Firewalk With Me by Mychael Black #LGBTQ #DarkFantasy

Eight years ago, Kyle Stafford had everything a seventeen-year-old kid could want — the latest gadgets, the best clothes, the newest sports car, and a palatial home. A single lapse in judgment changed everything. Now he’s lucky if he eats once a day. Taking refuge in a small cave to avoid a torrential downpour, he’s hoping for a safe place to sleep. What he gets is far from restful… and definitely not safe.

Roen of House Vakeor takes his job as a guard very seriously. When his patrol leads him to one of the hidden portals to the humans’ side, he stumbles — quite literally — into a young human male sleeping right at his realm’s front door. Whether the human knows where the entrance is or not, Roen’s duty requires him to take the young man prisoner — back to House Vakeor.

Now Available at Changeling Press

Preorder at online booksellers for March 5th

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Mychael Black


Fuck.

Kyle Stafford huddled under the tattered awning of a decrepit old general store. Rain pounded the dirt, turning it into a lovely mass of mud. Kyle sighed. He couldn’t stay here. He needed sleep — desperately. The city shelters were too far away, and, honestly, he had no desire to go to any of them. The shelters were always overcrowded and stank of piss, body odor, and only God knew what else. No, he needed somewhere out here, a cave maybe.

The mountains loomed in front and behind him. Surely, he could find a small nook to take refuge in, at least until the rain stopped. He shivered and pulled his battered coat tighter around him. The poor thing was threadbare, but it still kept him reasonably warm. His stomach growled, and he glanced over his shoulder at the abandoned store. Nothing perishable, but maybe a can or two of something? He looked around, then picked up a broken piece of wood and finished busting an already half-broken window. Then he cautiously climbed in, wood still in hand. No telling what else decided to check out the place.

The inside seemed to have weathered time far better than the exterior. Most of the shelves, while empty, still stood in place. Judging by the various product signs hanging on the walls, the store wasn’t quite as old as the outside appeared. Thankfully, no creatures — animal or human — jumped out at him. Kyle scanned the aisles, but the place had been picked bare. He exited the same way he entered and figured his best bet stood straight ahead.

By the time he slogged through the rain and muck, he swore even his bones were utterly drenched. He ignored the cold ache sweeping up from his waterlogged feet and made his way to what appeared to be a small cave opening. It wasn’t big, but it was dry. Wood in hand, he explored it to the back, satisfied nothing else called it home. It wasn’t warm by any means, and even starting a fire the primitive way would be futile with the rain soaking every bit of wood outside.

Kyle found a relatively smooth spot and lay down. Hunger gnawed at him, but he could deal with that later. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to sleep. On his side, pillowing his head on his arm, he closed his eyes, feeling safer than he had in a long time.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Myc has been writing professionally since 2005, solo and with Shayne Carmichael. Genres include pretty much anything (no steampunk yet), though Myc is well known for paranormal stories. When not writing, Myc is usually playing PC games, reading, watching Netflix, and spending way too much time on Facebook. Since the question has come up in the past, pronouns are not an issue. Myc is bio-female, mentally male, and 100% genderfluid, so any pronoun works!

“Black’s work is poetic and haunting. Nobody can pull off smoldering sex alongside holler-deep, soulful characters like Mychael Black.” –Sara Jay

Caligo by Torri Heat #paranromalromance @TorriHeat @changelingpress

Cover Art by Bryan Keller

Ava’s stepped out of her own reality and into another world — a world where werewolves exist. She’s slowly coming to terms with Jasper and their mate bond, but now she has bigger problems. Whatever’s hunting the werewolves in her small town is still on the loose. Worse yet, her parents seem to have a vendetta against Jasper.

With Jasper’s help, Ava’s embracing her Venator heritage. Good thing she has a hot werewolf to teach her everything she needs to know about fighting. But will she be strong enough for what comes next?

Available Now at Changeling Press

Preorder for February 26th at online booksellers

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Torri Heat

This was fine. I was fine. I could handle werewolves. I could handle Venators. I could handle anything thrown at me. Right? Maybe not. “I’m sorry. What did you say?” I immediately recalled my mom’s snarky tone as she questioned me about mates.

Jasper sucked in a breath. “Well, werewolf mates are basically soulmates. But it’s a bit different because…”

I held my hand up, cutting him off before he could go any further. “Jasper, I’m a bit more concerned with the fact that you think we’re mates. And the fact you are only telling me now.” I sat up, covering myself with his blanket and stared at him. Mates? Us? He must be kidding.

Jasper laughed, but his voice sounded like it was shaking and I could tell he was nervous. “Hey, if you can think of a better way to tell someone you’ve just met they’re your soulmate, I’m all ears.”

His logic seemed understandable, but his reasoning didn’t stop my blood from rushing into my ears, and my pulse from racing. I knew my life had changed from the minute Jasper told me werewolves were real, but I hadn’t expected this. I clutched the blanket in one hand, and waved my other arm in agitation. “It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes any sense!”

Jasper put a soothing hand on my arm, but I shook him off. He looked hurt at my rejection, but I was too riled up to stop. “Hey, baby, relax. What doesn’t make sense?”

I ran my fingers through the rat’s nest of my hair in frustration. “All of it! Any of it!” I gestured towards his naked body, every inked muscle on full display, and then towards my covered self. “Look at you, and look at me! We don’t make sense. We’re nothing more than a fling, and I’m not even sure how that happened, to be completely honest.”

His gaze turned hard, and he roughly grabbed me by my shoulders. “Don’t. Don’t start that. Mates give us exactly what we need in a partner. What you lack, they give, and vice versa. I know you didn’t grow up with this shit, but I’m telling you whatever brought us together was done perfectly.” He tipped my face, forcing me to look up at him. “Besides, I’d still think you’re the most beautiful woman in any room, mates be damned.”

I couldn’t deny the inescapable pull he had on me. The way I felt desperate to be near him. “Is this why I felt like I knew you, even before we met?” Everything was starting to make sense in a way I wasn’t sure I wanted it to.

