travel as far as
I had.

I knew the general direction I needed to go. My mom had also taught me
landmarks in the area to look for by using child’s nursery rhyme. All
of which she told me about just days before she died. I’d long ago
used virtual maps to find the landmarks she taught me. I was as prepared as
I could be.

I finally stopped and took stock of my body. I had some stinging scrapes
and at some point I’d twisted my ankle, but it wasn’t anything I
couldn’t power through. As the silvery moon moved across the sky, the
light filtered through the trees lessened. I could barely see my hand in
front of my face, let alone anything around me. Or my compass.

I was on solid ground but had no idea what was above or around me. With the
adrenaline falling off, I was trembling. Which was creating more panic. I
was basically defenseless in unfamiliar territory. Yeah. It was time where
the benefits of using the flashlight outweighed the risks.

I switched on the light, shining it around the area. A pair of eyes glowed
back at me and I jumped back, sucking in a breath, but the little varmint
ran off. At least, I hoped it was little.

“OK. OK.” I was talking out loud, but really, I had to do
something other than freak myself out by listening to all the noises around
me. Or look for glowing predator eyes. “I got this. Mom said this
place was miles and miles of swamp, trees, and forest, but if I was careful,
I could make my way through all that to the place my dad lived.

It took a couple of hours, but I finally found a small, rundown shack.
Looked like, at one time, it might have been a hunting cabin, or some kind
of game-watch post. It wasn’t much bigger than a small storage
building but wasn’t completely enclosed. About halfway up the walls,
all around, the enclosure was open, at one time covered with a screen. Kept
out insects but allowed the occupant to see out in all directions. This was
a landmark on my map, and I’d basically stumbled on it.

I went inside the little shack, noting there was nothing inside except a
bench fashioned all around the inside perimeter and dirt and leaves. The
screens had long ago been torn or had fallen apart leaving only ragged
remnants to sway in the slight breeze.

It was ridiculous, but with a roof over my head, even with little
protection from anything, I felt a little safer. Not safe, by any means, but
more… secure.

I set the light beside me when I sank down onto one of the benches.
Carefully, I pulled out my compass and opened it, taking care with the
delicate piece of paper folded inside it. Opening it up, I confirmed what I
already knew. I needed to head straight northeast. Like, this place had been
put in this exact position to use as a landmark. My mother had given me
three at various points around the center structure I was trying to get to.
Each landmark pointed in a precise direction, so I had no doubt these spots
were carefully thought out and deliberately placed as guides. If you knew
the coordinates. And had a map. Which I did. A treasure map, if you
will.

From my current position, I estimated it would take me about six hours to
walk. It wasn’t that far, per se, but walking in the woods and swamp
was tricky going. The accepted estimate was to allow thirty minutes for
every mile walked. I guess I’d find out how far off that estimate was
when I found the place I was looking for.

And my dad. Unfortunately, I had no idea if he knew I existed. If he did,
there was every possibility he wouldn’t accept me or even want me in
his life. Which was fine. I just needed his protection long enough to make
sure Borris Illivitch gave up looking for me.

Turned out, I made better time than I thought I would. Even in the dark. I
literally stumbled into a big guy with a full beard. He scowled down at me
even as his hands went to my shoulders to steady me. I expected his fingers
to bite into my flesh, but he was surprisingly gentle.

“Who the fuck goes there at four-thirty in the fuckin’
mornin’?”

About the Author

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

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

 

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

Author on Facebook


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

Pre-Order Today

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

Posted on by

A Cyberpunk Novel

Motherboards & Magic, Book 1

 

Cyberpunk / Science Fiction

Date Published: August 2, 2024



 


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

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

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

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

 

EXCERPT

Copyright ©2024 Stephanie Burke & Areana Senoj

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Vers –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

About the Authors

Stephanie Burke is a USA Today Best Selling, multi published, multi award-winning
author, Master Costumer, handicapped, wife and mother of two.

From sex-shifting, shape-shifting dragons to undersea worlds, sexually
confused elemental Fey and homo-erotic mysteries, all the way to
pastel-challenged urban sprites, Stephanie has done it all, and hopes to do
more.

