Wake Me by Angela Knight #darkfantasy #bdsm @AngelaKnight

Wedding Photographer Chloe Hart has just been dumped when she receives a mysterious gift — a painting of a handsome knight in a heavy gold frame worked with what appear to be magical sigils. She promptly hangs the painting up in place of her cheating ex-boyfriend’s portrait.

That night, she has the most delicious dream of Lord Radolf of Varik, the medieval conqueror who has just seized her castle. He seduces her in a red-hot encounter that makes her forget all about ol’ what’s his name. The next night, Radolf is back, this time as the captain of a pirate ship. Night after night, Radolf and Chloe act out some deliciously erotic scene from her favorite guilty-pleasure romance novels. And every single dream seems utterly real, down to the last scent and taste.

What Chloe doesn’t realize is that what’s all fun and games for her is desperately serious for Radolf. He’s been a prisoner for eight hundred years in the castle of a witch, and he can’t escape until he can find a woman who cares enough to free him. Is Chloe that woman?

Even as the two begin to fall in love, a new and horrible fear grips Radolf: what will the witch do to Chloe?

Get it today at Changeling Press

Preorder for May 14th at online booksellers

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Angela Knight

Chloe Hart eyed the newspaper with all the enthusiasm of a woman surveying a dentist’s chair before a root canal. “Don’t be a wuss, Chlo’,” she muttered to herself, and picked up the paper.

Gripping it like a club, she marched back into the house to the kitchen table, where a bracing cup of coffee and a Danish waited to fortify her for the coming ordeal. She tossed the paper on the table, plopped down in her chair, and picked up the mug. An incautious sip scalded the tip of her tongue.

At Chloe’s lisped obscenity, Rhett Butler looked up from his Tender Vittles with an inquiring “Meow?”

“Ignore me, Rhett,” she managed around her boiled tongue tip as she unfolded the newspaper with a series of grim snaps. “Just having a bad morning.”

Happy to comply, the muscular black tom settled back down over his bowl. Like his namesake, he frankly didn’t give a damn. But as she’d told her dog-loving buddy, Amanda Rice, there was something to be said for blunt feline honesty.

Chloe paged past a murder, a house fire, and a really spectacular pileup on I-26 to reach the account of her personal Waterloo. She found it on page four in section C.

The bride smiled her familiar grin from a dozen yards of tulle and seed pearls, clutching a bouquet of white roses that cascaded to her silk-covered knees. Chloe could almost hear her mother sniff that a woman with three kids had no business in that much white. From a professional standpoint, she herself thought the composition was a little off; the tilt of the bride’s veiled head and the position of her flowers didn’t quite lead the eye in the proper flow.

“That’s what you get for using a cheap photographer, you backstabbing bitch,” she muttered at the photo. “Then again, if I’d shot you, I wouldn’t have used a camera.”

Without bothering to read the description of the wedding — she wasn’t that big a masochist, thank you — she closed the newspaper and looked at Rhett. “As God is my witness,” she drawled in her best mock-Scarlett O’Hara growl, “I’ll never be a sucker again.”

Knuckles rattled the storm door. Chloe looked up in surprise. Amanda wouldn’t bother to knock, and she wasn’t expecting anybody else. “If that’s Debbie and Chris, stopping by to beg for forgiveness on the way to the honeymoon,” she told the cat as she got up to answer it, “You have my permission to attack.”

Rhett yawned and twisted around to lick his furry backside.

She looked back at him. “Or you can do that. Does express the general sentiment pretty well.”

Chloe opened the door to find a man in a familiar brown uniform, a huge box tucked awkwardly under one arm. “Delivery,” he said, and juggled his electronic clipboard into her hands.

She took it and signed her name in the window, eying the package. “Wonder who that’s from?”

He shrugged, supremely indifferent. “Looks like a picture to me.”

It did have the right dimensions — four feet across and more than a yard wide, but only three or four inches thick. Curiosity piqued, Chloe accepted the heavy parcel and hauled it inside as the delivery truck roared off. She tossed it down on the kitchen table and went in search of a pair of scissors to attack the packing tape. “If it’s a portrait of the bride and groom,” she told Rhett as she dug through the kitchen drawer, “your litter box is gonna get filled with little bits of photo paper.”

Ripping off a strip of the heavy brown cardboard, Chloe lifted her brows at the intriguing sight of bare, tanned chest and a tight male nipple. “I take it back, Rhett,” she murmured. “Somehow I don’t think this is going in the litter box.”

Ten minutes later, the box lay ruthlessly demolished on the floor, and the oil painting it had contained stood propped on the kitchen table.

Chloe stared reverently.

The knight sprawled in sleep across a tumble of rich sable fur, one hand resting on the jeweled hilt of a sword. It looked as if he’d stripped and fallen asleep after a battle.

