Don’t Fear the Reaper by Dahlia Rose #DarkFantasy #PNR #interracial @changelingpress

Don't Fear the Reaper (Dark Love 3)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

Calliope thought she knew death. She sees it every day in her job and feels it around her. Who knew when she called to that presence it would appear in the form of Arius?

The connection they make is almost instantaneous. She kisses him on impulse, but she falls in love with him because that’s how her heart works. Teaching a reaper about life might seem strange to others, but Calliope accepts the responsibility willingly. But at the end of their time, he will leave, and Calliope will be forever changed.

Arius’s destiny is to take the scythe of his father and become the Angel of Death. But the woman who can feel his presence piques his interest, and he gives in to curiosity. He thought he knew his purpose — that he was created to be a caretaker of the souls who cross over, and nothing more.

Being with Calliope changes everything and tips his world on its axis. Now he questions his destiny, especially when he longs to be with her. The short time they have together might not be enough, for when the bell tolls, the new Angel of Death must answer.

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Dahlia Rose

Calliope slept well knowing that she helped others on their journey, and she’d found her calling in life. She was intuitive, one of the gifts she’d honed growing up. She had gifts for empathy and healing, but nothing she knew could save her patients. When Calliope was at home, she knew in this world she was very alone.

But lately, she’d sensed something more, a change in the ether when one of her patients passed. There was a presence in the room, one she’d never felt before. It didn’t scare her. Far from it — Calliope was more curious than anything else.

That was, until she felt that same presence at her home. Now she was almost hesitant to open the door of her little flourmill house in McAddenville, Georgia. Usually when she got home she would eat and watch some television before taking care of her online class work. It was her way to de-stress and think about something other than death — and at night, she would sleep deeply until her sixth sense prodded her awake. That was when she knew something watched her in her house. Sage didn’t help, and neither did crystals at the door. None of the methods her aunt had taught her to keep her home cleansed did anything.

Either way, she followed her routine — shower, food, TV while her laptop sat in her lap — and tried not to think. Finally, the nightshift buzz wore down and she yawned. After setting things aside, she went to her bedroom and made sure no light would come through the shades. Thank God I’m off for the next two days, she thought as she climbed under her soft covers. Her weighted blanket was like a secure hug that made her feel comforted. From the time her head hit the pillow, Calliope was asleep.

And just like clockwork, a few hours later, her eyes popped open, sleep instantly gone. The presence was there. She could feel it ripple through the ether of the room. The air was thick with it, even as her central air ran silently.

Enough is enough, Calliope thought angrily, and she sat up in bed. “Show yourself. Why are you here?”

Silence. But still she felt it. Calliope closed her eyes, opened her senses and reached out. The quiet only irritated her more. Her sleep pattern was being affected and by God, she would have her answers.

“I feel you,” Calliope said as gently as possible as she got out of bed, hoping the new tactic would lead to results. “I don’t want to harm you. I just need to know why you’re here in my house.”

Zippo.

Calliope stomped her foot. “Answer me right now or I swear to all that is holy that I will get a herd of priests in here to exorcise your ass.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. The dimness of the room didn’t matter. It was there, close to the window. The air seemed to shimmer and fold in soft waves while Calliope held her breath. Did she really want to see what would appear in her bedroom? Her mind screamed run, but her feet wouldn’t move. She saw a body form from the feet to the shoulders, slowly. Calliope moved away and the backs of her knees hit the footboard of her bed. There was a head now and, hell, trying to run wasn’t an option for something that could appear at will. Instead, she scrambled back into bed until her back slammed against the headboard.

A man stood by her doorway now, and his dark eyes assessed her. He didn’t smile. His mouth was a firm line on a rugged jaw line that held a hint of stubble. He had dark curls that fell to the collar of his shirt. He wore all black down to the silk tie around his neck. Everything about him was dark including the look on his face, and her heart raced in fright and excitement all at once. She wasn’t crazy; there was someone… something there.

“Who are you?” Calliope asked.

“I thought you knew me. You sensed me, requested my presence, for your patients,” he answered. The tone was deep but soft and held a note of curiosity. “How is it that you can sense me?”

Calliope shrugged. “I can sense lots of things; it depends on who you are. I don’t recall you as a patient of mine.”

