Tag Archives: Dark Romance

RELEASE BLITZ: Wild Ride by Will Okati

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Title: Wild Ride

Author: Will Okati

Cover Art: Marteeka Karland

Genres: Action Adventure, Box Sets, Dark Fantasy, Mystery /Suspense /Intrigue, New Releases, Paranormal, Romance, Wildest West

Themes: Capture Fantasy, Dark Romance, LGBTQ+ Gay, Magic /Sorcery /Witchcraft, Second Edition, Vampires

Book Length: Box Set

Page Count: 220

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Synopsis

Time traveler, highwayman, beast, and storyteller — it’s going to be a wild ride.

Wild Ride — Strange dreams tell Nikos he’s meant to be more than a Secret Keeper, tracking the predatory Nightlings. Alexei, a time traveler from the past, has come to find Nikos and take him back to the year 2007. It’s going to be a wild ride…

Hell at One Dark Window — It’s the end of the world as we knew it. For most folk survival is all that matters, and the only justice to be found comes at the end of a pistol or the point of a stake. Barrett, a vampire and a highwayman, gets his kicks out of stealing from robber barons. He’s going to take his human lover, Nathaniel, and getting the hell out of Dodge. So to speak. All he needs is to pull off one last big job…

Blood Red — On the coldest night of the year, Ros is cast out of a village for the sin of lying with another man. He’s meant to go to his death, but stumbles instead into the enchanted garden of a Beast… a vampire Beast. Will the Beast find the salvation he’s sought for so long in the arms of a wise and willing story teller?

Sidetracked — An escort-for-hire, Devon’s just been humiliated and stiffed by his patron of the evening. When the subway taking him home switches tracks, Devon finds himself alone with a man in a white mask and gloves, a man who embodies every sexual fantasy Devon’s ever had. Is this a dream, or has he found himself Phantom Night Rider?

Excerpt

Wild Ride (Box Set)
Will Okati
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2026 Will Okati
Excerpt from Hell at One Dark Window

Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I’ll come to thee by moonlight,
Though hell should bar the way!

Alfred Noyes
“The Highwayman”

“You’re quiet tonight, lover.”

“Am I?”

“Not a word’s passed your lips except ‘harder,’ ‘more,’ and ‘oh, God…’ and those I recall being spoken in the heat of passion. You’ve not made a peep since. Being the smart type myself, despite all appearances, this tells me you’ve got something going on in that busy mind of yours. You care to share?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Well, that’s fair.” Cool, strong arms wrapped around Nathaniel’s waist, pulling him backwards against his lover’s body. “Of course, you know I don’t plan to let up until you spill the whole pot of beans.”

Nathaniel gave a soft laugh despite himself. “I know you won’t.”

“So? Save us a little trouble, and tell me what’s on your mind right now.”

“Not yet.” Nathaniel raised his hand and placed it palm-down on the cold window glass, where he stood staring out into the night, down to the abandoned stretch of cracked pavement running past his apartment. “There aren’t words, so far.”

“Hmm. Never known you to be at a loss before.” Nathaniel’s lover jostled him gently, playfully. “Never did meet a man who liked so much to talk about anything and everything. Apples to anthills. That’s why I took a shine to you in the first place — well, aside from an ass you could bounce quarters off and your pretty face. Sing for me.”

“O figlio perdito –“

Nathaniel’s lover jostled him. “Smarty-pants.”

“Yeah.” Nathaniel leaned into his lover’s firm, gentle hold, savoring the feel of being held strong and sure by someone who’d never let him fall. Life taught gay men an early lesson: don’t trust anyone unless you know for a fact they won’t turn on you, and that they mean it when they say they love you. His partner had it all, did it all, said it all, and meant it all.

Nathaniel should have been able to be open about what was worrying him. Yet somehow, he found that he couldn’t put his thoughts into words. Not yet.

His lover seemed to accept that. One thing about him, he did know when not to push. He simply held Nathaniel and rocked them soft and easy against one another, sexy yet comforting. “It’ll be all right,” he murmured after a moment. “Whatever’s got you fretting, it’ll be just fine.”

Nathaniel’s lips curved in a smile. “I know.”

He reached down to lay his hands over his lover’s, feeling the same mild shock as he had the first time they touched, finding them to be cool and satin-slick despite a few calluses. They held still as if carved from marble. No human could ever hold such a pose without so much as twitching.

Nathaniel had learned that there were more things on heaven and earth, Horatio, and so forth, but even he’d had a hard time accepting that the gorgeous man, all tousled hazelnut hair, twinkling blue eyes, and ready wit, was, of all things, a vampire.

Honestly, weren’t vampires supposed to at least give a nod to tradition? He’d seen enough wannabes in his time to know the accepted look was unrelieved black from hair to clothes to boots. This man — vampire — on the other hand, gloried in wearing a soft flannel shirt, molded-on and faded blue jeans, and clean but battered sneakers. No thick, chunky jewelry, save for a cross necklace.

Yeah, a cross.

When he’d leaned back against the bar counter in the sports watering hole where they’d met, arms crossed, grinning broadly, Nathaniel had cracked up and told the man he had a hell of an imagination.

The vampire had shrugged, and asked for one night to prove himself.

Nathaniel didn’t usually go for one-night stands, but this man had the look, he had the wit, and you had to admire someone with balls big enough to tell such outrageous stories.

He’d taken the vampire up on his offer.

And back in his apartment, when sharp fangs that were in no way fake pierced the soft skin of his neck, where throat met shoulder, and the vampire drank deep of his blood, Nathaniel had realized this was no lie. He’d found an honest-to-Satan vampire, and brought him home to bed.

What a bedding it had been, too! Tangled, sweaty limbs, lips and tongues fighting for dominance in wet, devouring kisses, and hands everywhere, from pinching nipples to gently rolling balls to stripping heavy, swollen cocks. Cool fingers, slick with oil, slipping inside Nathaniel, stretching him open with more patience and tenderness than any mortal had ever shown. The feel of the vampire’s cock splitting him open, making him ache for more even as it was given to him, and then the blissful burn of being totally filled… well, Nathaniel hadn’t minded the blood loss by then.

To his surprise, it still hadn’t bothered him when he came down from his orgasm, when he and the vampire lay tangled together in a mass of sweaty sheets, stained with one another’s come, marked by new-forming bruises and love bites. He’d let the vampire rest atop him, not breathing but still quaking in every muscle from the force of his climax, and thought, So, this is a vampire. If this is a creature of the night, I’ll take him over a human any day.

The vampire had chuckled, as if reading Nathaniel’s thoughts. He’d raised his head and grinned. “Barrett,” he’d said, stroking Nathaniel’s cheek. “My name’s Barrett. D’you believe me now?”

Barrett. Nathaniel let himself fall into the soothing, rocking rhythm. When Barrett began to hum, some old tune by Johnny Cash that just fit his raspy voice, Nathaniel almost closed his eyes and purred with the pleasure of it.

Yes, his lover was a killer. More, he was a thief, a gambler, and an all-around bad guy. But Barrett loved Nathaniel with all his un-beating heart, would do anything for him, and that was what mattered in the end.

Soft lips brushed Nathaniel’s ear. “So,” Barrett murmured, “you feel ready to talk yet?”

Nathaniel stared out the window, at the lonely stretch of highway beneath them. He took in a deep breath, and nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Don’t leave me tonight. Promise you won’t leave me.”

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Will Okati (formerly known as Willa) has lived through a few Interesting Times, but come out the other side a little grayer, a little wiser, and ready to get writing. Still as passionate about coffee, cats, and crafts as ever, but knowing that to your own self you must be true. Also still one of the quiet ones to watch out for, but life — like storytelling — is always a work in progress.

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BOOK BLITZ: Claimed Without Mercy by Dulce Dennison

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Title: Claimed Without Mercy

Author: Dulce Dennison

Cover Artist: Marteeka Karland

Publisher: Changeling Press

Release Date: April 24, 2026

Genre: Action Adventure, Contemporary, Mystery /Suspense /Intrigue, New Releases, Romance

Themes: Capture Fantasy, Dark Romance, LGBTQ+ Gay, Mafia /Organized Crime

Book Length: Novel

Page Count: 150

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Synopsis

Captive. Claimed. Protected by the devil himself.