Stephanie is an orator on her favorite subjects of writing and
world-building, a sometime teacher when you feed her enough tea and donuts,
an anime nut, a costumer, and a frequent guest of various sci-fi and writing
cons where she can be found leading panel discussions or researching varied
legends and theories to improve her writing skills.

Stephanie is known for her love of the outrageous, strong female
characters, believable worlds, male characters filled with depth, and
multi-cultural stories that make the reader sit up and take notice. 

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

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

Author’s Blog

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

 

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

 

 

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PREORDER BLITZ: Goblin Girl by Mikala Ash

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Empire of the Sky, Book 4

Steampunk Romance

Date Published: 7/26/24

Publisher: Changeling Press



 

 

Nancy Lea is the Lunarian envoy to Queen Victoria. She and Jacob McCleary
come to Earth with a deadly warning from Mon Ilson, the Emperor of Space. At
an isolated airfield in the midst of a raging storm, Nancy is cruelly
mistaken for the murderous Lady Neva Talbot-Rhys. Nancy is interrogated by
the Queen’s Agent, the witch Felicity Cressy. To keep her off guard,
Felicity employs an unorthodox strategy. She introduces the dashing Captain
Jaimee Dalgliesh to the alien in human form. His mission is to seduce Nancy,
but can he avoid being seduced in turn?

Goblin Girl continues the Cressida Troy saga in which an unprepared world
faces alien invasion. In a time where airships are commonplace, and
witchcraft plays a crucial role in Queen Victoria’s empire, Goblin Girl is a
steamy adventure in the strange but curiously familiar universe of what
could have been.

 

 

Excerpt

Copyright ©2024 Mikala Ash

 

Nancy Lea

1867 A Goblin Girl Goes to Earth

 

It was a rough descent. Inside the capsule, Jacob and I were pressed
together in the contoured couch, hip to hip, and shoulder to shoulder. The
belts that held me securely in place as we were jostled about bit through my
one-piece flying costume and would surely leave bruises. We were riding a
human test vehicle which we had captured some time ago. Jacob had been the
pilot and had been our prisoner until he reluctantly agreed to be Mon
Ilson’s envoy. I was to carry my emperor’s voice to the
queen.

Jacob was wearing a leather flying cap and green filtered goggles and
looked quite amphibian as his gaze shifted from side to side. He was closely
monitoring the gauges and dials on the control panel and manipulated the
various levers that controlled the ship’s buoyancy. Occasionally he
would glance at me, and the visible part of his face split in a broad grin.
He was excited to be returning home.

By Mon Ilson’s magic, the churning storm camouflaged our arrival.
Barely two minutes before, we’d been released by the Lunarian airship
and were descending at a rapid rate toward the Lizard Peninsula on the
Cornish coast. Our ship, little more than a spherical steel ball barely ten
feet wide, bucked and swayed at the mercy of the tempest. I bit my lower
lip, imagining the gale that raged on the other side of the vessel’s
thin shell, just a few inches from my head.

Jacob was adjusting the controls to release helium gas from our envelope so
that we landed as close as we could to the designated airfield. Timing was
of the essence if we were not to be blown too far off course. A violent wind
gust rocked us, and I clutched Jacob’s arm.

“Chin up, Goblin Girl. We’ll be on solid ground
soon.”

The appellation took me back to the first occasion he called me by that
vile name. At the time I knew he’d intended it as an insult.
We’d been “fucking like ferrets” as he described our
frequent coupling, and I was panting frantically in the aftermath of a
thundering climax.

“Why do you call me that?” I had asked resentfully once my
breathing had calmed.

“Goblin Girl?” His smile as he chucked my chin was annoyingly
patronising. “My dear,” he began, his tone mocking. “I
know inside that pretty little human head is a leather-skinned goblin, like
those stone gargoyles perched high up on a cathedral wall. You have huge
yellow eyes, slimy slits for nostrils cut in a grey face as flat as an
anvil. Rows of pin-sharp teeth hide behind knife-edged lips. You have bony
shoulders, and muscled arms like knotted wood, so powerful you could snap a
human neck. Not to forget the pair of oily black wings like those of a
demonic bat, equipped with a half dozen razor-tipped talons, and ugly
gnarled feet! For God’s sake, don’t get me started on your
feet!”

