Tex/Zipper Duet by Harley Wylde #MCromance #bikerbooks #interracial @HarleyW_Writer

Tex/Zipper Duet (Dixie Reapers MC Box Sets 4)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

Tex (Dixie Reapers MC 6)

Tex: Fifteen years ago I signed away the rights to a child I’d never seen and joined the Army, putting my past, including the Dixie Reapers, firmly in my rearview. Now I’m back, and I’ll do anything in my power to save the daughter I’ve never met. I just didn’t count on rescuing two damsels. Kalani’s got trouble written all over her.

Kalani: Hillview Asylum looks presentable enough, but I know firsthand the horrors inside those walls. Now I’m faced with a man who makes me want things I shouldn’t, but Tex keeps the nightmares at bay. For the first time in my life, I feel safe. Protected. But now I want more… I want to be loved.

Zipper (Dixie Reapers MC 7)

Delphine: Six years ago, I chased away the guy I’ve been in lust with ever since my hormones kicked in. Now I need help, and there’s nowhere to go except straight to the Dixie Reapers. If Zipper won’t help me, I’m as good as dead. Is it wrong that I hope I end up in his bed? I’ve never stopped wanting him, and I know I never will.

Zipper: The girl who had turned my life upside down wants my help. Now she says I can have anything I want. Naughty girl. Didn’t anyone ever tell her not to tempt the devil? As for the men trying to kill her, it’s only a matter of time before they breathe their last. No one hurts my woman.

 

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Harley Wylde
Excerpt from Tex

“You coming in or are you gonna stare all night?” the Prospect asked, tossing the cigarette away.

I approached the gate and held up my cut when I got there. His eyebrows lifted as he looked at the Dixie Reapers patch on the black leather, then his gaze took in my Army-issued duffle and the dog tags hanging around my neck. Something entered his eyes, like understanding, then he slid the gate open and let me inside.

“My name’s Johnny. Welcome home, soldier.”

I smiled a little. “Thanks. Torch inside?”

“Nah. He’s at home with his wife and kid. Same for the VP.”

Torch and Venom were married with kids? Hell, I’d never seen that one coming. It made me wonder what else had changed around here. I guess I hadn’t given it much thought, almost like my past had just stayed frozen in time while I’d been off being a soldier. My thoughts must have been showing on my face. The Prospect smirked and shook his head.

“If you can’t believe that, then you definitely won’t believe that Bull and Preacher have old ladies now too. And Ryker Storme claimed Flicker’s sister. Even though his daddy is the Pres of Hades Abyss, he’s stuck around so Laken can be near Flicker.”

“I don’t know what the fuck is in the water around here, but I think I’ll stick with beer. No way I’m letting some woman into my life like that,” I said, shifting the weight of my bag.

“Now that you’ve said that, you’ve just doomed yourself.” Johnny smiled. “I bet you’re leg-shackled before the end of the month.”

I snorted. Yeah, not fucking likely. With a salute, I headed toward the clubhouse. Better to get this shit out of the way. I had no idea who was inside, or if I’d know anyone in there at all. As far as I knew, all my old club was still active, but I had no doubt a lot of new faces had joined over the last fifteen years. The kid at the gate couldn’t have been more than twenty. The club needed some young blood. The rest of us were getting too fucking old.

I pushed open the door and stepped inside. A mug was slammed down on the bar top, and a moment later, I was engulfed in a hug from a man nearly twice my size.

“Jesus, Tank,” I wheezed. “Can’t fucking breathe, man.”

He slapped my back and pulled away, smiling broadly. “It’s fucking good to see you, Tex. Thought you’d never make it back.”

“Guess I got tired of following the rules.”

“Torch know you’re here?” he asked.

“Nope. Thought I’d surprise everyone.”

He motioned to the cut clutched in my hand. “Why aren’t you wearing that? You’re still one of us.”

“Doesn’t fit anymore.”

He took it from me and tossed it to the Prospect behind the bar. “See that a new one is ordered for Tex.” His gaze scanned over me again. “Better ask for an XXL. Fuck, man, you’re almost as big as me.”

“Yeah, right. No one’s as big as you, Tank.”

He grinned and slapped my back again, nearly knocking me off my feet. I didn’t know if I even still had a room here at the clubhouse, and I wasn’t sure how to go about asking. Yeah, these guys were considered my family, but I’d pretty much abandoned them fifteen years ago. It was a little presumptuous of me to just appear and expect everything to go back to normal. I’d hoped Torch would be around so we could talk.

