Hungry for You by Crymsyn Hart #DarkFantasy #BBW #PNR #DarkDesire #shifters #NewRelease @crymsynhart @ChangelingPress

Hungry Fur You (Billionaire Werewolf 2)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

Sadie Matthews thought she had it all figured out with her sexy werewolf billionaire, Elijah Dane. However, she’s bitten by another wolf who thinks Sadie is her rival. Waking up from her transformation, Sadie finds herself in Luke’s cabin. Sexy as hell, it’s all Sadie can do to keep her paws off him because she knows Luke is her mate as well as Elijah. What’s a girl to do with two smokin’ werewolves?

Luke never expected to find a mate in the middle of the forest. When he first catches Sadie’s scent, he knows he’ll do anything to have her. But first, he must return her to Elijah, then deal with dissension in his pack.

Can both men satisfy Sadie’s new desires? Will she give in to the beast inside? And can Elijah and Luke see eye to eye when it comes to sharing their new mate?

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Crymsyn Hart

“How’s Elijah doing?” Narissa asked.

Sadie looked up from her meal and tried to hide her smile. The last year had been a whirlwind. Her relationship with her werewolf lover had been rocky at first, but it had evened out as they both got to know one another, and their boundaries were set on how far she could go. “It’s good.”

“Good. You look happier than I’ve seen you in a long time.”

“I wasn’t the one who disappeared for six months.”

“Didn’t have a choice. There was some upheaval in the Fairy realm. Time runs differently there. I needed to get things back in order.”

“Everything okay over there?” Sadie asked. Now she knew her friend was a fairy, she could ask her all kinds of questions. For years, Narissa had kept her true self a mystery. When they’d met in college, she’d introduced herself as Melissa.

“Nothing for you to worry about. I’m not sure even why they called me back since they don’t like I’m of mixed blood.”

“It had to have been important. Want to talk about it? We’ve always shared everything.”

Narissa poked at her food. “I know. I never told you everything before because I didn’t know how you’d deal with it.”

“I can deal with it. I’m dating the werewolf who killed my fiancé. So spill.”

“Most fairies don’t exist in this realm. We broke from the humans long ago. Those who do — we keep ourselves closed off. I’m not the only shifter among the fae. It seems a couple of them have gone missing. They thought I might know where they were.”

“Did you find them?”

Her friend pushed her plate away and a look of disgust soured her expression. “We found parts of them. They were dissected. They had the stench of humans. The fae don’t think it’s an isolated incident.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Indeed. Enough about me, I didn’t come to talk to get you down. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you, but it’s crazy. New job. New place. I told you my protection would bring you good things.”

“Yeah, you did. It makes Elijah jealous. It’s kinda funny to watch when we’re out and random men come up to me.”

“Wolves are protective of their mates, but you haven’t let him make you furry yet.”

She sipped her wine and glanced at the calendar. Elijah was out of town until after the full moon. “I’m not there yet.”

“When do you think you’ll get there? He’s not going to let you stay human forever. Wolves have a long lifespan.”

She held up her hand to silence Narissa. “I know. We’ve already discussed it.”

“Do you have an idea when you might let him turn you?”

“Will it be hindered by your mark?”

“Not at all, it might make you stick out a little bit more. I can’t take it back. Besides, I want to be sure to throw you an epic party when you get all hairy. Then we can hunt together and I don’t have to be so dainty with you.”

“I’m sure you’ll be happy about that.”

“I’m happy that you’re happy. I mean it. You’re working for a company that’s mostly shifters.”

“Yeah. They shut down for the full moon so it makes it better.”

“What does Elijah say about you working?”

“Like he can control me.”

Narissa gave her a hug and kissed her on the cheek. “Make sure you keep doing that because once he thinks he can bend you to his will as an alpha, he won’t stop.”

Sadie returned the hug. “Don’t worry about that. He knows that I’m not going to bow down to him in any form.”

A plant rustled next to them and a tall man stepped out from behind it. The texture of his skin appeared to be a blend of bark and flesh. He leaned in and said something to Narissa. She paled.

“Shit. I gotta run. Not sure how long I’m going to be. Gotta go back to Fairy. You two should use my place. Bye, hun.” Narissa waved and popped out, leaving a faint trail of glitter.

Sadie cleaned up and sat down on the sofa, wishing Elijah were with her. He had taken to working from home with her. When it came to the pack, he rarely discussed that part of his life. Her decision not to become a wolf hampered their relationship. Sometimes she felt like the dirty secret he kept hidden in the closet. She glanced at the moon and felt the pull of it herself. Being with him, she had begun to understand the power it had over the shifters.

Maybe I am ready. They both knew it was coming and a condition of their relationship. It always surprised him she hadn’t already turned from the two attacks she had already endured. First, Elijah attacking her two years ago when he killed her fiancé, Greyson, and ate him. He had tackled her and clawed her back. He claimed the wolf realized she was his mate then, but he didn’t know it until later. The second time she had been mauled by a wolf in another pack, but Elijah rescued her.

His wolf grew more insistent that it wanted her to join him. Sadie loved him beyond measure. It didn’t matter he was a billionaire CEO of a large company or controlled the largest pack in five states. All she wanted was him. However, each time during their lovemaking, her fear that he would bite her arose. The strain had started to show on their relationship, forcing a distance between them. Tonight he and the pack would all be gathered at the resort. Sadie had never been happier except for the growing tension between her and Elijah. He wasn’t about to let her go, and she loved him too much to lose him.

At the very heart of the matter, she was afraid. Afraid she would become a bloodthirsty beast that wanted to feast on innocents. She didn’t want that to be her. She couldn’t imagine bringing the fear and the hurt to someone the way it had happened to her losing Greyson. Her fiancé would want her to be happy. Sadie didn’t know if he would understand shape shifters and fairies. He would encourage her to take charge of her life and not live in fear. The way he always did. She’d been putting the decision off for so long, it had become the ugly beast in the room. Her stomach tightened in anticipation. Sadie grabbed a bag and threw some things inside it. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Elijah’s face when she got to the resort. Her resolve tightened.

There wasn’t any going back.

 

More from Crymsyn at Changeling Press …

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

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

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

 

Emotional Rescue by Lily Vega #PNR #shifters #NewRelease @LV_Writer @changelingpress

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Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

Alistair, a human by day and a stone gargoyle by night, goes along with a scheme that could break his curse, but he risks losing the woman of his dreams.

After being burned by love, Kendra sets her sights on her employer’s hunky gardener for a down-and-dirty romp. Their physical connection has the potential to be the emotional rescue they both need, until Kendra discovers the secrets Al’s been hiding.