A small smile and then it was gone. “No, not a patient, but I have seen you with them.”

“A family member?” she asked.

“No.” He stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Then who?” Calliope asked in frustration “And how are you dead and talking to me?”

“Because I am death itself,” he answered. “Or one of them.”

She furrowed her brow. “You’re… you’re a grim reaper?”

“A reaper is fine,” he answered. “I don’t understand why grim was ever added to the title. To some, death is a blessing.”

“Holy shit,” Calliope breathed out.

 

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USA Today Best Selling author Dahlia Rose writes contemporary and paranormal romance with a hint of Caribbean spice. She was born and raised on a Caribbean island and now currently lives in Charlotte, NC with her five kids who she affectionately nicknamed “The children of the corn” and her biggest supporter/long time love. She has a love of erotica, dark fantasy, Sci-fi and the things that go bump in the night. Books and writing are her biggest passion and she hopes to open your imagination to the unknown between the pages of her books.

 

Their Perfect Sub by Megan Slayer #BDSM #NewRelease #DarkDesire #MultiplePartners #RomanceBooks @MeganSlayer @changelingpress

Their Perfect Sub (The Jordan Brothers 2)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: BDSM, Contemporary, 2nd Chance Romance,
Bisexual and More, Multiple Partners, Dark Desire

 

Clint Jordan has been the oddball in his family. He’s the oldest, but has no desire to run the family business. He’s in love with Ronan, despite his mother’s determination to find him a wife. Plus, he wants to share a sub with Ronan. Is there someone out there who can fit their needs and bring them together?

Zari’s running from a past that won’t go away. She needs stability and two men who will cherish her… while giving her a good paddling. When she meets Ronan and Clint, she’s convinced they’re meant to own her. Will these two committed men have space in their life for her?

Ronan got more than he bargained for when he became Clint’s lover. He’s not only with Clint, but he’s under the rule of the Jordan family. Once Zari enters the equation, he’s forced to admit his true feelings for Clint and accept what he needs from Zari. But things aren’t always the way they seem. Zari comes with baggage, and Clint’s determined to make the triad work. Will Ronan accept their terms or walk away?

 

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EXCERPT:

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Megan Slayer

“I hate waiting.” Clint Jordan sat on the edge of the sofa and debated how he wanted to present himself. He hated arguments with Ronan more than he detested waiting. A piece of his heart had ripped out when Ronan left. He wished they hadn’t shouted at each other. Ronan was his other half. Going to the office sucked without Ronan across the hallway. Moreover, he missed his sub.

Clint couldn’t sit still. He forced himself not to check the clock for the hundredth time. He didn’t regret taking part in the collaring ceremony with his brother Dashiell and Dash’s wife, Christy. The ceremony had been beautiful and sexy, and she’d only blown him while Dash fucked her.

But Clint hadn’t told Ronan about the ceremony.

Keeping quiet wasn’t smart, but not awful enough for him and Ronan to split. Christy would’ve been overwhelmed by having three cocks, and Dash wouldn’t have allowed Ronan to join in.

The door opened and Clint sat up straighter. He’d devoted the last two years to Ronan and needed him more than ever.

Ronan stepped into the living room. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He wanted to move, but damn it, he couldn’t shake the tension. “Sit down.”

Only Ronan could have him this off-balance.

Ronan sat opposite him and said nothing.

Clint wasn’t sure where to start. “Do you know why you weren’t included in the ceremony?” He owed Ronan a better explanation than none.

“Got right to the point, didn’t you?” Ronan sighed. He now had dark circles under his brown eyes. He looked tired. His black hair needed to be brushed and he should have run an iron over his shirt. He hadn’t shaved in at least two days, and the dusting of hairs on his cheeks and chin added to his appeal. He stole Clint’s breath.

“We need to sort this out,” Clint said. “This is the only way.” No one could ever say he wasn’t blunt.

“We do.” Ronan leaned back in his seat. “I hate fighting.” The collar of his shirt hid the silver chain he always wore — the collar Clint had given him.

“Likewise.” Clint exhaled and swept his gaze over Ronan again. He wanted to kiss his lover and prove everything was all right. He also wanted to know Ronan hadn’t removed the collar. “I hate you’re upset and hate I caused it.”