I would be lying to pretend it hadn’t hurt, but his description of
our — yes, my — natural form was accurate. What cut deeper was that
he’d use those words to hurt me while his pearly seed dripped from my
very bruised and unmistakably human cunt. I had given him the most hateful
of glares and stuck out my tongue.

He laughed. “That’s the spirit! On occasion you act so human.
Sometimes I quite forget.”

“I don’t want you to forget.”

“Why do you say so?”

“I want you to love me for myself, my soul, not my outward form
whatever it takes.”

“Huh! Beauty is only skin deep as they say. Is that what you mean?
Are you sure you want to go down that thorny trail?”

My feelings were hurt, still an odd sensation, and I didn’t yet know
when to stop. “Perhaps.”

Jacob knitted his brow. “Why on Earth do you want me to love you?
Don’t answer that. I know you are just following orders and will say
anything to get inside my head.” His expression had changed, from mild
curiosity to utter contempt.

“I wonder you can bring yourself to lie with me if that is what you
believe.”

Jacob shrugged. “A man has urges. I can’t control the call, the
quickening of the blood, or deny the demanding reality of my hard cock. That
body you have stolen, killed for, I should say, would get a rise out of any
man — alive or dead! Your human covering is just an empty vessel, somewhere
to dump my seed.” He glared at me, his eyes as hard as flint, and I
saw the hatred behind them. Then they softened. “Ah, don’t do
that.”

He wiped the tear away with his thumb. The gentle action broke the dam, and
there followed a flood.

“Ah, my Goblin Girl… come here!” He held me close, his
heart thudding in his chest, his warm breath upon my cheek. “I’m
a beast too. There’s no denying it.”

Later, after he’d ploughed my furrow once again and jetted more seed
into my human cunt, he held me tight. “Why?” he asked after a
few moments.

“Why what?”

His gaze took in my quivering form. “All this. Why did you give up
your natural body for this human one? Marjorie was so in love with hers
she’d do anything to get it back, even murder and treason. Why are you
lot not attached to your form?”

He was referring to Marjorie, a nascent witch whose body had been taken
from its grave and later adopted. Her soul found sanctuary in Cressida
Troy’s mind until Mon Ilson enabled her to return to her body for
helping Cressida kill the human scientist, Fleur Cumberland. Now Marjorie
was our most powerful agent on Earth.

Jacob had thumped his naked chest. “My attachment to this weak and
breakable frame was so strong it allowed me to survive after my soul had
been wrenched away.” He took my chin between thumb and forefinger.
“You chose to do this,” he continued, forcing me to justify
myself. “Why?”

Why indeed? “I do not regret it.”

“I’ve noticed, and that’s what I don’t understand.
Have you all been mesmerised by Mon Ilson to deny your love of your natural
form?”

“I have not!”

“Then why? I want to understand. It’s no small thing to give up
your body, no matter how grotesque it is.”

“We do not see ourselves so,” I countered.

His brow furrowed with incomprehension. “Then why? You could fly, for
God’s sake!”

“It is hard to express. It is too easy to say, as many will, I did it
because Mon Ilson commanded it. Those words are just a public display of
loyalty. As wonderful achievements as our cities are, the selfish reason is
we are heartily sick of existing underground. We want to live under a wide
blue sky rather than a roof of stone, feel fragrant wind on our cheeks
rather than a sterile breeze from a fan, to bask in the summer sun and have
our faces tanned, impossible under cold artificial light. We want to swim in
the ocean and feel mud squish between our toes. We want to make love, to
feel a kiss and take pleasure in it, to quiver with a soft caress, and be
overwhelmed by the glorious sensations of making love.”

 

About the Author

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.

 

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

 

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

 

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PREORDER BLITZ: Mama & Pops by Marteeka Karland

Posted on by

 

Bones MC Legends, Book One

 

Motorcycle Club Romance

Date Published: 7/26/24

Publisher: Changeling Press


 

Somerset, Kentucky. My home. Or it was. Coming back from Nam was a
friggin’ shock. No one wanted us there, but no one really wants us
back here, either. In their eyes, we’re all guilty. Guess I feel the
same way about them. I don’t belong anywhere. Maybe I never really
did.

