PREORDER: Oblivion by Kira Stone #demons #erotica #shortstories

Warning: This is a Razor’s Edge Demon Erotica Story. Expect limited plot and character development, and lots of paranormal heat. If you’re looking for a lengthy plot driven erotic romance, this is not it!


Killed in a dirty back alley by a street whore. Such an ugly way to die. But my lessons in death have only just begun.

Hell is filthy. And cold. And as soon as I fell, I found a demon waiting for me. My new Master. From spanking to whipping to painful abuse, each new lesson gives me hope — the hope of oblivion. Surely I can’t survive this long.

But the longer I’m here, the more I learn about myself and the life I wasted. And the more I crave Master’s touch. Each lesson strips away another layer of my mortal flesh. I am everyman. I am no one. I am what my Master wishes me to be. A Demon’s whore for all eternity… Who said going to Hell didn’t have its rewards?

Extreme BDSM Warning: The actions portrayed in this story are well outside the accepted BDSM norm of “Safe, Sane, and Consensual” or even “Risk Aware Consensual Kink” and should not be reenacted by mere mortals. Unless you’re a demon, you will end up featured on “1000 Ways to Die.”

Available January 21, 2022 at Amazon

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright 2021 Kira Stone

No question about it. I was on my way to Hell.

I fell into a rocky hole, so small I couldn’t stand up. I couldn’t even crawl down the steep slope. Rolling from side to side got me inching down, but also got dirt up my ass. And whether exertion or something else caused the temperature to rise, I was getting much, much warmer.

Ingenuity kicked in, and I figured out by laying on my back, head first, I could use my feet on the craggy sides to push my way down the tunnel. The bottom had sides equally rough. No doubt I’d have bruises all over.

No biggie. Pain I could handle.

A deep voice rose up from the darkness. “You think so, eh? We’ll find out.”

Oh, goodie.

Without warning, I fell head first onto a dirt floor as lumpy as the tunnel. Even as I watched, rubbing my head, the hole closed. I tapped on the spot where the opening had been to see if it was solid. Yeah, they didn’t miss a trick, this bunch.

“Welcome to my home,” the deep voice said with obvious amusement.

I turned to find a well dressed man in a suit not unlike one I’d wear to the office, when I bothered to go in. His hair had been neatly styled, his shoes shined, and his body looked like he could give me a challenge on the handball court. In fact, as I gazed longer, he looked a lot like me.

“This is what you were. Now, I will show you the real me.”

First, his eyes turned red. That was enough to make me tremble. Something awful radiated from them, the promise of no sympathy, no compromise.

As covertly as I could, I looked for routes of escape. I should have kept my eyes on him, or better yet on the floor. Cages and torture devices and things I’d only seen on the Internet filled my vision. I wasn’t skilled at using them, as my extra marital lovers told me, and I doubted I’d be any better at having them used on me.

“See me, and know that I am your Lord and Master,” the deep voice ordered.

Despite emptying myself earlier, I again felt the need to pee when I looked upon the creature who spoke to me. With skin as red as his eyes, hair only a few shades darker that hung to his waist, and claws on both fingers and toes, just seeing him induced panic.

“You know, I’m not really into the D/s thing. Can we skip this part?”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kira Stone lives in a warm cave tucked away in the remote Scottish Highlands, where a small band of ever-changing heroes serves as company. As they relax in front of a roaring fire, demons dance in leather pants and angels stroke tunes from the harp strings, while the Fae stop in to share tales from other worlds. Bound by pen and imagination, these are the folk who wait to greet you from the pages of Kira’s stories.

The who and what of Kira in this more mundane world is not what turns you on, but the words sure do – so go discover the passion that awaits you between the covers of every Kira Stone book…

Anima Instinct by AJ Graham #shifters #DarkFantasy #LGBTQ @changelingpress

Animal Instinct by AJ Graham
Published by Changeling Press
Cover Art by Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Shifters, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal Romance,
Bisexual, Multisexual & Pansexual, Gay, Werewolves & Wolf Shifters

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.

Praise for Runaway

“This is a very good story to add to anyone’s werewolf collection.”–Lydia, Rainbow Reviews

Praise for Eyes of the Wolf

Eyes of The Wolf was an amazing read…. Well done!”— Noelle, Night Owl Reviews

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.”— Stephanie E., Fallen Angel Reviews

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 AJ Graham
Excerpt from Dante Burning

I had to be dreaming. If I were awake, Devin’s head wouldn’t be between my legs, his full lips stretched around my aching cock, my fingers clenched in his shaggy wheat-brown hair. If this was real, he wouldn’t be looking at me like that, gazing up through a veil of soft, dusky lashes, eyes smoky with lust.

I watched his smooth, flushed cheeks draw inward, sucking me deeper.

God, he was beautiful.

I didn’t want to wake up, but I could feel the cold fingers of reality prying their way into my head in the form of a monstrous, throbbing hangover. I tried to hang onto the dream, but the dull red pulse behind my eyes wouldn’t be ignored. It dragged me, kicking and struggling, back to wakefulness. The blood banged in my head.

Oh man.

“Te? Te, are you all right?”

Devin’s voice. He was the only one who ever called me Te. To the rest of the world, even my mom, I was Dante.

I’ve always loved the way Devin said my name — the tap of tongue against teeth, the soft exhalation of air. Though at the moment, I wasn’t in any condition to appreciate it.

I opened my eyes a crack, then slammed them shut as sunlight blinded me. It looked like the sun had just gone supernova outside our apartment. “Ugh. Daylight.”

“Hang on…” I heard a rustle as he pulled the curtains shut, and the room got marginally less bright. “How’s that?”

“Better.” It still felt like white-hot needles were stabbing my eyes, but the needles were a bit less sharp now. There are certain things that go along with being a cat-shifter. One of those things is enhanced senses. A nice perk, most of the time. Not so nice when you’ve got a hangover.