The muscle in Ronan’s jaw tightened. “I know.”

“The reason they didn’t include you and I didn’t invite you along was Christy. Think about it. Doing three guys is a lot for anyone to take. Sure, some can, and others would love it, but after what she’s been through — the shit at the club, the guys taking advantage and her worthless so-called family — I didn’t have the heart to push. Until Dash rescued her, she’d been treated like garbage. If we’d all been there, she’d have thought Dash was no different. That’s not fair.”

“So? It’s expected at the club.” Ronan folded his arms. “We’ve watched tests of the subs where they’re expected to do more than that.”

Clint knew this game. Ronan wanted to make him hurt, too. “Hold up. I’ve never passed you around, and when I collared you, it was just us,” Clint murmured.

“Everyone does the ceremony in their own fashion. You never had to prove anything to me.”

“I know.”

“Dash knew what he was doing, and he’d approved everything except the blowjob with Christy,” Clint said. “I was the witness.”

“You joined in.” Ronan’s eyes blazed.

“Because I was asked.”

“And you couldn’t have mentioned it to me? Oh, hey, my brother wants me to do his old lady because he wants to collar her. Do you mind?” Ronan growled. “I might have minded.”

“You said no chicks.” Clint leaned on his elbows. “Dash wanted you to be at the wedding. He’d planned on you being one of his attendants. It killed me to go alone.”

“Yet you flew right off to Vegas and left me here.” Ronan shook his head. “I would’ve stayed in the damn hotel room.”

“I not only invited you, but I expected you to come along. You decided you were too… I believe you said sick, to come.” Clint lowered his tone, despite his overwhelming desire to scream. Shouting never solved anything. “My brother asked for me to join in. It wasn’t a slight to you. I honored his wishes. If he’d have said he wanted me to do more than witness, I might have hesitated, and I would’ve told you.”

Ronan rubbed his forehead, then flicked his hair out of his eyes. “I know.”

Clint paused. Ronan had confused him. “Is that why you’re angry? Tell me the whole truth.”

 

More from Megan Slayer…

 

Something Wicked by Dahlia Rose #DarkFantasy #PNR #DarkDesire #Interracial @changelingpress

Something Wicked (Dark Love 2)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Dark Fantasy, Dark Desire, Paranormal, Interracial, Second Editions

 

Humans are marks in Locke’s ledger, nothing more, until he encounters the one woman he can’t tempt, can’t coerce and can’t get out of his head.

Paris Fairchild lives from one paycheck to the next, yet Locke’s never seen anyone happier with their life. Being a demon, Locke could spirit her anywhere, give her anything, but she wants to earn what she gets on her own, no easy way out.

Instead of walking away, Locke finds himself charmed by the young woman and after stealing a kiss he knows he wants to see the world through her eyes. For the first time in an eternity he sees something besides darkness in his future. But there will be a price to pay for falling in love and breaking his contract with hell. When the hounds of hell are set loose, can he withstand the gathering storm to have a forever with Paris by his side?

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Dahlia Rose

He walked in the shadows of the building. The city was ripe with sin, and he was all set to pluck the wayward fruit. Locke was the name he’d been known by for so many years he’d lost count. He frowned as he thought back. Sometimes he forgot the person he had been before. He’d given up everything, or was it nothing? Locke couldn’t remember. He knew it had been his choice to become this thing, this monster who preyed on souls. He was the strongest. He would survive while the others would be crushed.

Sirens wailing, couples arguing and fucking, the aroma of food, and the heat of the day seeping up from the cement brought his attention back to the present. Voices yelled in different languages. He understood them all. A man was trying to sell a tourist a knock-off purse. He talked as though he had little English knowledge, but knew exactly what people were saying. Locke shook his head in amusement when the guy talked the woman out of fifty dollars for a purse he claimed was authentic.

As he walked past a cafe, he took three steps back to look in the window. A waitress wiped her hair away from her face as she bussed a table, stacking dirty dishes on a big tray. She frowned as she picked up her two-dollar tip. When he looked at the table, he saw she was clearly under compensated. Without a doubt, she was the one. Locke saw a new soul to be reaped, one who clearly wanted more from life. He stepped in the Cafe La Paz and sat at a table.