I’m Tyson Hughes’ right hand. Collector. Enforcer. Executioner. When a low-level idiot tries to clear his debt by offering up his own nephew, I expect a clean transaction. A body to move. A message to send. Business.

I don’t expect Kellen. Bruised. Beautiful. Untouched by this world in ways that make my jaw lock. He looks at me like I’m either the devil come to claim him… or the only thing standing between him and worse. Taking him wasn’t part of the plan. Delivering him to Tyson would’ve been easier. Smarter. Safer. Instead, I claim him.

Now he’s living under my roof, breathing my air, learning the rules of a world I don’t sugarcoat. I’m not a hero. I don’t rescue people. I own what’s mine. I protect it. And I destroy anyone stupid enough to threaten it. But the deeper I pull Kellen into my life—into the violence, the loyalty, the blood that binds us—the harder it is to tell where captivity ends… and desire begins.

When the debt comes due, I’ll have to choose. Tyson’s empire. Or the young man I claimed without mercy—and refuse to let go.

Excerpt

Claimed Without Mercy
Dulce Dennison
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2026 Dulce Dennison

Ian

I watched the men work, arms folded across my chest. The dim lights of the warehouse cast long shadows as they moved product from one crate to another, their movements precise and mechanical. Nobody spoke much — they knew better. When I oversaw an operation, I expected efficiency, not conversation. The tattoos on my forearms seemed to pulse in the half-light, a reminder to everyone present of who I was and what I was capable of. The man who made problems disappear.

“Faster,” I said, my voice echoing against the concrete walls. “We need this shit loaded before sunrise.”

The men picked up their pace, sweat beading on their foreheads. This shipment was worth seven figures — premium grade heroin straight from our overseas connections. The kind of product that kept Tyson’s empire running and our pockets lined.

I paced between the rows of crates, watching each man’s hands, each movement. Trust wasn’t something I gave easily, especially not to the low-level soldiers Tyson assigned to these jobs. Most were competent enough, but all it took was one fuck-up, one greedy asshole, and we’d have cops swarming the place or, worse, a war with another organization.

Something caught my eye. A slight hesitation from one of the newer guys — skinny fuck with a neck tattoo that screamed prison ink. He glanced over his shoulder when he thought I wasn’t looking, then slipped his hand into his jacket pocket just a little too casually.

I moved behind a stack of crates, circling around until I was positioned where he couldn’t see me. Three years of working as Tyson’s enforcer had taught me to spot a rat before they even knew they were one.

“Something interesting in your pocket, Alvarez?” I asked, appearing beside him like a shadow.

He jumped, nearly dropping the bag he was holding. “No, Mr. Grant. Just checking the time.”

“Really? Pull it out, then.”

His eyes darted to the exit, calculating the distance. I knew that look. I’d seen it dozens of times before on the faces of men who thought they could outsmart me.

“Now,” I said, not raising my voice. I never had to.

“It’s nothing, I swear –”

I grabbed his wrist, twisting until he gasped in pain, then reached into his pocket myself. My fingers closed around a small plastic bag containing about twenty grams of our product. The weight of it told me everything I needed to know.

“Everyone stop,” I commanded, and the warehouse fell silent. “Gather round. Seems we need to have a little lesson in loyalty.”

The men formed a circle, their faces grim. They knew what was coming. They’d seen it before, or at least heard the stories.

I held up the bag. “Alvarez here thinks he deserves a bonus. Isn’t that right?”

“Please, Mr. Grant, I wasn’t –”

My fist connected with his jaw before he could finish the sentence. He stumbled backward but didn’t fall. Good. I wanted him conscious for what came next.

“Tyson Hughes pays you well,” I said, addressing everyone now. “He provides for your families. Keeps the cops off your backs. And in return, he asks for one thing.” I grabbed Alvarez by the throat. “Loyalty.”

I slammed him against a crate, my hand still tight around his neck. His eyes bulged, face turning red, then purple.

“You know what happens to thieves in this organization?” I asked, loosening my grip just enough for him to breathe.

He nodded frantically, gasping for air.

“Tell them,” I demanded, nodding toward the other men.

“They… they die,” he choked out.

I smiled. “Usually. But tonight, I’m feeling generous.”

Relief flooded his face for a brief moment before I slammed my knee into his groin. As he doubled over, I caught him with an uppercut that sent him sprawling across the concrete floor.

The men watched in silence as I approached Alvarez, who was now curled into a ball, blood trickling from his split lip. I knelt beside him, keeping my voice low enough that only he could hear.

“I’m going to let you live, but not out of mercy.” I pulled a switchblade from my pocket and flicked it open. “You’re going to be a message.”

What happened next filled the warehouse with screams that the thick walls swallowed whole. The men watched, faces impassive but eyes wide with fear as I made my point in blood. When I was done, Alvarez lay sobbing on the floor, clutching what remained of his left hand.

“Get him patched up,” I told two of the men. “Then drop him at the emergency room across town. Make sure he understands that if he says a word about where he was or who did this, the next visit won’t be so pleasant.”

They nodded and dragged Alvarez away, leaving a smear of crimson across the floor. I turned to the remaining men, wiping my blade clean on a handkerchief.

“Finish loading the shipment. I want everything out of here in thirty minutes.”

They scattered like cockroaches under a light, moving twice as fast as before. The metallic smell of blood hung in the air, mixing with the dust and chemical odors of the warehouse. I checked my watch. Almost 3 AM.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from Tyson:

Need you at the house. 9 AM sharp. Important matter to discuss.

I stared at the message, feeling a familiar mix of pride and anxiety. A direct summons from Tyson usually meant one of two things: I’d fucked up, or he had a special job that only I could handle. Given that I’d been running operations smoothly for months, I was betting on the latter.

I supervised the rest of the loading in silence, watching as the men carefully avoided the bloodstain on the floor. By 4:15 AM, the warehouse was empty except for me and the lingering evidence of what happened to those who betrayed Tyson Hughes.

I locked up and climbed into my black Audi, the leather seat cool against my back. The night had turned cold, but I barely noticed. My mind was already on the meeting with Tyson, wondering what assignment awaited me. Whatever it was, I’d handle it. I always did. That’s why, despite everything, I was still alive when so many others weren’t.

I pulled out of the warehouse district, leaving behind the night’s violence and heading toward my apartment for a few hours of sleep before meeting with the only man I’d ever truly respected. The only man who’d ever given me a chance when everyone else saw nothing but gutter trash. The man who’d made me what I was.

For Tyson Hughes, I’d do anything. And he knew it.

I pulled up to Tyson’s estate at 8:55 AM, early as always. The gates opened automatically — security knew my car. As I drove up the long, winding driveway, I caught glimpses of the sprawling mansion through the trees. Tyson had built all this from nothing, clawing his way up from the streets to become the most powerful man in the city’s underworld. And he’d picked me. Even after all these years, that fact still hit me in the chest sometimes, a mixture of pride and the constant fear of disappointing him.

I parked next to Tyson’s collection of luxury cars and straightened my tie in the rearview mirror. Despite only three hours of sleep, I looked presentable. The dark circles under my eyes were practically permanent fixtures anyway.

The front door opened before I could knock. Nick, Tyson’s longtime second-in-command, greeted me with a curt nod.

“He’s in his study,” he said, stepping aside.

I walked through the marble-floored foyer, past priceless artwork and antiques that Tyson collected not because he gave a shit about art, but because they signified his rise from poverty. Everything in this house was a trophy, a reminder of victories and conquered enemies.

The study door stood ajar. I knocked anyway.

“Come in, Ian,” Tyson called.

He sat behind a massive oak desk, silver hair immaculately styled, wearing what I knew was a hand-tailored suit that probably cost more than most people made in a month. At fifty-three, Tyson Hughes carried himself with the ease of a man who knew his own power and had no need to flaunt it. When he killed, he did it with a phone call, not his hands. Those days were behind him.

“Right on time,” he said, looking up from his computer and removing his reading glasses. “How’d the shipment go last night?”

“Clean and quick. One minor issue that’s been handled.”

Tyson raised an eyebrow. “What kind of issue?”