Jasper sighed. “Most likely. I tried to downplay the feeling before you could think too much about what all this meant. I didn’t think you would ever go for me at the time.” My breathing hitched, and I felt my pulse slow. Despite all my concerns and my overwhelming need for independence I couldn’t write off what Jasper was saying. He gently stroked my cheek, and I leaned into his touch.

He nodded, his gaze softening. “You feel it too, don’t you? The bond. It has a relaxing effect when we’re together, touching.”

I couldn’t disagree with him. But that didn’t mean I wanted to agree either. “I have questions.”

“I imagine you do.” Jasper’s face relaxed. God, he was so handsome it was distracting. His chiselled cheekbones and full lips were mere millimetres from me.

“I need complete honesty, if this is going to work. When did you first think I was your mate?”

“Well, that’s a tough question.” He grimaced, but I glared at him until he continued. “I saw a photo of you a few years ago, one of the times I met with your parents. I had a feeling, but I managed to convince myself that you can’t find your mate through a photograph. I forgot about it until that day I walked into the coffee shop and there you were. All the time we have spent together since then has reinforced my feelings. I wanted to be sure, and then I couldn’t figure out a way to tell you.”

I blinked, my mind reeling. “That’s why my mom told me to ask you about mates.”

Jasper looked surprised. “She did?”

I closed my eyes, nodding. “Uh huh. Putting two and two together now, I can only imagine she was hoping I would freak out and leave once I knew the truth.” My mom being so cruel was a tough reality to face. So many of these lies that Jasper was having to come clean about stemmed from my parents, not him. I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze. “Why are my parents so against us being together?”

He jumped out of bed, back turned to me as he started throwing his clothes back on. “People who know about wolves can be prejudiced towards us. Some think that a human and werewolf match goes against nature.” His voice was tight, and I could tell this wasn’t his favourite topic.

“Are my parents like that?” I asked.

Jasper stiffened, midway through pulling his shirt on. “Do you actually want to know the answer to that?”

Did I? Could his response be any worse than them lying to me my whole life, or them not believing in me? “Yes. I do.”

“Your parents are the ones who convinced me to not seek you out the moment I saw your photo. They asked me to stay away. For everything your parents have done for us, the idea of a human and werewolf match is still unacceptable.” He spoke without emotion, and I realized he was worried I might share my parents’ prejudices.

I slipped off the bed, wrapping my arms around him. “I don’t think like them, Jasper. You being a werewolf is only a part of who you are. It’s not the whole of it.”

Jasper turned in my arms, gaze offering a small glimmer of hope. “Do you mean that?”

“Absolutely. Even if my parents were in my good books right now, I don’t think I could ever think anything about us was unnatural. This whole mate thing does explain a lot of weird shit. But…”

His eyebrows shot so high they nearly reached the dark waves of his hairline. “But?”

“I want to do this my way.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Torri Heat has always loved control. Her mind was blown when she discovered she could control entire worlds through story writing. Throw some steamy romance in there, and it was pretty close to perfection. Torri loves dark heroes who ride off into the sunset on their motorcycles, fierce heroines who can fend for themselves, and a sprinkle of the paranormal to keep things interesting. When she’s not creating alternate realities you can find her managing her three ring circus of kids and animals.  

Forged in Dreams by Rebecca York #darkfantasy #paranormalromance @RebeccaYork43 @changelingpress

Cover Art by Angela Knight

Silversmith Megan Holder thinks she’s an ordinary woman, until she’s kidnapped by demonic creatures and learns she’s a key player in a desperate struggle over the fate of humanity. Her only hope of survival lies with werewolf Daniel Fenton, the man she’s growing to love. But can the two of them survive to fulfill the destiny ordained by the Norse gods?

Available Now at Changeling Press

Preorder for February 26th at online booksellers

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Rebecca York

Megan Holder’s eyes blinked open. One moment she was sound asleep in her own bed, but the next, she was somewhere else. Dark shapes flitted around her. At first, she couldn’t make out what they were. Then she realized naked men and women cavorted around her in a frantic dance. In that moment of clarity, she realized she was naked too, and a cold breeze was wafting over her, tightening her nipples. She lay on her back on a table in… a cave? At least, she could see a rock-hewn wall and flickering torches beyond the moving figures.

They danced without music, their wild gyrations making her dizzy. The performance was obscene with a lot of pelvic thrusting, men fingering their cocks and women playing with their breasts. This must be a dream. It couldn’t be real.

“Let me out of here!” Megan screamed, but no one came rushing to her aid. Had the words only been in her head? Realizing there would be no cavalry riding to her rescue, she fought to pull herself from sleep. But her will was no match for this place of evil. She remained where she was, in the grip of the nightmare. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Yet all the emotions it generated were real. Fear and humiliation threatened to swallow her whole, and she clung to her sanity by her fingernails.

Ugly faces pressed in around her, some with bulbous noses, red eyes, and rotted teeth. Their breath held an awful stench, and she turned her head away, only to find another apparition staring at her. They were focused on her tightened nipples or her pubis, making crude remarks about her body.

“Like those titties?”

“Not very big. I want a nice handful to squeeze.”

“But she looks like she’s turned on.”

“Oh yeah,” somebody shouted in agreement.

The obscene comments and the hot gazes made her skin prickle as though insects were crawling over her body.

Desperate to escape, Megan closed her eyes, again willing herself back to her bed. But it was no good.

To her horror, the tone of their words changed to a suffocating eagerness.

“Maybe it’s time to do the deed with her.”

“No. The spell isn’t strong enough yet.”

“How do you know?”

“She’s here. But she’s not here.”

“Let’s see.”

One of the monsters reached toward her, and she cringed back. But before the grasping fingers could connect with her breast, the hand was viciously slapped away.

A command rang out. “Stop it, you fools.”

All the dancers went still, turning to a robed figure who stood among them. He was tall. Probably a man, but a hood dipped low over his face, and she couldn’t see his features. Still, his voice sent a shiver over her skin. “Not yet. We are on the cusp, but the timing must be right.”