Another waitress came over with a big smile, an appreciative look in her eyes.

“What can I get ya, sweetheart? I do mean anything,” she said in a breathy voice. He could smell the stink of her last cigarette on her breath. Nasty habit.

He pointed at his quarry. “You can get me… her.”

The waitress frowned and her eyes flashed with irritation before she called out, “Paris, your table.”

“Be right there.” The dark-skinned beauty glanced at him casually. Walking to the kitchen, she put away her tray. On her way back, she pulled a pad out of her apron pocket. “Good evening. Welcome to Cafe La Paz. Have you had a chance to look over the menu?”

Locke assessed her. She was pretty in a simple way. Her ebony skin had a sheen from hard work giving her the look of a polished statue made of wood. Her dark brown eyes were wide and her lashes shone like soft waves when she blinked. Her lips were full and colored with lip gloss. She was wearing her hair in a simple ponytail with soft curls in the back.

“Sir?” she prodded gently. “Something to drink?”

“Espresso,” he said. “The other one who smells like cigarettes called you Paris.”

“Yes, that’s my name,” Paris replied.

“I am Locke.” He placed his hand over his chest and bowed.

“Okay, and are you ready to order?” she asked, dismissing the introduction.

“What do you suggest?” Locke asked, amused by her businesslike attitude.

“The spinach crepes with hollandaise sauce is my favorite.”

“Then I’ll have that.”

She moved efficiently to get his coffee, and when it was ready, his meal. She checked in on him as he ate. Paris kept her distance, unlike her co-worker, who kept staring at him. Locke ate as if he enjoyed the food, but in reality every meal tasted the same to him. He didn’t need to eat, but did sometimes to blend in. The only thing that filtered through to his taste buds was the bitterness of espresso. He admitted he loved the taste of the dark brew. Even one like him had vices.

“Anything else?” Paris asked.

“No, I’ve gotten what I came for.”

She gave him a curious look before ripping the receipt off her notepad and placing it on the table with a smile. He was finished his assessment. He reached into his empty pocket and the money he thought of appeared beneath his fingertips. He pulled it out and placed it on the table before standing and walking out the door.

Paris rushed after him a few seconds later. “Sir! Sir!”

He turned. “Locke.”

“Sir.” She didn’t use his name. “You left one hundred dollars for a meal that cost twenty. Don’t you want your change?”

“No, that’s your tip,” Locke replied.

“Why?” Paris asked.

He liked her bluntness. “Because I think you deserve that, and much more.”

“Uh-huh,” she said warily. “I’m giving you notice now, creeps who follow me home usually get a burst of Mace in the face. No one does anything in this town for nothing.”

“It’s just a tip,” Locke assured her. “Goodnight, Paris.”

“Yeah, goodnight.” Paris turned and headed back into the cafe.

He’d made the first move. From there he played the scenario out in his head. She was fierce in her distrust but he sensed the goodness in her like a beacon reaching out. She would make the bosses very happy indeed. A soul like hers fetched a pretty penny in the depths of hell.

More from Dahlia Rose at Changeling Press …

Maybelle Summers and the Demons from Hell by Jonathan Wright #DarkDesire#DarkFantasy #PNR @changelingpress

Maybelle Summers and the Demons From Hell

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal, Dark Desire

 

Maybelle Summers is a hot honey blond with a heart of gold and notably bad taste in men. That golden heart prompts her to make another in a long line of bad decisions — to wit borrowing money from one Burdette Hunter, the local crime boss.

Enter Quill, an Incubus sent to seduce Maybelle into giving up her soul to Satan. But like Maybelle, Quill sometimes makes bad decisions — like falling for Maybelle. And claiming her — but not for Satan.

Fortunately Maybelle’s equally head over heals for Quill. All of which sets Maybelle on a course that will put Burdette, his collectors (Bad Bob, Bo Williams and Lark Conner), and even Satan himself on her trail. Unfortunately — for Satan — Maybelle’s not really quite as human as she thought she was.

Sometimes even Satan’s past can catch up with him…

 

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Jonathan Wright

Two a.m. in Hollow Glen. Owls and crickets and Bad Bob — one of Burdette Hunter’s bill collectors, 6’ 5” and nothing but nasty. He kicked in the door to Maybelle’s trailer.