“Alvarez tried skimming product. Won’t happen again.”

“Is he breathing?”

I nodded. “Missing some fingers, but alive. I figured he’d be more useful as a warning than a corpse.”

A smile touched the corners of Tyson’s mouth. “Smart. That’s why I trust you with these things.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit. Drink?”

“It’s not even ten.”

“Since when has that ever stopped either of us?”

I smiled despite myself and took the seat. Tyson poured two glasses of scotch from a crystal decanter, sliding one across the desk to me.

“You look like shit,” he said casually. “Not sleeping?”

“Sleep’s overrated.”

“Not when I need you sharp.” He leaned back in his chair, studying me with those penetrating gray eyes that saw everything. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard lately.”

“Just doing my job.”

“Your job is to follow orders and stay alive. Can’t do either if you’re running on fumes.”

I took a sip of the scotch, letting the burn distract me from the fact that Tyson was the only person on earth who could talk to me like this without ending up in pieces.

“I’m fine,” I said. “What’s this important matter you wanted to discuss?”

Tyson’s expression shifted, his eyes hardening. “Sean Collins.”

The name hung in the air between us.

“What about him?” I asked.

“He owes us three hundred grand. Has for almost six months now.” Tyson took a long swallow of his drink. “I’ve been patient. Sent Nick to have a chat with him twice. Sent messages through mutual associates. Nothing.”

“You want me to collect.”

“I want you to make an example of him.” Tyson’s voice dropped, became colder. “Collins thinks because he’s got connections with the Irish that he’s untouchable. He’s been spreading word that I’ve gone soft in my old age.”

My jaw clenched. “That’s a mistake.”

“A fatal one.” Tyson stood up and walked to the window, looking out over his manicured gardens. “Sean Collins is a particular kind of vermin. Beats the girls who work for him, sometimes kills them if they try to leave. Has a taste for the young ones too.”

“Want me to take care of him permanently?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Tyson turned, his expression softer now, almost paternal. “Not yet. First, get my money. Make him understand who he’s dealing with.” He returned to his desk and pulled out a file, sliding it across to me. “Here’s everything you need to know. Addresses, hangouts, known associates. His nephew lives with him — kid named Kellen Lin. Collins had custody since the boy’s mother died. He’s an adult now but hasn’t moved out.”

I flipped through the file. Photos, financial records, property deeds. Tyson was nothing if not thorough.

“The nephew — he involved in Collins’ business?” I asked.

“Not as far as we know. Works at a coffee shop. Keeps to himself.” Tyson refilled his glass. “Use your judgment there.”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Collateral damage was part of the job.

“When?” I asked, closing the file.

“Yesterday would’ve been good. Today’s acceptable. By the end of the week, non-negotiable.”

I nodded, downing the rest of my scotch in one swallow. “Consider it done.”

“I always do when I give you an assignment.” Tyson smiled, the kind of smile that had always made me feel like I belonged somewhere. “That’s why I chose you, Ian. From the first day I pulled you out of that shithole your father called a home, I knew you were different. You understand loyalty.”

“You gave me a life,” I said simply. It wasn’t flattery. It was fact. Before Tyson, I was nothing. A fifteen-year-old kid with a junkie father and violence in my blood. Tyson had channeled that violence, given it purpose and direction.

“And you’ve repaid that a thousand times over.” He walked around the desk and put a hand on my shoulder. “Collins is just the beginning. I’m getting older, Ian. Starting to think about the future of this organization.”

My heart skipped a beat. We’d never discussed succession before, though everyone in the hierarchy wondered who would take over when Tyson eventually stepped aside. I’d always assumed it would be Nick, but at the same time, Nick was also getting up there in years. Both men were close in age and had worked side-by-side for as long as anyone could remember. But if I thought about it, I was probably the next closest to Tyson, the most trusted after Nick.

I left the study with the file tucked under my arm and a sense of purpose burning in my chest. Tyson had called me “his boy.” It wasn’t the first time, but it never failed to hit something deep inside me — that hungry, abandoned part that had never known a real father’s approval.

For Tyson, I’d collect this debt and a thousand more. I’d tear Sean Collins apart if necessary. Because when Tyson Hughes looked at me like that — with pride and expectation — I felt like I was worth something. And that feeling was more addictive than any drug I’d ever tried.

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Dulce Dennison is a pen name for gay and LGBTQA+ themed love stories from best selling MC romance author Harley Wylde, AKA award-winning science fiction/paranormal romance author Jessica Coulter Smith. From cowboys to shapeshifters, Dulce/Harley/Jess believes in love in all shapes and sizes, and that everyone deserves a happily-ever-after.

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TEASER: The Snob by Megan Slayer

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Dark Romance, Age Gap

Date Published: April 3, 2026

Carley Mathers isn’t just the “party girl” daughter of
a congressman. She’s more. But these days, in a world of fake friends,
she’s determined to keep only true ones close. Because she puts them at
arm’s length, her classmates at college refer to her as “The
Snob.” But she comes from wealth and means — she shouldn’t be
able to mix with her bodyguard, right?

Dacre Jennings has been given the job of protecting Carley while she’s
off at college. The same classmates who make light of her silence also make
fun of him, too. He doesn’t care that they think she lives with the old
man. He’d rather she lived with him than alone. He sees the real woman,
and he’s been in love with her for as long as he’s worked for the
family.

With threats on her life, Dacre refuses to let Carley be used or abused.
He’ll put his life on the line for her, as long as he knows he’s
got her heart as well.

EXCERPT

Carley Mathers closed her notebook and put her pen back in the front pocket of
her backpack. She wasn’t a fan of taking notes, but the only way
she’d keep the dates for all the paintings straight was to write them
down.

“Going home to Grandpa?” Selena, one of the girls Carley thought
she might become friends with, asked. “Hang around people your own age.
Do some gambling. Party or something else that’s normal?”

“Would it kill you to go to the frat party?” Missy snapped.
“You like to drink. Guys like you. Might get us some action and we could
win some money, since you’ve got tons. You can spare some. Any of that
ring a bell?”

Carley rolled her eyes and zipped her backpack. She’d had enough of
those vices. It was time to grow up and settle down — or at least take her
education seriously. Growing up the daughter of a politician and influencer
was bad enough, but she’d exploited her position for years.

She grabbed her backpack and turned on her heel, ignoring the women. She
hadn’t come to the University of Nevada to be sucked into a gambling
situation. She’d wanted to further her education.

“God, she’s such a fucking snob,” Missy said.
“Won’t talk to anyone.”

“That old man is her boyfriend,” Selena said. “Probably
won’t let her go out. Has to keep her on a leash.”

If they only knew… Carley left the lecture hall and met Dacre in the
lobby. “Hiya, Grandpa.”

“Grandpa?” Dacre left his post by the doorway and fell in step
with her. “That’s a new one.”

“Not all that new.”

“Who said it?”

She stopped near the entrance doors to the art building and nodded over her
shoulder. “The two brunettes over there. They wanted me to go to a frat
party and make a damn fool of myself. I’ve had it with those
days.”

He held the door for her as she stepped into the early October sunshine.
“It’s warmer than I thought it would be.”

“I don’t mind. I like the warmth.” She elbowed him as they
walked together. “They said I’m a snob.”

“You are.”

She jabbed him again. “Take that back.”

“Sorry, but no.” He kept walking. “You don’t talk to
anyone, don’t mix with your peers, and keep to yourself.”

“That doesn’t make me a snob.”

“No,” he said. “But you come to class wearing expensive
stuff and not talking much. It allows people to make up their own stories
about you. They know what you’ve done and expect you’ll keep doing
it.”

She sighed. She’d been such a bad girl in her younger days. Younger
days… who was she kidding? She was only nineteen. But in her short
years, she’d drunk most everyone under the table. She’d partied
more than anyone her age should’ve been doing and tried too many things
that should’ve been forbidden for someone underage. Being the child of
wealth meant no one kept her in line — certainly not her parents. As far as
she was concerned, her parents used her bad behavior to further their own
causes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to touch a
nerve.”

“It’s okay.” She shrugged. “It’s not like I can
hide my past. I can’t hide my name, either. Everyone thinks they know
who I am, but no one takes the time to get to know the real me.”