Except with Mama. For me, meeting Mama was like a dime novel. Fell for her
almost the moment I laid eyes on her. Knew she’d be mine after our
first kiss. Of course, convincing her took a little time. But it’s
because of Mama I have a home and people I care about now. I may be a badass
soldier, but she’s the hardest, coldest warrior I ever met. Yet she
has more compassion in her than any ten people I know.

This is the story of how Bones MC was born, and why Mama and me keep to the
shadows. Since we met, we’ve always had each other’s backs. No
one knows all our secrets, not even those closest to us. Other people have
come and gone in our lives, but it’s always been me and Mama. This is
our story.

 

 

Excerpt

Copyright ©2024 Marteeka Karland

 

Sgt. Michael (Mike) Wilbanks

Louisville, Kentucky, 1968

 

“This right here is some happy horseshit.”

I glanced at the woman beside me who spoke in a low, wistful tone.
She’d been on the same plane as I had coming from San Francisco.
Though the bag she carried had an Army medical insignia, she’d dressed
in street clothes. There was a hard look about her that I’d seen many
times during my tours in Vietnam. We hadn’t spoken during the flight,
but she was hard not to notice.

She looked to be in her mid to late twenties, carrying herself with the
confidence of a warrior. My eye had been drawn her way automatically from
the moment she’d stepped on the plane. I’d pegged her as the
most dangerous person on the plane — other than myself. Looking at her now,
I was reevaluating that notion. The woman might be even more dangerous than
I was.

“One’d think those people had jobs to go to.” I
wasn’t sure if that was the “happy horseshit” she was
referring to, but I chose to make it about the protesters. I’d
encountered groups like this in every fucking airport I’d stopped in
on my way back. To say I was spoiling for a fight was the understatement of
the fucking century.

“One would think.” The woman didn’t look my way or seem
interested in conversation. Instead, she was scanning the crowd. Not like
she was looking for someone in particular, though. I’d seen that look
many times. She was looking for a threat. VC on the trail!

I shook my head, shaking away the memory. The war wasn’t over yet,
but it was for me. “You expecting trouble?” Her vigilance — and
my own demons — had my radar pinging.

“Always.”

I had travel plans, but there was something about the woman that made me
walk beside her through the Louisville terminal instead of making my way to
my own gate. She was tall, maybe five-ten, with shoulder-length
strawberry-blonde hair. She wore a sleeveless shirt that showed off lean,
muscular arms. Everything about her screamed confidence, strength, and
control. I’d met a few Army nurses who had similar looks about them,
but this woman was different. She carried herself with purpose, her duffle
slung over her shoulder like my own. Like she was on a mission and no one
was going to stop her, even if she had to kill to get them out of her way.
She didn’t speak again or acknowledge me, but she didn’t tell me
to back off, either.

The terminal wasn’t particularly crowded, though there might have
been a hundred people in the area. All I wanted to do was secure the bike
I’d procured the second I’d gotten back to the States and
fucking ride. I’d been offered a chance to join an MC called Iron
Tzars, but I wasn’t sure they were really my thing. Their causes were
noble and any killing they did wasn’t indiscriminate, but I’d
had my fill of death in country. Even for those who needed killing.

Boom!

A shot rang out and all around us people screamed, ducking for cover.

Boom!

A nearby window shattered as the round hit, sending glass shattering to the
floor and the concrete outside. I scanned the crowd for the shooter before
glancing where I knew the woman had stood. Same as me, she was looking
around for the shooter. I saw the exact moment she spotted him. Her features
hardened and she looked angry as fuck as she squatted next to me, behind the
nearby counter. “Fucker’s military.”

“Can’t say I blame him given the reception we got when we
landed. Wouldn’t be my first choice of things to do,
though.”

Her gaze went to mine. “You any good in a fight?”

I shrugged. “Good as any, I guess. Ain’t armed.”

She shook her head. “Me neither.”

“Got a plan?” If she didn’t, I’d come up with one,
but this woman looked like she’d been expecting trouble and knew how
to deal with it. If she knew the soldier in question or had known this was
going to happen, she’d have a plan. I’d follow her lead until
she proved she didn’t know what she was doing. One thing I’d
learned in Nam was that often it wasn’t the most educated man or the
highest-ranking officer who could get you out alive.

“He’s not aiming at anyone in particular. I’ll talk to
him. See if I can get him to surrender peacefully. You position yourself
behind him and be ready.” She gave me a pointed look.
“I’ll be counting on you to take him down before he shoots
me.”