Another man, tall and lean, but nowhere near Bad Bob’s 6’ 5”, hung back in the shadows, waiting near the door.

Bob grunted, stooping a bit to get in the door, “Okay, Maybelle, I come to collect.”

Maybelle was still awake because thinking about the inevitable — in this case Bad Bob or an equivalent permutation — made sleep impossible. Having just erased the simple chalk design on her kitchen table after putting away the five little pink birthday candles and fussing about the melted wax, she shrank back, trying not to be lush and sensual, failing badly.

I wish for a hero and I get nothing. Typical. A complete waste of a pentagonal. She quickly wished hives and bad breath on the person who’d sold her the “self help” pamphlet, figuring she’d get similar results. “What, it takes two of you to break my fingers?”

Bob glanced around, frowning. “What? Don’t play games, bitch. Look, Burdette don’t want me to break nothin’. He just wants to talk.” Bob grinned like a gator, all bad teeth and naked hunger. “He told me I get to make sure you got all your workin’ parts in order.”

Maybelle expected Bob had exaggerated the flexibility of his own authority somewhat. Then she glanced at the other man, who stood quietly, watching. Hard face. Hard body. Hard eyes. She thought he said something, low and menacing.

Frying pan or the fire? She snarled at Bob. “I don’t have the money. Went for doctor bills for Miss Elma, down at the end of the street.” The street being the end of the dirt path folks around here called a road. “The medicine probably saved her life.” Probably nothing, it had. Maybelle got some degree of satisfaction from that.

Bob smirked. “Don’t matter.”

Maybelle understood that better than a Nobel prize winning physicist understood gravity. Burdette wanted to fuck her, and own her, and not in a good way.

“Burdette says you can turn tricks. That body’s worth somethin’. Got to be sure, though.” He moved quicker than she expected and pinned her hot curves against the wall, which flexed alarmingly.

Sepulchral voice from the other. “So what’ll it be? Frying pan or the fire?”

Maybelle chose — having no choice — and screamed defiantly, “Fuck you!”

Bob would have laughed but instead sailed out the door. Hideous shapes snagged his screaming ass and disappeared into the night. His end did not bode well.

Maybelle gasped with shock, breathing heavily, heaving tits and flushed face. “What — what just happened?” She stared at the hard guy and trembled. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing you need to know. Maybe best if you don’t.”

Maybelle didn’t like the sound of that. “He didn’t see you.” She trembled before his penetrating stare.

“Wouldn’t have liked it much if he had.”

That made her shiver. Christ, exactly the kind of guy I want and don’t need. And like that, her nipples got hard and her cunt got hot and wet and she started to tremble.

“What’s your price?” she asked in her patented hot-honey voice that meant she wanted to be fucked right now and which only seemed to manifest at really inconvenient times like this.

He looked her up and down. She saw his cock get big and hard in his pants. Major myth, that guys got hard from just looking at women. But there he stood, hard as a rock.

She smelled his male musk, like a drug to her libido. Her voice dropped an octave, into a husky whisper. “So — so you want to — you want my — body?”

Still nothing, unless one counted the discernible tightening of his jaw and the way his eyes narrowed. His hands flexed, opening and closing like he would use them to mold her body to his will.

She shivered again. “Okay. Yeah…” She stripped, not from fear but because she had come close to something very like death and he had saved her and she wanted him to see her nude body and know he could have her if he wanted. Afraid, yes. Very afraid. But getting more and more aroused under his flat stare. Jesus, even his eyes are quiet.

When she stood nude before him, he touched her, almost reverently, hard hands gently but confidently tracing the map of her raging hunger, the hunger she hated for the crappy men it brought into her life. She closed her eyes and moaned, then silently cursed herself for a slut.

“Quiet,” he commanded. “This time I’ll judge your worth.”

… this time… That scared the shit out of her, and made her screaming hungry for his cock. She leaned back against the flimsy wall and moaned again, unable to move except as his hands commanded. “Who are you?” she gasped, already on the edge of unending ecstasy.

“The fire.” His voice went deeper, making her tremble. “Your wish was simple, so the payment is simple. I take you.”