“You don’t exactly open yourself up to it.” He joined her at
the truck. “You’re a wonderful person and cute as a button, but no
one sees it. All they see is you keeping tight-lipped and away from
everyone.”

“Wouldn’t you?” She fell onto the passenger seat. She waited
for him to do a quick search of the vehicle before he joined her in the cab.
“All clear?”

“Clear.” He closed the driver’s side door. “I
don’t blame you for being guarded. I told you, it’s perfectly
fine. You’ve had a lot of attention, and I get why you don’t want
it.”

She clicked her belt into place. “But?”

“But you’re not going to escape it. Unless you change your name or
completely change your face, you’re going to have to put up with the
attention.” He put the truck into gear. “The girls said
you’re a snob?”

“And wanted me to go to a party to act the fool and get them
guys.” She arranged her backpack between her feet, then withdrew her
phone. The device buzzed, drawing her attention. “Sorry. I won’t
be your circus animal.”

“I’d like to think that’s not the case, but I’m sure
it is.” He drove across the student lot. “It doesn’t help
that I’m following you around and trying to keep you safe. They see me
around and think I’m some kind of old pervert.”

“My grandfather.” She swiped through the screens to her texts.
“You don’t look that old.”

“Grandfather?” he asked. “I’m only twenty years older
than you. Yes, I could be your father, but grandfather? I’m hurt.”

“You don’t look thirty-nine.”

“Forty, but who’s counting?”

“When did you turn forty?” She put her phone down and stared at
him. “Why didn’t I know when you had your birthday?”
She’d been oblivious for years, but this was inexcusable.

“Two months ago.” He shrugged and flexed his hands on the wheel.
“It’s okay. I try not to remember it.”

“That’s not right. We should’ve had a party.”

“You were moving into school. I had better things to do and you
didn’t need to be concerned with me.” He kept driving through
campus to the condominiums.

“I don’t care. I would’ve liked to have known so we
could’ve had a party, even if it was just you and me.” She
would’ve done something nice for him and even bought a present.

“Your father told me to keep it quiet.”

“He’s a jackass.” She wasn’t the biggest fan of her
famous father. “I hate that he said that.”

“It’s okay.”

“Stop saying that.” She picked her phone up again. “This
stupid thing won’t stop buzzing. I don’t have anything due or
reminders set.” She’d been careful to note when she had to turn in
projects and if she had tests so she didn’t blow her grade point
average. She refused to keep riding her parents’ coattails.

“What’s up?” He parked in the garage of the condo they
shared. “Another test?”

“Nope.” She scrolled through the message, then swiped to her email
where she read the rest of the information. “Fucking hell.”

“Watch your mouth.” He put the garage door down and took the key
from the ignition. “What’s wrong?”

She sighed and scrolled through the mandate again. “It would appear my
father is being considered for a role in the president’s cabinet and he
— my father — has decided to have a party. He’s dictating I show up at
said party and that I wear something slinky, he says, so I can attract a
husband. The president’s son will be there, as well as the son of a
diplomat and some dipshit who has an artificial intelligence startup. Why is
he throwing me at these men? What if I don’t like them?”

“You don’t.”

“Duh.” She turned her phone over on her lap. “He’s
sending the private jet to come get me.”

“Don’t you have a test on Monday?”

“I do. Art history.” She folded her hands on her phone. “I
don’t want to go, but I can’t refuse him.”

“I know.” He opened the driver’s side door. “But it
would’ve been nice if he’d have told me.” He rounded the
hood to her side of the truck.

“You didn’t know?”

“Nope.” He slid his phone from his back pocket. “Not a
word.”

“You’re coming with me.” She insisted on it.
“I’m not going if you don’t.”

“I’m not leaving you to those wolves.” He opened her door
for her. “Sweets, I’m stuck to you like glue.”

“You’re good glue.” She grasped his hand and squeezed his
fingers. She’d had a crush on him for years but kept that to herself. He
didn’t see her as a desirable woman. She was “cute as a
button.” What young woman wanted to hear that? It was a kiss of death.
Like telling her she was one of the guys. She allowed him to help her from the
truck, then stumbled forward into his arms.

“Hi.” He crooked his brow. “You okay?”

She’d always felt a tingle when he touched her. Now, that tingle had
turned into full electrical jolts. Her pussy throbbed and she longed to kiss
him. He didn’t look forty. Hell, he barely looked thirty. What he did
look like was sexy enough that she wanted to wrap herself around him. He was
just her type — older, tall, slightly graying at the temples, a weathered
look around his eyes and just the right amount of stubble on his cheeks and
chin to abrade her skin. Plus, he had killer blue eyes.

“Carley?” He tipped his head. He’d started wearing a
baseball cap and zipped hoodie to blend in more with the college students.
“You’re staring at me.”

“What’s not to stare at?” She stayed in his arms and sighed.
“You’re…” She almost said dreamy, but that
wasn’t right. He was dreamy, but he was more than that. With him, she
felt safe. Respected. Heard.

“Not me,” he said. “I’m not supposed to be touching
you.”

“Do you want to?” She stood and righted herself, trying to look
less flustered. “Sorry. I should behave.” She grabbed her backpack
before hurrying into the condo. She’d made a fool of herself and hated
that she’d allowed herself to be vulnerable, even if only for a second.

“Carley.” He hurried after her. “Wait.”

 

About the Author

Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of
more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since
2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and
paranormal to LGBTQ and white hot themes. No matter what the length, her works
are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a
second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been nominated at
the LRC for Best Author, Best Contemporary, Best Ménage, Best BDSM and
Best Anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on various
e-tailer sites.

When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as
well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but
football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends
of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library.

Author on Twitter

Author on Instagram

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

 

Pre-Order Today


RABT Book Tours & PR

TEASER: The Enforcer’s Possession by Harley Wylde

Posted on by

(Ruthless Alliances #1)

 

Mafia Romance, Age Gap, Suspense

Date Published: November 28, 2025

A contract of power. A marriage of enemies. A love written in blood,
bound by desire.


Caterina: My father thinks he owns me. A spoiled mafia princess, good for one
thing — marriage to strengthen his empire. But I refuse to be sold to a cruel
man. If he wants an alliance, I’ll give him one — on my terms. So I go
to Dante De Luca, the De Luca family’s most dangerous enforcer. Cold.
Controlled. Lethal. Our contract marriage is supposed to be business, not
desire. Then he touches me, and everything I thought I knew about power and
control shatters.

Dante: Caterina Lombardi doesn’t know what she’s started. She
wants protection. I want her. She thinks she can use me to defy her father,
but once she’s mine, she stays mine. She’s fire wrapped in silk —
reckless, beautiful, and born to test every rule I’ve ever followed. But
in our world, rebellion comes with blood, and enemies are closing in.
I’ll burn everything to protect her… even if it means becoming
the monster she fears.

A dark mafia romance filled with obsession, betrayal, and dangerous passion.
For readers who love possessive alpha heroes, spoiled princess heroines,
enemies-to-lovers heat, and contracts written in blood.

 


WARNING: Intended for readers 18+ The Enforcer’s Possession includes
dark and possessive elements, emotional intensity, and morally gray behavior.

 

EXCERPT

 

Caterina

I sprawled across the velvet chaise near my bedroom windows, one leg dangling
over the armrest, my phone pressed to my ear while Adriana went on about some
party at the Castellano estate. I wasn’t really listening. Instead, I
picked at the silk blouse I’d tossed aside an hour ago — Valentino,
bought last week, already boring — and let my gaze drift across the disaster
zone my room had become.

Designer clothes lay scattered across the marble floors like expensive
casualties. A Gucci dress hung half-off my bed frame. Three pairs of
Louboutins created a hazardous path to my bathroom. My jewelry cases sat open
on every available surface, catching the afternoon light and throwing rainbow
refractions across the walls.

“Cat? Are you even listening to me?”

“Hmm?” I shifted, letting the blouse fall to the floor.
“Sorry, what?”