It was all too much. The dancers had frightened and disgusted her. This newcomer was something more — an engine of terror. Fear of him tipped her over the edge. Putting out a tremendous effort, she struggled to yank her mind from the terrible dream…

Megan’s eyes snapped open, and she looked wildly around. Thank the Gods! She was back in the familiar bedroom in the little home and workshop she was renting in St. Stephens, a small town on Maryland’s eastern shore. Relief felt like the warmth of a blazing fire after a trip through a freezing hell.

No longer naked, she lay in a tangle of covers, dressed in the T-shirt and briefs she’d worn to bed. Pressing into the sheets, she hugged her arms around her shoulders, fighting to banish the remnants of the nightmare. She’d had this frightening dream before in the past few weeks. Each time it seemed stronger, longer, more vivid. More real.

Was she going insane?

Megan looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was five-twenty. Too early to get up, but the idea of going back to sleep now made her shudder.

Damn. She had a business appointment today with a local merchant who had asked for more of her one-of-a-kind silver rings, pendants, and other pieces. She wanted to be at her best when she met with him. Good luck with that.

Swinging her legs out of bed, she pulled on her robe before marching into the combination kitchen and living room of her little house. Her father had said she’d be safe here when he’d practically banished her. But safe from what? Too bad he hadn’t been more specific.

She gritted her teeth in frustration. Were the dreams the real danger?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

New York Times and USA Today Best-Selling Author Rebecca York began her career as a journalist writing articles for newspapers and magazines, but after several years decided to try writing fiction. She’s a highly successful author of over 50 romantic suspense and paranormal novels and is the head of the Columbia Writers Workshop. Her many awards include two Rita finalist books. She has two Career Achievement awards from Romantic Times: for Series Romantic Suspense and for Series Romantic Mystery. Her Peregrine Connection series won a Lifetime Achievement Award for Romantic Suspense Series. She collects rocks, and enjoys cooking, walking, reading, gardening, travel, and Mozart operas.

Merlin’s Legacy Vol. 2 (paperback) by Angela Knight #DarkFantasy @AngelaKnight

Aliens, vampire Knights of the Round Table, and a wolf in her Burning Moon. Love can be complicated.

Master of Passion: When blue-skinned aliens try to kidnap combat news cameraman Adam Parker, the attempt is foiled by a sword-swinging Knight of the Round Table and his witch partner. However once the vampire knight removes his helmet, Adam realizes Sir Baldulf is the father who abandoned him and his mother. Ulf swears he and Opal Cassidy are Adam’s only hope of survival, but Adam wants nothing to do with either of them. Opal doesn’t want anything to do with the handsome, cynical mortal, either. But orders are orders, so seduction it is.

Master of Honor: Cheryl Parker thought she was an ordinary woman — a nurse, a mother, a single parent. Now an alien spirit who has made her immortal. And not only is her ex back, he’s really Sir Baldulf, a vampire Knight of the Round Table. The good news is, he still loves Cheryl. The bad news is, he thinks the creature inhabiting her is a potential threat to humanity. The worst news is, there is a threat — and it could well kill them all.

Master of Desire: Half-Sidhe billionaire Conal Donovan’s rich people problems include his ex, evil Fairy goddess Siobhan, who sends a team of werewolf terrorists kill his family. He’s rescued by Helena Baker, African American, former FBI agent, and wolf-shifter, who’s best friend is a gun inhabited by a retired death god, so she can handle werewolves. She’s less sure about the handsome white guy with the talking phoenix and the relentless commitment to protecting his sisters. Especially considering that she’s in her Burning Moon — the werewolf version of heat. Her pheromones make Conal just as interested in her as she is in him. But is their growing love real? And what will happen when the hormones wear off?

Get it at Amazon

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Angela Knight
Excerpt from Master of Desire

“I’m hungry.”

“You just ate. Last week you had two Fomorians and a troll.” Helena Baker turned the page, trying to concentrate on her romance novel. The roses that covered the arched wooden arbor cast cool, sweet-smelling shade over the pages. Maeve’s palace was surrounded by glorious gardens, and the arbor’s cushioned wooden bench was her favorite spot to enjoy them.

She glanced up from her book. The palace looming over the trees was breathtaking in its fluid Sidhe architecture, white marble blazing in the golden afternoon sunlight. I’m living in a Fairy tale. When she remembered she used to be an FBI agent, it was enough to give her psychic whiplash.

“That was last week. I’m hungry now.”

“What you are is bored.” Why wouldn’t he shut up? She was almost at the good part. Sexy, threatening Daegan was about to dominate Gideon. These days reading a BDSM romance was the closest she came to getting any. And she needed some. So, so bad. Her Burning Moon hormones were driving her insane. Swear to God, it gets worse every year.

“But it’s your job to provide for me.” His voice was way too close to a whine.

“My ‘job’ to keep you from killing people.” Turning the page, she glared down at him. “Would you please let me read my book in peace? Or do I need to put you in the Box?”

“All right, all right! You get so bitchy this time of year.” His tone brightened. “Maybe we could release some of that pent-up aggression by hunting a serial killer. Remember that DCN piece about those murders in…”

She held up one finger, frowning. “Hear that?”

“What?” Liam said.

“It’s the Box, calling your name.”

“But…”

“That’s it!” Helena picked up the Desert Eagle and started to stuff him into the enchanted holster on her belt. “You’re getting quality time in the gun safe.” An hour in the Box would shut him up and give her a little privacy for a foursome with Daegan, Gideon and her new vibrator.

Liam promptly turned into a rocket launcher. She almost dropped him before she managed to get a good grip again. “The hell? You trying to shoot me in the head?”

“Of course not.” Lacking vocal cords — or a mouth, for that matter — he had to use magic to generate speech. “You’re my priestess.”

“For the last time, I’m not your damn priestess. I’m your keeper, and my job is to make sure you don’t kill anyone who doesn’t deserve to die. If I weren’t immune to magic, you’d be trying to convince me to shoot myself.”