A cool, damp cloth draped over my brow, and I sighed with relief. “Thanks.” I pried my sleep-crusty eyelids open and found myself looking into a pair of big gray eyes. Same ones from my dream. But instead of being glassy with passion, they just looked worried.

“What did you do last night?” he asked.

I gave him a strained smile. “Better not to ask.”

Most of the night was a blur, but I knew I’d done a lot of Mezcal shots. Mezcal is like tequila’s tougher, dirtier big brother. It’s smoky and earthy and burns a molten trail down your throat. It’s that stuff on liquor store shelves that usually has a worm or a scorpion floating in the bottle.

Had I actually eaten that scorpion on a dare? I hoped that was just a dream.

Devin bit his lower lip. “Te… are you okay?”

I looked away, knowing he was asking about more than the hangover. And I couldn’t blame him for worrying. This was — what, the third time this week I’d come home shit-faced? The worst thing was, he didn’t know the half of what I did or why I did it. I drank to numb myself, to forget. To blunt other urges.

I thought about the dream, and the guilt came rising up to choke me. My gaze flicked to his lips; then I quickly looked away. Thank God there’d been a blanket over me when I woke, or he might have seen the evidence.

I might be a cat, but just then, I felt more like a pig.

“I’m okay,” I muttered. “I’ve got it under control.”

He lowered his gaze. The guilt twisted in my chest like a knife.

Devin. My roommate, my best friend since third grade, the only person in the world I trusted enough to let near me while I was feeling this shitty… and the man whose body I secretly craved more than anything in the world.

No, not just his body. That might be easier. I wanted him. His mind, his soul. I wanted everything. But it wasn’t going to happen. So I did what I always did: I bundled up those feelings and tucked them away in the deepest, darkest drawer of my brain. Captain Denial, that’s me.

“You should eat something,” Devin said.

I made a face. He was probably right, but at the moment, food sounded like the most disgusting thing in the world. “Don’t think I could.”

“Have some toast, at least. Please?”

That tone melted me every time. He could wind me around his little finger like a piece of taffy, and he didn’t even know it. “I’ll try. Not promising it’ll stay down, though.”

I started to sit up, but he pushed me gently back to the bed. At the pressure of his hands on my shoulders, my heart jumped.

“Don’t move. I’ll take care of it.”

I sank back to the bed, closed my eyes, and nodded, wondering for the thousandth time what I’d done to deserve someone as good as him.

He brought me buttered cinnamon toast and a big glass of milk, and he sat and waited as I munched and sipped. I was hungrier than I’d realized, and once I’d had a few bites, my stomach settled.

“Don’t you have class?” I asked through a mouthful of toast.

“It’s Saturday.”

“Oh. Right.” I sank back to the bed and draped an arm over my face. I didn’t have work today either. Good thing too. If I stumbled into the pub in this condition, Rosaline would fire my fuzzy ass.

I moved my arm away from my face, enough to peer up at Devin through one bleary eye. I’d adjusted to the sunlight, and I could see the way it caught in his hair and highlighted the curve of his cheek, his neck. I knew from experience how soft that skin was. Over the years, we’d brushed against each other so many times — his hand grazing mine, our bare arms pressing lightly together as we sat side by side. I knew what he would feel like. And he was wearing a soft blue sweater, the sort of thing that would be easy to slide my hands beneath and —

I slammed the door shut on that thought, but it was too late. My hard-on was back, in spite of the raging inferno in my head.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

AJ Graham has a passion for cold weather, unusual beers, and anything otherworldly.  Dragons, demons, shapeshifters and psychics have always populated their imagination, but sometimes the real world can be just as fascinating and mysterious.  And no matter the genre, AJ has always loved stories about soulmates connecting.  Whether it’s instant, explosive passion or a slow burn, the power of two (or more) minds and bodies coming together to form a greater whole is always a story worth telling.  AJ lives in the Chicago suburbs with their husband.

Now in Paperback: Three Brothers Fair by Emily Carrington #LGBTQ #darkfantasy @CarringtonEmily

According to prophecy, three brothers must find their mates. But prophecies are often both right and misunderstood.

Prince of Seas (Three Brothers Fair 1): What’s the worst thing about being a water demon? You can’t tell your husbands apart. Of course, it doesn’t help when your newest mate-to-be disguises himself as his brother to win your hand.

Prince of Land and Fire (Three Brothers Fair 2): Against his will, Lord Tian has fallen for a magical land creature — a gnome. Prophecy says he must wed a land creature and become a destroyer and spy. When Tian and Alastair play at BDSM and love they set in motion the destruction of the status quo.

The Zephyr Prince (Three Brothers Fair 3): Andy is the eldest son of the ruling kelpie family. His two brothers have found their lovers, in accordance with an often-misunderstood prophecy. Now it’s Andy’s turn…

Get it at Amazon

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Emily Carrington
Excerpt from Prince of Seas


Comfortable in the high-backed armchair, Hans watched his brothers.

“The hair dye won’t stay for more than a few hours.” Tian grimaced at his reflection. “Andy, what the hell’m I supposed to do?”

Andy didn’t look away from the book on his desk. “You could start by not croaking like a new-hatched chick.”

The armchair was positioned in a corner, well out of the way of the teasing and annoyance that always flew between Tian and Andrew Weinberg. With a mug to warm his hands, Hans smirked. He loved listening to his brothers bicker without true heat.

Tian stalked over to the desk and gave one of its legs a hard kick.

The book jumped, but Andy didn’t react.

“What’m I gonna do?” Tian’s voice rose. “He’s a hideous, self-centered water demon.”