 

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press

or pre-order at retailers for September 13th

 

   

 

Praise for Emotional Rescue (Set in Stone) 

“…it’s sweet, succinct and alludes to an exciting potential future. It’s a short-shot of fun and romance with a nugget of adventure to tickle a reader’s imagination. I am glad I read this little book and think it’s a perfect afternoon indulgence.”

— Xeranthemum, Long and Short Reviews
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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Lily Vega

Kendra’s job as the personal assistant to a wealthy entrepreneur involved little more than calendar management and simple errands. A colossal waste of her MBA.

At least the generous paycheck helped to make a dent in her student loans.

Who the hell was she kidding? The real reason she’d procrastinated in applying for a better job had everything to do with her boss’s hunky gardener.

Whenever they’d spoken, the air seemed charged with current. Every time she caught a glimpse of his physique or looked into his soulful eyes, her heart sped like a rabbit spying a wolf. Since she’d met Alistair, he’d inspired a number of naughty fantasies.

Mr. Wong’s business trip to Shanghai provided the perfect opportunity for quality time with Al. The frenzied departure of her typically Zen boss could be blamed on Mercury retrograde or a zombie apocalypse. Not that she believed in astrology or zombies, but a girl could use any excuse to seize the day. A romp with the hot gardener might be just the thing to satisfy her base urges enough to allow her to break out of her comfort zone and jumpstart her career change.

She didn’t dare consider the possibilities of a long-term relationship. After discovering her two roommates doing the nasty with her boyfriend in the kitchen of their apartment, she’d stopped believing in relationships. After kicking all three of them out, she had allowed her life to become a mind-numbing rut.

Never again would she let herself be gullible enough to trust a lover. Best to stick to casual sex and her vibrator to fulfill her needs.

She peeked out the window. The lawn was lush and green. Each blade of grass stood basking in the rays of the sun. The rose bushes displayed their velvety petals. Pansies added splashes of purple, blue, and yellow to the grounds. The landscape displayed Al’s care, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen.

If he was into her, she’d limit their liaison to a one-night stand. Even if it killed her, she’d let herself have one taste and move on.

“Excuse me.” The deep rumble of Al’s voice sent a quiver from the back of her neck to the tips of her toes. “I need to water the bamboo plant behind you.”

“Of course.” When she moved out of his way, her high-heeled sandals caught the edge of the Persian rug and she stumbled.

His hand shot out to steady her. Up close, he was even better looking. At over six feet tall, he towered over her five-foot frame, making her feel petite.

She gazed into his eyes and took a deep breath of his earthy scent — fresh-cut grass with a light hint of flowers. An image of him rolling around shirtless in a meadow flashed through her mind. She clutched at his soft shirt and the muscles of his chest contracted underneath.

“Would you consider… “

“Yes.” His hand slid up her arm to caress her shoulder.

A laugh spilled from her lips and her nervousness vanished. “I didn’t finish asking the question.”

“Your wish is my command. After I water the plant, of course.” He continued to rub lazy circles on her shoulder. “Wong will skin me alive if he returns to find his favorite frond droopy.”

“How do you know it’s his favorite? The house and grounds are full of greenery and flowers.”

“The bamboo sits where he can see it while he works at his desk. An object of desire is usually kept close.” His voice went deeper on the word “desire.”

 

More from Lily at Changeling Press …

Lily Vega lives in the Midwest with her sexy husband who combines all of Dean Winchester’s best qualities with a flair for computers. She continually cultivates her dirty mind, fueling it with caffeine and craft beer. She believes all creatures, especially those of the night, deserve mind-blowing sex with a happily ever after.

Check out www.facebook.com/LilyVegaWriter for quirky posts and photos of hot guys. Visit Lily’s website at LilyVega.com and follow her on Twitter @LV_Writer.

 

 

Guarded Heart by Treva Harte #Action #RomanceBooks #NewRelease #LGBT @changelingpress

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Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

Leo was sure Gene would see the advantages of staying in California — with Leo — once he gets Gene back home. But it looks like Gene’s only here to find out why he’s been threatened, and to make sure his only friend in the state isn’t the one making threats.

Leo knows finding out the truth could leave Gene disillusioned and in danger. It probably doesn’t matter that Leo cares a hell of a lot for the guy. Enough to protect him, find out the truth, and let Gene decide whether to stay or go.

 

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press

or pre-order for September 13th at retailers

 

   

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Treva Harte

For some reason I’d thought I’d finally got Gene when he agreed to come home to California. I mean, how could you not love California? The beaches, the food, the people, even the damned smog and the occasional earthquake. I couldn’t imagine any place better. But he had the worst plane phobia I’d ever seen on anyone who actually made it onto a plane and stayed there. And motion sickness, I think. And probably just anxiety about every damn thing he was doing on this trip and why he was coming back.

The car ride from the airport had been only marginally better than the plane ride. He wasn’t turning green once we touched ground, but once he got in the rental car Gene took to crossing his arms as if to ward off a threat.

“Sorry, Leo,” he said before he got in the taxi. I wasn’t sure exactly what he was apologizing for. Being a bad traveler? Raising my hopes that once he got here, he’d be happy?

Gradually he stopped talking at all. That wasn’t like him.

I braced myself for the reaction when we entered my condo. Whatever it was, I knew it wouldn’t be what I expected. He never did what I thought he would.

He smiled.

“This isn’t a crappy place.”

“It’s no penthouse, but it’s really near the office.” I’d been lucky to get the one bedroom back when someone needed quick cash. But compared to what Gene used to live in…

I watched him head over to the patio window and look out and then try another angle for the view.

Damn it, this totally didn’t measure up to his mansion in fucking Malibu. That place was exactly what a big star, a star as big as he’d been, was supposed to be in.

A hummingbird. He reminded me of a goddamned hummingbird as he craned his neck and then stepped back. That was his usual style. Colorful, eye-catching, and darting here and there. He didn’t belong in my minimalist place — the nice way of saying I had almost no furniture beyond what was absolutely needed and the walls were painted a boring, neutral light gray. I hadn’t thought much about it until he arrived, looking out of place.

Then again, he hadn’t looked right in his cabin in Maine. That made this place look like a palace. Maybe it was just as well he hadn’t seen where I lived until he’d spent a decade living in a beaten-down shack in the middle of nowhere. Anything would look good after living there.

Damn it. I hadn’t felt self-conscious in years, and I wasn’t going to take up the habit now. “Why don’t you settle in? I need to check my email and make a few calls. Then we can have some tea — I think I have some — and figure out our next moves.” I tried to sound casual. Orders weren’t going to work with Gene, especially a jumpy Gene. But I already knew what needed to be done. We could wrap this up in a few hours at worst if what I thought happened actually had. And if it hadn’t, then what was going on would be a damned unusual event.