“I’d never do that. You’re the best priestess I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, in the sense I’m the only one you haven’t managed to kill. Yet.”

“I am a death deity.”

“A retired death deity. You swore to obey me, Liam. Change. Back.”

“Fine. Keep your flea collar on!” Sparks exploded, leaving behind a very ladylike Smith & Wesson with a pink grip.

Helena glared down at him. “Now you’re just being insulting.”

“Helena?” Maeve’s voice rang out over the garden, sharp and urgent. “Where are you?” Normally the Mother of Fairies could sense anyone on the palace grounds, but her magic rolled off Helena like water off a mallard.

Helena’s head snapped up as she rose from the bench, gun in hand. “Here! What’s wrong?”

“Werewolves have captured Conal Donovan.”

Liam cursed in a language that had been dead since the last ice age. Thrusting him into his belt holster, Helena leaped into a dead run. “Coming!” Conal Donovan might be a Changeling — half human, half Sidhe — but he’d also saved the life of Maeve’s granddaughter at considerable risk to his own. That was the kind of debt the Mother of Fairies took seriously. Since the goddess’s magic had no effect on werewolves, rescuing him would fall to Helena.

Maeve rounded a topiary unicorn and strode between towering mounds of Mageverse blooms toward Helena. Six feet, six inches of sculpted, regal beauty, the goddess radiated power like a storm front. Gleaming green hair fell around her shoulders, pulled back and bound with thin braids to reveal the elegant points of her ears. An emerald-green leather vest hugged her full breasts and bared powerful biceps, while matching leather pants and thigh-high boots made her muscled legs look even longer.

She was every bit the badass she looked, which was why the grim look on her face made Helena’s blood run cold. “What happened?”

“A team of werewolves broke into Conal’s house.” Maeve’s voice was clipped and crisp, but her peridot eyes held worry. “Essus was injured in the fight, but he managed to open a link to me. He says he can hear Conal screaming.” Her mouth tightened. “They’re torturing him.”

How many wolves?” Helena thrust away the memory of blowtorch pain as fangs ripped into her belly. Looking down to see a coil of something red…

“At least ten. But there’s worse news.” Her jaw flexed. “I tried to open a gate and couldn’t.”

“Siobhan,” Liam spat. The magical geas that bound Maeve and her daughter insured neither could use magic in anything directly involving the other. It was a devil’s bargain from Maeve’s point of view, but she’d have agreed to worse to save her granddaughter. Otherwise Siobhan would have killed the little girl despite Conal’s efforts to save her.

Unfortunately, the geas did nothing to protect Conal, which was apparently why Siobhan had gone after him. She had an uncanny instinct for the best way to hurt her mother. But why now? Helena wondered. It had been thirty years, for God’s sake. Figure it out after you save the hostage. “We’ll take care of it. Where’s Conal now?”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Angela Knight’s romance writing career began in 1996, when she realized her dream of romance publication with Red Sage’s Secrets anthology. She is a New York Times best-selling author of more than fifty novels, novellas, and ebooks, including the Mageverse and Time Hunters series. Her career spans twenty plus years. Romantic Times Bookclub Magazine gave her a Career Achievement award in Paranormal Romance, as well as two Reviewers’ Choice awards for best erotic romance and best werewolf romance.

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

A Happy Effin Valentine by Stephanie Burke #RomCom #DarkFantasy @FlashyCat @changelingpress

Masataka is a shape-shifting neko who makes the unfortunate mistake of picking up a stunning kitsune at a bar and taking her home for the night. How was he to know it was her wedding day? Or that her chosen mate was a nine-tailed kitsune of great distinction and power? Masa’s punishment is to be banished to Earth, stuck in his cat form until someone wishes for him to stay.

If it weren’t for bad luck, Effin wouldn’t have any luck at all. It’s Valentine’s Day, a day supposed to symbolize love and romance. Instead, it’s the worst day of Effin’s life. Whatever could go wrong, does. Abandoned in the middle of nowhere, Effin finds a homeless kitty. Charmed, she takes the cute, furry creature home.

It just so happens that the pretty kitty is actually Masataka, that lucky, lusty, shape-shifting neko. Suddenly, bad dates, worse clothes, and the sister from hell are a thing of the past.

Effin is the woman of Masataka’s dreams. Effin’s not so sure. It’s up to Masataka to convince Effin to believe in the staying power of love… and in her sexy lucky charm.

Available Now at Changeling Press

preorder for February 5th at online booksellers

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Stephanie Burke

Effin was not having a good day.

In fact, not since Vesuvius had erupted and tons of hot volcanic ash had descended upon the denizens of Pompeii had anyone had a bad day like this. Come to think of it, bad was too minor a word. Her day had been vile, loathsome, horrid, terrifying, disgusting, and monstrously illogical.

And it all started on February thirteenth — Friday, February 13th, when Effin Damnwell Hurtzs opened her mouth.

Her mother had always warned her to think before she spoke, a trait she lacked, and a tendency she shared with her mother. “That little pink thing in your mouth is going to get you into a world of trouble, Effin.” Her mother sighed, shaking her head as if she knew that trouble for her eldest daughter was inevitable.

Hell, she was born during a leap year! Double hell, if Effin’d had any luck at all, Trouble would have been her middle name.

She came upon her unusual moniker by accident. When her mother, doped up with painkillers and sedatives, was asked two different questions at the same time after a forty-three hour labor, this was the result:

Her father: “How does it feel?”

The medical receptionist: “What shall we name this beauty?”

Her mother’s response: “It effin damn-well hurts, you bastard!”

Her father had finally learned to keep the pink thing in his mouth still, especially after his loving wife ripped out a handful of chest hair.

The medical receptionist had sniffed: “You don’t have to be so mean about it! I heard you just fine!”

Her mother: “What?”

The result: A tiny, beautiful little chocolate baby girl stuck with a name that would ensure future school fights and taunting for a lifetime.