“Is there any other kind?” Hans asked, his voice barely audible to his own ears. Although he thought Prince Felimid mac Lugh rather attractive for a water demon. Yes, his skin tended to resemble that of an eczema sufferer when he walked in air-breather form, but his grace when he swam… Hans drank deeply of his tea in an effort to hide the flush of his cheeks with the liquid’s heat. In an effort to distract himself, he considered the archaic form of the prince’s last name. Mac meant “son of.” And lugh was some sort of sea god. The space between both names wasn’t common anymore, but from what Hans knew, the mac Lughs were a highly traditional people.

Tian stomped back to the mirror and whined, “Andrew, help me.”

“You’re pathetic.” But Andy got up from his desk at last and crossed to Tian. “You know our bodies don’t hold human chemicals well. Why did you waste time trying?”

Hans watched as Andy flicked a hand through Tian’s hair. Gray dye flaked off into the air and dropped to the carpet.

“Were you thinking to pretend you’re an ancient mortal?” Andy raked his fingers over the part in Tian’s chestnut mass. “The prince — or at least his parents — know we’re triplets. The moment Hans and I walk into the room, your secret will be out.”

Color blazed high in Tian’s cheeks, but his voice carried less prissy outrage and more fear. “I wanted to make myself unattractive to him. I’m too young to be married off this way.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male, female/female, and transgender romance. She has been writing since 2011 and has dedicated her career to two universes: SearchLight and Sticks and Stones. SearchLight is all about magical creatures finding their HEA, and Sticks and Stones finds happily-ever-afters for her contemporary characters. Sticks and Stones tends to happen in small towns, whereas SearchLight happens all up and down the East Coast and across the United States.

Awakening by Mikala Ash #steampunk #romance @Ash_Mikala @changelingpress

Anne Device, daughter of a prostitute turned spiritualist, has seen it all — degradation, desperation, anger, pain, and sorrow. Unbroken by the rough and dirty streets of Whitechapel, Anne’s world revolves around her family — her mother, sister, and brother.

Enter the charismatic and attractive Lord Carlyle, a gentleman magician who sees in Anne the potential to move worlds. For the first time Anne experiences the magic of romantic love. A rags to riches story she’d only imagined possible in a Faerie tale.

On her glorious wedding night she willingly gives her body, but the days that followed will test her very soul.

Get it at Changeling Press

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Mikala Ash

I await my husband.

My name is Anne Device. I am nineteen years of age, and this is my wedding night. Already I am in error. Is this the first lesson of my new life? That it is not possible to truly let go of the past?

My new name is Lady Anne Carlyle, the virgin bride of Lord Lucian Carlyle of Lancashire.

How grand that sounds. I whisper it aloud, over and over, hoping it is all real, and not some silly and impossible dream. I began this chronicle to quell my nerves, for truly, my hand holding the quill trembles, and ink drops litter the page like the footprints of a confused imp.

My husband, how strange it is to write those words, for they seem to resonate in my mind like the incantations spoken to create an earthquake or a tumultuous storm at sea.

My husband, my husband, my husband, my husband.

Indeed, what tremors will I soon experience in the marriage bed behind where I sit?

I read what I have written, and a strong desire has taken an irresistible hold. I seem compelled to record my new life so I can remember in my dotage what these times are like. The more I think about it I realise general sentiments will probably mean little to my future self. In fifty years will I remember the context? Probably not. With that in mind I’ve decided to keep as detailed a record as possible of my new state, and how it came about.

My husband, Lucian, is downstairs in his marvellous library. “Prepare yourself, my little dove,” he had said when his closest friends, a curious collection of serious men of science had left. “I return you to your mother’s care for a final word before you become Lady Carlyle in spirit as in law.”

Lady Anne Carlyle. I wonder if I should ever get used to the title, or indeed to people bowing and curtsying as I pass, as they did today at the church.

To think, ten years ago I was barefoot with dirty rags draped over my scrawny shoulders, with my empty belly growling like a wild dog while I hawked matches on the corner of Commercial and Fournier Streets in Spitalfields. Gone now from my life were the slums where my mama sold herself to soldiers and sailors in the cramped room that also housed my younger brother and sister. Jennet and James, both of different fathers, and both unlike me in nature and disposition. Fragile Jennet so meek and mild, and James boisterous and impatient. That James would turn to soldiering was no surprise. He saw enough of them to acquire their rough ways and wanderlust. The mystery was how Jennet and I remained intact. How my mama withstood the temptation to sell our virginity, for we would have drawn a goodly price, is testament to the fact that she has principles, though she disguised them well enough when dealing with her men.

How to explain my conversion from ragamuffin with dirt smudged on my hollow cheeks to a sweet-smelling young woman able to attract the love of a lord? Though seemingly miraculous, and I will not deny the magical quality of the transition, the reason is simple enough.

My mama loves us. Of that there is no doubt. No matter the countless difficulties she endured and overcame, she insisted on educating us. In between male callers and our jobs; my selling lucifers on the corner with Jennet shivering beside me, and James off running telegrams for tuppence a day, she taught us our letters and sums, and how to behave in front of our betters. I grew up on a healthy diet of penny shockers, and sensational novels published in serial form. My favourite stories were those rags to riches tales. I enjoyed them because they were so fanciful, and for a little time they took me out of the squalor that was my daily fare. Never did I imagine I would emulate my brave and virtuous heroines. Mama instructed me in other things denied to Jennet and James. Things I was ordered never to speak about, lest we all ‘end up dangling at the end of a rope.’ A rule I am now breaking, though none shall read this but my future self.

Though he does not know everything about us, Lord Carlyle is fully aware of our lowly state, Mama’s pitiful occupation, and what she had sacrificed for her children. We have hidden little of that time from him. It bothers him not. That is a miracle, and one for which I am grateful.