“Why don’t we grab a beer and catch up?” Tank asked. “A lot of changes around here since you’ve been gone.”

“I heard Torch and Venom both have old ladies. And Bull? Shit. After what happened with his baby momma, I thought for sure he’d steer clear of relationships. That bitch was something else.”

Tank smirked. “It gets better. His new woman is younger than his daughter. Ridley gave him grief. And he now has a son, Foster. His kid is younger than his grandkids.”

“Shit, Ridley is married?” I asked.

“Uh, yeah. She’s with Venom.”

I spit out the swallow of beer I’d just taken. “Are you fucking kidding?”

He shook his head. “Bull wasn’t too happy about it at first, but he’s come around. Venom treats Ridley like a queen. They have two kids, both girls.”

“And Torch? The Prospect at the gate said he had a wife now.”

“Isabella. She’s like thirty years younger than him, but I’ve never seen two people meant for each other more than those two. They have a kid too.”

“Definitely not drinking the water around here,” I muttered as I swallowed more beer.

Tank chuckled. “Don’t blame you, man.”

“Got a lot of new members?” I asked.

“Since you left? Yeah. A lot of Prospects have come and gone over the years, but a few have patched in. Our newest is Coyote,” he said with a nod toward a table in the corner.

The guy looked to be near my age, and he wasn’t lacking for female attention. My dick didn’t even stir as I looked at the mostly naked club sluts draped over Coyote. It had been so fucking long since I’d been laid, I wasn’t sure my cock even worked right anymore. When I was younger, I’d had a different woman every night. After joining the Army, the women hadn’t been quite as plentiful, or more aptly put, my days hadn’t been quite as free. Over the years, I’d soured toward females, not trusting them. Getting my dick wet hadn’t been worth a possible STD or being trapped by some conniving bitch who got pregnant on purpose. So I’d abstained. Now I never even felt the urge anymore. I could probably walk onto the set of a porno and my dick wouldn’t so much as twitch.

Pathetic. That’s what I was. Thirty-five and my cock was fucking useless except to take a piss. Probably for the best. When it had been in good working order, I’d knocked up the girl I’d been seeing. Just hadn’t realized at the time that she was sixteen and had been using a fake ID. Had I known she wasn’t eighteen, I wouldn’t have fucking touched her. I’d miraculously gotten off without jail time and had entered the Army a few days later. I had no clue what happened to that girl or my kid. I’d thought of looking them up a few times over the years, but the girl’s parents had made me sign away my parental rights to my kid. Some days, I regretted doing that. Had she even kept the baby?

“What’s that look?” Tank asked.

“Taking a trip down memory lane. It wasn’t a happy memory.”

He nodded. “There’s someone you should meet. Come on.”

 

More from Harley at Changeling Press…

International Best Selling Author!

Short. Erotic. Sweet. Harley’s other half would probably say those words describe her, but they also describe her books. When Harley is writing, her motto is the hotter the better. Off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can’t deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you’ve come to the right place.

Website: harleywylde.com

Twitter: @HarleyW_Writer

 

Troll’s Blog by Shelby Morgen #Futuristic #PNR #UrbanFantasy #BBW #interracial #NewRelease @changelingpress

Troll's Blog (Box Set) (Troll's Blog 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Renee George

 

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Welcome to Troll’s Blog.

So you want to know about Trolls. Well, the only thing I can tell you is about this Troll. I’m taller than most of you, stronger, faster, and I have wicked teeth. All perfectly straight, thanks to modern orthodontia, and very, very sharp.

If you’re a Troll, what better place to hang out than under a bridge, right? I mean really. What’s the use in being a Troll if you can’t catch a good laugh now and then? But if you’re a Cop, chances are you’re like genetically predisposed to mess with the Troll. Not a good move. Especially when the Troll has a thing for Cops. Especially tall, strong, hot bodied cops… Or at least one Cop in particular…

Oh. Sorry about the ads… we’re using a lot of bandwidth these days. Got to do something to stay on the grid.

Troll’s Blog includes: Troll Under the BridgeTroll in the ShadowsDen Mother, and Window Shopping.

 

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Shelby Morgen

We’ve all heard the stories. The waves of mutations started with the Corporations screwing around with our genomes. We were all really hatched up in some Corp lab somewhere. Nothing natural about us at all.