“I said Marco asked about you. Again.” Adriana’s voice held
that knowing tone that made me want to reach through the phone and smack her.
“He wants to know if you’ll be at –”

“Tell Marco to go fuck himself.” I sat up, reaching for my
discarded iced coffee on the side table. Watered down. Disgusting. I set it
back without drinking. “I’m not interested in whatever trust fund
baby wants to play gangster this week.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“He wore a fedora to Lucia’s birthday party. A fedora, Adi.”

She laughed, and I felt myself smile despite my mood. That was the thing about
Adriana — she got it. She understood what it was like to live in this world,
to be decorative and controlled and expected to smile through it all.

“Fair point,” she said. “So what’s got you in such a
charming mood today? And don’t say nothing, because I can hear it in
your voice.”

I stood, pacing toward my walk-in closet. The motion felt good, gave me
something to do with the restless energy crawling under my skin. “My
father. What else?”

“What did Giuseppe do now?”

“He’s acting like I’m some prized mare to be traded off to
the highest bidder.” I stepped into the closet, running my hand along
the row of couture gowns that lined one wall. Versace, Dolce & Gabbana,
Armani — thousands of dollars of fabric I was expected to wear while playing
the dutiful daughter. “Apparently, he’s been having meetings.
About my future.”

“Meetings.” Adriana’s voice went flat. She knew what that
meant. We all did.

“With families. Old families. Traditional families who think women
should be seen and not heard.” I grabbed a dress at random — something
in emerald green I’d worn once to a charity gala — and pulled it off
its hanger. Held it up. Put it back. Wrong. All wrong. “He actually told
me yesterday that it was time I started thinking about settling down. Settling
down. I’m twenty-one, not forty.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him I’d rather die.”

Adriana sucked in a breath. “Cat. You didn’t.”

“I did.” I moved to my vanity table, surveying the collection of
high-end makeup and perfumes arranged across its surface. My reflection stared
back at me from the mirror — dark hair falling in waves past my shoulders,
green eyes sharp with anger I couldn’t quite bank. I looked like my
mother had at my age, according to the photos. Before Papa had worn her down
into the perfect Mafia wife. “He didn’t appreciate it.”

“I’m shocked.”

“The thing is, he doesn’t even see it. Doesn’t see how
fucking archaic it all is.” I picked up a lipstick, twisted it open,
then put on a little across my lips. “We all know he’s doing this
for himself or the family, but I’m sure part of him also thinks
he’s protecting me. Providing for me. Making sure I’m taken care
of.”

“By selling you off to some capo’s son?”

“Basically.” I walked back to the windows, looking out over the
Lombardi estate gardens. Perfectly manicured hedges, marble fountains, rose
bushes that cost more to maintain than most people made in a year. Beautiful.
Like a gilded cage. “He keeps talking about duty and family and legacy.
As if I’m just another asset to be leveraged. At the same time, I know
he feels women are inferior. I’m sure he doesn’t believe I could
ever take care of myself.”

“You are, though. To him.” Adriana’s voice was gentle, which
somehow made it worse. “In his world, that’s what daughters are
for.”

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass. “I know. That’s what
makes it so Goddamn frustrating. He genuinely believes he’s doing right
by me. That finding me a wealthy, connected husband is the best thing he can
offer.”

“What about what you want?”

“What I want doesn’t factor into the equation.” I turned
away from the window, surveying my room again. The luxury that surrounded me
suddenly felt suffocating rather than comfortable. “I’m a
Lombardi. I’m supposed to want what’s best for the family.”

“And what do you want?”

The question hung in the air. I didn’t have a good answer. I wanted
freedom, but freedom to do what? I’d never had to think about it before.
My life had always been mapped out — private schools, designer clothes,
carefully curated social events, and eventually a marriage that would
strengthen family alliances.

“I want to choose,” I said finally. “I want to choose who I
fuck, who I marry if I marry, what I do with my life. Is that too much to
ask?”

“For Giuseppe? Probably.”

I laughed, but it came out bitter. Moving back to the chaise, I dropped onto
it dramatically, throwing one arm over my eyes. “He’s been worse
lately. More controlling. Like he knows something I don’t.”

“Maybe he does.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” I let my arm fall,
staring at the ceiling. The fresco up there — some Renaissance reproduction
that had cost a fortune — suddenly seemed ridiculous. Everything in this room
was ridiculous. Beautiful and expensive and utterly meaningless. “I can
feel it, Adi. Something’s coming. Some decision he’s already made
that’s going to change everything.”

“Have you tried talking to him? Actually talking, not just
fighting?”

“You can’t talk to Papa. You can plead your case and then watch
him do whatever he was going to do anyway.” I sat up, running my fingers
through my hair. My diamond bracelet caught on a strand and I yanked it free
with more force than necessary. “He pretends to listen, nods in all the
right places, and then completely ignores everything you’ve said.”

“What about Sofia?”

“Mama?” I snorted. “She’s worse. At least Papa is
honest about being a controlling bastard. Mama just smiles and suggests I try
being more accommodating. More understanding of the family’s
needs.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.” I stood again, unable to stay still. The restless energy
was back, stronger now. I moved to one of my jewelry cases, running my fingers
over the pieces inside. Tiffany, Cartier, Bulgari — gifts from my father,
purchased with blood money and given with the expectation of gratitude.
“She’s been doing this so long she doesn’t even see it
anymore. The way she swallows her opinions, plays the perfect hostess,
pretends not to notice when Papa comes home with blood on his cuffs.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of? Turning into her?”

The question hit too close to home. I closed the jewelry case with a sharp
snap. “I’d rather die,” I said again, and this time I meant
it with everything in me.

“Well, don’t do that. Your funeral would be boring and I’d
have to wear black, which washes me out.”

Despite everything, I smiled. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best and you know it.” I could hear her moving
around on her end, probably getting ready for whatever evening plans she had.
“Look, I know you don’t want advice –”

“Then don’t give it.”

“– but maybe pick your battles. Giuseppe’s old school.
You’re not going to change his mind by going head-to-head with him every
time.”

“So what, I should just roll over and accept whatever he decides?”

“No. I’m saying be smart about it. You’re clever, Cat.
Probably the smartest person I know, even if you are a spoiled brat.”

“Fuck you.”

“Love you too. My point is, if you’re going to fight him, make it
count. Don’t waste your energy on every little thing.”

I wanted to argue, but she wasn’t wrong. Papa responded to strength, to
strategy. Throwing tantrums — no matter how justified — just made him
dismiss me as a child. “Fine. I’ll be strategic.”

“Liar. You’re going to do something dramatic and probably get
yourself grounded, aren’t you?”

“Probably.” I glanced at my closet, an idea already forming.
“There’s a family dinner tonight. Something important, based on
how tense everyone’s been.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

“Caterina Lombardi, whatever you’re planning –”

“Gotta go, my warden’s here.” I’d heard the footsteps
in the hall, recognized my mother’s measured pace. “I’ll
call you later.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That leaves me a lot of options.” I ended the call, dropping my
phone onto the chaise just as my bedroom door opened.

Mama swept into my room like she was entering a ballroom, her posture so
perfect it made my spine hurt just looking at her. She wore a cream-colored
Chanel suit that probably cost more than a compact car, paired with pearls
that had been in the family for three generations. Every dark hair sat exactly
where it was supposed to. Not a wrinkle in sight. She looked like the poster
child for “Mafia wife perfection,” and it made me want to scream.

Her gaze traveled across the disaster of my room — the scattered clothes, the
open jewelry cases, the general chaos — but her expression remained serene.
That was Sofia Lombardi’s superpower. Nothing ruffled her. Ever.

“Caterina.” She said my name like it was a complete sentence, with
just enough weight to convey disappointment without actually expressing it.

“Mama.” I stayed where I was on the chaise, not bothering to sit
up straighter or pretend I was doing anything productive. Let her see the
mess. Let her judge it. I didn’t care.

That was a lie. I cared. But I’d rather die than admit it.

“I wanted to remind you about tonight’s dinner.” She stepped
farther into the room, her heels clicking precisely against the marble. Even
her footsteps were measured. “Your father expects everyone to be present
and properly dressed by seven.”

“Properly dressed.” I let the words hang in the air between us,
loaded with all the implications they carried. “You mean demure and
obedient? Quiet and decorative?”