“Maybe a shower. I’ve probably sweated my shirt through.” Gene looked faintly embarrassed. “I haven’t been on a plane in a long time. For good reason.”

“Really? I had no idea.”

“Smartass.” Gene grinned and then headed toward the bathroom without asking for directions. It didn’t take much to figure out where it had to be. My condo wasn’t a lot bigger than his cabin.

I fought the sudden drive of lust when I saw that grin and then I had to fight following him into the shower. I had work to do, even though that pull of sex was almost too strong. How the hell did he do that? I usually had more self-control.

I needed that self control as I began to go through the emails I needed to answer. Most of it was routine, thank God, because I began to think about other things — namely, what happened next. Once we wrapped his problem up, then what? How would Gene take a theft from the one person he trusted back here? And what possible reason would we have to see each other afterward?

Not just theft, but attempted murder. Whoever had threatened him had followed through, however badly, by hiring someone who used a teenager to shoot off a BB gun into Gene’s house. A half-assed attempt was still an attempt. The threats, the shooting — I didn’t know why that was supposed to cover up embezzlement, if that was the issue, but lots of thieves didn’t think things out properly.

But the thing was, once we found out it was his agent, Gene would have no reason to ever come back to California. He hated it now. And California was my home.

Why the fuck did I care? It wasn’t like we were long-time lovers. Gene had hired me a second time after we hadn’t seen each other in a decade. Shit, after he’d fired me and disappeared. We’d just barely started to be friendly fuck buddies this time around. So I’d been a little hung up on him for the past few years. More like ten years, but…

“All right. I’m almost feeling human again,” Gene announced, his voice at my elbow as he bent over to see what I was doing. “Let’s hit the tea and discuss things.”

I looked at him all showered, clothed, and perky and I wasn’t thinking about tea. He smiled again, slowly, as he assessed my stare.

“Unless you have a better idea,” he said.

 

More from Treva at Changeling Press …

Treva Harte has always been an overachiever. She also collects things. First it was degrees. First a B.A. in English, then she decided to go back for a Master’s degree. Not content with that, she added a J.D. Since then she’s added a husband, also an attorney, and two children to her collection. She’s continuing her ways as an overachiever, writing her wonderfully offbeat tales of passion and possibilities — in her spare time.

Visit her website at www.trevaharte.com.

 

Well Endowed by Tina Donahue #PNR #NewRelease #RomCom

Ever wonder what it would be like to have your own jinn? Great, huh? The wishes. The riches. The problems.

Yep. That’s what Cari faces when she inherits Jez. As an alpha jinn, he refuses to serve anyone but a man. As far as he’s concerned, she’s only good for some hot and heavy loving.

Hmm. She believes otherwise and shows him just who has the upper hand.

Let the battle of the sexes begin…

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Where there’s a will, there’s wicked fun… 

 

Drowning in bad luck, Cari doesn’t know where to turn when the unexpected happens. A loyal customer at her Key West café has left her an inheritance. She hopes for cash to save her restaurant but receives an old brass bottle that looks like a sex toy…and has Jez inside. 

At six-four, he’s built like a gladiator, has looks to die for, and oozes sexuality. He’s also a jinn. 

Color her enthralled and excited. Besides being one hot dude, he grants wishes, right? 

 

Not for her. Ironclad tradition demands he serve men, not women. Of course, if she wants to get down and dirty with him, he’ll gladly oblige. 

 

Let the battle of the sexes begin. Before long, their differences fall away as they indulge in every lusty desire, while falling hard and fast. Ah, paradise. Until trouble arrives, threatening to pull them apart forever…

 

EXTASY  |  AMAZON  |  BARNES & NOBLE  |  KOBO

 

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Excerpt:

 

She couldn’t wait a second longer and twisted the knob to open the container.

 

The top didn’t budge.

 

She tried repeatedly until she was breathless and sweating.

 

The fucking thing wouldn’t turn. The nicks and dents she’d noticed earlier proved to be pry marks around the top that resembled the crown on a man’s cock.

 

“Crap.” She wasn’t equipped to break this thing or saw it open.

 

After searching her kitchen for something to use, she settled on rubber gloves to add traction to her grip. With her thighs holding the bottle, she wrenched the top as hard as her strength allowed.

 

The knob not only loosened, but flew off—similar to a cork on a champagne bottle—and hit her wall, denting the plaster.

 

There goes my security deposit.

 

Hold on.

 

By itself, the bottle trembled between her thighs, the metal growing warmer. Not an unpleasant feeling, but fucking weird. 

 

Appalled, she flung the container on her table.

 

It thudded dully against her purse and shook violently.

 

“Shit, shit, shit!” The damn thing was going to blow. Her spicy, rich cooking must have pushed Ethyl into an earlier grave than she wanted, and this was payback. Terrified, Cari dropped to her knees, desperate to crawl to the door and outside. Frozen in horror, she hunkered behind a chair for protection.

 

Thunder roared.

 

Gold-and-black smoke poured from the bottle.

 

I’m going to die.

 

Hard rain struck the windows, but they didn’t blow out from an explosion.

 

Rather than the smoke rising to the ceiling, it curled in a slow spiral then drifted away from the table to her side.

 

Shuddering, she crab-walked away from it.

 

The smoke followed and took form.

 

Feet appeared first, at least a size fifteen, the toes well-formed and long. Muscular calves and thighs materialized next, dark hairs hugging them, the complexion olive.

 

She stopped edging back and leaned forward instead.

 

Upper thighs and narrow hips emerged, a startling-white fabric tied around the groin area, the ends hiding the good stuff. Not a loincloth exactly, more like a scarf exposing a rock-hard ass. 

The abs and chest were no different, each sculpted, the small nipples a dark brown shade, similar in color to refried beans. The pecs quivered on each new breath. However, there was no navel.

 

This can’t be happening.

 

She raised her face.

 

The smoke broke apart, floated to the ceiling, and disappeared.

 

Leaving a thirtysomething man standing before her.

 

He opened his lushly lashed eyes.

 

Her breath caught. His irises were closer to gold than hazel, his shoulder-length brown hair thick and wavy, stubble outrageously sexy, mouth sensuous, one dark eyebrow arched at her.

 

He planted his hands on his lean hips.

 

Holy fuck. A gladiator couldn’t have owned more muscles, though they weren’t overdone like Arnold Schwarzenegger’s, but totally male.

 

Her pussy creamed.

 

An odd reaction since this couldn’t be real.

 

When the knob flew off the bottle, it must have ricocheted off the wall and hit her head, causing her to hallucinate this, or rather, him.

 

Only one way to find out. She grabbed his calf. Its brawn and heat made her ears buzz.

Grinning lewdly, he flexed his muscles and pressed into her touch.

 

This was no dream. She snatched back her hand. “Who-who-who-who—” She shivered so badly, she couldn’t speak, but had to. “Who are you? What are you?”