He was a big, blond Viking of a man, his hair cropped short, a neat beard framing his lush sinner’s mouth. His starkly handsome face looked as though it had been carved by God’s own chisel, but if so, He’d been in a hurry. There was something a bit crude and brutal in the angles of the knight’s cheekbones and big, square chin. Luckily, those features were balanced out by a regal Roman nose and thick blond brows. The whole effect was intensely masculine — and just a little intimidating.

So was the rest of him. He had the build of a man who’d spent his entire life swinging a blade in an era when losing could cost you your life. He’d cut it close a time or two; his brawny body was slashed here and there with scars that reminded Chloe of a tiger’s stripes.

“Really big hands, too,” she purred under her breath, eying his long fingers and broad palms. Unfortunately, one of the pelts lay across his hips in a pool of sable, preventing her from determining if the interesting bits lived up to those hands.

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.

The Alpha’s Archer by Alexa Piper #paranormalromance @prowlingpiper

Lindsey likes being a police detective, and she also likes being a werewolf alpha and a good leader to her pack. What Lindsey doesn’t like is the trickster who has decided to court her in the middle of a series of uncanny murders.

Eris likes his bow, well-fletched arrows, and the werewolf alpha who claws at his heart with her werewolf claws, metaphorically speaking. Yet, law enforcement seems to have an issue with a trickster deploying arrows, and Lindsey is ever the diligent detective.

While bodies grace the streets of Fairview, Eris has decided to win his werewolf’s heart. All he needs to figure out is how to make the stubborn alpha into his lover.

Lindsey decides to team up with St. John Investigations, the best in the business of supernatural oddities in all of Fairview, to get to the bottom of her paranormal murder mystery, but she will have to deal with the trickster all by herself.

Will Lindsey overcome her fear of commitment, and will Eris overcome his urge to shoot people? Can the St. John Investigations B-team help solve the series of crimes, and why is there a bear? Find out in this mysterious murder comedy. Warning: Contains sentient and very horny office furniture.

Get it today at Changeling Press

Preorder for May 14th at online booksellers

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Alexa Piper

Like any hunter, Eris enjoyed perching. He was doing it — perching on a fire escape — and watching the alpha bitch below who’d snatched his heart in her werewolf claws. Eris held his bow loosely in his hand as Lindsey, all serious Fairview Police detective with her tight ponytail, took in the corpse. It was a nice, distracting corpse, which made it even easier for Eris to remain unseen.

“The fuckery,” Lindsey was saying. It was quite some fuckery indeed. Not that the sight of a torn ribcage particularly troubled Eris, nor the sight of a Dumpster and a good chunk of the sidewalk decorated with guts. But he could agree with Lindsey’s judgment. It is probably wise to get used to agreeing with her. She will expect it, once I woo her, Eris thought. Of course, Eris had dated a hellhound before, like most archers, but a werewolf alpha was a different kind of fletching altogether. I think I might be looking forward to agreeing with her, Eris thought.

A pigeon landed next to Eris, interrupting the newly found agreeable state of the archer’s mind. The pigeon’s pink claws curled around the iron banister, and he looked at the archer with hungry bird eyes and made a pigeon noise while the alpha bitch discussed the bloody fuckery with the medical examiner who was poking and prodding the corpse.

“I don’t have any food,” Eris told the pigeon.

The pigeon stared with his beady eyes and cooed.

“Seriously. I don’t. Go away. I’m perching here.” Eris shifted a bit and adjusted his grip on his bow.

The pigeon did not move. Eris’s bow hand was beginning to feel the tingling need for an arrow, no matter how scrawny the pigeon’s feathery ass was.

“Go. Away.” He was being nice, wasn’t he? Surely even a Fairview pigeon could appreciate that.

The pigeon was being stubborn, however. Down below, Lindsey was cursing some more before she told the medical examiner to let her know the moment the autopsy was done. Then, the alpha bitch pulled out her phone.

“You know, I don’t hate pigeons, but your kind really shouldn’t be all this territorial,” Eris said.

The pigeon cooed.

“Fucks and feathers,” the archer said. Below, Lindsey ended the call and walked away from the fuckery. “Looks like I’m getting coffee. So long, pigeon.”

Eris, rather than descending, went up. Archers like him had an easy way when it came to high ground, and their kind rarely fell, if ever. And Eris felt pretty sure he knew where Lindsey was headed.

The pigeon stared after him. Then, his territory successfully defended, he cooed once more.

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, and subscribe to her newsletter!

BOOK REVIEW: Hell in a Handbasket by Mila Young and Harper A. Brooks #reverseharem #fantasy

See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil. Sleep with no evil… If only it were that easy.

Between being kidnapped by a psycho dragon-shifter, influenced by ancient relics, and fighting for my freedom, I’d say my hands are full. But really, my troubles have just begun.

Cain, Dorian, and Elias are wickedly dangerous, scorching hot, and all too tempting. They’re devils in disguise. Literally.