“I mean appropriate for a family gathering.” Her tone remained
gentle, but I caught the steel underneath. Mama had spent twenty-some years
perfecting the art of being firm while sounding pleasant. “We have
important guests coming.”

“Of course we do.” I sat up, swinging my legs off the chaise with
deliberate carelessness. One of my discarded shoes clattered across the floor.
“Let me guess. Someone essential. Someone whose opinion matters. Someone
Papa wants to impress.”

Mama’s lips pressed together for just a moment — the only crack in her
composure. “This is vital to your father.”

“Everything is a key component to Papa. His reputation, his alliances,
his legacy.” I stood, moving to my vanity and picking up a bottle of
perfume just to have something to do with my hands. “His ability to
control every aspect of his daughter’s life.”

“Caterina.” This time my name came with a sigh, and when I glanced
at her reflection in the mirror, I saw something that might have been
weariness in her eyes. “Must you make everything a battle?”

“Must he treat me like property?” I set the perfume down harder
than necessary. The glass bottle made a sharp sound against the marble vanity
top. “I’m not a business asset, Mama. I’m a person.”

“No one said you weren’t.”

“They don’t have to say it. They just act like it.” I turned
to face her directly, crossing my arms. “Do you know what he told me
last week? That it was time I started considering my options. My options. Like
I’m shopping for a new car instead of thinking about my future.”

Mama moved to my bed, perching on the edge with practiced grace. Even sitting
casually, she looked like she was posing for a portrait. “Your father
wants what’s best for you.”

“What’s best for the family, you mean.”

“Sometimes those things align.”

“And when they don’t?” I challenged. “What happens
when what’s best for the family means sacrificing what I want? What I
need?”

She looked at me then, really looked at me, and for a moment I saw something
genuine beneath the polished exterior. Regret, maybe. Or recognition.
“We all make sacrifices, Caterina. That’s what it means to be part
of something larger than ourselves.”

“I didn’t ask to be part of this.” My voice came out sharper
than I intended. “I didn’t choose the Lombardi name. I
didn’t choose this life.”

“None of us do.” She stood, smoothing her skirt even though it
didn’t need smoothing. “But it’s the life we have. The
question is what we do with it.”

I wanted to argue more, to push until that perfect composure cracked and she
admitted how much she’d given up, how much she’d swallowed to be
Giuseppe Lombardi’s wife. But I also knew it was pointless. Mama had
made her peace with her choices a long time ago. She’d decided that
compliance was easier than resistance, that playing the role was safer than
fighting the script.

I’d never be able to do the same.

“Seven o’clock,” she said again, moving toward the door.
“Please don’t be late. And, Caterina?” She paused, her hand
on the doorknob. “Wear something appropriate.”

I drummed my manicured nails against the vanity top, the sharp
click-click-click filling the silence. It was a nervous habit I’d never
been able to break, and one that drove my father crazy. Mama’s gaze
flicked to my hand, but she said nothing. Just waited.

“I’ll be there,” I said finally. “Properly dressed and
everything.”

Something in my tone must have warned her, because her eyes narrowed slightly.
Not angry, just… knowing. She’d raised me, after all. She knew
when I was planning something.

“Caterina –”

“I said I’ll be there.” I gave her my sweetest smile, the
one I used when I was about to do something that would make Papa’s blood
pressure spike. “You can count on me.”

 

 

About the Author

Harley Wylde is an accomplished author known for her captivating MC Romances.
With an unwavering commitment to sensual storytelling, Wylde immerses her
readers in an exciting world of fierce men and irresistible women. Her works
exude passion, danger, and gritty realism, while still managing to end on a
satisfying note each time.

When not crafting her tales, Wylde spends her time brainstorming new
plotlines, indulging in a hot cup of Starbucks, or delving into a good book.
She has a particular affinity for supernatural horror literature and movies.
Visit Wylde’s website to learn more about her works and upcoming events, and
don’t forget to sign up for her newsletter to receive exclusive discounts and
other exciting perks.

 

Author on Facebook, Instagram, & TikTok: @harleywylde

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

RABT Book Tours & PR

BOOK BLITZ & GIVEAWAY: Blind Devotion by Addy Anders

Posted on by

Blind Devotion: A Dark Mafia Romance: Letters of Ruin
Addy Anders
(Letters of Ruin, #1)
Publication date: September 29th 2025
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Dark Romance, Mafia, Romance

PERSETTA

Lost until HIM
I thought the night fate brought us together was the worst night of my life.
I was wrong.
Blinded and with no memory, how was I supposed to know any better?
He’s cold-blooded, cunning, and dangerous—the head of the French mafia.
He’s everything I shouldn’t want in a man, but I do.
For my safety, I have to seduce him.
Instead, with every threat, he’s the one who draws me further into his web.
It’s so easy to fall into his arms as my demons slowly release from their cages.
I feel safe with him.
Until I remember the truth.

ADRIEN

Broken until HER
I walled off my shredded soul and black heart long ago.
No one ever gets in anymore, and yet my guard lowered for her.
She stole away on my boat, injured and with no memories.
The only clue to who she once was—a tattoo on her calf.
This woman. She’s my past. My present. My future.
The one who got away, in more than one sense.
Years ago, I broke our families’ alliance and turned my back on her.
Last night, I was hired to kill her.
My little survivor. My butterfly. If only I recognized her…

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

Just like yesterday, his palm pressed against my throat, but this time he didn’t squeeze. His thumb brushed up and down over my pulse point. His skin trembled against my own—warm, firm, unyielding, and yet somehow vulnerable too. Maybe that was what drew me to him, because it wasn’t rational how much I wanted him closer, his arms around me, his body against mine.

We were suspended like that for seconds…minutes. It could have been hours. Somehow deep inside, I felt protected for the first time in forever. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t have to, but in my jailer’s arms, in this moment, the void melted away and lightness spread. I wanted more, but the instant I reached for him, before I even touched him, he jerked away.

He cleared his throat.

“Never ask that of me again.”

“Or what?”

He stomped across the room and threw the door open so hard it crashed against the wall and skittered back in scattered croaks.

A strangled laugh choked out of me. Pain shot up my side, and tears seeped under my eye dressings. None of this was funny, but his switch in moods was giving me whiplash, especially after the lightness of that memory.

“You don’t possess a touch of sunshine, do you? You’re angry. Tormented, so you hide behind violence thinking it makes you so tough, but you’re nothing but a big ol’ grump, trying to spread his own misery.”

“You know nothing about me.”

He didn’t stick around for my rebuttal. The door battered the frame on his way out, and the lock clicked loudly into place. His absence left me lonelier than before, and I wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. One thing I was almost certain of though. He didn’t really want to kill me. The next time I saw him, I’d put that to the test.

Author Bio:

Addy Anders writes dark romance meant to tug hard on your heartstrings and never let go. Her books deliver deliciously possessive anti-heroes, strong heroines, a touch of angst to set you on edge, and a cocktail of spice.

Addy loves to travel, preferably outside of major cities. When she’s not writing or out in the wilderness, she can be found with her kindle and a very large cup of tea surrounded by her very supportive husband, two kiddos, and two fur babies.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / TikTok


GIVEAWAY!

Blind Devotion Blitz

—

BOOK TOUR & GIVEAWAY: Unholy Cross by Beth D. Carter

Posted on by

Deadly & Ruthless, Book 1

 
Dark Romance

Date Published: May 7, 2025

Publisher: Evernight Publishing

Aera Cross is a man forged by hardship. His childhood, marred by pain
and abuse, has left him with scars that run deeper than the skin. Survival has
been his only mantra, that he’s learned to navigate with a hardened
heart. But when a desperate father approaches him with a plea to rescue his
‘daughter’ from the clutches of a sadistic doctor, Cross finds
himself at a crossroads.

The photo of Lorelei, a girl with an ethereal beauty, ignites something within
him—a flicker of hope amidst the darkness. Lorelei possesses a gift that
is both a blessing and a curse: she can heal with a touch. But this
extraordinary ability has made her a target, sold to the highest bidder and
forced to perform for those who seek to exploit her powers. Each transaction
chips away at her soul, leaving her a mere shadow of the girl she once was.