So much for that chapter of my life. That strange creature who bore my name is gone forever, and I now embark on a new story. I will awaken in the morn a different person. A woman.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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

Frosty the Snow Dom by Angela Knight #holidayromance #BDSM #darkfantasy @AngelaKnight

Steaming up the ice…

When ice artist Judith Dane is hired to create a kinky version of Michelangelo’s David, she thinks the ice sculpture is just another Christmas party centerpiece. But when she delivers the work she’s nicknamed “Frosty the Snow Dom” to the BDSM club Valhalla, the party turns out to be a lot stranger than she expects.

When Frosty comes to life just like a certain snowman, she discovers just how hot ice can be. But what happens when the spell breaks?

Get it Today at Changeling Press

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Angela Knight


Judith Dane stepped forward to sink the electric chainsaw carefully into the block of ice, sending a fine spray of snow crystals flying. The Stihl E180 vibrated in her grip as she sliced downward in a long, smooth curve, following the outline of muscled male ribs cut into the ice.

The sculpture would serve as the centerpiece of the client’s party the next night. Judith wanted to finish roughing the figure in before she returned it to the walk-in freezer overnight.

She was alone in the dim, cavernous studio, with its racks of power tools, chisels, and drill bits. This close to midnight, the other carvers had gone home. Judith knew she should follow suit, but the compulsion to work on Frosty was too strong to ignore.

She had no idea why she felt so enthralled by the piece she called Frosty the Snow Dom. For one thing, she didn’t have time for an attack of artistic obsession. With Christmas just four days away, IceCellence Ice Sculptures had more work than they knew what to do with. Corporations, hotels, and the wealthy had commissioned another forty-two sculptures for holiday parties between now and New Year’s.

Though she had to admit, this was the first time she’d ever been called upon to re-create Michelangelo’s David as a leather Dom. Valhalla, New York’s newest BDSM club, was hosting a Christmas party.

The mind boggled.

Just think of all the things you could do with a candy cane. Judith grinned. She had to admit, the thought was intriguing. Which is probably a sign I’ve read too many kinky romances.

Chainsaw rumbling, Judith stepped back to study the six-foot rectangle of ice — a pair of three-hundred-pound blocks stacked on top of one another and frozen together. She’d used an electric drill to carve a shallow outline of the figure on the surface of the blocks.

Frosty was going to be her best work yet.

Hefting the chainsaw, Judith stepped in again to deepen the cut she’d just made. A hunk of ice fell, narrowly missing her foot, and she danced as it shattered on the concrete floor. As she released the Stihl’s trigger, the blade automatically stopped whining.

A bloodcurdling scream tore through the sudden silence. Judith jumped, damn near dropping the chainsaw.

“No!” A woman cried in the quavering voice of the elderly. “Leave me alone!”

“I don’t think so, you old bitch,” a man snarled over a chorus of drunken male laughter. “We’re tired of you stinking up the streets.”

Something thudded. There was another pitiful cry. “Stop! Let me go! Help!”

More ugly laughter.

Oh fuck. Fuckety fuck fuck. Judith ran to her wheeled carving station, put down the Stihl, and snatched up her cell phone. Her thumb danced over the screen.

“911,” a cool male voice said. “What’s your emergency?”

“I hear a woman screaming in the alley outside IceCellence Ice Sculptures. Sounds like several men are attacking her.” She rattled off her name and the Brooklyn address.

“We’ll send an officer. Stay inside and don’t unlock your door.”

Outside, the woman screamed again.

“Hurry! It sounds like they’re killing her.” Judith hung up, shaking, as she stared at the fire door that led to the alley behind IceCellence. She hoped the cops hauled ass. Every minute they delayed gave those bastards more time to do God knows what. Would the old woman even be alive by the time they arrived?

Thud. “No! Help!” The last word quavered, a pitifully weak cry.

Judith’s eyes fell on the Stihl lying on her carving station. Nothing’s quite as intimidating as a chainsaw.

“Heeeelppp!” A gasp.

Fuck this. She dropped the cell in a pocket of her hoodie and ran to the pegboard, where a huge roll of extension cord hung. Heaving the coil off the wall, she lugged it back to her station. You couldn’t use a gas-powered chainsaw indoors, so all their equipment was electric. Unfortunately, that meant the machine had to be plugged in.

This is crazy, the voice of sanity protested in the back of her mind. Judith didn’t care. That old lady sounded too damn much like her grandmother. Damned if I’ll stand here and listen to her get the shit beaten out of her.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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

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

RElease Blitz: How Not to Date a Dragon by Stephanie Burke #LGBTQ #paranormalromance #darkfantasy @FlashyCat @GoIndiMarketing

Title: How Not to Date a Dragon

Series: How Not To #12

Author: Stephanie Burke

Publisher: Changeling Press

Release Date: December 17, 2021

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 134

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Bisexual, Multisexual & Pansexual, Elves Dragons & Magical Creatures, Paranormal Romance, Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Magic

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Ulvissar, the solitary black omega dragon, is tired of virgin sacrifices. Who even likes humans that way?

However this sacrifice, Alita, is different. She’s brave, bold, and brash. So he decides he’ll keep her. After a few hundred years and countless women in his horde, he’s ready to finally accept the attentions of the Flame dragon, the long-suffering Nithe.

But when the addition of the latest sacrifice brings an army to his doorstep, how is he to keep his hard-won peace, deal with his heat and his hungry mate, and help asexual Alita romance the troublesome princess running from her joke of a prince, all while defending them all from the armies coming to get his woman back?

And you thought dating was hard.

Excerpt

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Stephanie Burke

“Oh Noble Dragon,” the rather beautiful and totally virginal maiden whimpered, her hands bound above her body, her head hanging low. “Dost thou consent to sup upon mine supple and untouched flesh as a sacrifice to save mine humble village?” Her fear was obvious in the trembling of her body, exposed to the elements and the cold spring night. There were tears, he could hear them in her voice, in the way it trembled and the ritual words wavered. The air of hopelessness and despair that surrounded her was a palatable thing.