I don’t know why they’re collecting these relics, but it looks like I’m not the only one with secrets. Despite all the risks, I might be falling for the three of them. But there’s a good chance this Hellish relationship ends up being the death of me.

To make matters worse, there may be something more to my shadow than I originally thought. Something evil that’s set on taking over me entirely if I let it. With each passing day, I find myself falling deeper into its darkness and further under the demons’ deadly charms.

There’s no other way around it… Things are quickly going to Hell in a handbasket. 

Add to Goodreads | Get it at Amazon

MY REVIEW – 4 stars!

Book two in this series starts off with a bang … there’s tons of action, super hot scenes, and the mystery surrounding Aria doubles.

Elias, Cain, and Dorian have never met anyone like Aria. They don’t understand the shadow living inside her any more than she does. In the mix of trying to figure where she came from or what she is, they’re also still on the hunt for the relics they need in order to return to Hell.

Dragons, kidnappings, and lots of hot sex make this a book I couldn’t put down. By the end, I’m still left wondering exactly who or what Aria is, and whether or not her demons will realize she’s more important than them returning to Hell. They’ve been around for centuries but still haven’t realized love is more important than anything else…. stubborn men!

While the book does end with a cliffhanger, and you definitely need to read book 1 before diving into this one, I found that I had to know what happened next. I flipped through the pages, gobbling up every scene, and now I’m eager to read the next installment. Hopefully, all my questions will be answered and Aria will get her happily ever after with her demon trio!

*Disclaimer: The authors did not request a review of this title. I purchased/borrowed it from Amazon. The review above is only mu opinion.

BOOK REVIEW: Playing with Hellfire by Mila Young and Harper A. Brooks #reverseharem #fantasy

The devils aren’t in the details.
They’re in my bed…

When my warlock foster father trades me to demons for his outstanding debts, I find myself in Hell on Earth. I’m thrust into a supernatural underground crime ring I can’t get out of, eternally bound in a contract I never made.

Three hot-as-hell demons stand in between me and my freedom.

A tattooed, brutish Hellhound shifter. An incubus with the power to bend wills on command. And the heir to Lucifer’s throne—the original sin demon, Pride, himself. I have to find a way out of the deal before they devour me, body and soul.

But I’m no angel. There’s something inside me, something that craves the chaotic darkness these demons possess.

Escaping may mean giving in to Hell’s more sinful temptations. But playing with fire only hurts if you get burned…

Add to Goodreads | Get it at Amazon

MY REVIEW – 4 stars!

A fantasy reverse-harem romance that will pull you in and not let go…

I stumbled across this little gem as part of the suggested reads on my Kindle, and I’m glad I decided to check it out. If you like darker reverse harem romances, this one has it all… demons, magic, slavery, and more…

Aria is a strong heroine, who won’t stop until she gets what she wants. In this case, she wants to escape a deal with three demons. She didn’t agree to be sold to Cain, Elias, and Dorian, and she refuses to stay with monsters. One failed escape attempt after another ends up in heated encounters with each demon.

Cain, a Prince of Hell, doesn’t want Aria in his home. And yet, he can’t seem to let her go. Elias, the hellhound, finds himself drawn back to the house more and more now that Aria is in residence, and the incubus, Dorian, is mystified that she can ignore his sexual lures.

With a mystery of who – and what – is Aria, three demons determined to do whatever it takes to return to hell, and a woman who refuses to be a pawn in their games, the pages are filled with action, emotion, and sexual tension.

Be warned, it does end with a cliffhanger… so naturally I’m off to read book 2! I have to know what happens next.

*Disclaimer: The author did not request a review of this title. I purchased/borrowed through Amazon. The review above is only my opinion.

Blood & Fire/Blood Curse (Duet) by Mychael Black #LGBTQ #RockstarRomance

Blood & Fire: Jason Summerfield is the lead singer for local metal band Firestarter. Jason’s an all-around love ‘em and leave ‘em type of guy. He’s also pyrokinetic. Strong emotions can literally start a fire with him, so he’s always struggled to hold himself in check. Then along comes Julian Kristados, a man who turns Jason’s world upside down. With Julian, Jason finds it impossible to control his fire. But when Jason discovers why Julian remains unscathed, he doesn’t know whether to run… or let the man into his heart.

Blood Curse: Jason has finally found the man of his dreams — Greek vampire Julian. Along with the fame, though, Jason has also garnered the attention of a stalker. When the stalker’s attentions turn deadly, will they be able to save Jason from forced repayment of an ancestor’s debt?

Get it today at Changeling Press

Preorder for April 30th at online booksellers

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Mychael Black
Excerpt from Blood & Fire

“Jason?”

The lightest touch and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I turned my head and looked up at the man standing beside me, an expression of genuine concern on his youthful face. I gave him a weak smile; it was all I could do.

“Dude, you okay?”

I wiped my hands down my face and sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

“The other band is finishing. You sure you’re up for this?”