“Fuck,” I muttered. “Maybe I better try to talk to
him.”

She gave me an exasperated huff. “Do you honestly think I can take
him down myself? I’m strong, but he’s easily twice my
size.”

“You ain’t makin’ this easy, woman.”

“What’s so fuckin’ difficult about it?”

Her scowl was hard enough to trigger my well-trained instincts. I wanted to
snap a salute and bark out, Yes, sir!

“Be ready. Take him down if he looks like he’s gonna shoot me
or anyone else.” She tilted her head, giving me a puzzled stare.
“You ain’t got battle fatigue, do you? You don’t act like
you’ve had all you can take.”

“No. I’m good.” I scrubbed a hand over my face.
“Just don’t like puttin’ a woman out front to use as bait.
I should be the one takin’ the risks.”

“Well, I mean, if you want to risk your life when he’ll
probably be able to shake me off the second I go for him, fine by me. But I
trust you in that regard more than you should trust me. The odds of you
gettin’ killed are way higher than me.”

I stared at her until another boom went off followed almost immediately by
another window shattering. “You’re gonna give me all kinds of
fuckin’ trouble, ain’t you?”

She grinned. “Trouble’s my middle name. Get in position.
I’ll wait until you’re behind him.” She pointed at the
barrier next to the stairs and I saw where she meant.

“Yeah, that’s where I thought I’d wait. I’ll let
you know when I’m ready.”

We stared at each other hard for a moment before she spoke.
“What’s your name, soldier?”

“Sergeant Michael Wilbanks. At least, that was my rank when I was
discharged.”

“Honorable?” She raised an eyebrow.

I rolled my eyes and pointed at my Army issue fatigues. “Of course.
Still wearin’ the uniform, ain’t I? Re-upped after my initial
tour. Not this time, though. Had enough of the killin’.”

She nodded. “Dr. Josephine Peyton, Captain, US Army. Or I was. You
can call me Jo. I got a four-six-one discharge for ‘inadequate
personality’ ‘cause I told a general touring our field hospital
to suck my dick when he said the men in my ward were sacrificed for the
greater good, then couldn’t tell me what the fucking greater good
was.”

I couldn’t contain my bark of laughter. “Promise me, when this
is over, you’ll let me take you out on a date.”

Josephine smirked. “Well, I guess that depends on whether
you’re able to take this guy down or not. I won’t go out with a
pussy.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

She shrugged. “If it gets this guy to stop shootin’ the place
up, take it however you like.”

Another boom broke the moment. People screamed all around us, but the only
person I saw was Jo and her pale blue eyes. Before I could think too much
about it, I leaned in and wrapped my hand around the back of her neck,
pulling her in for a hard kiss.

 

About the Author

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

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

 

 

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

Author on Facebook

 

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

 

 

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PREORDER BLITZ: Bear (Grim Road MC) by Marteeka Karland

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A Bones MC Romance

Grim Road MC, Book 5

 

Motorcycle Club Romance

Date Published: July 12, 2024

Publisher: Changeling Press


 

Olivia: I’ve been sent to infiltrate Grim Road — specifically
looking for any information to do with the man they call Bear. I
didn’t expect to jump into the man’s arms on the first try. I
also didn’t expect to feel an illogical sense of belonging and safety
when he whispered in my ear, “You’re safe.” My deception
will probably get me killed. I’m not a damsel in distress, at least
not how they think. But I think Bear knows I’m lying. He just
doesn’t seem to care.

Bear: Yeah, I know the girl’s lyin’. I also happen to believe
she has a good reason. If I can get her to trust me, then I can make her
demons disappear. But trust is hard-earned. Even if I earn hers, can I trust
her after she started out with lies? Do I really care if she’s lying
as long as she’s mine? Trouble’s following this girl. And
it’s headed straight to Grim Road.

 

WARNING: Bear includes scenes of graphic violence and adult situations
including those that may be triggers for some readers. There’s also a
protective hero, a determined heroine, and an eventual happy ending. No
cheating, as always.