 

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He lifted his chin. “You, a mere woman, dare to question or demand anything from me?”

 

“Huh?” Not liking his sexist attitude, she scrambled to her feet. At five-seven, she couldn’t match his height. By her guestimate, he topped out at six-four and was the most perfect man she’d ever seen, except for his patronizing gaze. Precisely what she didn’t need. “Again, who or what are you? This is my place. My kitchen. Not yours. Answer me.”

 

“I answer only to my master. Go on.” He gestured her away as Antonini had. “Fetch the man in charge.”

 

As if. Before she could slug him, he pivoted and regarded her kitchen warily, as a one-percenter would, seeing only how small and simple it was.

 

She couldn’t have cared less if he found her digs lacking.

 

He next focused on her buñuelos.

 

If he gave them a pissy look or said one unkind thing about her cooking, he wasn’t long for this world, even if she didn’t know how to off him.

 

Bent at the waist, he sniffed the treats and licked his lips.

 

Growling sounded.

 

His stomach?

 

Holding one buñuelo between his thumb and forefinger, he examined the fried dough carefully, licked the contours, then popped the treat into his mouth. As he chewed, his lids slid down and he moaned the way guys do during orgasms.

 

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Dreams and Lovers (Duet) by Willa Okati #boxset #PNR #GayRomance @willaokati @changelingpress

Dreamers and Lovers (Duet)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

What if saying goodbye to all you ever thought you were sure of is only the first part of hello?

Lovers, Dreamers, and Me: Tolliver’s buried his life in taking care of his sister and the bookstore his grandmother left him. That doesn’t leave much time for romance. Sarah, his sister, decides to do a little matchmaking. Only her choice is another man, and Tolliver’s not gay! Noble’s not, either, but he is deeply attracted to Tolliver, and he’s not above using his psychic gifts to draw them together. The road to discovery has more twists and turns — and toys — than even he ever dreamed.

The First Hello: Shawn Tillerman thinks he’s losing his mind. Wary and damaged after a hard life filled with broken promises, he’s been having flashes of lives he didn’t live. He hasn’t told anyone what’s happening to him — he’s too busy keeping his twin sister away from Oxy. If he can sell the house he’s inherited, he can turn their lives around. Or not. Because Raleigh, the compelling stranger who wants their house, swears Shawn’s reliving memories. That he’s the man from Shawn’s dreams. Shawn doesn’t believe Raleigh — but he’s beginning to wish he could.

 

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press

Also Available in Print

 

or Pre-Order at retailers for September 6th

   

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Willa Okati
Excerpt from Lovers, Dreamers and Me

It wasn’t love at first sight.

Sarah, Tolliver’s kid sister, saw him first. Perched on the Old Curiosity checkout counter doing her homework, she swung her heels and nudged Tolliver with the toe of her sneaker. “Incoming customer.”

Tolliver reluctantly turned away from the page of the old book he’d been halfway through, its faded type and strange serifs tempting him back in. “I got it. Keep working.” He closed the book and lifted his chin in the customer’s direction, his eyes still on the book’s worn leather cover. “Can I help you?”

“Hope so,” the man said, his voice a deep, melodious tenor that shaded toward baritone. “I was told you might have some hard to find tarot decks in stock. There’s one, a local artist — Judy Schuyler. She did an abstract Impressionism set. Do you have that deck?”

“We might have sold hers,” Tolliver said, not really paying attention to the guy and registering no more than a vague impression of height, tousled brown hair, and bare arms. He kept one eye on the flyleaf of the 1891 edition of Great Expectations, pencil poised to sketch his reseller’s price. Amazing. He almost wanted to keep this one for himself.

“Can you check?” The customer was persistent, and patiently unruffled. “Maybe for Sharice Donough, too? She’s not local, but she did a mountain music inspired. There’s a stringed instrument on the front –”

“Right. It was a mandolin, I think?” He’d caught Tolliver’s attention at last. Tolliver reached for an inventory log, still kept on paper for the most part — he was a traditionalist — and started flipping through pages. “I’d swear I remember getting one of those last year. Wait. Do you mean the Wisconsin Sharice or the Montauk Falls Donough?”

Tolliver’s fingers slipped on the light-lead pencil he held and sent it clattering to the floor. “Sorry, let me get that.”

“No problem,” the customer answered, his stance relaxed. “I’m not in a rush.”

Tolliver crouched, scanning the flotsam and jetsam he kept stashed under the old four legged breakfront he used as a checkout counter. “Did you check in the glass cases on the back wall?” he called. “Ha. There you are.” The pencil had come to a stop halfway in, halfway out of the desk’s boundaries.

“Hang on, I think I see it.” The tip of a sneaker, encasing a foot of amazing length, prodded the pencil. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

Tolliver had reached for the pencil at the same time. Together, they sent it skittering across the shop floor.

“I’ve got it,” the customer said, rich amusement lacing his tone. He crouched. “Do you always work this hard for this little?”

“I pay attention to detail,” Tolliver replied, slightly annoyed. He caught a glimpse of long, tapered fingers with solid knuckles snaffling the pencil.

He stood, brushing the layer of dust he’d acquired down there off the knees of his khakis and reached, still not looking, for the pencil. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” The customer tipped his head to one side and studied Tolliver. Tolliver noticed, sort of, the lionlike amber of his eyes and the generous width of a smile over white teeth. “The Schuyler?”

“Back wall, glass case,” Tolliver said, already drawn back to the Dickens. He ran his fingers reverently over the binding. Ruined from years of handling, but a piece of history all the same. “What you see is what we’ve got. If it’s not there, sorry, you’re out of luck.”

The customer laughed, low and rolling.

Tolliver frowned up at him over the book. “What?”

“It’s nothing.” The customer swung around, loose limbed and graceful, and tossed a casual wave at him.

“No, what?” Tolliver held his pencil point down on the counter. “Share the joke.”

The customer shrugged and half turned, the leonine cast to his features shadowed. “I’d heard the owner of Old Curiosity was cranky, but it was still worth shopping here. You never know what you’re going to find.” His grin was still bright. “Back wall?”

“Back wall,” Tolliver confirmed, frowning. He kept an eye on the customer as the man ambled away, long feet, lengthy stretch of legs, and arms held loosely comfortable at his sides, thumbs tucked into his belt loops.

Weird guy.

So, no. Not love at first sight.

Intrigue, though. That was part of it.

More from Willa at Changeling Press …

Willa Okati is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray cat hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for winter weather, a little more coffee, and a lifelong love of storytelling. She is definitely one of the quiet ones you have to watch out for.

You can reach Willa at willaokati@gmail.com.