 

More from Jonathan Wright at Changeling Press …

 

Along Came a Demon by Marteeka Karland #DarkDesire #NewRelease #SFR @changelingpress @marteekakarland

 

Along Came a Demon (Shadow Demons 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Marteeka Karland
Genres/Themes: Action Adventure, Sci-fi, Dark Desire,
Single Parent/Pregnancy Romance

 

A Shadow Demon, hell-bent on protecting his city…

Alexei Petrov has more money than he can ever spend in many lifetimes, but his life is more than glitz and glamour. Behind the scenes, Alex is part of an elite group working in the shadows, hunting down those who would prey on the most vulnerable in the city. Which is how he found the most desirable women he’s ever seen.

A young mother in fear for the life of her child…

Merrily fled with her daughter with death on her heels. She has no idea what her father has done, but he’s managed to throw her and little Bellarose into the middle of a war. Scared, hunted, Merrily gets caught in the crossfire of what looks like a gang war, but it’s something far more sinister. A desperate flight lands her in the arms of Alexie Petrov. Literally. And the man is everything she knows she can never have but wants with every fiber of her being.

Nowhere to hide…

Even tucked safely away in the home of the richest, most powerful man in the city of Rockwell, Merrily’s past finally catches up with her. Bellarose’s father has come calling, and hell is hot on his heels. Fleeing seems like her only option, but Alex is just as dangerous as anything headed her way. And far too seductive and possessive for her peace of mind. Though she knows he will only break her heart, Merrily can’t resist the lust that burns between them and soon finds herself more than infatuated with the man. Needing to prove her worth, Merrily knows she’s up for the challenge. Welcomes it. But just who are the demons in the night? And why does she welcome this one’s embrace?

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His Private Dancer (The Jordan Brothers) by Megan Slayer #BDSM #DarkDesire #RomanceBooks #eroticbooks @changelingpress @MeganSlayer

His Private Dancer (The Jordan Brothers 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: BDSM, Contemporary, 2nd Chance Romance, Dark Desires

 

I want what I want, no question — even her.

Dashiell “Dash” Jordan runs the city of Shaker with an iron fist. Whatever he wants, he gets — except the woman he craves, who hasn’t been available. He’s waited long enough, and nothing will stop him, not even her bastard ex-husband or her con artist father. But once Dash sets his sights on her, will she allow herself to be owned, or will she walk away a second time?

Christy Lane never loved anyone the way she did Dash. She knew the danger of being with him, but she didn’t care. Then Dash left her. She tried to put her life back together, but that life included marriage to a perpetual cheater, being thrown out of her father’s church, and working in the only job she can get — stripping. Then Dash reappears. The memories of their life together rush back — the scenes, the passion and craving. She doesn’t want to be a plaything, but he’s offering her the world. Will she allow him to own her or end their second chance before she’s hurt again?

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Megan Slayer

“Did you see this?” Tate Moore strolled into the office. “Dash?” He threw the newspaper on Dash’s desk. “I have found you a wife.”

Dashiell Jordan moved his tablet out of the way and accepted the newspaper. He needed a lot of things in his life, but not a wife — at least not a random woman to be his wife. He wanted his high-school sweetheart.

“Sir, you need to see her.” Tate pointed to one of the photos. “I bet she’d be a good wife.”

He turned the paper around and scanned the images. None of the women was his girl. He wasn’t even sure which one Tate meant and didn’t care. He knew where his woman was and when the time was right, he’d bring her home. “Why would you pick this one?” The woman was pretty enough, but not right. Her hair was too dark, her eyes were brown, and the smile didn’t match the one he remembered. Besides, she was way too young. “No, thanks.”

“Sir, you’re too picky.” Tate folded his arms. “I get it. You want the right woman, but you’re lonely and I’m tired of women who claim they’ve been with you… they come around and insist they’re your girlfriend. They think they should live here.”

“At the club?” Dash laughed. No one outside of his circle of close associates knew where he lived. He brought lovers to the hotel. Never to his home.

“Remember Sasha? She keeps stopping here. She thinks you’re together,” Tate said.

“I never slept with her.” He’d given the woman money and a place to stay because he’d felt sorry for her, but he hadn’t been attracted to Sasha.

“But she is telling everyone within earshot that she’s your girl. She says she’s a kept woman,” Tate said. “You have to set the record straight.”