And now, how Effin wished she had taken her mother’s advice to heart, especially after she recalled how she’d got her name. But no! Effin Damnwell Hurtzs had to challenge fate and miscellaneous creatures by loudly declaring, “There are no such things as gremlins!” when her best friend confided that she was being plagued by a goodly tribe of them.

And what’s even worse, she made her declaration on Friday, February 13th, black Friday, the unluckiest day of the year.

After ignoring her best friend Christa’s horrified stare, she went home, had a nice mug of cocoa laced with a liberal shot of Cask & Cream Caramel Temptation, indulged in a nice hot bath, and retired to her boudoir to dream wonderful dreams of the blind date Christa had set her up with.

According to Christa, her date, Buster, was a CPA with an MBA and drove a BMW. The brother was supposed to be fine as hell, independent, didn’t live with his mother, had a lucrative job that ensured he wouldn’t be hitting her up for loans, and had impeccable social skills. That meant he had proper pronunciation and would say shrimp instead of scrimps, would chew with his mouth closed, would not brag about himself, and she would not suddenly determine that his ethnicity was actually Russian or Roman from the speed and accuracy of octopus hands.

Yes, Effin went to sleep with a smile on her face, her tummy warm and full, feeling sated and altogether pleased with herself.

Life was good, and tomorrow, Valentine’s Day, it would only get better.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Stephanie 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.

Animal Instinct (box set) by Amanda Steiger #LGBTQ #paranormalromance @changelingpress

Sometimes the shape of desire isn’t human. While shifter desires are dark and intense, humans can be fragile, but adventurous.

Runaway: Werewolf lovers on the run, Keith and Taylor must fight for their lives and their freedom.

Eyes of the Wolf: Kaila would do anything to save her people, even give herself to the barbarian leader of the Wolf Clan…

Wolf’s Promise: Ashrin knows Shana is his mate, and he’ll do whatever it takes to be with the woman he loves.

Half-Blood: A half-human shifter can’t afford to trust anyone. Yet Haden must find a mate or die.

Dante Burning: Love between humans and shifters is complicated… and wild.

Publisher’s Note: Animal Instinct (Box Set) contains the previously published novellas Runaway, Eyes of the Wolf, Wolf’s Promise, Half-Blood, and Dante Burning.

Get it at Changeling Press

Praise for Runaway

“This is a very good story to add to anyone’s werewolf collection.”–Lydia, Rainbow Reviews “Ms. Steiger has created a fast paced story that drew me in from the start. Her descriptive writing brings the story to life for the reader. The growing love between Taylor and Keith is very beautiful. Thanks go to Ms. Steiger for a wonderful story.”4 Angels! — Teresa, Fallen Angel Reviews

Praise for Eyes of the Wolf

“…lust and love was just the beginning of what these two strong and incredible leaders will have to face.”–Margo Arthur, The Romance Studio

Praise for Wolf’s Promise

“I enjoyed every page of Wolf’s Promise… an intense and enjoyable voyage into a fantasy world of virgins and demons.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Amanda Steiger has lived in the Midwest her whole life, though she enjoys regular visits to other galaxies and dimensions in her mind. She enjoys cold weather, daydreaming, supernatural romance, and anime. She lives with her family and one very spoiled little dog. You can contact her at sekuiro@gmail.com.

BOOK REVIEW: Wicked Blaze Correctional (The Wronged Series #1) by M. Sinclair #ReverseHarem #FantasyRomance

49444511. sy475

Add to Goodreads

Wicked Blaze Correctional. The home to the most dangerous criminals of each realm. A private correctional institution that had to be placed on a separate realm because of the threat the inmates posed. Drake had sent me here, to ruin me. To destroy me and any memory of his egregious act that could incriminate him for being the homicidal maniac he was.

What he hadn’t counted on? Me. He hadn’t counted on my strength and my magic rising up to become the scariest damn thing in this place.

It helped that I had a human by my side that showed up to breakfast every morning covered in blood. I should probably ask Dimitri what that was about one of these days. Don’t forget Milo! An Ink Mage with the nifty ability to not only interpret dreams but to change them, as well as reality itself. Did I mention he was absolutely mental, maybe it was because of the insomnia? I don’t know what to tell them about one of the lead guards, Vaughn, who keeps claiming I am his ‘mate’ and promising to get me out. Or how to explain the odd feeling I have about the new inmate that just showed up, seeming a bit too sweet for this place.

There is something changing in the air though, something different than what has been going on the past six months, so what has been changing? Maybe it’s the magic eater that keeps floating by my cell every morning? I didn’t care what the change was as long as I got out. I had a witch to kill and I wasn’t going to be able to put Drake in the ground from here.

Welcome to Wicked Blaze Correctional – Book 1 of the Wronged Series. This trilogy will be a fast burn reverse harem filled with dark subject matters, a strong FMC, and insane men. This institution isn’t like any correctional facility you’ve read about before. It’s brutal, cutthroat, and there are no rules except that you can’t leave until your sentence is done… which is never. Follow Valentina and her men on a journey filled with revenge, steam, and strong characters that don’t fit the norm of society. A bit crazy? That is just normal.

This Fantasy medium/fast burn RH contains several dark themes that readers should be aware of: swearing (I know surprising, right?), gore, violence, assault, and sexual themes suitable for +18. Additionally, this book does have a mature light m/m themes that develop over time. 

Get it at Amazon

MY REVIEW

5 stars!

For fans of dark reverse harem romances, with a fantasy bent and a bit of humor, this book is a must-read!

A druid wrongly accused does what she must to survive. Valentina is a strong character with a lot of personality – and more than a bit of anger. She’s powerful, but isn’t until later in the book that she realizes just how much power she holds. I found myself not only rooting for her to have a happily-ever-after, but I also found myself eager to watch her punish those who stood against her. She’s the perfect blend of innocent and psycho.

Her “harem” of men are no less exceptional. Even the “human” is a serial killer who only takes out those who hurt his Valentina. With shifters, fae, and a magic eater who seems to be something more, you’ll find yourself falling for each of these heroes. They all bring a uniqueness to the story, and yet their personalities blend rather well together.