Join Willa on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/willa.okati

 

 

 

Technical Difficulties by Emily Carrington #ActionAdventure #PNR #UrbanFantasy #interracial #LGBTQ @CarringtonEmily @changelingpress

Technical Difficulties (Lady Troubles 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Angela Knight

 

Sonya is straight. She’s also terrified of werewolves. So, when she’s forced to work with a male-to-female transgender wolf, the last thing she expects is to fall in love. But, hey, not so fast. Falling in love with a werewolf means living in her pack, where first-time sex equals mating. For life.

 

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or Pre-Order at retailers for September 6th

   

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Emily Carrington

The dragon had been brutalized. As Medical Technician Sonya Johnson worked over the corpse, she couldn’t miss the signs. The poor dragon-in-human-guise was female. She’d given birth recently. Her distended stomach, open cervix, and other signs all bore witness to this.

Sonya whispered, “I think you were dead when most of these were inflicted.” She’d quickly discovered the cause of death: a crushed skull that had occurred while the dragon was in human form. Now all she wanted was to be done chronicling the postmortem atrocities and see to it that the poor soul had a decent burial.

Sonya smiled just a little. Thinking of any dragon as a “poor soul” was a little like calling a lion a kitty cat. Dragons, like werewolves, she thought with a shudder, were known for taking care of themselves. Both apex predators of the magical world, for slightly different reasons, they were treated with respect and almost obsessive politeness by other magical beings and the few humans unlucky enough to know about their existence.

“Humans like me.” Her smile was gone as she finished cataloging the last injury. Shaking her head, Sonya covered the body with a sheet and left the autopsy room. She locked the door before heading into her office.

All right, so it wasn’t technically “her” office any more than the autopsy room belonged to her. But she thought of both as her property because she spent more time in them than anyone else. That was thanks to the doctoral-level degree she was seeking from SearchLight Academy in Reptilian Magical Creatures: Treatment and Dissection. Unlike those who studied humans, magical creature experts were expected to have a wider knowledge base. The closest comparison Sonya could make was a general-practice physician. And even they weren’t responsible for both the living and the dead.

She had just finished her second year of postgraduate work. It was May. She had a blissful ten weeks off for the summer. Of course, she was still expected to work on her dissertation, so “rest” wasn’t in her vocabulary. But she wouldn’t be attending biweekly meetings with this or that professor to discuss her research. She might even have considered a week away from the city of Tampa, where she worked, and its lesser cousin, the city of St. Petersburg, where she lived. But she hadn’t scheduled any time off because she’d been too fixated on her dissertation to think beyond the next few days.

Someone knocked on the office door. Not closed completely and made of a light pressboard, the door opened a little more. Sonya caught sight of a skirt in a bold print and a tapered shoe. She called, “Come in.”

A woman stepped inside, saying simply “Sorry to disturb you” — and Sonya’s mind went sideways. Not because there was anything particularly wrong with the voice. It was just that she wasn’t used to hearing a slightly male-sounding voice coming out of a woman’s body.

Transgender. That’s what they call themselves. And, on the heels of that, I hate it when someone says “they” about my people so I will not start out by thinking of this person as a part of “they.” She’s dressed as a woman. I’ll call her “her.”

“Um,” she said uncomfortably, “you’re not. Please sit down.”

The transgender person — the woman, Sonya scolded herself — didn’t sit. Neither did she shut the door. “Thanks, but…” She looked briefly discomfited. “I’m Agent Brown. Maxine.”

That surely wasn’t the name you were born with. Oh, shut the fuck up! She doesn’t want you staring, and you will get over yourself.

Sonya realized Maxine was waiting for a response. Her small, delicate and frankly attractive nose was turning slightly red, just like Sonya’s did when she was embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she said, rising and extending her hand. “I’m Sonya Johnson, one of the medical techs.”

The moment their hands touched, the hair on the back of Sonya’s neck stood up. She pulled back rather quickly. “Um… um…” She looked away from the hand she’d shaken and into eyes that were startling in their beauty. Honey-brown and shadowed by long, thick lashes, they took Sonya’s breath away. She forgot for a moment that her neck was prickling and smiled. “How may I help you?”

Maxine, who had taken a step forward to grip Sonya’s hand, retreated at least that far. “Agent Wellington wants to see you when it’s convenient.” She hesitated before adding, “He’s the head of Werewolf Watch.”

Sonya shivered. She couldn’t help herself. She hated werewolves. They were the craziest, most terrifying — Oh, get ahold of yourself. If you’re being called, you specifically… She met Maxine’s eyes. “You are looking for me, right? Because Jenny Davis could –”

“I’m sorry. He wants you personally.” She really did look empathetic. “If it helps, it will just be him, you, and me in a large conference room.”

Sonya’s particular skills were needed. She specialized in dragons and basilisks. What could she possibly do for a werewolf? Because Wellington had to be a werewolf. Unlike in the Department of Dragons, with which Sonya worked on a regular basis, Werewolf Watch was stuffed to capacity with, well, what else? Werewolves.

Shit. That probably means this woman is a werewolf. She looked directly into Maxine’s eyes, needing to know. “You’re a werewolf too?”

Maxine nodded. “Agent Wellington said to tell you he understands your circumstances, whatever those are, and that he wouldn’t call for you unless it was absolutely necessary. He also promises you can have a large conference room and it will only be the three of us; Agent Wellington, you, and me. We want to make you as comfortable as possible.”

Whatever those are. She doesn’t know. Sonya felt a little better. “Can he give me fifteen minutes to… to…” She glanced down at her report. To finish my work flashed across her mind, but it would take at least two hours to do that.

“I’ll tell him you’ll be up in thirty,” Maxine said gently.

Feeling a little more comforted, Sonya said, “Thank you. I’ll be up soon.”

Maxine left, closing the door behind her. Black, like me. But transgender and werewolf. The three modifiers to the name Agent Maxine Brown hit one right after the other. Sonya sank into her chair and covered her face with her hands. If she was going to have a prayer of working with werewolves…

More from Emily at Changeling Press …

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender erotica. Seeking a world made of equality, she created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires.

Website: http://emilycarrington.com

Blog:http://goodreads.com/author/show/4619715.Emily_Carrington

 

 

The Case of the Deadly Arrow Part 2 by Stephanie Burke #ActionAdventure #PNR #UrbanFantasy #interracial @Flashycat @changelingpress

The Case of the Deadly Arrow Part 2 (Mai-Fly Mysteries 3)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

Mai becomes trapped in a deadly game with an assassin as she tries to get rid of the riots on her doorstep and understand the beast within her, with the intimate help of a Dryad named Ptris. Can she maintain her relationship with her Gremlin Ry-Ry and uncover the mysteries of the deadly arrows before one of them hits their target?