 

EXCERPT

 

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2024 Marteeka Karland

 

Bear

I hated venturing out into the city. Always made me feel like there was a
target on my fucking back. My true identity was buried so deep even facial
recognition software couldn’t find me, but since I’d been in my
twenties, I’d spent my life running. The government saw to that.

What I thought was a service to help my country turned into a killing spree
on the order of genocide. I’d disobeyed my orders but ended up on a
Terminate with Extreme Prejudice list. Rocket, the closest person I had to a
friend, had brought me to Riviera Beach, Florida, where I’d taken up
with the motorcycle club, Grim Road. The club’s history was long and
distinguished in hiding men like me. I’d been here ever since.

It was nearly midnight on a Saturday. The streets weren’t exactly
teaming, but several bars were open, which was where most people were this
time of night. Some headed home. Others milled about enjoying the evening
air. It wasn’t cool by any means, but the night brought in a breeze
from the ocean that wasn’t stifled by the heat of the sun during the
day. This was my favorite part of the night.

“You lookin’ for somethin’ in particular or just
wishin’ you could go back and change your life choices?” Ringo,
our enforcer, sidled up next to me, handing me a beer.

“Thanks,” I said as I popped the top and took a long swig.
“Just thinkin’. Ain’t much for bein’ out of the
compound.”

“Oh, I know. Which is why I followed.” The other man gave me a
half smirk, half smile.

“Right. That, and Lemon probably told you to have my
back.”

He chuckled. “Little witch is certainly big on that kinda shit. But
no. You’ll be happy to know I did this all on my own.”

I gave him a side eye. “Really. You tryin’ to keep me honest?
Afraid I’m out to betray the club?”

Instantly, Ringo’s whole demeanor changed. “Hey, now. Jumping
to conclusions there, Bear?” Ringo raised an eyebrow. “Of all
the men in this club, you’d be the last one I’d accuse of
betraying the club or anyone in it. Fully expected Rocket to make you his
VP. I’d have supported that.”

I snorted. “No way in fuckin’ hell I want that job. Besides,
Lemon is much better suited.”

“Ain’t sayin’ she’s not. Just sayin’ I was
surprised when Rocket didn’t put your name in the hat for the job long
before Lemon came on the scene.”

The two of us headed down the sidewalk. Kind of felt like we were
patrolling the area. There were several bars and clubs here, and some of
them weren’t altogether safe. A couple times a week, I’d taken
to walking up and down the strip. I wouldn’t say I was looking for
trouble, but I wasn’t opposed to stopping trouble if it found me. The
self-imposed job got me out of the compound as well as extended some measure
of protection to the community which pleased the VP to no end. I
wouldn’t exactly call the city our community, but I got the impression
that’s what Lemon wanted it to be. Crush and Byte worked continually
to strengthen all our identity covers. Rocket wasn’t opposed, so I
took this as my due diligence. I was doing my part, however quietly, to set
an example to the other members. It’s how I did things.

“He offered.” I shrugged. “Not my thing.”

“Oh, really.” The bastard smirked and I wanted to beat the shit
outta him, but restrained myself. Barely. “Was that before or after
you corralled us all and put the idea of voting Lemon in as VP, or
after?”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna do it. Someone had to, and she was the
best choice. You look me in the eye and tell me who else in Grim would be
doing a better job than Lemon, and I’ll volunteer that
bastard.”

Ringo chuckled. “Right. I’ll get on that. But you have to
promise you’ll be the one to break the news to Lemon.”

I snorted. “Not on your fuckin’ life. Girl might be small and
young, but she’s vicious like no man I’ve ever met. You tell her
your own Goddamn self.”

We stared at each other a moment before Ringo’s lips twitched. Once
that happened, we both broke down into chuckles. Neither of us would be
suggesting a replacement for Lemon.

The conversation eased something inside me. Like I knew Ringo had my back
or something where always before I’d kind of felt like I was on my own
in the middle of a crowd. Yeah, I knew if I were really in trouble, outside
of a mission, I could count on my brothers. Always had. But it was different
now.

“Thanks, man. I think I needed that.”

“For what? The reminder that a little five-foot-nothing girl is
making a better vice president than you?”

I snorted. “No, dumbass. The laugh.”

Ringo grinned. “Wait till I tell Lemon you were wanting to replace
her.”

“Whoa. Not cool, bro. Besides, it was you who brought it up. And I
will totally throw you under the bus if you start that
bullshit.”