Action, intrigue, magical powers and so much more fill the pages of this book. And yes, there’s hot sex too. But be warned… there is a cliffhanger, and you’ll be so entrenched in this world, you’ll have no choice but to go download the next installment — because if you’re like me, you’ll have to know what happens next!

Two thumbs up. Five stars. And a 10 out of 10.

Amazing book! Couldn’t put it down.

*Disclaimer: The review above is only my opinion. Neither the publisher nor author requested a review. I downloaded a copy from Amazon.

A Naughty Creation (Fairview Chronicles 6) by Alexa Piper #paranormalromance @ProwlingPiper

A Naughty Creation (Fairview Chronicles 6)

Aife has been pulled out of her own time into the present day, and is struggling with a strange new world she can hardly comprehend. The only constant that she knows, the only person that can even being to understand her, is Myrtis. Yet Myrtis is a vampire who hides his true feelings all too easily.

Myrtis knows loneliness and has sought it out. He knows the pain of love and loss even better. He swore to Aife that he would help her fit into this time. Loving her wasn’t what he anticipated when he met the druid, but it isn’t a feeling he will deny.

Elsewhere in the city, a creature brought back from the dead is longing for his freedom from the necromacress who reanimated him. Draining a druid’s power might just be the way to accomplish that, and so the creature sets out to become free, because alive simply isn’t enough.

Changeling: https://bit.ly/2WQ7wkY

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3oS0ZlN

Kobo: https://bit.ly/3gQr41A

Apple: https://apple.co/385dLqh

Barnes & Noble: https://bit.ly/3oQlOhe

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Alexa Piper

Aife paced through the midnight dark house, her bare feet hardly making a sound on the clean, smooth floor. There were a few lamps on, which was one of the new words she had learned since she had been dragged forward in time not two months ago. She now lived with a vampire in a townhouse and still had to get used to wearing jeans and drinking coffee. Focusing on the words helped, because more often than not, the things themselves were just too strange to comprehend, and Aife had thought more than once that her ignorance and stoic acceptance of them was easier than asking about the strangeness, never mind that Myrtis was always willing to explain whatever Aife did choose to ask with that unnatural patience he had.

Aife walked into the kitchen, her eyes drifting over to the refrigerator and the coffee machine on the counter. If she just focused on the words for these things rather than the things themselves, her head was often busy enough to not remember the life she had been dragged away from when a powerful spell had pulled her to the here and now. Focused on the words, she almost didn’t remember that her sister was long dead, and she almost forgot to imagine how hard it would have been for her sister, taking over the role of druid after Aife had just vanished, and her knowledge with her.

Tears were rolling down Aife’s cheek, and she quickly brushed them away.

“You are a night owl,” Myrtis said from the entrance to the kitchen. His blue eyes caught some of the faint light, which also shimmered down the length of his straight, black hair. His dark face, unusually matched with the brightness of his eyes, was void of expression. Myrtis had approached silently, because there were very few things Myrtis didn’t do in complete silence. Aife had thought she’d gotten used to it several times, but then Myrtis had made her jump, and she’d realized that the vampire still had the better of her.

Aife wiped her face with her hand before she turned fully toward him. “What is night owl?” she said, carefully following the sounds she’d heard.

“A person who likes being up at night. The word has two parts, night and owl.” He added the word for owl in her native tongue, a tongue that had died as Myrtis had explained, just like everything else Aife had known. It lived only between her and the ancient vampire now, and Aife was learning to think in English.

Night owl,” she said, tracing the feeling the word left in her mouth once more.

“Correct. Would you like some company, little night owl?” He stepped into the kitchen, though not in a way that felt oppressive. He also was no longer standing in the door, so if Aife wanted, she could just leave.

“I was crying, and you interrupted me,” Aife said, in her own language once more. With time, she had dropped some of the formality and was now addressing him as she might a friend.

The tall vampire’s bright eyes in his dark face shone as he took a step closer to Aife, though the fringe of his hair partially muted the intensity of his gaze tonight. Even without the silence and the vampiric strength, Myrtis was striking.

“I interrupted your crying in loneliness, Aife,” he said in that same, long-dead language, using a familiar address as well. “And I offer you my shoulder for all further tears you wish to shed.”

He got like that sometimes, and Aife wasn’t yet sure if she should send him off and tell him to keep his own company for presuming she desired his, or if she should just soak his beautiful clothing through with all her tears. She had never yet dared the latter, because the clothes of this age were all finespun stuff, finer than even the best weavers Aife knew could ever have hoped to produce. They were too fine for a simple druid like her, who had failed her people by leaving them, to suddenly own so many of them. Or that was what she told herself.

“Perhaps we can read a little,” Aife said, switching back to English. The way people lived now, the way they dressed… Yes, that was strange. It was downright foreign even, but reading fascinated Aife. The way a thought could jump from one head to the other through time and space by just those few lines on paper or even a screen — that was magic, just like the kennings Aife had learned ever since she’d been big enough for her mother to teach her the magic. Reading brought a rush like divining from the bronze rods did, the ones Aife used to use for her scrying and fortune-telling. Except the words caught like ghost thoughts on the paper held a different fascination for her. She had loved and was loving every minute of learning the skill of reading and writing.

“Certainly,” Myrtis said. He stepped aside and held an arm out for her to walk ahead of him. He had explained to her this was respectful and a show of good manners, and Aife had wrestled down the unease. Myrtis was a vampire still, and she had grown up with warnings to be mindful of turning her back to someone like him.

They read in a small room with glass walls on three sides. Myrtis had told her that it was one of the many charming oddities of the house. It wasn’t a proper winter garden, because it was too small, he had explained. Myrtis had called it a slice of a winter garden. It was just big enough for the couch and plants in pots sitting on the tiled floor or hanging suspended from the ceiling.