 

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press

 

or Pre-Order at retailers for September 6th

 

   

 

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Stephanie Burke

“So… I take that to mean that someone is trying to kill me… outside of being mad about the riots.” They had untangled themselves from the massive people pile on the floor and Mai was now staring at the flaming arrow in her television set.

“Well, I never liked to watch much TV anyway,” she muttered, grateful that the sparking and hissing had stopped. “Ry will be devastated. What’s he going to watch soccer on now?”

In truth, Mai was shaken. A lot of really bad things had just happened to her in a really short amount of time. She was standing there calmly taking about current events in her life when in actuality, she wanted to hide someplace, preferably with a bottle of rum and a dangerous but sweet, hard-to-kill Gremlin. So… seeing that none of these things were possible right now, Mai was stuck trying to hold it together with two detectives, a Dryad, and an Asshole staring at her like she was going crazy.

“It’s football,” Ptris finally spoke as he moved beside her and placed one heavy hand on her shoulder. “Americans don’t have to take everything they see and rebrand it. It’s football because you pass the ball around with your feet.”

Maria was snapping photos and The Asshole was sitting in a chair, looking like she really would rather be someplace else.

“Football is a man’s sport,” Evan countered, moving to Mai’s other side, his calmness seeming to Mai to be a bit unnatural. “Full-out gladiator blood sport that is dangerous, exciting, and fun.”

“That would be rugby,” Ptris corrected, “If you are claiming human sports. No pads, blood and grit, a man’s game to be sure.”

“Human games?” Mai asked, having a feeling she was going to regret that question, but anything was better than staring at the fucking flaming arrow stuck in her TV. She pulled her attention away from near sudden death and turned it on her Dryad. He was talking about sports right now… If this was a ploy to stop her from thinking about her burning, painful near-death, it was working. Oddly enough, she had to know more.

“We had a game played in the Unseelie Courts, Blashavah.”

“Blashavah?” Evan snorted. “Sounds like an exotic rash.”

“It is a time-honored game of endurance and perseverance. The players, seven on each team and five teams in total, strip down to their skin. They pummel each other with blunted pikes to be the first to capture a Shavah, a venomous rabid female miniature dragonling that is bespelled not to fly higher than ten feet. But as it is a land dragonling, its preferred method of escape is to burrow into any hole it finds, including holes in live bodies. The first team to capture the creature with the most mobile players at the end wins.”

Evan looked interested. Mai felt sick. Ptris stood there, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“You are making that up,” Mai finally accused, narrowing her eyes at the Dryad. “No way…”

“It is a violent and very exciting game,” Ptris defended.

“That sounds interesting,” Evan finally spoke, his eyes lit with the fire of a new blood sport. “How often do they play?”

“Usually during festivals, feasts, fetes, and before important political discussions with other courts in the realms. It is a celebration of life and a show of strength to those leaders watching.”

“A glimpse of an army and a taste of what they are capable of before you decide to go to battle.” Evan pursed his lips while nodding his head. “Slick. I bet that prevented a whole lot of wars.”

“Or at least made those hungry for the taste of blood and steel to reevaluate their decisions and act wisely and accordingly.”

“And they are completely naked?” Mai wrinkled her nose. “Everything just… hanging out? No protection at all?”

“It keeps the players attentive and cooperative. They must watch each other’s flanks as well as fight for the goal.”

“Cooperation and comparative skills building, Mai. We should adopt something similar before every meeting with other competitive countries. Give them something to think about instead of sending young people off to war while they sit in air conditioned offices calling the shots.”

“But… naked?” Mai could not get that picture out of her head. There were too many dangly parts on men and women to be running around on a field, dodging spears and trying to capture a slurping, poisonous lizard that could fly and liked to hide in holes. She looked down at her boobs and shook her head. No fucking way. The pain alone would bring her to her knees.

“Well, they are allowed gloves.”

“Gloves?” Mai asked, dividing her attention and her incredulous looks between Evan and Ptris.

“You don’t want to lose a finger. If the Shavah bites parts off, it is very hard to reattach them. The best swordsmen maintain all of their fingers. Fae-made digits are fine replacements, but tend to not function as smoothly the digits you are born with.”

“Just the fingers?” Mai had to ask. She had to go there. But there were a lot of dangly parts on a body. “What if something else gets bitten off?”

“Replacements can be made,” Ptris assured her. “It is a mark of honor and courage to have a penis removed in combat. The golden ones they replace them with are said to be better than what the God and Goddess intended and fertility is not affected.”

“I bet John Bobbitt wishes he’d had that option.” Evan chuckled and Mai rolled her eyes. Men. It was a universal thing that their most precious body part was improved upon and they were given honors for being stupid enough to have it bitten off in the first place.

“They replace breasts as well,” Ptris pointed out, and everyone stared at him in silent shock. “Fae warriors are also female, and every other gender besides.”

“Your women fight in active combat and in blood sport games?” Evan looked like he was in awe. Maria, who had finally stopped taking photos and phone calls, looked interested.

“A strong sword at your back holds no gender. That is one thing that always annoyed me about humanity. You leave half of your warriors at home, some even unable to defend themselves, while you go off to war. Your women are just as capable of wholesale slaughter as your men, and in fact, some are more dangerous than your decorated soldiers. And you kill with projectile weapons. Most of your soldiers never see hand-to-hand combat at all. I knew of several human females who could defeat your male fighters without undue stress or increased breathing rates.”

“One for femininity!” Maria gave a little cheer. The Asshole looked a bit more uncomfortable, sulking in a chair and wearing the remains of her hot chocolate.

“We honor our warriors of all genders and species.” Ptris was on a roll. “Which is why I don’t understand humanity’s problem with race. The weather conditions in the place of your ancestors’ origins has no bearing on your ability to function and add to your society as a whole. The way your ancestors’ skin adapted for survival in harsh climes does not affect brain function, ability, heart, strength, nerves, cunning… It is a waste of intelligent brains and capable minds to kill over such a trivial thing. Humans confuse me.”

“They confuse me too,” Mai agreed. “I never understood that.”

“You are Fae,” Ptris summed it up nicely.

More from Stephanie at Changeling Press …

Stephanie is a USA Today Best Selling, multi published, multi award-winning author, Master Costumer, handicapped, wife and mother of two.

From sex-shifting, shape-shifting dragons to undersea worlds, sexually confused elemental Fey and homo-erotic mysteries, all the way to pastel-challenged urban sprites, Stephanie has done it all, and hopes to do more.

Stephanie is an orator on her favorite subjects of writing and world-building, a sometime teacher when you feed her enough tea and donuts, an anime nut, a costumer, and a frequent guest of various sci-fi and writing cons where she can be found leading panel discussions or researching varied legends and theories to improve her writing skills.