“Jesus.” Being notorious meant he drew a certain type of people into his orbit, but this was too much. “Pay her tab, get her a ride, and make sure she gets home.” He couldn’t push too hard — not in this instance. Sasha struck him as the type to use the courts to get what she wanted — money. If he danced around her a little more, she might get the message. If not, he had other ways of getting rid of her.

“Is that it?”

He glared at Tate. “Yes.”

“Yes, sir.” Tate left the office.

God damn it. He hated how he’d been turned into a commodity. Sasha and the others didn’t love him. They loved the money and status he brought. They wanted the relative fame of being associated with him. They’d never be able to handle the danger or stress of his life. They’d want him to settle down and create a family. Not going to happen.

He sighed. The woman he wanted wasn’t far away, and once the paperwork went through, he’d have her in his arms. He longed to kiss her — not stolen kisses or hidden embraces. Not playing games in the dark or under the threat of being caught, but having her on his arm for a night out. Once he had her, he’d never let Christy go. He’d found her, but refused to demand her to become his woman.

His phone rang, jolting him from his thoughts. He read the identification screen. Clint, his brother. He tapped the button to retrieve the call and set the phone to speaker.

“Yes?”

“I hear you’re looking at buying the building on the north side of the Copa Room,” Clint said. “The Sandborn building?”

“Yes, I want to expand.” He turned the paper over without really looking at it, then flattened the page. He noticed the photos of exotic dancers in an advertisement for one of the clubs. The girls weren’t his type of woman, but he appreciated beauty. Maybe this week she’d be one of the featured dancers.

“Well, they want two hundred thousand, but because it’s vacant, we can talk them down,” Clint said. “A hundred-fifty thousand is more reasonable.”

“Why, if you know what to do and can get the price down, aren’t you negotiating? Clint, I’m one of your only clients.” None of the dancers caught his fancy, but he kept looking. He’d found proof Christy was stripping in one of the clubs, but hadn’t come across her yet. “Well? You should be in the business with me. We should be a team.”

“Because I don’t want to live with the danger. I like being legitimate,” Clint said. “But I’m already negotiating. They’re coming down on the price, so stay tuned.”

“Danger isn’t the only thing I live with.” He doubted Clint got death threats or was shot at on a regular basis. He turned the page of the paper. A slew of ads for strip clubs decorated the space. He looked over the images of the dancers for the one he wanted. There she was, right where he’d expected her to be — Chastity Lane at the X-Caliber Club. Time to visit. “Do you know the X-Caliber Club?”

“Dash.” Clint groaned. “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you? And no, I don’t. I’ve never been to a strip club. Father made sure my handlers didn’t take me to one. Why?”

“I heard nothing past a hundred-fifty thousand. If you can get the deal going, do it,” Dash said. “I’ve gone to a couple clubs, but not the X-Caliber.” He remembered how his father sheltered Dash’s oldest brother. Their father wanted Clint to stay clean and be the face of the family. Good for public relations, but bad because the family had never left the nightclub business. Clint had a head for real estate, but not running the string of entertainment hotspots.

“Who is she?” Clint asked. “I know it’s a chick.”

“Would you believe me if I said I found Christy?”

 

The Darkest Joy by Dahlia Rose #DarkFantasy #DarkDesire #PNR #interraciallove @changelingpress

The Darkest Joy (Dark Love 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Dark Desire, Dark Fantasy, Interracial, Paranormal

 

For Bliss, Caim would tear hell apart. To bring Caim to the light,
Bliss would sacrifice everything.

 

For a crime committed in the halls of heaven, Caim fell from grace to become one of the fallen. His punishment is to serve in the pits of the underworld as collector of the devil’s debts.

A thousand years in the servitude of demons is more than Caim can bear. Now he has a chance to be free and to find peace. He has found what he seeks most in the eyes and arms of Bliss Tadeo, a phlebotomist in a small town called Merry, North Carolina. With her eyes and her heart she has soothed the beast within Caim and given him a chance for redemption — if they can survive his ultimate escape from hell…

Publisher’s Note: The Darkest Joy (Dark Love 1) is an edited version of a previously published work by the same name.