I glanced at him from between the fingers spread across my face. “Not like I have much choice.” He shrugged and smiled sympathetically. “How much longer?”

“They’re on their last song now. Then we’ll have a fifteen minute break before we have to go on. You look like shit. Want a drink or something?”

I stood and stretched. “Sure. What’s out there?”

He grinned. “Whatever you want. Terri said drinks are on her tonight.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Pritchard isn’t here, is he?”

“How’d ya guess?”

“All right, gimme a minute and I’ll be out there,” I said. As he turned and started out the door, I called to him. “Oh, and Mike, tell Terri I want vodka.”

Mike grinned and left.

I turned back to the emptiness of the meager dressing room, caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and grimaced. “Fuck. Make that a gallon of vodka.”

Mike was right; I looked horrible. I didn’t sound much better either. I grabbed my hairbrush and worked out the tangles I had managed to incur during our last set. I loved being the main act, but damn, I just wanted to go home tonight.

Go home to what, Jase? An empty bed? To stare up at the ceiling again?

I threw the hairbrush at the mirror. It bounced onto the countertop before landing on the hard tile floor. I didn’t want to think about it anymore, not tonight. But I had to. It had become the only thing left in my life that got me so fucking pissed that I could perform like my fans expected. I looked in the mirror again and felt the heat begin to build up. I still had to control it, even when I didn’t want to. Mike stuck his head back in the door. From the grin on his face, I figured I finally looked the part.

“Ready?”

I nodded. “Let’s do this. Last set of the night.”

I followed him out into the hallway. Jesse twirled a drumstick while Vic hummed one of his solos with his eyes closed. Marcus stood a little further down the hall, seemingly content to corner one of the prettier groupies, one hand flat against the wall by her head and the other stroking her cheek. As the rest of us walked by, Jesse whacked him on the head with his drumstick.

“God damn it,” Marcus grumbled. “I’m fucking coming already.” He turned back to the woman and gave her a quick kiss before falling in beside me.

The lights in the club had been turned down and the fog machine was cranked up. It was so smoky I could barely see the crowd at all. By the time we were all in place, it had dissipated as if on cue. With the first chord from Vic’s guitar the crowd went wild. I stepped out of the smoke and up to the edge of the stage. It was one of our newer songs, yet there were people in the crowd singing my lyrics back to me. Fuck, that was such a rush.

I never brought out the “big guns,” as Mike called it, until our fourth song. “Thy Savior” was a crowd favorite and our fans knew every single word. As I sang and growled and gripped the mic with my left hand, I lifted my right, palm up. With the music pounding in my eardrums, going soul-deep, it didn’t take much.

Blue flames flared across my skin, sparking six inches above my palm. The crowd roared, fists pumping into the air. I blew on the flame during the solo and it flickered outward. With a snap of my fingers, it snuffed out and everyone cheered and whistled over the finale.

Times like that, I enjoyed my weird ability.

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!

Luminous Dreams by Alexa Piper #paranormalromance @prowlingpiper

When desire and lust combine in the dark imagination of the sleeping mind, the results burn hot as phoenix fire and take us on a journey to meet two lovers who are anything but human. We may find ourselves deep in the woods where dryads have been waiting to offer seduction under the cover of leaves, or we may find a candy trail we simply have to follow.

These are nine stories of magic and magical things, of shapeshifters and fortune-tellers, of witches and their charms. Two women fall for one another even as two handsome vampires decide to share the woman they both claim, and a muse strikes inspiration in a dancer. Myth and dream meet love and lust in this collection of nine sensual stories which explore different worlds, different characters, and different constellation of lovers. Each story is a journey worth taking.

Get it Today at Changeling Press

Preorder at online booksellers for April 23rd

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Alexa Piper

You want to know the details. You want to know how Sebastian came to be my gentleman.

Well, it is simple, really.

“So tell me, Bas (that’s what I was calling him by then), what makes you leave lollipop trails out there in the woods? “

He shrugged. “I guess… I dunno. I wanted to see who picked them up, who would go for the sweet stuff.”

“What if I had licked one of them?” I asked, and he blushed, just a little bit.

“You… would have come here, very eager… eager to lick something else.”

“So you put an aphrodisiac in the candy?” I asked him.

“Well, no,” he said. “I just enchanted them to encourage desire.”

Now, by then we were sitting on his loveseat by the fire. He had made tea, but I had stubbornly stirred mine without drinking any of it. After all, I still remember the taste of that poisoned apple our lovely, lovely sorceress queen offered me and I foolishly took. Aw, but she was unique, wasn’t she, our mirror-loving queen? How much you too could have enjoyed her if you had a taste for women at all. Wouldn’t you agree, Brother?