And the mighty dragon hovered above her, his fierce red eyes and black shadowy scales that made him appear to have parted from the night sky itself… before he let out an annoyed snort and rolled his eyes at his victim.

“Really, when are they going to stop this shit?” he asked, startling a gasp from the bound sacrifice as her head jerked up, her amazed eyes widening as she stared at the monster who was supposed to consume her flesh, grind her bones into meal, and ignore her humble village for another year.

“Oh, Noble One? Uh… excuse me?”

“When are your people,” the great one spat out, “going to catch a clue and leave me the fuck out of their medieval fantasies? How much torture porn can one village aspire to? I mean, do they draw lots for this shit? Do you all volunteer? Were you an orphan that no one wanted to take care of? What gives?”

“Uh… Dragon?”

But the great and noble dragon was pissed, really wanted to vent, and nothing was going to stop him from having his say.

“Are all humans so stupid?” he demanded as he began to pace, all twenty-five-foot-tall scaly body and bad attitude. “I send a girl back and they kill her for not” — he actually made air quotes with two of his four large taloned fingers –”being a good sacrifice. I go and try to talk to them about this shit and they scream and run like I was burning the place down and they send me even more virginal girls. I don’t take the first sacrifice and they murder the poor child and leave another sitting in her blood and brains. Do you know how long it takes to get the smell of blood out of your nose? No? I bet you don’t because they would never kill a woman on your behalf. That is a sacrificial action saved just for me.”

His large spaded tail whipped back and forth as he grumbled, staring down at the village from the so-called Dragon Stones that the villagers set up centuries before when they moved into his territory and decided to stay. Of course, when moving into dragon lands you had to have a proper sacrifice. That was the way of it, but it was what they chose to send as a sacrifice that was really pissing him off.

“All I wanted was some seeds to plant new crops and that somehow translated into virgin. How much of an idiot do you have to be to make that incredibly wrong leap of logic? I wanted crops and I got virgins. I would have accepted some livestock instead — cows only last for so long and I really like cheese. But no, the village assholes in all their great glory send me virgin females. I don’t want virgin females. I want the peace of mind knowing that not another girl will be murdered on my behalf.”

“Uh… Dragon?”

“I want some fucking peace!” he roared, the sound echoing through the valley below where the town sat protected from the dangers of the outside world. He could see the lights flicker as terrified townsfolk hid themselves, probably pissing themselves because they thought the sacrifice was unworthy.

“Hey, Dragon?” the sacrifice called, gaining his attention as he stopped pacing a rut into the ground and stared down at her.

“What?”

“If you aren’t going to eat me, perhaps you could let me go? My arms have gone to sleep and I really have to pee.”

He glared down at her and she stared back, the fear that had earlier surrounded her dissipating, almost as if it didn’t exist in the first place. That was… new. He arched an eyebrow and she arched one back.

“I really have to go,” she spoke again, staring right into his red eyes. “And if you think the smell of blood is bad, I have to tell you the smell of urine trumps that every time. I know. I’m a farmer’s daughter. So if you would…” she jerked her head toward the bindings that held her arms aloft. “I can just slip behind those rocks over there and do my business and be right back for the rest of your tirade. I don’t think I can hold it for much longer. I made sure to drink lots before they dragged me up here. If you were going to eat me, I was going to give you a memorable meal surprise. But since you don’t seem intent on consuming my supple virgin flesh…”

Purchase

Changeling Press | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes

Meet 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.

Website | Facebook | Twitter

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New Release: The Ruins by Torri Heat #Christmas #DarkFantasy @torriheat

Joelle and Luc escaped hell — barely. But now hell is coming for them on Earth. They know what Joelle can do, and the stakes are high. Luc is doing his best to stay sane and protect Joelle, which is easier said than done when dealing with the feisty blonde. But the two will have to work together — even when separated — to prove that their love is strong enough to overcome even the deadliest of battles.

Save 15% at Changeling Press

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Torri Heat

Luc

I woke up from the dream that’s been plaguing me for months. The one where the world was burning. The one where she was burning. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I was never fast enough to save her. I wasn’t strong enough. I wasn’t enough.

Her blonde hair blew in a breeze I couldn’t feel, the air dry against my parched skin. Her perfect mouth was caught open in a scream, her brilliant blue eyes locked onto mine, begging me to save her. How could I save her when I was the one who had put the stake in her heart? My actions chained her to that cross. My decisions cursed her very existence, compelled by my greed, my desperation to possess her essence.

I had known the minute I saw her that I wanted her. Needed her. Craved her. So I had taken her, and claimed her as my own. I corrupted the purity within her, flooding every inch of her with my shadows until her aura grew as dark as my own.

Joelle.

She lay next to me in bed, a near replica of the one we had shared the night before, and the night before that. The rundown motels blended together, a blur of faded carpets and outdated curtains. We had to stay on the move, never knowing when hell would strike next. The devil was coming for us, of that I was certain. He wanted Joelle, and everything she stood for. A gateway between this realm and hell — a way for the Mares to take over the human world. He would burn this whole Godforsaken place down to the ground, leaving us to smolder in the remains as He pawed the scorched earth for her.

Joelle.

She was pulling away from me. Retreating into herself. On the outside she was still the Joelle I had always known and loved — ready with her sharp tongue, and quick wit. But when she thought I wasn’t looking her gaze would drift toward the window, staring at something I couldn’t see. She was frozen in the past, some part of her soul still trapped in hell from the things she had seen in the Tribunal. The betrayals of her family. The newfound knowledge that she was something else. Something more. The only time she seemed to come fully alive was when we fucked, her body rolling beneath my own and meeting me thrust for thrust. My Joelle came back to me in the dark of the night, with strokes of my hand and the small cries she offered up when she came.