Stephanie is known for her love of the outrageous, strong female characters, believable worlds, male characters filled with depth, and multi-cultural stories that make the reader sit up and take notice.

Blog: https://theflashcat.wordpress.com/

 

 

 

Night Critters by Lena Austin and Tuesday Richards #boxset #PNR #futuristic #RomCom #UrbanFantasy @changelingpress @Lena_Austin

Night Critters

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Sahara Kelly

 

Must Love Dogs: By the mid 21st century, the human population has been decimated, but some still scream over racial purity — and not just among humans. Not only is Roni not a pure werewolf, she’s a crossbreed Chuskie — offspring of a Siberian Husky and a Chihuahua. Corbin is Alpha and heir to Thornburn pack, the richest pack in three states. Who cares if he dates a were-dog? Their parents…

Faux Paws: Lucky Thornburn, a Faux Paws, a shifter-born who can’t shift, meets a fiery Goth half-angel named Charm who’s trouble on the wing. She wants to renovate her mother’s old house into a home for foster children, but Lucky’s cold-hearted brother JR wants the property for a shopping mall. Charm’s not going to give up, and Lucky’s coming right along with her…

Paws to Heal: Two were-dogs welcome the return of their former lover after being enemy packs for so long. Duke, Katriena, and Eduardo must pause to heal the breach and bring the were-canines and lupines together.

Bad Fur Day: Staci Thornburn is determined to get an interview with the new Chinese UNESCO Ambassador, but Jiao Long, a Foo Dog-Dragon cross, is more than a little irritated. It’s a good thing dragons are fireproof, because things are about to get hot!

Santa Paws: JR Thornton seeks redemption by dressing up in a Santa suit to deliver gifts to an orphanage, but the angry wood fairy guarding the house is more interested in blowing his head off. Phaedra’s determined to give JR a piece of her mind. So why does she want so badly to sit in Santa’s lap?

Publisher’s Note: Night Critters (Box Set) contains the previously released novellas Must Love Dogs, Faux Paws, Paws to Heal, Bad Fur Day, and Santa Paws.

 

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Praise for Must Love Dogs “Lena Austin and Tuesday Richards have created a humorous canine version of Romeo & Juliet… The chemistry was perfectly blended; the characters were strong and overall helped create a marvelously written book.”

5 Angels! — NeNe, Fallen Angels Reviews
Praise for Faux Paws “Lena Austin and Tuesday Richards have produced another hilarious tale pairing unique critters together in a very enjoyable saga.”

4.5 Nymphs! — Chocolate Minx, Literary Nymphs
Praise for Paws to Heal “Paws to Heal is a glimpse into the history of the characters featured in the first book in the Night Critters series. In this installment, the fabulous Lena Austin delivers an erotic love scene hot enough to give you a Heat Stroke.”

5 Nymphs! — Chocolate Minx, Literary Nymphs
Praise for Bad Fur Day “The sex is good but the story was even better. You can always count on Austin and Richards for some “get me some iced tea, I’m on fire” sensuality.”

4 Tombstones! — Kate, Bitten by Books
Praise for Santa Paws “Lena Austin brings to life these two characters in her short story Santa Paws. Bringing Christmas to the readers and showing them that just about every evil deed can be turned to good, given the right incentive. Many readers will enjoy this short story that shows just what Christmas can be all about, at least to the magical creatures of the world.”

— Stacy Link, PNR Reviews

Schoolboy Blues by Kiernan Kelly #ContemporaryRomance #NewRelease #GayRomance #LGBTbooks #RockStar @changelingpress @KiernanKelly

School Boy Blues (Set In Stone Multi-Author 6)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Karen Fox

 

Once best friends, Angelo and Vincent parted after a night of hot passion and conflicting emotions.

Rock star Angelo knows a good thing when he’s got it, and what he has on stage with his band now is as good as it gets. He clings to that knowledge during the times when he longs for the warmth of a lover in his heart and his bed.

Vincent has grown adept at ducking his mother’s probing questions about grandbabies, while dedicating his life to nailing perps to the jailhouse wall in criminal court. His family and his career bring him satisfaction, but he dares not pursue a relationship that would complete his life.

Could the music that led to their parting a decade ago be the bond that brings these two lovers back together again?

 

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Praise for School Boy Blues (Set in Stone)

“If you like rock stars and tough prosecutors who share a weak spot for each other, if you enjoy the “magic” of the 1970s, and if you’re looking for a read that is as short as it is hot, occasionally funny, and just a little suspenseful toward the end, then you will probably like this novella.”

— Serena Yates, Rainbow Book Reviews
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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Kiernan Kelly

Rush groaned, and banged his phone against his forehead a few times in frustration. It would leave a mark, but he didn’t care. Stage makeup was very forgiving. “Fine. We’ll do it, but no interviews. Nobody backstage. No VIPs, no reporters, no fans, nada. I mean it, Bernie. If I hear one fucking question or see one camera, I’ll walk. Understand?”

Bernie’s voice dropped an octave. “Sure, sure. Excellent. I knew you’d see reason. Okay. You fly out on the third, and I’ve booked the band the top floor at the Marriott. The rest of the company will be staying at a Quality Inn. I’ve rented a bus for them, and a limo for you guys. Two shows, Friday and Saturday nights. Any special requests for the hotel rooms or the green room at the Palace?”

“Not from me. Ask the boys what they want.” Rush was done, and just wanted to hang up and go strum his guitar for a while. That always calmed him down, let him think. If he was lucky, the music would flush the sliminess of Bernie’s voice from his ears.

“You got it. It’s going to be an awesome weekend. Ciao.”

Rush hung up without saying good bye. Ciao. As far as Rush knew, Bernie couldn’t even spell ciao. In Bernie’s little pointy head, it was probably spelled “chow.” Bernie didn’t like Italian food, and the closest he’d ever gotten to Italy was when the band dragged his ass to the San Gennaro Feast in Little Italy in New York last September. Pretentious bastard.

He grabbed Cleaver, his acoustic guitar, and flopped on to the sofa in the living room. Cleaver was a sweet maple Gibson he’d bought back in 1962 when he was still in high school, and paid for it with the money he’d made working a paper route. He remembered the first time he saw it hanging in one of the windows at the Woolworths on Main Avenue in Passaic. He thought then it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and still did. Even though he wailed on a Fender onstage, the axe never felt as good in his hands as good ol’ Cleaver did.

There were a lifetime of memories scarring the neck and body. Every nick and scratch had a story to tell. Like the little ding next to the bridge, for example. He remembered exactly how and when it’d been put there — by a carelessly tossed shoe on the night he lost his virginity to Vincenzo Genovese.