 

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Dahlia Rose

So beautiful. He watched her smile as she strapped a piece of rubber around a patient’s bicep. The smile was brilliant, kindly and full of encouragement as she slipped a hollow needle into the vein. She murmured reassuring words to ease her patient’s fears. The lifeblood of the man began to fill the tube. Even from far away he could hear her every word. She talked about the weather, and asked about children, a conversation to take a person’s mind off what was happening and help them into a happy place. Finally she was done and then she flashed that glorious smile once more. Perfection.

No one could see him as he walked down the corridor behind her as he had done for weeks now. He watched her work and at night he sat outside her window and watched her sleep. Her beauty took his immortal breath away and the normalcy of her life gave him hope for himself. After thousands of years one mistake made him who he was now. Only redemption could free him from his immortal torment, his dungeon, his curse. He sat next to her, invisible, as she wrote up charts at her small desk, in her space, her sanctuary where she worked. He inhaled the scent of hair like it was a fine wine. The dark tresses smelled like honeysuckle and vanilla spice. He wanted to run his finger down the creamy chocolate shoulder that was exposed when she took off her lab coat. When she turned, her nose was just a breath away from his, yet she did not know it. Her breath caressed his lips. It had the scent of the strawberry soft chews she liked to snack on at her desk. He stared into eyes that were like liquid chocolate. Her lips were full and she wore gloss that had a slight color of gold. Pictures of family and friends were all around her, trinkets of her human life that she treasured. One picture she favored the most and she looked at it every day. She caressed the silver frame with the word grandmother in raised letters. He heard her speak of the woman frequently, saw them go out to lunch, and watched as she hugged her with affection and love. He longed for an emotional connection, a bond with another person that couldn’t be broken, he craved…

The call jarred him from his place next to her. It was like a sledgehammer to his head. He hated when this time came around, he hated being away from her. But if he did not go to his duties the repercussion would be great and by the time his punishment was over a hundred years would have passed and she would be long gone. A frown darkened his face as he moved away from her. He promised to return to no one but himself. The next time he would reveal himself to her slowly, letting her know the man before she knew the secret. Next time. Her name was Bliss. Bliss… Bliss… Bliss, he repeated the name over and over in his head. She would be his Bliss and his salvation.

He felt it in the fiber of his being. He closed his eyes and phased out of this world owned by humanity and into a world no one wanted to see. The walls of rock were dark with soot and the ground scorched the soles of shoes. As he walked, the heat caused the rubber to hiss as if you had dropped water into a hot frying pan. He hardened his heart to the screams of torment around him, the pleas for mercy or even a drink of water to quench eternal thirst. Had he shown any compassion the consequences would be dire for him and for the person whose plea he answered. No, it was better to pretend he did not see the bodies chained to the rock walls or hear the lashes from Qumuel’s whip against the flesh of his captives as he passed.

“What took you so long, Caim?” The snarl came from the demonic lips of Belial.

His face was almost flawless in its beauty but it belied the pure evil hiding underneath. There was no one more malevolent; more filled with hate and destruction than Belial. Caim had long stopped fearing him; he looked at him now with total disinterest.

He leaned his shoulder against the steaming rock wall; it burnt a hole through the fabric of his black shirt down to his skin. It burned his flesh but Caim did not even wince. Such was the life of a fallen angel in hell.

“So no answer?” Belial asked.

“Why should I give you excuses, Belial? You are not my master, you only dispense assignments. You are basically a secretary. And as soon as I was summoned I came.” Caim replied mildly. It gave him great pleasure to see the flaming anger turn red in the demon’s eyes.

“Your insolence will not be forgotten. One of these days my revenge will be swift.”

“Said the demon to the fallen angel who lives in hell with him.” Caim scoffed unconcerned. “Why was I summoned? Give me my assignment, secretary, and go back to making coffee.”

With a snarl reminiscent of a lion’s roar Belial was on his feet. His tail lashed the desk in front of him and spilt it in two. Black ooze flowed from the wood and talons sprouted from Belial’s hands. Gone was the perfect man. Now, the face of a demon was visible and pure in its hate.

Caim took battle stance. From his back, black wings ripped their way through the fabric of his shirt. In his hands appeared a black sword. If Belial wanted a fight he would give him one, feathers against scales.

More from Dahlia Rose at Changeling Press…