God, it felt good to banter with Ringo. I’d had that kind of
atmosphere a couple of times on jobs for the CIA, but it was never as
relaxed as it was now.

I took a deep breath and rolled my head on my shoulders, easing some of the
tension that always seemed to be there when I ventured too far from the
compound. It wasn’t that I was scared. It was more like I felt like
someone was watching. Just waiting to make a move.

I could handle myself in an ambush. Fuck knew I’d been in that
situation before and had come out on the other side. Worse for wear maybe,
but the other guys fared far, far worse. Always.

Ringo snorted. “Glad to be of service, brother.”

We continued down the street. The sound of people partying or generally
having a good time filled the night. Each time we passed a bar, the scent of
alcohol hit us. Occasionally someone would be smoking a joint or a cigarette
and those scents would blend in as well. Passing a strip joint brought the
cheap perfume into the mix.

I was about to suggest we go inside one of the strip clubs, just to pass
the time with something different when I spotted a woman making her way down
the sidewalk. Something about the way she moved was just that little bit
off. She glanced behind her, then straight ahead. She hesitated, then
continued moving.

“What’s goin’ on there?” I asked the question more
to myself than to Ringo, but the other man zeroed in on the woman
immediately.

“Not sure. Could be she’s just lost.”

“Right,” I agreed, though I wasn’t so sure. Something
about her posture wasn’t right. “Could be.”

“Uh-huh.”

We both continued forward but at a slower pace. Grim Road MC wasn’t a
secret club, per se. The club was known to the locals, just not where the
clubhouse was or who any of us were beyond our road names. To everyone
around us, we were simply another motorcycle club in the area around Palm
Beach. As such, we wore our colors proudly. So, when the girl got closer to
us, and we slowed down, we wanted her to know what we were.

I stopped while Ringo turned slowly around in a circle with his hands out,
letting her see the emblem on the back of his vest proclaiming him a member
of Grim Road.

She let loose a little sob and ran the rest of the way to us. To my
complete and utter shock, instead of stopping when she reached us, the girl
threw herself into my arms, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck.

And I’ll be Goddamned if my whole body didn’t come alive. Lust
I’d never even dreamed about punched me in the dick before sucking me
into its mouth and making me hard as a fucking pole. The scent of her was
like something out of a dream. Fresh spring flowers and a dash of cinnamon.
She was slender, but I could feel every single one of her slight curves
against my big body. She was so small I could easily wrap my arms all the
way around her with room to spare. Unfortunately, instead of moaning and
finding my mouth with hers, she trembled in my arms. I didn’t think it
was from desire. Her mouth at my ear was a sinful promise. Until she
spoke.

“Angela,” she whimpered. “I need Angela.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” I said loudly. “Missed you,
too.” I chuckled, swinging her around happily. What I was really doing
was putting my body between her and the two men I now saw following
her.

I didn’t acknowledge the men. Instead, I strode down the sidewalk
with her still in my arms. Ringo had my back. If he couldn’t
discourage the guys, I could get her far enough away she could get inside to
the relative safety of a bar or club. Then, I’d help Ringo help these
motherfuckers have themselves an accident.

When I rounded the corner with her, I set her on her feet, but kept hold of
her hand. Everything inside me rebelled at the separation. I wanted to pull
her solidly against me again but needed to make sure I had one hand free if
Ringo needed me. Stepping from behind the wall, I eyed Ringo. He stood where
I’d left him, but the men were already gone. Ringo took slow looks
around the area as he backed toward me. I gave a low whistle, and Ringo
turned and hurried in my direction.

“Get to the bikes.” Ringo’s order was delivered in a
crisp voice. “They didn’t keep following after you picked her
up. You spoke and they backed off. Still don’t want to take a
chance.”

“To Knox’s place?” I knew we couldn’t take her to
the compound. Not without precautions. If the guys had truly backed off, she
wasn’t in immediate danger. If they hadn’t, we’d
reevaluate when we spotted them.

Ringo nodded. “I’ll be on your six. Just gonna let Rocket know
what’s goin’ on and that we’ll call him when we know
more.”

I grunted, but tugged her with me and hurried to my bike.

 

About the Author

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

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

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@changelingpress

 

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