Pretty farfetched, right?

Not really.

Oh, the Corps didn’t start this mess. Old Mother Nature did that herself. Geneticists call it Punctuated Equilibrium. We’re living proof that species don’t really evolve slowly over time. More like we run into an environmental brick wall and have to adapt or die out, so we adapt. Now. In like one generation. Which, while it scared the crap out of people for a while, is probably a good thing, because, like I said, bigger, faster, stronger… and smart enough to avoid the Corp scientists who wanted to play with our molecules.

By now you’re probably as bored as Mattie is, so let’s get to the good stuff.

My boys.

Five of ’em. Jinks, Felix, Tonk, Tony, and Sebastian. Long and lean and sleek as cats. Cause, well, they are cats. Not shapeshifters in the traditional sense. Gawd. Like there’s a tradition for shapeshifters. Anyway, Mattie called ’em Werecats. I’m not sure that’s the right term. They don’t shift from human to cat and back. They’re cats. They’re always cats. They shift from walking, talking, upright cats to… well, something you don’t wanna meet in a dark alley.

Come to think of it, you don’t wanna meet any of us in a dark alley.

Being as the world’s kinda falling apart at the moment, what with anarchy only one political fuck-up away, and what with me being a geneticist, as well as a Troll, you can see why the Corps thought I ought to come to work for them when I graduated. Berkeley thought I should stay there and teach. My mother thought I should find a nice young man and get married. Shrug. Moms.

I took the Corp job. Why? Not because I trust and admire their work, that’s for sure. No. I’d heard the rumors… we all had. I’m a curious sort. I wanted to know the truth about our genetics. Where better to go than the source to find out if the rumors were true?

Still, I was there, working with the best equipment in the world, in the most classified lab in the world, for almost a decade before I found the hidden lab.

I’d say the lab was in the basement, but the entire structure was subterranean. You know that old game they brought back for PS-X, Resident Evil 19 or something like that? With the underground labs and all the zombies? Well, I never found the zombies. That’s about the only thing I didn’t find, though.

I was having a hard week. Accidentally blew up the lab again, that sort of thing. But that’s nothing compared to the turn my life was about to take. Cause I just found the lower level. And these lab rats aren’t like any I’ve ever seen.

I got in pretty much by accident. Ran my security card through the access panel to the supply cabinet and entered my code wrong. I held down the last digit — a 9 — too long, and it repeated. I knew, in that same way you know the bacon’s going to burn before you get back to it, that I’d screwed up. Expected loud noises followed by security teams showing up.

Nothing.

So I entered my code again. Still the door didn’t budge. Instead the wall moved. I kid you not. This not-so-little piece of marble panel slid open, and the next thing you know I’m in an elevator I’ve never seen before. Going down. And for all the fact that this elevator only had two buttons, it was a mighty long trip down.

To… nothing. I thought at first it was the subterranean power plant. If you’ve played the game you’ll remember that one. Never did find that level. What I did find was a large room — easily the size of a basketball court — empty save for a few bits of shredded paper and a couple rows of cages along the far wall. Very large, empty cages. This much I got by the dim glow of the elevator light before the doors whooshed shut behind me, plunging me into total black.

Mind you, my night vision is extremely good. So I didn’t panic immediately. I waited.

Nothing but unrelieved darkness. Even night vision needs something. Moonlight. Starlight. Some native light source to amplify. There was none. Clearly time to go back up the elevator. Except that when I felt along the wall behind me, I couldn’t feel the elevator doors. Or their access panel. No doors, no seams, no little raised panel frame.

I sensed that now might be the right time to panic…

Except that panic rarely accomplishes anything. The doors hadn’t moved, and neither had I. So they were still there. What I needed now was a light switch. I began to feel my way along the wall. After all, I had a pretty good snapshot of the place in my head, at least the near end, and the elevator doors were in the middle of the wall. How lost could I get?

I already knew the cages were empty. Whatever had been down here, they’d moved everything out, right down to the paper shredder. I traced the wall to the far end, my hand trailing along about light switch height. If you think about it, they’re always in the same places. Probably some code for such things. I reached the corner without finding any interruption in the cold, smooth surface. A bit disappointed, I started to turn back.