Aife sat and pulled her legs up on the couch while Myrtis reached for a book from the pile on the floor at his side. He turned on the reading lamp behind them, and Aife blinked at the sudden brightness. When the bright spots cleared out of her vision, she found that Myrtis had stilled completely, his gaze focused on her.

“What?” she said.

“You remind me of someone sometimes.”

“Is that… good?” She had to ask, because Myrtis hardly bothered to let emotions show on his face.

“Yes,” he said after a pause, but didn’t elaborate. “Here. Somewhere Beneath the Stars. Not easy, but worth the effort.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Alexa Piper writes steamy romance that ranges from light to dark, from straight to queer. She’s also a coffee addict. She loves writing series, and her Fairview Chronicles follow a ragtag gang of supernaturals who try to make their city safer. Mostly. Her second series, Dusk & Dawn, explores banter and the trappings of a world in which Vampires, Werewolves, and the Fae live alongside humans.

Website: www.alexapiper.com
Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/gRJq3T
Facebook author page: https://www.facebook.com/AlexaPiperWrites/
Fb group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/255026848996374/?source_id=106711636486332

Twitter: @ProwlingPiper
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/piperthewriter/

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/alexa-piper

The Bear (Wild Hunt) by Stephanie Burke #shifters #GayRomance @FlashyCat

After observing the mistakes made by his fellow Huntsmen, Arcas, the Bear, refuses to follow their example. He immediately claims his mate, a descendant of the cat goddess Bastet. Their pairing will be powerful and his mate is courageous, wise, and sexy as hell. Too bad they have to bring down the remnants of a murderous cult and stop a demonic disaster from being let loose on the world.

Marshal is no fool. From the moment they met, he has been drawn to the red-haired Bear. He didn’t think world ending events would ensue to make their developing relationship a bit more difficult to navigate. But now The Hunt was on the move and nothing would stop them from achieving their goals: rescue Kern’s mate and save the world.

Available Today at Changeling Press

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2020 Stephanie Burke

“Fuck.” Arcas paced in his room, fighting the urge to heal the many bites, bumps, and bruises he’d received as he kept trying to purge the insidious drugs from his system. That those bites and bruises had come from one he considered his sister just made him… What was he feeling? Angst? Frustration? Anger? Well, yes, there was anger. A whole lot of anger, but there were more underlying emotions that refused to process.

He was angry. That he was sure of. In fact, one could say he was way beyond incensed and approaching furious at a rapid pace and there was nothing he could do to stem the tide of righteous anger that filled him to overflowing.

He remembered each one. He remembered their faces, their nasty little comments, how they treated him as a beast, something less that human… less than the animals they had gathered for this modern-day travesty of a gladiator sport. They had treated him like he was an object. Brave in the face of the drugs they had constantly injected into his veins and blew in his face. He remembered them, each and every one of them from the time he opened his eyes in that piece of shit van after they dosed him the first time to the time when they applied electric cattle prods to his back in an effort to make him shift… because there was no way he would ever forget that no matter how hard he tried.

So now he paced as he tried to process what it felt like to be knocked completely off the food chain. They didn’t even want to steal his life energy, they just wanted him dead as if he didn’t matter, as if he didn’t live and breathe and think. They just wanted him dead, almost as an afterthought. And what was worse, they’d made him attack his sister.

He remembered her wolf form screaming at him as he lunged at her, unable to stop the cursed animal within him from acting on instinct and trying to obliterate any threat that would do him more harm. He was grateful that he was incapacitated enough not to clearly think or he surely would have done more harm to his sister than he had actually managed. He shuddered as he remembered the feel of not being in control of his own body, of being a visitor in his own mind, screaming in futility, as the world turned into madness around him.

And he remembered his taste…

It was the taste of him, of his blood that gave Arcas the final push to take control of his own body and its actions once more. By then, it had almost been too late. He had been moving in for the kill and Caille, no matter how powerful she was, would not have been able to fight off the power of a god who was still being actively worshiped every time someone looked into the night sky. He would have snuffed her back to her component parts. It would have taken her centuries to re-form and it would have all been his fault.

So, yeah, add guilt to the pile of emotions threatening to drive him insane now, thank you. Guilt for not being fast enough, for not being strong enough, for not being wise enough… just for not being enough. Because of him Kern’s mate had been taken to parts unknown because when he opened his eyes in that rocking van, Thomas hadn’t been there. He could add nothing to the hunt for Kern’s mate, but he did remember each and every face that had hovered over him, had lorded over him, that had spit in his face and applied their boots and shoes to his body. He remembered each and every one and they would pay.

And there was him… How could he ever be good enough for Marshal? He himself was weak and useless… and… and… his blood.

Gods above, Arcas had never tasted anything as sweet… Marshal tasted of sunshine, of desert sands and of lotus petals. He had tasted of his forever and that was such a travesty that it almost brought tears to Arcas’ eyes because he had almost killed the man.

Caille, a goddess in her own right, would have survived. But The Cat… he was not being worshipped, had never been worshiped because Arcas could taste that in his blood. He was immortal but not invulnerable, and if he hadn’t acted when he did, Arcas would have been responsible for the destruction of his own mate.

That was something that Arcas could not abide. So he paced in his room, withheld the healing he could have so easily done to his human form, and he did his best to stick to the story that The Raven and The Wolf, along with help from his mate, had constructed. It was laughably easy how eager the police were to accept their convoluted tale. The story had all the hallmarks of a movie of the week. There were rich assholes to blame, an insane group of homophobic cultists who had access to poor, abused animals, and there were guns and drugs, lots of drugs. Hell, in this world where people cared more about animals than their own brethren, it was so easy to play the sympathy card. To add to the human interest angle, there was an obvious blended family, a person of color, and the sexual orientation of the one still missing man that guaranteed that in the right reporter’s hands they were looking at a Pulitzer. Exotic animals were just the icing on a journalistic cake that was going to be served up on all media platforms, and with today’s sentiment about eating the rich… well, companies and stocks were going to be dropping like flies after a judicious application of bug killer.

Yet now, here he was, pacing ineffectually in his room, feeling his blood pressure rise as he sought to find some outlet for his wrath.