So when I tell you the impression I had of Bas by then, know that it was untainted by anything magical. He had lovely hair, golden I told you, but it was the really curly and sparkly soft kind that you want to run your fingers through, and my fingers, Brother, were itching to take a handful of that hair and pull, gently. Then there were his shoulders, quite a bit broader than you would expect to see in an enchanter. I mentioned his chest already, but being exposed to the sight for all our conversation, I wanted nothing more than to touch it, taste it with my tongue. His waist was narrow while his thighs and ass were wonderfully formed and muscular. A runner’s body really. (Yes, all right, he reminded me a little bit of our gingerbread man.)

So he sits there and tells me that he was basically trying to get laid, and being out there in the woods, he used some enchantment to attract potential bedmates because what else are you supposed to do, out there in the woods?

To his credit, he was being frank about it, and let us not pretend, Brother, that he is anywhere near as creepy or devious as half the things prowling that forest! Actually, in comparison, he did seem like one of the more gentlemanly kind.

“So you want to be licked?” I asked him unflinchingly. I crossed my legs slowly and made sure to pull my skirt up so he could see enough leg to make his mouth water.

“I would like that,” he said, rubbing those long-fingered hands of his. “But of course, I wouldn’t mind reciprocating either.”

We might have talked a bit more then, but it ended as you must have been expecting all along. I put my hand on his thigh, gently stroking, then stroking his hard length through his pants. I looked deep into his brown eyes and saw how his pupils went wide when my hand worked on him…

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, and subscribe to her newsletter!

The Ruins by Torri Heat #darkfantasy @torriheat

Joelle’s a mess. Nightmares about the end of the world keep her up at night, and lack of sleep has her losing job after job.

The only consistency to these dreams is the man she calls “The Watcher.” After another night of frustration, The Watcher arrives at her door, in the flesh. Luc, a demon Mare, is the source of all her problems.

Could he also be her salvation?

Available today at Changeling Press

Preorder at online booksellers for April 23rd

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Torri Heat

Joelle

I woke up from the dream that’s been plaguing me for months. The one where the world was burning. I watched the town I had grown up in crumble to dust around me, and the taste of death was thick in my mouth. People turned to ash as I reached out to save them and blew into the wind as if their bodies had never existed. As hard as I tried, I could never save them. Nothing I did made a difference. I would look for water, but a small bucketful seemed pitiful against the raging flames. I would offer myself up to some unseen god, hoping my sacrifice might save another. But as in most dreams, I was powerless.

Sometimes I doubted if these visions were dreams at all. When I woke up in the dead of night, damp with sweat and out of breath, I swore I could see the golden tones of a blaze outside my window. I would have put money on the fact I could feel the heat licking my face, gentle as a lover’s touch. The world I was seeing in front of me felt so real — so condemning. Less like a dream, and more like a warning.

But no matter what I did, as hard as I tried, the end was always the same. The small town burned to nothing, and the people disappeared. The same disaster, night after night. The only other constant was the man in my dreams. The one who stood on the other side of the flames, always staring at me. Watching carefully. But his perfect lips never uttered a word of advice, and he never moved his rugged hands to offer help. He seemed to exist outside of whatever was happening in my dreams, this figment of my imagination. He never burned, and I never got close enough to see if he would turn to ash with my touch. He just watched.

That’s what I called him when I described him to my therapist — the watcher. Overseeing me, my dreams, my nightmares, my failures. Handsome, but the kind of beautiful that could cut you like a knife. Like an artist forgot to soften the edges. Messy blond hair ruffled in the winds of the world burning around us. His dark, foreboding eyes felt like they were staring into my soul and evaluating every decision I made. The watcher was tall, and a formidable sight amongst the destruction. But I couldn’t figure out if he was watching me try to save the world, or watching me as I destroyed it.

He was the only person in my dreams I didn’t know, which made him stand out. I convinced myself it wasn’t his haunting beauty drawing me back time and time again. And like every other night, the watcher had been there. Watching as I tried to save a childhood friend, and the plump owner of the bakery down the road from my small apartment. What woke me up wasn’t the warmth of the flames that lingered in my memory. It was the slight downturn of his full lips as I screamed in frustration when everyone crumbled in my hands yet again. He never had any expression on his face before. But tonight was different. Tonight, the watcher had frowned.

I sighed heavily and rolled over in my bed to switch on my bedside lamp, illuminating the room in a gentle light. I scrubbed my hands over my face, trying to remember if anything else had been different. If there was anything else I needed to write down for Dr. Tanya.

“Once you start to notice the differences in each dream, you’ll be able to take the control back,” she had told me at my last appointment. I wasn’t sure. Control was currently a limited commodity in my life. I swung my legs out of bed, watching the blinking clock on my table flash a time way too early to be awake. I flipped on lights as I made my way into the kitchen, pouring an ice-cold glass of water and forcing myself to drink the whole thing before I let the thoughts overwhelm me. The anxieties. The need to do more. I slammed the glass down next to a stack of bills, all angrily stamped with “Final Warning” in a shade of red that hurt my eyes.