But we couldn’t always have sex. We were on a mission to find Zion, and to gather up as many other earth-side beings as we could before hell launched their first attack. We had time yet, or so I thought. The whole reason He wanted Joelle was to make it quicker for the demons to flood this plane, so for right now it would take them time to gather the numbers they would need before they dared to attack. They knew I would fight with my last breath to protect Joelle, and they knew just how dangerous my smart-mouthed beauty could be. And if they were smart, they would know I would be looking for Zion.

Joelle’s breath caught next to me, and I froze in my thoughts. I knew what was next. It was the same thing that had been happening every night since we escaped hell. Her eyelids flew open, her bright blue gaze unfocused as it darted around the room. And then she screamed.

“Joelle!” I threw my body over her before the thrashing started. Last night she had managed to throw her body off the bed before I could catch her. “Joelle! Love, it’s okay. I’m here. You’re here. You’re safe.”

The lies rolled off my tongue so naturally, the same falsehoods I had told her every night she had woken up screaming, an aura of death so heavy around her. Slowly, her body stopped twitching, and the screams dimmed to gasps as Joelle came back to herself. “Luc. Am I dreaming?”

I shook my head, pushing my weight off her body. “No, love. We’re here. This is real.”

She nodded, licking her full lips. The silence felt deafening, filling the full dark of the room.

“What do you need?” She would never admit her brokenness, and I would never comment on it. But still I felt at a loss for how to fix someone so shattered. My hands were designed to destroy, not to mend.

Joelle didn’t speak. She dragged her fingers up my bare chest, goosebumps following the path she took. When her hands rested on my shoulders, she squeezed, pulling me closer.

I met her mouth with a consuming kiss, darting my tongue between her lips. Joelle moaned quietly, and I leaned forward, trapping her face between my forearms.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay.”

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.

Find all of Torri’s books and sign up for her newsletter at her website, or follow her on social media. You can also leave reviews!

Now in Paperback: Krampus Bah Humbug by Crymsyn Hart #darkfantasy #holidayromance #LGBTQ @crymsynhart

Elves running amok in Christmas Town… cannibal gingerbread men… Krampus is in for the ride of his life!

Claiming Cupid: Krampus never thought his heart could be captured — until he met Cupid.

Krampus Does Dallas: Riding a bull has never been more stimulating!

Forging Krampus: Samhain is determined to rock Krampus’s world, but something dark is eating away at Samhain’s realm.

Krampus to the Rescue: Only Krampus can make Santa say ho-ho-ho!

Krampus Bah Humbug: Krampus has to get with the holiday attitude or lose all he holds dear. Bah, Humbug!

Y’all Tied Up: Clive and Aniston must escape before Krampus can feed them to the cannibal gingerbread men!

Publisher’s Note: Krampus Bah Humbug contains the previously released novellas Claiming CupidKrampus Does DallasForging KrampusKrampus to the RescueKrampus Bah Humbug, and Y’all Tied Up. The Krampus Box Set presents these stories in chronological order, rather than the original release order.

Available at Amazon

EXCERPT

Copyright ©2021 Crymsyn Hart
Excerpt from Krampus Does Dallas

“Have a good evening.” Krampus moved through the crowd that had gathered around them. He entered the town. The shops had closed up for the day. The road was dry and in need of rain. The only rowdy place was the tavern. He slid inside. Few people noticed as he walked in, but they didn’t say anything when he sat down in a corner booth. He sat back and watched the place fill with the laborers of the town. A waitress came by and set a mug down on his table.

“You sit at a table, you gotta order food.”

“Fine. Bring me whatever’s on the menu.”

The waitress came back with some kind of stew and bread. He dipped the bread into the broth and took a taste of it. He coughed at the seasoning. Besides having an overabundance of pepper, it was edible. His stomach growled. He thought about his interaction with the owner of the rodeo. He’d bought a bull. Why the hell did I buy the bull? I don’t need it. Now I’m stuck with the beast. I’m sure it’s had a taxing life.

He glanced up from his meal when the noise level dropped. A group from the rodeo entered the tavern. One of the thugs who had stopped him approached the bartender. The group followed behind him.

“A round of ale for the lot.”

The bartender crossed his arms over his chest. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Your kind ain’t wanted here. Best if you get out before I have someone throw you out.”

“We have a right to be here just as anyone else.” The thug sat at the bar. The rest moved into a table that emptied out since they had come in. The rodeo participants all looked as though they had a difficult life. All were tanned and wrinkled from years in the sun and hard work. Krampus didn’t envy them. The tension in the bar grew. He sat back. The bartender and the other patrons surrounded them.

A cloaked figure slipped past them and hovered by Krampus’s table.

“Why don’t you sit here? It looks like everywhere else is taken.” Krampus found himself saying.

The man looked at him. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t. Sit or don’t sit.”

Krampus pushed the plate aside and laid a couple of silver coins on the table. They would more than cover the cost of his meal and the ale. He didn’t want the waitress to hassle him any longer. The man glanced at the coins and the unfinished bowl of stew. He sat down and reached for the stew. Then the stranger pulled his hand back.

“You going to eat that?”

“Have at it.”

The stranger’s hands were dark, almost like polished black marble. His arms were decorated with long-healed-over scars. The man took the bowl and brought it in close to him, protecting it. When he ate, the hood of his cloak fell away, revealing a bald head, a strong jaw and a flat nose. His eyes were gold when he looked up at Krampus. Something in that gaze stirred Krampus’s desire.

“What?” the man asked around a mouthful of bread.

“Nothing. I just noticed you were hungry. I could make it worth your while if you wanted to come back to the house with me.”

“So you can fuck me? I’m not a whore. I see how you’re looking at me.”

Krampus held back a smile. “No. I wasn’t considering sex. I just meant I have better food than what you have there. Plus, you can sleep in a bed. It looks like you might need it. No strings attached.”

The other man eyed him. “I thought you said you didn’t care.”