On the night of her daring escape, Lorelei stumbles into Cross’s world.
Though she is wary of this rugged stranger, she has no choice but to trust
him. Together, they embark on a perilous journey, where danger lurks at every
corner and the lines between savior and sinner blur.

Excerpt

            The passenger door yanked open and very large man slid into the seat. Fear exploded through her. She couldn’t go back. She might have defended her life by killing a man, but she’d rather die than return to that cell. As she fumbled with the car handle to open in a desperate move to escape, the man reached over and caught her wrist. Instinct and desperation caused her to fight back, thrashing around in an effort to free herself.

Why? Why couldn’t luck be on her side for once?

            “I’m not going to hurt you!” the man muttered. “You can’t take this car to escape. They’ll track you. Listen to me, Lorelei!”

            Her name slipping from his tongue jolted her, and his words slowly penetrated the terror robbing her of sanity. Then she took a closer look at the man. It was hard to tell his eye color in the dark. Short hair. Bold, masculine features. Tattoos on one side of his neck. He wore a leather jacket, jeans and black boots. By his look alone, he wasn’t an employee.

            “My name is Aera Cross, and I’ve come to rescue you. Although you managed that very well on your own.”

            Suddenly, the alarm sounded, and lights flooded the perimeter. For a moment, she froze. Panic overrode any logical thought. Then Cross left the car and ran around to the driver’s side. Before she could blink, he took her hand and yanked her out. He looked down at her feet and frowned.

            “Where’re your shoes, woman? Actually, never mind. We have to get away from here.”

            He picked her up bridal style and ran into the darkness.

About the Author

 I’m passionate about weaving tales of romance and connection, inviting
readers into worlds where love conquers all. Crafting heartfelt stories and
steamy scenes that make the pulse race, as well as dreaming up the next
swoon-worthy adventure. I love to weave emotions into my stories that punch
you in the gut. I try to write characters who aren’t cookie cutters and push
myself to write complicated situations that I have no idea how to resolve,
forcing me to think outside the box. I strive to create characters who are
complex and full of flaws. Deep passion romance between heroes and heroines
who find redemption through love.

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

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Purchase Links

Amazon

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Publisher

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RELEASE BLITZ: Burn by Mychael Black

Posted on by

 

Author: Mychael Black

Cover Art: Bryan Keller

Genres: Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Mystery & Suspense, New Releases, Paranormal, Romance, Urban Fantasy

Themes: Dark Romance, LGBTQ+ /Sex/Gender Shifters & MPreg, LGBTQ+ Gay, Vampires

Series: Splintered Bloodlines (#1)

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 77

Description

Humans and vamps were never meant to be mates, but an accidental meeting changes everything.

Cam Sharpe is just trying to make ends meet. Living in the city can easily break the bank, but that’s where the jobs are. It’s also where crime runs rampant. One night, he finds himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, putting him in the crosshairs of the city’s ruling vampire coven.

Nikolai Hart loves his job — maybe a little too much. When hunting a rogue proves to be a pain in the ass, he’s the one House Saridan brings in to find the unfortunate soul. The latest job, however, has hit a snag: a mortal has witnessed everything.

Excerpt

Burn (Splintered Bloodlines 1)
Mychael Black
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Mychael Black

Cameron

I hated living in the city. There were too many people, most of whom couldn’t drive worth a damn. I barely managed to dodge a car that threatened to sideswipe me. I thought the asshole driver shouted something, but I just tossed the man a one-fingered salute. Rain pelted the city, which made deliveries a bit more complicated, especially on a bicycle. Still, the bike afforded me the chance to make it into tight spots a car could not. Traffic was a bitch, but that was city life. I’d been here for three years now and had managed to escape the need for a car. The exercise was good, at any rate.

I reached the towering apartment building and secured my bike to a lamppost. The expressionless doorman stood at the front. Dressed in a black tux, complete with white gloves, he fit right in with the building’s occupants.

Once inside, I flashed my badge hanging on its lanyard to the guard behind the desk and continued toward the elevators. A few well-dressed residents gave me a bit of the good ol’ side-eye, but I ignored them. Hell, I’d probably delivered dinner to them half a million times.

The elevator doors opened, and I held it for the others. When they didn’t move to enter, I shrugged and stepped inside, letting the doors close before they could change their haughty minds. I watched the display tick through the floor numbers until it reached the seventh floor. As soon as I exited, I heard music.

Down the hall, an apartment door opened, and a half-naked man waved. I met him and handed over the food.

“Wanna join?”

I laughed and shook my head. “Thanks, man, but I can’t. Still a few more hours before I can officially ‘clock out’ for the night.”

“You clock out?”

“Not really. I set my own hours, but this pays the bills, so, yeah, set times and all.”

“Ah.”

Shouts from inside cut the chat short. “Well, thanks!” the guy said, holding up the bag.

“No problem.”

Alone in the hall, I went back to the elevators. Thank the gods the tips were included in the app when ordering.

Back down on the street, I sighed. I wished I could stop for the night. I was tired, utterly sick of the damn rain, and hadn’t eaten in several hours. The sun had already set enough to make the streetlights come on along the sidewalks. I rolled the bike a few feet away from the lingering crowd and headed off to my next pick-up.

People swarmed the streets, most of them club hoppers. I’d done that years ago but had outgrown it. Random hook-ups in dark corners no longer satisfied me, but in a city this big, I wasn’t sure I’d ever find anyone who would. Most of the people I’d met so far were superficial and vain, perfectly content to spend a night getting laid by one person before moving on to the next.

An order came in, and the GPS piped up to let me know there was a shortcut to the restaurant. Happy to avoid the crowd, I turned down the alley the GPS designated. I ignored the few slumped figures along both sides. I’d learned the hard way a couple of years ago after a mugging not to carry cash. Now I only carried my ID, keys, phone, and a trusty can of mace.

The end of the alley branched left and right. The GPS told me to go left. Just as I started that way, commotion to the right startled me.

A tall, black-clad figure landed feet-first onto the wet pavement and grabbed a man from the ground. The man choked and struggled as the stranger spoke, voice low enough that I couldn’t hear what was said. Whatever it was, though, seemed to terrify the man he held captive.

The stranger growled — literally growled — and tore the man’s throat wide open with his fucking teeth.

I nearly wrecked the bike trying to get away. I pedaled as fast as my legs could, and the burn was almost too much. I reached the Chinese restaurant and stuck as close to the building as possible. After a few seconds of struggling to catch my breath, I locked my bike to a lamppost before heading inside.

I had zero doubt that I’d just seen a vampire executing someone. Vamps weren’t unknown, but they tended to keep to themselves. They also weren’t anything like what stories and movies portrayed them to be. Real vampires weren’t undead; they were an entirely different species. Stronger, faster, and far more deadly than any human could ever dream of being.

Safe in the restaurant, I shot a quick glance back out the door. Whatever I’d just witnessed wasn’t my business. Not like cops would do shit anyway. Vamps governed themselves, and the police were scared shitless of them.

Pushing it out of my mind for now, I shuddered and headed to the counter. Ten minutes later, I was on my way to the drop-off point. Despite needing the money, I ended my shift after handing over the food. Just before I left the area, though, I caught sight of the stranger from the alley. Those eyes locked onto mine.

Hopping onto the bike, I made a beeline for my tiny efficiency apartment. It wasn’t much, but it had a wonderfully huge deadbolt on the door.

I leaned back against the door as soon as I locked it. Eyes closed, I tried to get rid of the images from the alley. It wasn’t the first crime I’d seen in this damned city, but it was definitely the first time a vampire had been involved. At least that I knew of, at any rate.

“Get a grip, Cam,” I muttered. “Not the first, won’t be the last.”

I pushed off the door and tossed my keys onto the narrow bar separating the kitchenette from the living area. I couldn’t even call it an actual room, really. The only true room was the bathroom, and even that was about the size of a small walk-in closet. Overall, the place wasn’t much, but it was home and, to be honest, all I could afford.

Before I could contemplate dinner or a shower, my grumbling stomach made up its own mind. A quick glance in the fridge, and then the freezer, reminded me that I needed to hit the store down the block sooner rather than later. I didn’t cook, despite knowing how to, since it was just me here. Most of my meals tended to be sandwiches or frozen dinners, or, if money allowed, something quick while I was working. Tonight, though, peanut butter and jelly would have to do.

A few minutes later, I settled onto the futon that doubled as my bed and watched the news on my only splurge: a smart TV. I nibbled on my meager dinner as one report after another went on. I popped the last bite into my mouth, only to nearly choke on it.

The same dark-clad figure I’d seen in the alley was positioned behind one of the head vamps in the city during a news conference that, according to the info at the bottom of the screen, occurred earlier today. The muscle-bound watchdog stood ready to spring to action at the slightest hint of trouble.

Pitch black hair hung over broad shoulders, and the man’s five-o’clock shadow covered a stern, tight jawline. Eyes that looked almost as black as his hair seemed to scan the entire room. Though he kept his hands behind him, I could imagine those strong arms tensing. And he was tall. Jesus, he was fucking tall. Even more than the vampire in front of him. A morbid desire to stare up into those insanely dark eyes swept through me.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Bad thoughts. Bad thoughts. Vamps are fucking trouble.”

I changed the channel and found a nature documentary instead. Maybe watching meerkats would cleanse my brain of insane ideas like wanting to unwrap all those muscles.

Gods, I was nuts.

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Mychael Black has been writing professionally since 2005. He writes gay romance and erotica, but also het romance as Carys Seraphine and queer fantasy as Katherine Cook.

He’s an avid PC gamer with a love for RPGs, a horror fanatic, and a fantasy nut. He also has a weakness for anything relating to skulls, dogs, and Spongebob Squarepants.

Mychael lives on the Eastern Shore of the US with his family. He loves to hear from readers, be it via email or Facebook.

Website | Facebook

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RELEASE BLITZ: Heron’s Flame by Nikki Landis

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Title: Heron’s Flame
Series: Devil’s Murder MC
Author: Nikki Landis
Genre: Dark Romance; MC Romance
Release Date: March 15, 2025





All it takes is a spark to ignite a flame.
Heron has been searching for answers since the day he learned about his adoption. With the death of the only father he’d ever known, he spent the following year looking for information about his birth parents. The questions have led him to Crow, the president of the Devil’s Murder MC. To find his family, he has to strike a bargain.
There’s just one catch. If Heron wants to learn the truth, he must patch into the club, which means becoming a prospect first. On the day of his arrival at the clubhouse, he’s not prepared when the young woman from his dreams ends up colliding with him on The Roost’s doorstep. She’s real, gorgeous, and connected to him in ways he can’t explain.
But there’s a problem. Rebel hates him.
Or so Heron thinks. But love, lust, and hate share the same unstable thread, and when fate pushes Heron and Rebel together, they form a truce. The more time they share, the harder it becomes to resist the pull between them. A bond with Heron’s crow confirms Rebel is Heron’s mate. She’s his spark.
But the past, Heron’s origins, and Rebel’s secrets are about to collide. Can they push beyond the painful past and heal from the trauma they both endured? Is love enough to help them survive threats from rival clubs, misunderstandings, and an enemy vicious enough to destroy the club and Heron’s precious flame?
🚨 Heron’s Flame is a full-length, dark romance with a paranormal twist, violence, biker slang, forced proximity, and a protective stalker outlaw in an enemies-to-lovers, suspenseful adventure. For best enjoyment, the series should be read in order since ongoing storylines and characters appear throughout and overlap.








Nikki Landis is a romance enthusiast, tea addict, and book hoarder. She’s the USA Today Bestselling Author of over fifty novels, including her widely popular Tonopah, NV RBMC series. She writes wickedly fierce, spicy romances featuring dirty talkin’ bikers, deadly, possessive reapers, wild bad boys, and the feisty, independent women they love. She’s a mom to six sons, two of them Marines. Books are her favorite escape. Nikki also writes steamy alien and monster romance under the pen name Synna Star.


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BOOK TOUR: Doll Face by C. Hebert and DJ Krimmer

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We’re celebrating the upcoming release of DOLL FACE by C. Hebert and D.J. Krimmer! Pre-order now or get your copy on October 5th!

Doll Face

Publication Date: October 5, 2024

Genre: Dark Romance/ Retelling/ Novella

Shall We Play A Game?

Amid the suffocating embrace of night,
I stumble upon him, a beacon of light.
The Boogeyman, a seductive terror,
Whispers haunting promises, cruel and fair.
Eyes that glint with otherworldly fire,
In his grasp, I’m consumed by dark desire.
A love twisted and sickeningly sweet,
Tangled in the depths of darkness, where nightmares meet.
Should I trust my button eyes,
Or should I doubt them and follow my firefly?

This story is a dark retelling created by two spooky queens who combined the iconic stories of The Nightmare Before Christmas (specifically Oogie Boogie) and Coraline into a mash up of spooky goodness filled with banter, chaos, and lots of spice.

GET IT ON AMAZON

TRIGGERS:

Mental Abuse, Physical Abuse, Attempted Sexual Assault, Torture, Blood, Biting, Attempted Murder, Murder, Death, Detailed Sexual Scenes, Anxiety, Mention of Child Abduction and Death, Kidnapping, Unprotected Sex, Stalking, Somnophilia, Emotional Abuse, Needles, Sewing of Flesh, Mention of Rape, Sexual Abuse, Trauma, Profanity, Sexual Harassment, Slut Shaming, Violence, Dubious Consent, Desecration of a Corpse, Masturbation, Mention of Blood Orgies, Verbal Abuse, Taxidermy, Light Bondage, Virgin FMC, Sodomy, Rough Sexual Interactions, Removal of Eyes, Emotional Addiction, Intrusive Thoughts, PTSD Characteristics, Sex Addiction, Gambling, Body Modifications, Toxic Relationships, Body Horror, Dead Bodies, Emotional Scars, Emotional Trauma, Attempted Strangulation, Abuse of a Deceased Animal, Sexual Manipulation, Emotional Manipulation, Lying, Shared Trauma, Panic Attacks, and a Cliff Hanger Ending.

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BOOK BLITZ: Commit by Candice Wright

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Title: Commit
Series: Death in Bloom #3
Author: Candice Wright
Genre: Dark Romance
Tropes: Age Gap, Taboo, Boyfriend’s Dad
Criminal Underground/Empire, Serial Killer
Release Date: July 31, 2024

BLURB

She calls me Hudson

But they know me as Pete
A simple man with a common name
They see the warm smile of their neighbor,
Not the cold eyes of a man who kills for the thrill of it and sleeps like a baby afterward

Until Starling

My son’s girlfriend and my new obsession
She falls into my lap like a wounded bird with broken wings
Branding me with her touch, making me an addict after just one taste
She thinks I’ll give her up once she gives in
But she’s never met a man like me before
And Forbidden Fruit was always my favorite.

He calls me Birdie …

But they know me as Starling.
A strange girl with a pretty name
I’m the orphan everyone pities
A perpetual victim who has spent more time on her knees than most

Until Hudson

He’s a monster of his own making,
One who crosses all my lines and pushes every limit
He doesn’t want to free me; he wants to cage me
And if I resist, he’ll destroy the only boy I’ve ever loved.
After all, monsters don’t win hearts

They steal them.

Author note: There are no heroes in this story, no sweet declarations of love or hard-earned redemption arcs.
But then, some girls don’t need a hero to save them; they need a villain willing to burn right along with them.


**This book plays with the darker side of love, such as obsession, infatuation, and the power plays made to obtain it.**

Triggers: It goes without saying that this book contains dark elements that some readers will find uncomfortable, including offense!ve language, graphic v!olence, explicit s@xual situations, and often a combination of all three.

Readers must be aged eighteen or over because therapy is expensive.

PURCHASE LINKS
AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
Free in Kindle Unlimited

ALSO AVAILABLE
AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
Free in Kindle Unlimited

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
Free in Kindle Unlimited

AUTHOR BIO
Candice Wright is the international bestselling author of the Underestimated Series. Hailing from the UK, Candice lives with her three slightly unhinged children and the long-suffering partner. When she isn’t busy raising the next generation of crazy, you can find her sitting at the computer writing words she hopes will resonate or snuggled up reading stories by the authors that cultivated her love of the written word.