This was what my life had come to. I had wanted more. Wanted adventure, to feel alive.

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.  

Release Blitz: The Detective’s Mate by Alexa Piper #paranormalromance #LGBTQ @prowlingpiper @changelingpress @GoIndiMarketing

Title: The Detective’s Mate

Series: Dusk & Dawn #5

Author: Alexa Piper

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: April 2, 2021

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 143

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Mystery, Thriller/Suspense, murder mystery, urban fantasy, paranormal romance, shapeshifters, werewolves, vampires, dark fantasy

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Orrin and Gordon come from different worlds: Orrin is a werewolf with the New Amsterdam Police, and Gordon is a vampire who likes the quiet of his morgue. Yet, they decided to be with one another even though Orrin’s vampire was at first afraid to commit.

Now, new complications come barreling at the two when Orrin realizes he will have to step up to become a parent to an orphan shifter, while New Amsterdam has become the haunt of a serial killer who targets mixed supernatural and human couples.

Gordon was slow to realize he loves his werewolf mate, but it takes him even longer to figure out he still has his own demons to deal with. A past hurt has left a scar on his soul. Gordon’s werewolf detective might just be what Gordon needs to heal the scars from his past. The only question is whether geeky Gordon is enough for serious and seriously handsome Orrin.

Together with Maxim, New Amsterdam’s bardic vampire hunter, Orrin and Gordon are on the case to save the city from sinking into fear and panic as more murders challenge the peace. Through turmoil and death, Orrin and Gordon must find a way forward.

NOTE: This book contains scenes of assault and kidnapping that may be triggers for some readers.

Excerpt

Copyright ©2021 Alexa Piper

New Amsterdam Police Station was a nice neoclassical building, and all things considered, it wasn’t a bad place to work. Most of the time, the coffee was even decent.

Orrin had not usually been one to leave the station early, but Bachman, his protégée, was more than capable and didn’t need him holding her hand while she finished her paperwork. Also, Orrin had a hot date at the morgue. He checked the time on his computer, finished one more email, then logged out. Bachman briefly looked up from what she was doing.

“You always look cheery when you are going to see the boyfriend,” she commented, then did a double take and looked straight at him. “Or should I be saying mate?”

Orrin grabbed his bag and stuffed his work tablet into it. “Boyfriend is fine,” Orrin said, because it was, and it also was easier around the station, since most of Orrin’s colleagues weren’t werewolves but were human like Bachman herself. “Also, are you saying I’m usually grumpy-looking, Bachman?”

“Just very, very serious, sir.” She went back to typing. “I think cheery suits you. And I think the mate-slash-boyfriend does as well.”

Orrin couldn’t do anything about the wide grin that threatened to make his cheeks ache. “Well, thanks. I’ll tell Gordon you said hi.”

“Hmm-mmh.” Bachman winked at him as Orrin walked toward the elevators, and even he noticed the spring in his step.

* * *

The worst thing about any morgue was the smell of lingering death. Orrin sniffed the air when he got to the basement hallway in the Forum that housed the forensic labs, though he was hoping to pick up a whiff of Gordon’s dusty rose scent rather than eau de corpse. Yet all he got was vinegar and bleach cleaning solution. Gordon had probably received a fresh batch of New Amsterdam University interns and had set them to cleaning every nook and cranny so they could familiarize themselves with the place.

On the bland-looking wall on the left, a framed, vintage <em>Dracula</em> movie poster added a dose of vampiric cheer in bold print and even bolder colors to the basement labs, and opposite it, Gordon’s office door stood ajar. Orrin peeked around the doorframe to see if Gordon was in there.

<em>What a nice view,</em> Orrin though, watching Gordon hanging a framed piece of artwork, his nimble surgeon’s fingers adjusting the frame this way and that. The view was much helped by the skinny jeans Gordon was wearing. The jeans were a silvery gray, clashing with the raspberry surgical top, but nicely bringing out Gordon’s latest hair color, electric blue that shifted to icy white at the ends. <em>I am very fortunate to have found a mate who looks great in skinny jeans and likes wearing them</em>.

Orrin indulged in a quick fantasy centered on removing said pair of skinny jeans, and in the fantasy, that task was easy, and Orrin’s mate had decided to go commando. Orrin imagined Gordon hard and ready, imagined touching, tasting…

He smothered that fantasy quickly when he felt his own aching physical reaction. Instead, he refocused back on the present: Gordon, tinkering with the frame.

“Hey,” Orrin said.

Gordon jumped, dropped the frame, and cursed as he turned around. “Fucking hell,” he said, his stance relaxing as he saw Orrin. “Make some noise every now and then, will you?”

Orrin chuckled. “Thought I was a living corpse, Doctor?”

“Never,” Gordon said, picking up the frame once more and putting it on its hook with much less fumbling than before. “Those shamble, noisily.” He turned to Orrin again. “And you are sneaky, like a true predator, Detective.”

Orrin walked into Gordon’s office, which smelled of roses, Gordon’s scent. It still had an undertone of morgue, of course. The Lord Helmet cookie jar added the herby flavor of good weed cookies, and all the mint-in-box collectibles came with their own aroma of high-end plastic, but Orrin focused on Gordon. Two more steps, and he was pulling the vampire into his arms and pressing his lips to Gordon’s.

Gordon yielded to being held after a moment, turning fully to Orrin and allowing the werewolf to fuse their mouths and run hands over Gordon’s body, all the way down to his ass.

“Hi,” Orrin said when they broke their kiss.

“Hello, handsome,” Gordon said, and while the vampire wasn’t one to give pet names, Orrin still enjoyed being called handsome, not least because it came out of his mate’s mouth. “Are you here to cuff me and take me away?”

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Meet 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, and subscribe to her newsletter!

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BOOK REVIEW: Mad as a Hatter by Kendra Moreno #darkfantasy #bookreview #fairytales


Descend into Madness… 

Clara spent her whole life fighting in courtrooms for the downtrodden, the strange ones, the abused. It’s only natural that when a man with rabbit ears on his head comes to see her, she doesn’t blink an eye… 
…until he opens a portal and drags her to Wonderland. 

But this isn’t the world she’s read about at home. This world has been twisted, poisoned by none other than the Red Queen. 

There’s a prophecy, the only chance Wonderland has of survival. Clara is foretold to defeat the Knave and claim the Hatter’s heart. But there’s a problem. The Hatter is insane and Wonderland is full of unspeakable horrors. Death waits behind every tree. If the Beezles don’t get you, the Bandersnatch will. 

Can Clara embrace the madness and her destiny, or will the reign of the Red Queen continue? 

This isn’t the Wonderland you know… 

**This is a Horror Romance retelling of Wonderland filled with all the creatures and characters you thought you knew. It contains gore, adult themes, and a sexy Hatter. Each book in the series can be read as a stand-alone, although, it is suggested to be read in order. 

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MY REVIEW:

5-stars!

A stunning, if bloodthirsty, retelling of Alice in Wonderland! By far the best one I’ve read…

Clara leads a relatively normal, boring life, until the day she spots a man in the courtroom with bunny ears. Little did she realize seeing him would be the start of an amazing adventure. But tumbling down the rabbit hole is nothing like the fairytale. Wonderland is full of danger, and Clara is their only hope of survival.

I’ve always loved the character of the Mad Hatter and Ms. Moreno’s version is positively delicious! All dark, brooding, and mad… Hatter is intriguing and sexy. How could Clara not fall for him?

Their path is drought with danger, bloodshed, and death… but their love and Clara’s bravery will help save Wonderland.

Absolutely fabulous! I can’t wait to see what happens next in the Sons of Wonderland series. I’m hooked!

*Disclaimer: The author did not request a review for this title. I purchased a copy at Amazon. The review above is only my opinion.

Infernal Desire by Angela Knight #DarkFantasy @AngelaKnight @changelingpress

For the past five years, Zana Alasdair has been obsessed with Rafe Cazadero. Which is an issue, to say the least, because Rafe is a half-angel demon hunter, and Zana is… well… a demon. Sort of. Anyway, she’s a succubus — a half-human demon who draws magic from the erotic energy she collects making love to mortals. Which means Rafe would probably kill her if he caught her hanging around.

Which is why Pointy doesn’t approve of her little crush on the hunter. Pointy is her evil tail, which has a mind of its own, and is thoroughly convinced Rafe is Bad News. And Pointy does have a… well… point. Except if Rafe’s not careful, he’s going to get himself killed, and that would be a damn shame. Especially since one of those most interested in killing Rafe is Zana’s psycho father, Jargoth, a Lord of Hell, who’d also like to kill Zana.

Zana’s been thinking. Wouldn’t it be great if she could talk Rafe and his magic sword into an alliance? She can be pretty persuasive… assuming she can convince her evil tail to be a little less evil…

Get it now at Changeling Press

Preorder for April 2nd at Online Booksellers

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Angela Knight

Rafe

I needed the night off, but I wasn’t going to get it. I’d be killing demons before dawn. That or dying.

My skin had the itchy feeling that meant something nasty was about to emerge from Hell. Trouble was, it was hard to tell when that itch would escalate to the fiery burn of the Call.

Frowning, I swallowed a mouthful of Scotch, absently stroking the cat in my lap as I gave the problem some thought. Witches preferred to do their summoning at midnight, because that’s what some idiot wrote in a grimoire once. On the other hand, a demon manifesting on his own could choose any time between dusk and dawn. Once the sun came up, you were in the clear for the day. All that solar radiation interferes with dark magics.

“Blllurrrt?” Hocus stretched upward to scrub her furry head against my stubbled jaw. The cat was a Maine Coon, sixteen pounds of fluff and affection. Her bright green eyes peered from a coal-black face surrounded by streaks of white, gray and black, as if she was emerging from a cloud of smoke.

Five years ago, I’d found her meowing in a storm drain as a half-drowned kitten. I’d fished her out and taken her home. I have no idea how an expensive purebred ended up in such a mess, but the vet said she wasn’t chipped. I decided not to look a gift cat in the fangs.

I’d needed the company of something alive to stay sane, since there was no way in Hell I’d risk a woman in my life for more than a few hours. Sometimes I still woke with tears on my cheeks, remembering the clean toddler scent of Ettor’s white-blond hair and the music of Ynes’s laughter.

And the sight of their bodies, when I’d returned home from the mission to find what the demon had left of them. It had been more than three centuries, but you don’t forget that kind of pain. I’d never dared love another mortal since.

Fortunately, one of the Diabol would ignore a cat. Animals don’t have enough innate magic to attract their attention. Hocus was a safe enough companion.

I took another sip of Scotch whiskey as the electric tingle on my shoulders started rolling over my skin in stinging waves. The sensation sharpened between my shoulder blades, burning like a brand where wings would have been — if I’d had them.

Grimacing, I drained the Scotch. The Call would sober me up, no matter how drunk I was. Part of the magic. I ran one hand down the cat’s silken back all the way to the end of her tail, which twitched out of my grip.

It was quiet, the only sound Hocus’s metronome purr and the steady click of the grandfather clock. The library was my favorite room in the house. No weapons lurked anywhere, other than the blessed blade in my boot. No grimoires occupied the maple hand-carved floor to ceiling shelves. Just mysteries and science fiction novels and volumes of poetry, stacked three deep. It wasn’t a rich man’s library — no leather-bound first editions. Most of my books were paperbacks in a dozen languages, dog-eared with cracked spines. I read books, I don’t collect them. I clung to the moment of peace with a drowning man’s desperation, knowing it was about to…

My vision snapped crystal-sharp around the edges, a signal that meant I had exactly twenty minutes to the Call. I put the rocks glass down on the end table with a click, scooped Hocus off my lap and dropped her to the floor as I rose. She meowed plaintively and trotted at my heels as I strode from the library and down the hall.

I’d built the house in the Craftsman style a century or so ago. Its exterior was rough fieldstone in shades of brown and cream, with thick, square columns and oak accents. Inside, I’d hand-carved exposed oak beams and wainscoting with intricate patterns. You’d have to look closely to see the warding spells worked into the carving to discourage demonic visitors. It was a bit dark inside for contemporary taste — no blinding white open plan for me. I displayed the art and sculpture that was too realistic for modern collectors where it suited me. I replaced it with whatever piece I did next and liked better.

When you’re immortal, you don’t get sentimental about your work. That’s why I’ve got three storage units stuffed to the gills.

The door at the end of the hall opened at my touch — no one else could have opened it at all — and the wrought iron rang under my feet as I descended the spiral stairs to the armory.

Hocus trotted at my heels muttering weird little Maine Coon vocalizations. I was almost tempted to run her commentary through Google Translate, but I didn’t think Cat was one of the language options. Besides, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what she was bitching about.

“I shouldn’t be gone long,” I told her. “But just in case, there’s water, and the feeder will dispense your breakfast in eight hours.”

More Maine Coon grumbling.

“Yeah, I know you hate dry food, but that’s all the feeder takes.” She was picky as Hell, but I figured she’d eat it if she got hungry enough.

She leaped past, the stairs ringing as I stepped off onto the smooth-finished concrete floor inscribed with runes and three different spell circles. I pulled my cell phone out of my jeans pocket and thumbed a button, then dropped it on my worktable.

If I wasn’t back in forty-eight hours to cancel it, an email would go out to Jo Landon telling the gallery owner where to find the key I’d hidden. She’d pick up the art and the cat. Remuiel would take care of everything the mortals didn’t need to know about. “Jo’ll come pick you up if something goes seriously sideways.” I gave the cat a glower. “I know you never like my friends, but too bad. No biting, no clawing, no breaking her shit. I don’t want you to starve if I’m not around to take care of your furry ass.”

As I spoke, I started stripping, methodically swapping jeans and T-shirt for the skin-tight Lycra that would keep my armor from chafing. Then I turned to the big man-shaped form that held the blessed armor and began to slide into it.

Back in the day, a knight needed the help of a squire and a page or two to get into his armor, but this suit had been conjured by an angel for combat with demons. The hip-length jacket and pants looked like leather and weighed about the same, but the spells and sigils embossed into them made them stronger than a battleship’s hull. I could have taken a blast from a tank without mussing my hair. Black gloves, boots and a helm with a transparent faceplate completed the armor, all marked prominently with the sign of the cross. Which, unfortunately, didn’t do as good a job at repelling demons as legends would have you believe.

Because that would make my life too fucking easy.

The burn was intensifying. I was running out of time…

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.