“It’s obvious your companions don’t care about you or you would’ve come in with them. And you wouldn’t have been hiding your appearance. I’m surprised you’re still with them. Of course, I could be way off on my observations. Come or not, but I’m leaving.” Krampus got up from the booth and left the tavern. After he rejoined the darkness, the tavern door slammed shut.

“Where are we going?”

“Follow me.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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

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

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

New Release: The Night Bartender by Alexa Piper #darkfantasy #holidayromance #LGBTQ @prowlingpiper

Aaron has come to Fairview to find his ex’s teenage sister, who went missing in the city. As a witch both rich and powerful, Aaron follows a trail that leads him to a bar frequented by supernaturals and to a bartender who attracts Aaron’s attention — and not just because the bartender is keeping something from Aaron. When Aaron runs out of leads, he follows the mysterious and pretty bartender, and the next thing Aaron knows, he’s foiling an attempted abduction.

Ilya has built a quiet life in Fairview mixing drinks and flying under the radar. He is a banshee, and the psychic ability and mild telepathy that comes with that makes Ilya a sought-after commodity. That carefully constructed life Ilya built for himself breaks into a thousand pieces when a handsome witch starts asking questions and becomes Ilya’s rescuer mere hours after they meet.

The witch, Aaron, vows to protect Ilya and to keep his secret. Now Ilya has to decide whether he will give Aaron his trust and risk a lonely but safe life as a night bartender in a wintry city in which people disappear only to then turn up murdered.

Save 15% at Changeling Press

Preorder for December 10th at online retailers

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Alexa Piper

Aaron buried his hands in his coat pockets and gave the bleak Fairview midday sky a hard look. Not that the sky gave much of a damn. It was late November, just after the Thanksgiving weekend, and for most of the morning, it had sleeted in a way Aaron had never before experienced in his life. It was like a hot shower, except the cold, freezing water got all the way through to your skin and passed the cold to every inch of your body.

“Damn city just might be cursed with bad weather,” Aaron mumbled as he walked along a street in the Old Town, which should lead him to a bar friendly to the not-quite-human clientele if his online research skills hadn’t failed him. A deep black cloud caught his attention. It zapped across the horizon as if blown by a particularly vicious breeze. Aaron frowned before he picked up his pace. The sooner I’m done here, the sooner I can go back to Morrowvale where November doesn’t suck so bad your balls want to freeze off in surrender, he thought.

In all honesty, Fairview wasn’t a bad place. The city itself was nice enough. The parks and trees here littered the streets with the bones of leaves turning to sludge in the puddles left from the earlier sleet showers, and the people, while ignoring both other people and the suck-tastic weather, dressed a little nicer than the average Morrowvaler. Aaron had also never had Japanese food as good as he’d had an hour ago in a small, unassuming place he’d accidentally walked into, at least not outside Japan. That counted for something, at least in Aaron’s book.

Traffic was in what passed for a bit of a midday lull in Fairview. The honking had ebbed to a not-eardrum-shattering noise, and Aaron managed to cross the street without it feeling like he was gambling with his life.

The Ragdoll was a basement bar, and if Aaron hadn’t been looking for it, he probably would have missed the small neon sign that was either broken or just off this early in the day. A wrought-iron fence further hid the sign and the door, which lay at the bottom of a flight of stairs. This could be a private gambling den or the hideout of a bunch of Russian spies, Aaron thought.

He walked down the stairs and pulled the door open just as another sleet shower was getting ready to wash the streets and everyone walking outside with icy wetness. Aaron shivered as he crossed the threshold and blinked into the softly lit bar.

Last week’s Thanksgiving paper turkeys and fall-colored garlands were still up, though a busboy collected the decorations into a cardboard box labeled “Turkey Day” in black sharpie. There were no Russian spies and no gambling going on here.

Surprisingly, there were several patrons in the bar this early in the day. Aaron spotted a handful starting their day’s drinking early, but most nursed mugs of coffee or were digging into sandwiches which, admittedly, looked better than was right in a basement bar. Judging by their business suits, those were just office workers who knew where the good sandwiches were at. The music was pop, playing just loud enough to offer background noise without becoming obnoxious. This place, despite the outward appearance, looked hip, trendy even. Fucking Fairview. This city is as confusing as a clown at a dinner party, Aaron thought.

Aaron’s fingers closed around the talisman in his pocket. With his touch and the smallest pinch of magic, he felt the worked metal coin activate and the spell bound to it sizzle to life. Three people, including the strawberry-blonde girl behind the bar, whipped their head around to look at him. So, this place really is supernatural friendly, Aaron thought. The talisman heated rapidly in his pocket. And Dora definitely was here before she disappeared.

That confirmed, he let go of the talisman and walked straight to the bartender. The other two patrons who’d noticed his magic had gone back to ignoring him like the good Fairviewers they were.

“Hi,” Aaron said, giving the strawberry blonde his best winning smile. “What’s good here?”

She shrugged. “Depends on whether it’s drink-o’clock in your world or not. If not, the pumpkin spice latte kills. If yes, you look like a Macallan kind of guy.”

Aaron grinned at her. “You’d be right about the whiskey, but I think I’ll go with the latte,” he told her.

He was doing his best with the charming vibes, which usually worked even if he turned it on women, but the bartender just nodded and went about preparing his coffee. Aaron watched her, more interested in the fact that she was making coffee at a bar decked out with an impressive assortment of liquor than anything else. The coffee machine was one of those intimidating ones that took up some primo counter real estate, and from the looks of it, it saw some use.

When she was done, she brought the latte over to him and puffed a dash of cinnamon over the foamy top right in front of him. The warm scent of the spice immediately made Aaron feel just a little more optimistic about everything. The mug was the cutesy kind with a grinning, red-nosed reindeer on the side.

“There you go,” she said with little enthusiasm, though not exactly unfriendly.