Yes, wrath was the perfect word for the emotions that he was now feeling. Wrath and rage were coursing through his body, heating his blood, and making him want to explode.

But it was an impotent wrath for the moment for there was no clear target to aim his ire at, no one single person to blame… but himself.

And fuck, he had never been so angry in his long, never-ending life.

A knock at the door drew him away from his mounting self-anger, and as he spun around, a snarl on his lips, ready to tell whatever well-meaning sycophant disturbing his solitude to fuck off, he froze as a familiar scent suddenly filled the room.

It was — it was The Cat… his mate… and he smelled concerned.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Stephanie 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.

Find Stephanie Online: Blog | Facebook | Twitter

A Time Apart (Fairview Chronicles) by Alexa Piper #paranormalromance #LGBTQ @prowlingpiper

Cora has become a potent mage while away in China, but upon returning to her job as a PI’s assistant, she finds things have changed quite a bit. Her best friend has become engaged to a demon he summoned, her boss is taking a trip, and her favorite barista is one of the magical denizens of Fairview.

Valerian is just about ready to let life get comfortable around him. With his mage girlfriend Cora and their pretty and impressionable lover around him, that shouldn’t be a problem. But when Cora tells him she doesn’t love him and never did, comfort is the furthest thing from his mind.

Will Fairview’s premier private investigator’s office ever be the same with the accountant marrying a demon? Will a trickster’s games ruin the happy reunion several people are looking forward to? And most importantly, will the desk ever be satisfied? The Fairview gang is ready to find out.

Get it Today at Changeling Press

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2020 Alexa Piper

Eris found himself beleaguered by witches. Eris, the incidentally witch-beleaguered, was not one for planning. Things he did just mostly happened to work out as if all his deeds were one great trick, hence people liked to call him trickster, never mind he preferred to be called archer.

Tertia, the youngest witch, had taken to calling him honey, which was altogether worse than trickster.

“You look thoughtful, honey,” she said to Eris.

Eris was thoughtful. He had been sitting on the cushioned windowsill in the house in Fairview he and the sisters — wicked, and three — had air-bnb’d, and he had been staring out that window for a good while. The window was in need of cleaning, and last night’s downpour had left dusty streaks on the outside of the glass, but the red-and-white checkered cushions were comfortable, and so Eris overlooked the dust.

“Do I?” Eris said. His fingers itched. He wanted to take his bow, his quiver, and leave, but whenever he did, the witches waylaid him. Well, they got him laid. It was different, Eris supposed.

“We have been thinking, honey,” said Tertia and ran her fingers up his shoulder to his neck and cinnamon brown hair. “We are about ready to head back to Morrowvale. Fairview is dull and cold and rainy, and there simply are better places to be a witch.”

“Hmm,” Eris said. He was not one for picking a destination and just going there. His kind knew to drift and let themselves be drawn, and Eris could feel nothing draw him to Morrowvale. But Tertia did try to draw him, the way she touched, the way she smelled, like sage and magic and bones cast in the darkness.

“We were thinking you should come with us.” Tertia had nimble fingers. Eris had grown too fond of her fingers entirely.

“Hmm.” Eris was changeable. He had spent a considerable amount of time in girl-shape. He wondered if going back to breasts and a soprano singing voice would make the witches want him less, but he didn’t want to change yet. He liked stubble and a flat chest, liked his cock, which was a clear indication he should keep it.

Tertia was obviously not satisfied with his response. Her hand had drifted down to the cock Eris so enjoyed, and she drove home one of the reasons Eris enjoyed it with her nimble fingers.

“We were thinking we should leave tomorrow,” said the witch, voice growing husky.

“Hmmm,” he said, trying to resist the way she made him hard, but that was, well, hard.

“Come to bed,” Tertia said. “I want you. We want you.”

All three of them could be blunt like that, and none of them had any qualms about telling Eris exactly what they wanted of him. Oh, Tertia had claimed him first, but no witch, no wicked one, kept a lover for herself if she had sisters.

“Coffee,” Eris managed. He looked past Tertia to the living room framed on one side by a dining table behind which an open-concept kitchen dominated about a third of the visible space. The exit was to the right of that.

Like an archer diving for his prey, he ducked in order to escape Tertia’s kiss.

“I need to get coffee!” he said, sliding off the windowsill and out of Tertia’s arms, which were closing like a lusty jaw.

“We have coffee here. I like the idea of getting you caffeinated before I get you naked.” She turned and followed him.

Eris had enjoyed the witches getting him naked. They were good at that, arguably better than at all the witchy stuff, but fucks and feathers, he needed to leave. The house was too small, and it smelled of smoke and witchcraft, and all the cat figurines that lined a shelf in the living room were irritating.

“I need a latte!” he said, reaching for his bow and quiver, both of which had collected a slight trace of dust in the umbrella stand, and really, they did not belong in an umbrella stand. What had he been thinking?

“Prima said she wants to milk you,” Tertia said in a husky voice. She was rounding the oval dining table slowly. “With her mouth.” Oh, she was a beautiful witch, all of them were. And Eris liked them. But he needed to move, even if the thought of Prima’s mouth on his cock made said cock twitch.

“I’ll just go get a latte at the Queene Bean.” He stumbled to the front door ass first, and ass first, he walked into Segunda, who stood in his way, stark naked.

“What you need,” the second witch said, “is someone riding your cock and lapping up your cum.”

The thing about male anatomy was that it could develop a mind of its own, and Eris’s cock stirred further at the possibility of being ridden.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Alexa Piper writes steamy romance that ranges from light to dark, from straight to queer. She’s also a coffee addict. Her retelling of Dracula, A Tale of Honey and Garnet Wine, might be a cursed manuscript, and every writer should have at least one of those. She also loves writing series, and her Fairview Chronicles follow a ragtag gang of supernaturals who try to make their city safer. Mostly. Connect with Alexa on Facebook or Instagram, follow her on Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter!

Find her Online: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram