Tag Archives: Dark Fantasy

Boundaries by AJ Graham #BDSM #DarkFantasy #PNR

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Sacrifices of the body cannot compare with the ecstasy that comes from sacrifices of the heart.

Bound by Blood: For centuries, sacrificial offerings have kept peace between humans and the immortal Kin who feed on their blood. When his sister is chosen, Daniel offers himself in her place. Daniel has grown up believing the Kin to be heartless monsters. He never imagined the Kin lord’s touch would stir hiss body and heart, would make him crave the very thing he’d always feared: the sweet, sharp burn of fangs in his neck.

Bound by Desire: Keelie al’Trega marries Lord Kalen to secure peace between their two planets. Then she learns the terrible truth — becoming his mate will create an unbreakable psychic bond between them, a bond so intense and powerful that it can drive a person insane. Is Kalen worth the risk?

No Shame: Paul’s never told anyone about his fantasies of being spanked and flogged, until he meets Kade — a sensual, experienced man who offers to fulfill his every hidden desire. But Paul soon realizes that he might be in over his head…

Flesh and Spirit: Rose has always dreamed of serving Kalia, the goddess of healing and pleasure. But in order to become a priestess, she has to complete a ritual in which she casts aside all inhibitions and enters a trance of sexual ecstasy. Gabe and Rafe are more than happy to help her complete her Initiation. But can Rose handle what they have in mind?

Publisher’s Note: Boundaries (Box Set) contains the previously published novellas Bound by Blood, Bound by Desire, No Shame, and Flesh and Spirit.

Available Today at Changeling Press

Get the Paperback at Amazon

Praise for Bound by Blood

“A very enjoyable read.”

4.5 Diamonds — S. K. Fero, Got Erotic Romance! Reviews

“[the author] has created an amazing saga packed with social truths, emotions and spectacular lovemaking.”

5 Nymphs — Chocolate Minx, Literary Nymphs

Praise for Bound by Desire

“If you like classic romance plots and have been missing the virgin/arranged marriage stories in erotic novels, this book is definitely for you.”

— Elizabeth Charles, Just Erotic Romance Reviews

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 AJ Graham
Excerpt from Bound by Blood

Daniel sat upright in the saddle, wrists bound, as his horse plodded forward. The coarse ropes chafed his skin, and fear twisted his guts into knots, but he kept his face calm and expressionless. He would hold onto his dignity, he promised himself, no matter what happened. It was all he had left.

Moonlight silvered the leaves of the forest as the procession rode single file down the narrow path. A guard rode behind him, and another in front to keep him from running away. They needn’t have worried. He did not intend to escape. If he did, his sister would suffer in his place.

He tried not to think of what awaited him at the end of the path. Instead, he thought of Sara safe and alive, baking bread with their mother, riding her favorite mare through the fields, picking wildflowers.

The procession stopped in a large, round clearing. Daniel’s two escorts dismounted. They were both men from the village, men he knew. They wouldn’t look him in the eye. Tom — the village baker — looked around, the whites of his eyes flashing like those of a frightened horse. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “They’ll be here any minute,” he muttered.

“Aye,” replied Ben, the other escort. He glanced over his shoulder at Daniel, looked down, shook his head, and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I tell you, Tom, I hate this arrangement. It ain’t right, offering our young men and women to these blood-suckers. Sometimes I think it was better in the old days, when we hunted –“

“Shhh! You want them to hear you?”

“They can’t hear us,” he said, irritation creeping into his voice. “They aren’t here yet.”

“You don’t know that,” Tom shot back. “One of ’em could be standing right next to you, and you wouldn’t know it unless he spoke.” He glared at Ben. “None of us like this arrangement, but it’s the only way. In the old days, people died. The offerings keep things peaceful. Keeps the blood-suckers from our village. As for the offerings… well, it’s the price we pay. It’s not like they kill them.”

“No.” Ben lowered his voice even more, but Daniel could still make out the words. “But what they do to them is probably worse.”

“Hush!”

Daniel’s hands clenched, nails pressing into his palms. “It’s all right,” he said. Despite his efforts to keep his voice steady, it trembled. “I’m not afraid.” It was a lie, and they all knew it. Ben and Tom exchanged guilty glances.

They waited. Daniel’s ears caught the thump of approaching hoof beats. He tensed.

At the edge of the clearing, a black horse emerged from the shadows. It was huge, muscular; its coat sleek and glossy. The rider wore dark, close-fitting trousers, which showed off his long, lean legs, and his black cloak billowed in the wind. Beneath it was a tight shirt of black leather, molded to the contours of his body. He was slender but hard, all sculpted muscle, his abdomen flat and trim. His skin was white, as if it had never seen sunlight… and he was stunningly, unnervingly beautiful, as beautiful as a woman, though it was impossible to mistake him for one. A breeze ruffled his short hair, which gleamed a pale silver, like moonlight on water. And his eyes…

Daniel’s heartbeat quickened as he stared into those ruby eyes. He had never seen one of the Kin face to face. That pale face was as cold and expressionless as a statue’s. There was no trace of feeling in those blood-red eyes. They flicked over the two cowering escorts, then focused on Daniel.

“Is this the offering?” The Kin lord’s voice was deep and full. It seemed to reverberate in the pit of Daniel’s stomach, in the marrow of his bones.

Tom took a deep breath and straightened. “Yes, my lord.”

“I was told that the offering this year would be a young woman.”

Tom glanced at Daniel and cleared his throat. “Aye, that was the intent. But this young man — Daniel — volunteered to take the place of his sister.”

Silver brows lifted. He looked at Daniel. “Is this true?”

Daniel swallowed. “Yes.” His voice sounded very small.

“How old are you, Daniel?”

“Twenty.”

For a long moment, the Kin lord stared at him. That ruby gaze held him immobile. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He felt as though those eyes could see straight into his head, as if they were examining every particle of his soul, weighing and measuring unseen qualities. At last, the man nodded. “Very well. Unbind his hands and let him dismount.”

With shaking hands, Tom unbound Daniel’s wrists. Daniel dismounted. His heart knocked like a fist against his chest as he walked toward the huge, black horse and the silver-haired man. He looked over his shoulder, but Tom and Ben would not meet his gaze.

“You two may go,” the silver-haired man said. “Take his horse with you. He won’t need it.”

Still avoiding Daniel’s gaze, they turned their horses and walked them out of the clearing. Daniel’s mare followed. He took a deep breath and approached the Kin lord.

Ruby eyes stared down at him. The man stretched out a hand. Daniel took it — the skin was smooth as marble — and the Kin lord pulled him onto the horse. Daniel gasped. There was no saddle. He gripped the horse with his thighs.

“Hold on to me,” said the Kin lord.

Daniel hesitated, then placed his hands gingerly on the man’s shoulders.

“Not like that.” There was a touch of gentle amusement in his voice. “Put your arms around my waist.”

Daniel bit his lower lip. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around that dagger-slim waist. His chest pressed against the man’s hard back. The Kin lord gave his mount a light tap with his heels. The horse snorted, tossed its head, and began to walk.

“My name is Vale, but you may address me as Master.”

“Yes, Master,” Daniel said quietly.

Vale looked over his shoulder. His crimson eyes reflected Daniel’s face. There were no discernable pupils, just two solid, ruby disks that seemed to burn with their own inner light. “You volunteered to take your sister’s place, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Daniel hesitated. “She’s younger than me by four years. She’s in love with a man whom she’s planning to marry one day. And my parents adore her. The whole village adores her. So do I. She’s always treated me with more kindness than anyone else. When she was chosen as the offering, everyone was devastated. I could not bear to think of her being taken away from all those who love her.” He remembered the moment of sinking dread as a village elder had read Sara’s name from the scrap of paper he’d drawn, blindfolded, from a wooden box.

“And you? Will they not be devastated by your loss, as well?”

Self-conscious, Daniel dropped his gaze. “I…”

“Look at me.”

Daniel looked up and met those cool, expressionless eyes. “No, Master, they won’t miss me much.”

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.

Harri Unbound by Rebecca York #paranormalromance #romanticsuspense #darkfantasy

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When the ruthless magician Madrin dies, opportunists seek revenge for his cruelty. They kidnap his daughters, meaning to sell them into sexual slavery at a brutal club for sadistic, wealthy men. Lady Harri Madrin manages to escape before the doors close behind them and vows to rescue her sister, Morgan.

Gareth Lamb, the handsome son of a local merchant, finds Harri and hides her from her furious pursuers. When she begs him to help rescue her sister, he agrees. They decide to pretend she is his concubine so they can gain entry to the club to search for Morgan.

The master-slave charade forces them into sizzling erotic encounters. Soon, they fall in love, but Gareth knows he could never aspire to marriage with the high-born Lady Harri.

Though Harri’s magical abilities give them an edge, they’re badly outnumbered by the slavers. Even if they manage to rescue Morgan, will Gareth’s disapproving father disown him if they declare their love and attempt to marry?

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Rebecca York

Harri Madrin woke in her narrow bed in the dark hours of the night. For a moment she thought she might be dreaming — until she realized there was some sort of disturbance in the convent, something she had never heard in this place of tranquility.

With moonlight streaming through the narrow window, she slipped across the stone floor of the small chamber to where her sister still slumbered. “Morgan, wake up. Something bad is happening.”

Her younger sister’s eyes blinked open as the sound of rough male voices came closer. Men in the convent? Never, unless there was some task that the vestals could not accomplish on their own. And never at night.

Sister Matilda rushed into the room. “Hurry, you must hide! They are after you.” She had always been kind to them, and now her wrinkled face was full of fear.

“Who? Why?”

“For revenge. Your father is dead.”

Harri felt nothing for her sire besides a flood of relief. In all her eighteen years, she had feared her father, the magician, Madrin. Now he would no longer rail at her for being born the wrong sex — and for not inheriting any of his powers. Or so he thought. He was incorrect about the latter, but she had kept that knowledge from him, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of her talent. It was the same for her sister, Morgan.

“You must hide before they find you.” Sister Matilda urged.

“But where?”

“Come with me,” she pleaded.

“We must dress,” Morgan protested.

“No time.” The elderly vestal ushered them out of their room. The stone floor was cold on their bare feet as they followed the sister to a small chapel. She led them up the aisle to the front of the room, then removed two candlesticks and opened the top of the altar where they saw a deep cavity under the horizontal surface.

“In with you.”

The girls climbed into the box, curling on their sides and scrunching down to fit into the space.

“I will come back for you when it’s safe,” Sister Matilda promised before lowering the lid. The sound of metal hitting wood told Harri she had replaced the candlesticks.

Harri moved in the cramped space, trying to get comfortable. She froze when a rough male voice demanded, “What have you done with them?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying, you old bitch.”

“You dare such sacrilege?”

“You are no better than Madrin, sheltering his demon’s spawn.”

The words were followed by the sound of a hand slapping against flesh. Sister Matilda cried out in pain.

“Where are they?”

There was no answer, but Harri heard something hitting the floor. She crammed her fist against her mouth as she struggled not to scream.

Outside in the chapel, a whirlwind of destruction erupted — heavy pews being tossed about, glass breaking. And then silence.

Harri trembled in their hiding place, and she could feel her sister’s similar vibrations.

Footsteps approached the altar, and she struggled to keep her teeth from chattering. A sweeping noise sent the candlesticks clattering to the stones. The top creaked up, and Harri cringed away.

“And what have we here?”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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

RELEASE BLITZ: Possibilities by Kira Stone #LGBTQ #BDSM #DarkFantasy

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Title: Possibilities

Author: Kira Stone

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: May 13, 2022

Heat Level: 5 – Erotica

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 19 pages

Genre: Erotica, BDSM, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal, SciFi, Dark Desire, Age Gap, Gay

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Synopsis

Choices…

Neal dives into a secluded pool hoping to find release for his aching body and his troubled mind. Instead, he finds Saul. The scribe is everything Neal could dream of — and yet he knows he dares not pursue his desires, for Saul is a Scribe.

Saul wants Neal, but not in servitude. Even a slave can make choices, and Neal chooses to make love to the man who opens his mind — and his heart.

Excerpt

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2010 Kira Stone

Moonlight strokes the rocks and vegetation bracketing the waterfall with its ghostly fingers. Crystal clear water tumbles from one shallow pool to another, tugged down by gravity’s inexorable grip. Flowers bend in the gentle breeze, and nocturnal creatures add to nature’s nightly chorus as they go about their lives. It is perfect. It is peaceful.

It is a place where possibilities are born… although it would take me some time to realize it.

Although I’ve travelled past this location many times before, this particular spot is unfamiliar to me. It is, however, a welcome sight. I am weary and need a place to rest for the night. The pool looks so inviting. Perhaps a swim before bedding down would help erase the strains of the day.

Rushing water stifles my tired groan as I remove my silks. Little more than scraps of black fabric to cover the most male part of me, held together by a single braided strand of rope. Even so, I treat them with care for they are all I have to shield me against the elements so I set them on a rock beside the water.

The journey to this place, this moment in time, has not been an easy one. My body bears the scars of battles fought, some still fresh. See there, across my wrist, the lines of red? A demon who nearly bereft me of my life left those marks with his razor sharp claws. I can’t decide whether to praise the gods or curse them for sending the district’s healer along to save me when they did.

My spirit is equally marred. Hope has crawled into some dark corner of my soul. I dine on regrets and guilt, a meal that doesn’t sustain a man of thirty-eight for very long. And yet, here I am, still living and breathing. I don’t know why.

I ponder this as I move toward the edge of the lowest pool. The water is warmer than I expect given the lack of the sun’s warming rays, and I find myself drawn into its embrace. At its deepest, it rises no higher than my waist. I swim the breadth of it several times before finding a rock near the middle to sprawl on.

My limbs dangle loosely, toying with the surface, and I stare up at the heavens with the three moons of Trinity hanging low in the sky, searching for answers.

This is how he must have first seen me, looking like some debauched sprite fallen to ground.

I take no notice of the stranger in my midst at first. Slowly, he colors my world. Sound grows clearer, flowers perfume the night air, and everything around me begins to hum with a vibrancy as though it’s newly awakened to life.

I sit up and spy a ripple of midnight blue, just a shade paler than the sky, along the edge of the pool. He stops moving, and his cloak settles around him. Just as my surroundings burst into full life, so does he. Dark blue cloth wraps his rugged frame from neck to knee. His mahogany hair curls back from his face. Black boots and gloves cover his feet and hands. Though a handsome man by any rational person’s account, I remain unfazed.

Until I reach his eyes.

How is it possible to see one’s soul through their eyes? It’s a myth I never believed until I met this stranger. Although I’ve always been partial to blue, it’s not the rich color that holds me captive.

It has little to do with the expression on his face, which seems faintly amused at coming upon me bathing in the moonlight as he had. Nor is it the air of danger and sexual prowess that he exudes. No, it is the reflection of a lifetime of experiences, good and bad, hovering in those blue, blue eyes that I cannot look away from.

Oddly, I’m slightly ashamed of my nakedness for the first time in my humble life. He is the only Master in sight; I am merely a servant boy. I have nothing that he does not give me, including my life. Appearing naked before him should be as natural as breathing and yet I long for some form of cover, as if his eyes might delve into me too deeply otherwise.

Slowly I recall my duty and slip from the stone, back into the water. I swim across to him, kneeling in the shallows when I reach the water’s edge. Still I cannot look away from his face and those startling eyes. “Master, may this boy be of service to you?”

He breathes deep, his broad chest expanding, before answering in a commanding yet gentle tenor. “Tell me your name, boy.”

“This one is called Neal, Master.”

“And you may call me Saul.”

I admit I’m not often at a loss for words, but that request stopped all thought from forming in my brain. A Master wants me, a slave, to refer to him by name? Unheard of! “Master, are you sure?”

He laughs and the sound is more cleansing to me than the crystal clear water. “When we are alone, yes. I want to hear my name from your lips.”

He is Master. I am slave. I shouldn’t question his requests. And yet… “But Master, I am only a boy. I have no right to speak your name.”

“You have whatever rights I give you, and I grant you permission to use my name.” He cocks his head to the side in consideration, then adds, “For tonight.”

His expression hasn’t changed, but there’s something in his manner that convinces me he is serious. I didn’t wish to cross him, for even one of the scribe caste could be dangerous if provoked. “Yes, Mas — Yes, Saul. May this boy be of service to you?”

“Perhaps it is I who am here to serve you,” he suggests with a smile.

A great and mighty Master would lower himself to serve a humble boy? It had never been done before in my knowledge and I can only think of one reason for him to suggest it. “Is this a test for me, to see if I will behave properly?”

“No, Neal. It is merely a suggestion.”

It’s the first of many possibilities he shows me this night. Even now my body trembles with the memories of that first spectacular glimpse of what could be.

“How would you… Boy can… This is not…” No thought would complete itself in my brain before a new one birthed.

Saul laughs again as he presses his finger to my lips. “Easy, Neal. Do not hurt yourself.”

I search the depth of his eyes for some explanation for what is happening. All I find are more questions. “Saul…”

With a smile on his face, he commands, “Come with me.”

Purchase

Changeling Press LLC | Amazon

Meet 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. Find out more on their website.

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NEW RELEASE: Blue Rose by Lena Austin #DarkFantasy #PNR @Lena_Austin

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Princess Zara knows one of royal blood is sometimes forced into political alliances, but what’s wrong with wanting a real Prince Charming? Few princes would want a wife who could best them with any weapon, still, there are more rivals for her hand — and her father’s kingdom — than she expects, but only two catch her eye. Prince Bram seems perfect, but he’s more interested in Prince Kennit than Zara. And the nearsighted Kennit isn’t perfect enough — her father will never approve the marriage.

Prince Kennit knows there’s only one woman for him, but few princesses would find a shape shifting dragon to their liking. When Zara is poisoned, Kennit’s the first to volunteer for the expedition to save the princess, though the quest will lead them deep within the ninth circle of Hell. Zara refuses to be left behind, and Bram’s along for the ride.

Things have changed a little — okay, a lot — since the days of Dante’s Inferno. This time the tourists are Zara, the poisoned princess, and her two suitors. Together they must find a single blue rose in the deepest part of Hell before the next full moon, or Zara will run out of time — and choices.

Available Today at Changeling Press

Preorder for May 13th at your favorite retailer

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Lena Austin

Zara shrieked in rage and aimed the next statue from the mantel at her father’s head. The heft of the clay dog might open up his thick skull. “I am not a fucking piece of merchandise!”

“Hang it all, Zara! I don’t like this any more than you do, but I would appreciate the courtesy of being treated like the king now and then!” King Ragnar dodged another object and winced as it shattered behind him. “Damn it! That was your mother’s favorite.”

“She’s been dead for twenty-five years. I don’t think she’ll miss it.” Zara cast about for something else to use as a weapon, but the more useful items were behind her father’s desk, putting her in reach of his burly arms. “Did you already send a herald to announce, ‘One kingdom for sale! Marry the princess and rule Powell Mountains’?”

Ragnar snorted, but kept a wary eye on her. “Thank goodness I had the sense to rule all persons must be disarmed in my presence, or you’d be hacking at me with your sword.” He drew himself up. “As a matter of fact, I did indeed issue invitations to the local princes. They should arrive in time for tonight’s feast.”

Zara swallowed another shriek and ground her teeth instead. “You mean to sell me and the kingdom into marriage quickly, don’t you?”

Ragnar’s fingers opened and closed convulsively, and Zara guessed he’d love to have them around her throat. “At least I’m giving you a choice of princes, you ungrateful wretch. I could have simply chosen one and delivered you to him trussed up like a goose.”

“I’d much rather you changed the law that demands this kingdom be ruled by a wedded pair. Just because you got lucky and found Mother while you were children doesn’t make the law right.” Zara tossed her thick black braid over her shoulder and slammed out of the door, not waiting for a dismissal. The cold fury on her face magically cleared a path through the corridors before her.

She’d known something was wrong when the guardsmen who usually gave her a sword workout were conspicuously absent from the fields. Not even the sergeant looked her in the eye when he informed her they were all out on field maneuvers for the week. She sailed through the doors leading to the back of the castle and noted the guardsmen had miraculously reappeared from their maneuvers.

Now she knew the why of the lie, and her anger soared even higher to realize her father had ordered all her “masculine” activities curtailed. Few princes would find a wife charming when she could best them with any weapon. Fewer still would find her preference for masculine clothes alluring.

Zara turned from the now forbidden joys of beer by the smith’s fire, a joint of beef in the barracks, and the clash of metals on the practice field. She knew better than to approach her old friends and cause them to lie to her further. Her eyes stung, not with pain, but more anger than she’d felt in many a year. Her shoulders slumped as she headed for the cliffs to walk as she often did when troubled. The men would read her posture and know that while she didn’t like it, she’d accepted it wasn’t their fault.

The wind and sky played a tempestuous love affair, whipping her comfortable, woven shirt until it plastered against her body, revealing too many feminine curves even in leather pants and vest. She hated her soft skin, though she’d honed fine muscles beneath the easily bruised flesh, of which there always seemed to be too much. “Can I help it if I’m as tall as a man, and nearly as broad? Certainly not. I refuse to be one of the court wenches who daintily picks at her food and then throws up what little she does eat for fear of not appearing feminine and delicate. Pahh!”

She stepped around a particularly large boulder and beheld a sight so strange it stopped her angry ruminations.

A lanky man stood at the very edge of the cliff, his black cloak seeming to hang in the air as if riding the winds, and his shoulder-length black hair escaped its silver thong to join the cloak in flight. Nothing could be seen of the man’s face, for his back was to Zara, but the whole figure was one of tranquility.

That peace alone intrigued her, for so few could bear the fearful heights, and fewer still dared walk the edge on a day when the winds could yank a full-grown man over the precipice. Either this one was very brave or very crazed.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Someone cursed Lena Austin with “may you have a life so full you’ll have many tales to tell your grandchildren.” Lena’s a “fallen” society wench with a checkered past. She’s been a licensed minister, hairdresser, Realtor, radio DJ, exotic dancer, telephone service tech, live-steel medievalist swordswoman, BDSM Mistress, and investment property manager. Not necessarily in that order. She never finished that degree in marine archaeology, but did learn to scuba — she’s got a lifetime of “Research material!”

Hey, why waste these stories on kids who won’t listen anyway? Writing them down is a nice way to spend her retirement. What? You expected an ex-BDSM Mistress to take up crocheting or something?

NEW RELEASE: Kelpie’s Claiming (Fairview Chronicles) by Alexa Piper #DarkFantasy #PNR @prowlingpiper

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Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Dark Fantasy, Paranormal Romance, Gay, Murder Mystery, Shapeshifters, Suspense, Action Adventure

Rob’s current goal in life? Do not eat people. That’s easier said than done when you’re a kelpie in the service industry. While Rob pursues his goals from behind the bar, a stranger walks in, and Rob catches the man’s scent. Yet, patrons are not for eating, and it should have ended there… except when Rob smells that delicious scent again, the beautiful stranger needs help.

Bertrand wants to fit in, but because he’s part Fae, part Elf, and grew up human, he’s not really at home in either human or supernatural society. Still, he likes being a reporter and following a story all the way to its conclusion. The story he’s pursuing when he walks into Rob’s bar one night is one of supernaturals going missing, and Bertrand seems to be the only one who cares.

Meeting Bertrand might just shift Rob’s life goals. Coming face-to-face with a kelpie stallion might be enough to help Bertrand see where he fits in perfectly. Except Bertrand doesn’t really know what to make of Rob, and also, Bertrand’s missing persons story is bigger than even he envisioned. It’s turning into a case of abduction and trafficking he needs to unravel before he can even think about Rob’s advances. The story will lead Bertrand to some dark places before the year is out.

Available NOW at Changeling Press

Preorder for May 13th at your favorite retailer

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Alexa Piper

The daytime drinkers with the incipient beer bellies were getting louder. Rob was just about to get back to gutting his lime in order to suppress thoughts of gutting those three when the door opened once more.

The icy air tickled Rob’s nose with the smell of the season turning, of snowdrops shaking off the weight of frozen water to sing of longer days and sun returning to the world.

But the man walking into the Ragdoll wasn’t a sprite. He was — glamoured.

Rob, who knew how to use a glamour even if he turned into a carnivorous horse who could break hearts without prettying himself up with magic, could tell. The glamour wasn’t exceedingly strong on this man.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rob saw the mage look up briefly, noticing the same thing, but then dismissing it. She’d have been able to see through it easily enough, and since she didn’t react further, Rob could be sure the man who smelled of snowdrops didn’t have any openly nefarious intentions.

But the man… Rob’s mouth was watering, and he watched as the new patron pulled his fur-trimmed hood back from his golden locks and pried his snug gloves off his long fingers. He had to be part Fae. Rob was pretty sure just from his looks, but with a glamour that hid what he was, Rob couldn’t tell precisely.

The man looked shifty, though. Rob had misspent his youth lingering in pools, ponds, and really any body of water that didn’t have a kappa infestation. He’d done it in order to lure humans and whoever wanted to be lured, so he knew what shifty looked like quite intimately.

The glamoured patron wasn’t the let’s-drown-them-and-eat-their liver type of person, not that Rob would ever admit to anyone that he himself had ever been that person. The man wore glasses. They misted up in the warmth of the Ragdoll, and he had to pull them off, revealing a set of hazel eyes that brimmed with intelligence. Without the glasses, he wasn’t too blind to find one of the quiet corner tables, where he deposited his large frame in a chair that looked flimsy under him.

Because yes, the man looked like the kind of person Western directors with a bottomless budget would cast for the role of a Greek hero or an intergalactic hero. Rob liked a man who could hold his own in a fight, and he shivered at the thought of this one’s thighs pressing into Rob’s sides when he was in his horse form. He shivered at the thought of this man riding him.

Kyle grabbed a menu and made his way to the man while Rob watched.

The new patron was interested in the soon-to-be beer-bellied. He glanced past Kyle and seemed too distracted to properly examine the menu, but Kyle nodded and scribbled something on his notepad.

“Hey, boss.” Carla, Rob’s strawberry blonde half-succubus bartender, had snuck up on him and was clapping him on the shoulder.

“Please don’t startle me,” he told her. “And also, hello. You are early.”

“Well, I figured you might need the extra pair of hands,” she said and gave his still unharmed lime a pointed look.

“I was getting to that,” he told her, frowning.

Carla sighed. “Can I say something?”

“Can I stop you?”

She crossed her arms in front of her beautiful succubus chest. “What do you think?”

“Well, let’s have it.”

“You, boss, need to get laid. It might be, I don’t know, a shifter thing. I swear it’s like you guys molt or something.”

Rob sliced the lime in half neatly and let it bleed its acidic last on his cutting board. “Carla, dear. I turn into a horse. I do not molt.”

She raised her finger to forestall a lecture. “Changes nothing. You need to bang someone.” She tapped her nose with a finger, the nail painted fire-engine red. “I can tell.”

“I’m stressed because I’m tending bar when I shouldn’t be tending bar,” Rob said.

She waved that off. “Pfft. You’re happy for Ilya, admit it. Maybe ask that witch if he has a brother?” she asked and wiggled her eyebrows.

“He’s the sole Fey heir, and you know that as well as I do,” Rob said. “Also, I do not need to urgently bang a witch.” Rob kept his voice down, because he was not easily shaken, certainly not by the suggestion that he was in need of sex. Rob was accomplished. He had the occasional one-night stand, because (just like Ilya) he looked good behind the bar, almost as good as he did as a horse with his hooves in a lake, his mane dangling in the water, and the moon hitting his shiny coat just so.

Yes, if Rob wanted to find a warm body to put his cock in, he could do just that, but the succubus was overreacting. It was a thing with ‘cubi, assuming that one needed to have sex all the time or else one’s health — mental or otherwise — was in danger.

“Did you just daydream about fucking Aaron?” Carla asked.

Rob made quick work of the lime. “I did not, and I reject the idea.” Although the witch was a big strong man under that coat he wore all the time. But no. Going there was no good — even if from the looks of it, Aaron had very nice shoulders.

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!

COVER REVEAL: Dark Goddess by Kelsey Ketch #DarkFantasy #NewAdult @kelseyketch

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Today is the cover reveal for Dark Goddess by Kelsey Ketch. Dark Goddess is a vampiric retelling of the Eye of Ra.

This cover reveal is organized by Lola’s Blog Tours.

Dark Godess book cover

Dark Goddess (A Dark Reflections Short Story #1)
By Kelsey Ketch
Genre: Dark Fantasy
Age category: New Adult
Release Date: August 2022

Blurb:
Chaos has descended on Egypt, and the people are revolting against their immortal king. Little do they know the wrath he is about to unleash using his daughter as his weapon.

Links:
– Goodreads

Kelsey

About the Author:
Kelsey Ketch is a young-adult/new-adult author, who works as a Wildlife Biologist and Data Analyst. During her free time, she can often be found working on her latest work in progress. She also enjoys history, mythology, traveling, and reading.

Author Links:
– Website
– Newsletter
– Facebook
– Twitter
– Pinterest
– Instagram
– Goodreads
– Amazon
– Bookbub

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PREORDER: Umbra by Torri Heat #PNR #DarkFantasy @TorriHeat @changelingpress

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Jasper and Ava’s relationship has been nothing but dramatic. From werewolf hunters to demons and everything in between, a nice, normal wedding is exactly what’s needed. Their mating will not only affirm their own relationship, but help to cement the alliances between the wolf packs and the Venators.

But a rival wolf pack is dead set against Jasper and Ava’s union, and everything their love stands for. Will the couple make it to their wedding day, or will deep seated prejudices keep them apart forever?

Available Now at Changeling Press

Preorder at your favorite retailer for April 29th

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Torri Heat

Mollie peeled out of the lot, turning in the direction of Merrick’s house, and I knew exactly where she was going. She could say my upcoming nuptials was her only chance to experience a wedding of her own, but everyone who knew the two of them knew that was a lie. Mollie had Merrick wrapped around her little finger, and if Mollie wanted a wedding, she was going to have a wedding. It was only a matter of time.

I unlocked the door to the — our — apartment, and Betty immediately came running out to greet me. Having my cat with me once more really made our house feel like home. She had yet to warm up to Jasper, but we were getting somewhere, especially with Jasper’s incessant treats he would bring home.

I tossed my bag on the couch, and gave Betty a quick pet, immediately taking Mollie’s advice and heading for the shower. Jasper wasn’t home yet. With me going dress shopping, he had taken the opportunity to head onto pack lands and see the guys. I doubted they were going suit shopping. At this moment, they were probably sparring in the field like a bunch of teenagers.

The shower immediately began to steam up the bathroom, so I opened the door a crack before I stepped into the hot water. Mollie was right — as usual. The heat eased the tension in my shoulders, and I stopped overthinking. For a minute at least. I wasn’t sure I explained my emotions clearly, the intrusive thoughts churning my stomach as we shopped for dresses and called caterers. Having the “perfect” wedding felt silly when my family was filled with supernatural creatures, yes. But little things bothered me as well. Who would walk me down the aisle? Did I cover my mark so the reverend marrying us didn’t see, or was he a wolf as well?

And all of this wasn’t even getting into the bigger issues. What had the demon meant when they called me “storm summoner”? The name rang in my head, day in and day out. I couldn’t make sense of it. The taste of the dream still lingered on my tongue, a vision that felt more like a memory. Watching the dark clouds roll in, as Jasper stood there in awe. How could the demon know of my dreams? The only person I had ever mentioned them to was Jasper. So the only conclusion I could draw was that I was missing something, and the problem with missing something was that it usually led to danger. I didn’t need any more danger than necessary with my supposed “perfect” wedding looming on the horizon. Storm summoner…

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Startled, I jumped, catching myself on the side of the shower before I slipped and fell on my ass. One perk of Venator training? My reflexes had never been better. On the other side of the glass door stood Jasper with a smirk, arms crossed over his thick chest. “Shit, Jasp, some warning would be nice!”

He shrugged, rolling his lip between his teeth. “I was enjoying the view. Also I called your name when I got home, and you didn’t answer. Obviously too deep into whatever you’re thinking about.”

“Just… everything.” I sighed. My chest tightened. “How were the guys?”

“Good.” Jasper tugged his T-shirt over his head, leaving me ogling his cut abs. It had been an unseasonably warm fall, and to be honest I was surprised he was wearing a shirt at all.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Jasper shoved his sweatpants over his hips with a crooked grin. “Conserving water. I’m sweaty as anything, and you were kind enough to start a shower for me. Figured we could solve each other’s problems with one solution.”

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!

Hellacious by J. Hali Steele #DarkFantasy #ParanormalRomance @JHaliSteele

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On Earth the sons of Satan create havoc, but nothing can protect them from the women who capture their hearts.

Sly Sathariel creates all sorts of havoc, though he never takes a life. His father, Satan, reserves that power, yet not even he can keep Sly from the arms of the pure and spiritual woman representing the Tree of Life. She entangles him in her roots, pulling Sly in a direction his hellacious soul dare not follow.

Slick Sathariel is Satan’s third born, the youngest triplet. He keeps the peace and makes everyone happy but himself. Not anymore. Slick can’t tell the woman he desires his family may be responsible for her lover’s disappearance, or that he’s the devil’s son. But when he sets out to capture her for himself, his family’s prying just might cause Slick to lose the one thing on Earth he truly wants.

Wicked Sathariel, the eldest son of Satan, has finally met his match, and at the oddest of times, she turns up in his head. Accustomed to having his father and siblings rummage through his mind, he can’t handle his woman seeing his hellacious thoughts. And when it becomes clear she’s heaven bound — all hell breaks loose!

Publisher’s Note: Hellacious (Box Set) contains the previously published novellas Sly, Slick, and Firstborn.

Now in Paperback!

Or get the eBook at Changeling Press

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 J. Hali Steele
Excerpt from Sly

Momma had a sense of humor. Said she named us after three of Daddy’s better traits — Sly, Slick, and Wicked. She called us hellacious sons-of-bitches and Sathariel was the demonic surname she tagged us with in his honor. We were the sons of Lucifer himself, and since Mother had been human, we were permitted above, as were other unimportant demons who wreaked havoc on Earth and its inhabitants. It was in our blood to take absolute advantage of every glorious moment, even though a blast furnace of heat followed us everywhere. Still, nothing rivaled the fires of Hell. And unbeknownst to humans, cold was just as bad because Hell froze over each time some asshole muttered the fateful words, “’till Hell freezes over.” Never lasted long but it would be so fucking cold a demon’s nuts could crack.

Guess God had a sense of humor too.

* * *

Raucous music blared in the club, glasses clinked and people shouted over the din. Desire railed against Sly’s rib cage. Desire to unleash what he truly was, strip himself bare of the make-believe human image he wore and let loose the beast that ruled him. The hellish creature wanted nothing more than to crawl between big thighs and screw the brains out of the vision of loveliness dancing alone not far from where he stood. Pale, thin women didn’t excite Sly. He liked deep tanned, soft, curvaceous bodies with wide hips and ample breasts.

This one had it all.

Sly could barely contain himself as he watched her swivel and gyrate her ass in front of the stage where the DJ did his thing. Her raw scent, the smell of sweat and womanhood permeated the air, teasing his dick to a stiffness he couldn’t control — didn’t want to control. Horns and hooves wanted to burst through his skin, fingers wanted to reach into the pussy he’d sniffed for far too long now.

This wasn’t the first time he’d seen her. She had been here each night he came to this particular club for the last month, and something about the woman kept drawing him back.

Oh, man, I want some.

Looking across the crowded bar, he caught his younger brother smiling.

Stay the fuck out of my head, Slick. This one’s mine.

Sly, born minutes before Slick, could best him most of the time, run circles around him when need be. But the firstborn triplet wouldn’t be so easily caught off guard.

Sharpening his vision, careful not to let the red flames of Hell lick from his eyes, Sly searched the room for Wicked. He couldn’t feel him, no telltale smell of fire and brimstone that often preceded the eldest. Wick took anything he wanted when they walked on Earth, and it usually turned out to be something or someone his younger siblings had their eye on. Wicked skated on thin ice with the power below each time he used humans, then tossed them aside as if they were old shoes never to be worn again.

Except with their father’s express permission, they didn’t kill.

Disturbing the balance between good and evil wasn’t allowed. What Wick left behind bordered on dead. Mere shells of men and women, afraid of their own shadows, bereft of the spark of life in their sad, vacant eyes. In that broken condition they held no appeal for Sly or others like him who slipped from below to cavort in their very own human playground. Wick was off somewhere, and if Sly knew his father, he’d concentrate all his energy in the older brother’s direction.

Thank God, because he wanted this woman for as long as she could take his heated passion.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

J. Hali Steele wishes she could grow fur, wings, or fangs, so she can stay warm, fly, or just plain bite the crap out of… Well, she can’t do those things but she wishes she could!

Multi-published and Amazon bestselling author of Romance in Paranormal, Fantasy, and Contemporary worlds which include ReligErotica and LGBTQ stories where humans, vampyres, shapeshifters and angels collide-they collide a lot! When J. Hali’s not writing or reading, she can be found snuggled in front of the TV with a cat in her lap, and a cup of coffee.

Growl and roar — it’s okay to let the beast out. — J. Hali Steele

PREORDER: Monsters Freed (Her Five Monsters) by Alexa Piper #reverseharem #darkfantasy @prowlingpiper @changelingpress

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After freeing five monsters from a video game prison, Emilia finds herself in the center of a conflict she can hardly begin to understand. She is still busy wrapping her head around the fact that magic is real, and that she is now bonded to a vampire prince, because apparently, fated mates are real as well.

The five monsters Emilia freed unapologetically lay claim to her, especially since she is bonded to one of them already. All five have been lovers since before Emilia came along, and now she has to decide if she wants to give her heart to them. All five are certainly eager to win hers.

While getting used to the new freedom Emilia gave them, Emilia’s five know they must put distance between themselves and the warlock Rook, who imprisoned them in the first place. They know Rook wants them back and will take vengeance on Emilia for freeing them.

New alliances shed light on Rook’s dark machinations and his twisted predilections. Emilia and her five can choose to run from the warlock or to put a chink in his magical armor, weaken the source of his strength. But Rook loves his illusions, and those illusions are real enough to cost our lovers everything.

Available TODAY at Changeling Press

Preorder for April 8th at your favorite retailers

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Alexa Piper

The pitter-patter of rain against the window started sometime during the night, and it inevitably pulled Emilia from her uneasy sleep. She kept going back to the dream while she was warm in her soft, soft bed. House-sitting. A mysterious video game. The five men who’d been trapped in there, who had given her fantastic sexual encounters one after the other until…

Lightning struck, and Emilia’s eyes fluttered open once more, catching a room full of unfamiliar shapes and shadows that the lightning drew in sharpened detail. She jerked under the heavy bedding, the disorientation forcing her heart into a race. What the hell?

“Ssh, all is well,” he said. Before Emilia could recognize the voice, something in her very core reacted to the sound of it, relaxed. Home, safety. Porcelain flowers blooming under the midnight sky. That was what the voice was.

It was also the voice of Radovan, the vampire prince she’d freed from the tower inside a palace inside a video game, which apparently had not been a dream. “Oh, shit,” she said, pushing the bedding back and sitting up.

Lightning struck again, and she saw Radovan sit down on the bed next to her. The darkness that fell after the flash ebbed was less scary now that the vampire prince was there, which a rational part of Emilia’s mind knew to be odd.

“You should sleep more. It’s barely even been two days,” he said. He put a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back against the pillows. Her heart screamed for her to relax, do as he said, allow him to care for her.

But her head had a different idea. “Two days!” Emilia said, brushing his hand aside with her own. “I’ve been out for two days? What the fuck happened?”

He hissed something under his breath Emilia couldn’t make out. “You freed all of us from Rook’s prison. You remember that?”

“Yes,” Emilia said. Although all that was surreal and should have been a fever dream. “Uhm, any chance you can turn on a light? Where are we anyway?”

Radovan moved, and with a click, a reading lamp somewhere near the head of the bed came to life, blinding Emilia. She blinked, her eyes adjusted to the brightness, then she looked around. The light came from a Tiffany lamp, colorful and heavy-looking, and it cast tinted shadows across the large bed she was lying in, huddled under a duvet and a blanket. To her right, she spotted the handle of her own bag, and to her left, a large window let in the incandescent illumination of a city at night, doused in rain and the bright echoes of a thunderstorm.

“Sorry,” Radovan said. His hand brushed over Emilia’s shoulder again, and she could sense he wanted to take her into his arms, and she could also tell he resisted the urge. How Emilia knew this, she had no idea. “We are at a hotel. We… It seemed safest for now.”

Emilia blinked as she looked at Radovan as if that would help her get used to seeing him there. She remembered him, from the cut scene in the video game, from finding him in that tower. He’d been a Victorian prince then, but now he was anything but. He wore a black Henley that fit snugly and emphasized his shoulders and slim waist. She saw neatly fitted charcoal pants before she was drawn to his dark amethyst eyes and the velvet hair that flowed like a new moon black aura around his head and down to his waist. If he’d looked like a Renaissance romantic back in the tower, he looked like a sexy lit and philosophy student now.

Emilia cleared her throat, and Radovan sprang into action at that, poured her a glass of water from a carafe that stood on the bedside table. “Thank you,” she said and took the glass from him.

“You are most welcome.”

Emilia finished her water and stared at the vampire prince, who just stared right back at her. Instead of feeling awkward about it, this felt like… it felt nice.

But nice was not what this was supposed to feel like, and Emilia still had enough sense about her to know it. “Explain to me what is going on,” she said and put the glass back down. “Why am I in a hotel bed? And what were you doing in the room with me? Please don’t tell me you were being all sorts of creepy and watched me while I was out?” She swallowed, her throat dry again. “Are you really still a vampire?”

Radovan’s eyebrows flew up, and he gave her a critical look. “You should rest more,” he said.

Which was not what Emilia had needed to hear. “You are not telling me when I need to rest as if I’m some damsel,” she said and climbed out of the bed on the opposite side while Radovan just watched, looking like the dictionary definition of befuddled. “You were totally watching me sleep, weren’t you?” she asked as she got out from under the covers. Her feet stung slightly as she stood, and looking down, she found gauze bandages covered them. Emilia remembered her soles had been cut up in the video game, but for now, she ignored that the injury was just as real in the real world as it had been in the virtual one.

She was only wearing a T-shirt and some soft cotton shorts. The clothing was hers at least, and she dully remembered that one of the others — Pheus, she thought — had mentioned they’d dressed her. Dressed her after they’d torn her ruined clothes off, the ridiculous outfit she’d worn in the video game.

“I… had to watch over you,” Radovan said, his eyes wandering from her face to her legs now in a way that made warmth bubble up inside Emilia. Not that he was leering. He just looked as if he’d never seen anything like a girl sleeping in shorts and at the same time, he looked like he could never see enough of it. “I had to make sure you were safe, and I wanted to be here in case you woke. In case you needed anything.” He stood, the bed now between them. “I apologize if I overstepped, but as I told you before, you are quite safe with me. And with the others.”

“The others. Right.” She took a deep breath and crossed her arms in front of her. “So you are a vampire? Really?”

He smiled. It changed his face drastically, made him look less like a tragic hero and more like the sweet wizard who could win hearts with half a spell. Which just reminded Emilia that magic seemed to be a thing that existed now.

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!

Sojourn’s End by Mikala Ash #steampunk #darkfantasy @ash_mikala @changelingpress

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London, 1861. In the fog shrouded streets, powerful magic stirs, and three tortured souls collide.

More than ten years have passed since newlywed Lady Carlyle used magic to save her unborn children, and every day she dreads the return of her demonic husband.

Linked by death, the gallant Captain Justin Quin and his troubled lover, Lady Julia Molyneux, are on the hunt for a killer. When their paths come together malignant forces of undreamt power are unleashed — forces that will shake an empire.

Available Now — Only $4.24 at Changeling Press

or Preorder for April 1st at your favorite retailers

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Mikala Ash

A sensible man would have been lying between the luscious thighs of Lady Julia Molyneux, enveloped by her sensuous aura, breathing in her intoxicating scent, kissing her red pouting lips, and drowning in her unconditional love, not chasing revenge through the cold soulless streets of London.

Thick cloying tendrils of yellow fog, the city’s renowned “particular,” clung to my legs and followed me into Mistress Keene’s Fashion Boutique on Curzon Street. Euphemistically called an Introduction House in the latest edition of The Adventurous Swell’s Night Companion, the three-story building wedged between a respectable haberdasher and a reputable stationer was simply one of the thousands of discreet bawdy houses boasted by the heart of the world’s greatest empire. Like many other establishments of this type, Keene’s masqueraded as a successful business by day, a modiste in her case, to be transformed after the streetlights flared into an even more successful house of debauchery. It had the added attraction of an upstairs gaming room which supplemented its fleshly appeal with the fickle charms of chance.

The odious miasma, the unwanted and seemingly permanent feature of the city for the past few years, lingered billowing about like platform steam as the colossus of a doorman, a Cumberland automaton, slammed the oaken door shut behind me. Dressed as a liveried footman he was at least six inches taller than I, and broad across the shoulders. The men of iron were becoming more common despite the riots following the attempt on the queen’s life only the year before. Rumours of their involvement in the attack which left Prince Albert severely wounded and on his deathbed had inflamed the patriotic fervour of the mob against artificial men. Personally I didn’t like them. They had no aura, no colours pulsing around them reflecting their emotions for they had no feelings, nor a soul for that matter.

He turned to face me with his dead fisheyes staring right through me. I wondered what he actually saw. “Welcome, sir,” he said. His voice was deep and resonant, a recording of a famous actor’s voice playing on some sort of reel. I could hear the squeaking of the mechanism behind the mask that was its face.

As if by magic an artfully rouged hostess, thankfully human and wearing a silken nightgown that clung possessively to her natural hourglass form, appeared before me. Now here was life! Her aura was jumping from her skin, a roiling rainbow of colours that danced merrily about her, vibrating with mischievous energy. To her outstretched hands I divested myself of cape, overcoat, gloves and hat. I retained my ebony stick which housed within its stout shaft a silver-tipped blade.

The hostess deftly passed my trappings over to a pair of pale disembodied mechanical hands which reached out from between heavy crimson curtains. With a courteous smile, she appraised me with practiced eyes. “Welcome, my lord,” she said after assessing the quality of my attire. She offered a deep curtsey, providing a full view of her deep bosom.

“Not a lord,” I corrected. “Captain will do.”

She dipped her head. “Forgive me, sir. It is an easy error to make, for you have the manner and elegant bearing of the aristocracy.” The syrupy compliment rolled sweetly from her tongue. Her voice was unexpectedly cultured. I briefly wondered what chain of ill-fated events had led her to this place.

“May I fetch you a glass of champagne before introducing you to my friends?”

I let my gaze sweep across the richly decorated parlour taking in the dozen or so young gallants smoking and drinking beside the pianoforte. Several laughing girls in various states of dishabille cavorted about while singing The Tomcat’s Dance, a bawdy ditty currently popular in the music halls. My quarry was not among the group, and I returned my gaze to my attentive hostess. “Thank you, no.”

My response was met with an expansion of her aura, a slight purse of the seductively curved lips and a flash of anticipation in her bright grey eyes. “Perhaps you have more pressing needs?”

“My friend,” I said, dropping a sovereign into her palm. “He entered some minutes before me. A gentleman. Short, slim build, well dressed.”

Feigned disappointment was followed by a small nod of recognition. “Cards your fancy then, Captain?”

Cards. Of course. “Aye.”

“Upstairs, second door on the left.” Her aura quivered with an urgent pulse, and she gave me an encouraging smile. “May I serve you there, my lord?”

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.