“Thanks, miss,” Aaron said. Before she could walk away again, he focused on her instead of the latte. “Could I ask you something?”

“I’m guessing I’m not your type, so go right ahead,” she said.

Aaron’s eyes widened, and it was the girl’s turn to chuckle. “Half-succubus,” she said on a whisper. “The gay-dar is practically built-in.”

He nodded, fighting the color rising to his cheeks. “Right. Makes sense.” Aaron cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you’ve seen this girl,” he said and pulled the photo Patrick had given him from his pocket. It showed Dora smiling, her blond hair shimmering in the sun.

The half-succubus took a look, then shook her head. “No, sorry. Friend of yours?”

“My ex’s sister, believe it or not,” Aaron said. “She went missing, and I tracked her first to Fairview, and now here.” Aaron had the cellphone gods to thank for that. It made using his magic almost unnecessary, although Aaron still liked to confirm the actual person had been to a place, not just their phone, hence his talisman.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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

Visit her website.

Book Tour: Pretty Deadly by Kelsey Josund #darkfantasy #fairytaleretelling @KelseyJosund @RRBookTours1

PrettyDeadly2 copy

Welcome to the book tour for the highly anticipated novel by Kelsey Josund, Pretty Deadly! Read on for more info!

front

Pretty Deadly

Publication Date: October 26th, 2021

Genre: Dark Fantasy/ Fairytale Retelling (Not YA)

Publisher: Darkstroke Books

Cinna would quite literally kill for the throne.

She’s spent years forced to serve her wealthy cousins rather than attend society events alongside them, waiting for the chance to prove herself and exact revenge. When a ball is announced at the castle, promising to bring many powerful people to town, she seizes the opportunity to strike.

She bets her best friend, a small-time thief and con-man, that she can land a greater score the night of the ball than he can. They embark on parallel heists. But as their plots unfold, things begin to unravel: by the end of the night, the castle’s on lock down, a duchess is dead, a mansion has burnt to the ground, and Cinna hasn’t stolen anything. Or has she stolen something more valuable than gold and jewels?

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Excerpt

How interesting, Cinna thought. She had spent so many hours bent over a stove in the kitchen or crouched before the hearth, stoking flames carefully that refused to light. But she had prepared: this house was waiting tinder, ready to be consumed.

She couldn’t hear the screams over the roar of the flames, but surely they were there. Strangely, she didn’t feel cheated to have not heard their voices. It was fine that they died in silence.

It did not take long for the neighbors to begin streaming out of their own houses, and she did hear their screams. They swarmed around the flames, politely mute once they realized they could not do anything, full of awe before the enormity of the fire. Cinna blended into the crowd, nearly invisible in her costume.

At last, just as she had always pledged she would, she watched the house fall in on itself.

Now Available on Amazon

About the Author

kelsey-josund-sq

I am a software engineer and author living and working in Silicon Valley, California. I studied computer science at Stanford University, but I’ve always loved stories in all their forms. I approach writing fiction the same way I approach writing code: I like to know where it’s going, but I want to figure out the details as I go along. Good software is a lot like a good story, full of neat and clever solutions to tricky problems, beautiful at a granular level but also from a distance.

Originally from Seattle, I love getting outdoors and living in places that allow me to escape to the mountains on the weekends, and I care deeply about the ecosystems that humans impact and that impact us. My writing explores these issues while also following classic coming-of-age arcs in science fiction and fantasy. I’m also very interested in stories and characters that complicate the traditional and familiar, leading me to fairytale retellings from unexpected angles.

Kelsey Josund | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads

 

PrettyDeadly2 copy

Book Tour Schedule

November 8th

Reads & Reels (Spotlight) http://readsandreels.com

@inkspit.blog (Review) https://www.instagram.com/inkspit.blog/

Jessica Belmont (Review) https://jessicabelmont.com/

MacroMicroCosm Blog (Review) https://www.vraeydamedia.ca/macromicrocosm-online

Rambling Mads (Review) http://ramblingmads.com

November 9th

@amysbooknook8 (Review) https://www.instagram.com/amysbooknook8/

@atrailofpages (Review) https://www.instagram.com/atrailofpages/

Series Book Lover (Review) https://seriesbooklover.wordpress.com/

Books of All Kinds (Review) www.booksofallkinds.weebly.com

Bunny’s Book Reviews (Review) https://bookwormbunnyreviews.blogspot.com/

Bri’s Book Nook (Review) https://brisbooknook.com/

November 10th

@libraryofash (Review) https://www.instagram.com/libraryofash/

@tiny.bibliophile (Review) https://www.instagram.com/tiny.bibliophile/

@swimming.in.books (Review) https://www.instagram.com/swimming.in.books/

@NerdyFoxReads (Review) https://www.instagram.com/nerdyfoxreads/

Stine Writing (Spotlight) https://christinebialczak.com/

November 11th

Books + Coffee = Happiness (Review) https://bookscoffeehappiness.com/

Lecari’s Live Journal (Review) http://www.lecari.co.uk

Liliyana Shadowlyn (Review) https://lshadowlynauthor.com/

@happily_undignified (Review) https://www.instagram.com/happily_undignified/

@dreaminginpages (Review) https://www.instagram.com/dreaminginpages/

B is for Book Review (Spotlight) https://bforbookreview.wordpress.com

November 12th

Dash Fan Book Reviews (Review) https://dashfan81.blogspot.com/

@by_hckilgour (Review) https://www.instagram.com/by_hckilgour/

I Smell Sheep (Review) http://www.ismellsheep.com/

@jypsylynn (Review) https://www.instagram.com/jypsylynn

@fortybelow_bookish (Review) https://www.instagram.com/fortybelow_bookish/

Port Jericho (Review) http://www.aislynndmerricksson.com

Owl Book World (Review) https://www.owlbookworld.com/

 

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