A smile lifted his lips even now, as he ran his finger over the dimple in the otherwise smooth wood. God, they’d been so young, their bodies so hard and eager. It’d been over almost as soon as it began, but he could still almost feel the sharpness of his orgasm, how it had ripped through his body like white lightning, searing every part of him. His cock stirred as the old, aching need surfaced again.

And deflated just as quickly as the other memory he associated with Vinnie Genovese surfaced. He rubbed his jaw as if he could still feel Vinnie’s hard fist connecting with it, loosening two teeth.

You were both seventeen, and confused about who you were and what you were feeling. Him more than you. How long are you gonna hold on to that grudge?

Shut up, he told the needling voice in his head. He didn’t want introspection right now. He wanted escape.

Trying to push the negative feelings away, his fingers began to strum the strings. It took several moments before he realized he recognized the tune, although he hadn’t played it in years. It was Schoolboy Blues, the song he’d written for Vinnie. The lyrics came back to him with the melody, and he began to sing, low and sweet.

“Your hands play my body like I play my guitar, drawing out a melody my heart sings; no matter where we are, near or far, I will always love the magic loving you brings.”

He stopped playing, silencing the guitar by pressing his palm over the strings, and ended the song with a wry snort. The lyrics were amateurish, syrupy high school crap, sure, but they still made his throat tighten and brought a curious burning to his eyes.

“Fuck you, Bernie. Why Jersey? Why now?”

 

More from Kiernan at Changeling Press …

Kiernan’s stories of gay romance envelop diverse themes ranging from paranormal to fantasy, and science fiction to contemporary romance. She has fifteen novels currently in print and ebook, and over eighty shorter works available in both mediums. Contrary to popular opinion, she is not a zombie. Yet.

You can find Kiernan on her website at http://www.kiernankelly.com/ or on Facebook or at Cafe Risque http://caferisque.blogspot.com, or you can e-mail the author.

 

 

Can’t You Hear Me Knockin’ by Mychael Black #DarkFantasy #NewRelease #GayRomance #LGBT #PNR @changelingpress

Can't You Hear Me Knocking (Set In Stone Multi-Author 4)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

When Jacob’s eccentric mentor Malcolm dies, Jacob finds himself falling down the proverbial rabbit hole. Lucid dreams keep him questioning his own sanity. When he meets Christian, things only get stranger.

Is Christian real, or is Malcolm just trying to drive Jacob insane from beyond the grave?

 

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Praise for Can’t You Hear Me Knocking (Set in Stone) “What a ride! If you like stories with lots of supernatural mystery, if a young man trying to decide what’s real and what’s a dream is your thing, and if you’re looking for a read with twists and turns that might just turn you completely around, then you might like this short story. ”

— Serena Yates, Rainbow Book Reviews
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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Mychael Black

I left the group to their dinner, set the tray on the counter, and tugged out my order book before heading to the next table.

“Hello and welcome to Will’s Bar and Grill,” I stated. I opened up my book and finally looked at the lone diner.

Something about him seemed familiar, though I had no idea why. His light gray eyes drew me in, so much that it took considerable effort to get my brain to function again. I shook my head. “I’m sorry. Could you repeat that?”

He smiled the slightest bit. “Water, please.”

“Any appetizers to start?”

“No, but I’d like to hear your opinion on the steaks.”

No one had asked me that in a long time. Hell, Malcolm had been the first to ever ask at all, five years before he…

No. No way was I heading down that road again.

“The New York Strip is good,” I said.

“But is it your personal favorite?” the man asked, leaning a little, his arms folded on the table in front of him.

“No. Mine is the sirloin.”

He nodded. “The sirloin it is. Rare, please.”

“Sides?”

“Surprise me.”

Okay…

“I’ll have your water out in a moment.”

I tucked my book back into my apron and left his table. I swore I felt his gaze follow me right into the kitchen. After inputting his order into the computer system for the kitchen, I fixed his water. Then I grabbed the steak sauce and ketchup and headed for his table. Instead of observing his surroundings or a cell phone like most people, he stared straight at me. It was unnerving, to say the least.

“Your dinner will be up soon,” I said as I set his water and the condiments down.

“Thank you, Jacob.”

I froze and met his gaze. Something about the way he said my name made every hair stand on end. His tone held a touch of intimacy, of personal knowledge about me, that sent a chill through my body.

“You’re welcome,” I muttered.

Thankfully, another table waved me over. I excused myself and returned to my duties. When his food came out, I asked another server to deliver it on the pretense that I was with a large group.

When he left, I nearly dropped the folder with the check. His bill had only been a hair over twenty bucks, but he’d tucked in a fifty and disappeared.

“So did you get a good tip from Mr. Creepy?” my friend, and fellow server, Ellen asked when I returned to the register to cash out his check.

I held up the fifty and the check.

“Holy shit! What did you do to get that?”

“Fuck if I know,” I said with a shrug. I finished and started my sidework. “Just glad he’s gone. He was weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Ellen replied before she left to do her own sidework.

I got mine done fairly quickly and told her goodnight before heading out. The cool night air helped me relax after a hectic shift. Hands tucked into my light jacket, I walked the two blocks to my apartment building. The city streets had emptied, for the most part, with only a few stragglers here and there. I ignored them and started up the outside steps to the second floor of my building. Another man came down from the landing, and I nearly bumped into him.

“Sorry,” I muttered. “Long night.”

“That’s quite all right, Mr. Hewitt.”

I snapped my head up and stared into very familiar gray eyes. “How…”

He smiled. “I am not without my wiles.”

I had nowhere to go, and I didn’t trust this guy as far as I could throw him. I started backing down the steps. No way was I gonna go to my door so he could see which one it was.

“Look, man. I don’t know you. I don’t know what this is about. But I swear to God, if you don’t leave me alone, I’ll call the cops.”

He sighed. “Jacob… come now. Is this any way to treat an old friend?”

“Excuse me?” I blinked and stopped halfway down, still facing him. “I’ve never seen you before tonight!”

“On the contrary, you have,” he said. “But I will leave you be for now. We shall meet again.”

I stumbled out of the way as he passed me. He didn’t look back, and I watched until he rounded a corner nearly a block away. Then, only then, did I run up the steps to my door. The second I got the door unlocked, I practically jumped inside and locked it — including the deadbolt and chain.

“No fucking way,” I muttered, backing away.

A shiver snaked its way up my spine. But a deeper part of me couldn’t help but be intrigued. The guy was handsome. Long pitch black hair, a toned build, and those damned eyes…

 

More from Mychael at Changeling Press …

Myc has been writing professionally since 2005, solo and with Shayne Carmichael. Genres include pretty much anything (no steampunk yet), though Myc is well known for paranormal stories. When not writing, Myc is usually playing PC games, reading, editing, watching movies and shows on Netflix and Amazon, or spending way too much time on Facebook.