You’re not Herman. Who are you? Excerpt from Troll’s Blog: Denmother

 

 

Saved by the Cyborg by Jessica Coulter Smith #cyborgs #aliens #scifi #RomanceBooks #NewRelease @changelingpress

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When the Zelranian parliament created the Cy-Con program, warriors were recruited and turned into cyborgs. But when they were asked to harm women and children, the cyborgs gave the parliament an ultimatum, and ended up exiled from their world. Having created a new home, everything is almost perfect on the new planet. Almost. They live in harmony, but they live alone.

What does a cyborg want most? A mate. 

 

While this is the 3rd installment in the Cy-Con series, each book can be read as a stand-alone story. They are enjoyed more if read in order, but it isn’t necessary.

 

Published by Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Karen Fox
Genres/Themes: Action Adventure, Futuristic, Sci-fi, Interracial, Romance

 

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Intimidating. Damaged. Unlovable.
Tark wanted a mate even before he joined the Cy-Con program. His sheer size made females fear him, and now that he’s been turned into a cybernetic freak they avoid him even more. When he finds a female being held in a brothel against her will, he knows that he can’t leave without her.

Tark means to take Suki home to his world, a place where she can heal and start a new life. He never realized she’d want to start that life with him, or that she’d insist on leaving the safety of Xpashta in an effort to rescue others like herself.

Brave. Fearless. Pregnant?
Tark saved the alluring human female once. When she’s captured during a dangerous mission, he knows he’ll have to do it again, and this time, he’s not letting her out of his sight — especially when he finds out she’s pregnant with his child.

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Jessica Coulter Smith

Tark didn’t hesitate to leave the premises. He knew the med clinic would properly dispose of Yoko’s body. She hadn’t deserved a fate like this, no one did, but there was little he could do about it. Except find the Suki she mentioned.

Was Suki another female at the brothel? He retraced his steps through the trading post and stopped outside the brothel. Were all the females as badly cared for as Yoko had been? Were they all dying? He didn’t know if he could handle seeing a tent full of females without killing the slaver responsible for their care. Not when the males on his world would give anything to have them as mates, would treat them as if they were the most precious things in all the galaxies. It didn’t matter if they’d been whores. A cyborg would never look down on a female for any reason except treachery.

He pushed open the door covering and stepped inside. The slaver slithered his way, greed burning in his eyes as he scanned Tark. A Kronkite, he was reptilian in appearance and small in stature. Breakable, in Tark’s opinion. Before the creature could reach him, he scanned his surroundings. Several females of various races were servicing customers out in the open. None seemed to be in distress, and none were human. He checked the interior again, looking for a female similar to Yoko. The slaver moved closer and Tark eyed him, having no idea how he kept the slaves in line with such a weak appearance.

Then again… Tark looked around once more. The females who weren’t servicing customers were lounging on cots, most staring at the roof of the structure. The few whose eyes he could see had a blank stare, as if they weren’t present.

Drugged. It was the only explanation. Or perhaps so badly beaten that they had no fight left in them. Even those currently in service didn’t appear aware of their surroundings.

“I have females available. How many do you wish? A male of your size could easily handle two or three, I would think,” the slaver said.

“I want the female called Suki,” Tark said. “Human.”

The slaver got a gleam in his eye. “That one is special. One such as you would likely break her. Her services are reserved for those of a higher rank. Princes. Ministers. Kings.”

Tark took a step toward the slaver, then another, until he saw a flash of fear in the male’s eyes. The slaver backed up, and for every step he took, Tark took another. Soon, the disgusting male was pressed against a wall and had nowhere left to go. His skin camouflaged until he matched the color of the structure, but Tark could still see him clearly.

“I. Want. Suki,” Tark said.

The slaver waved a trembling hand toward the back of the porta-dome. Tark growled at him and the scent of piss filled the air as the slaver soiled himself. The cyborg smirked as he made his way to the back, scanning the females for a human.

In the corner, her knees drawn up to the chest, he finally found her. Her long, dark hair was matted and there were bruises on her arms and thighs, as if she’d been forcefully held down. Rage filled him at the sight and he turned to face the slaver again. The male had enough sense to put a lot of space between them.

“You want her? No charge. Use her all night,” the slaver said, his voice quivering. “You tell your friends that Porie is the best in the business and offers many beautiful females.”

“Mine,” Tark said, his voice deeper than before as he snarled at the slaver. “Mine to keep.”

The slaver narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Too valuable.”

“I said. She’s. Mine,” Tark growled.

The Kronkite flexed his fingers and claws popped out. They appeared harmless and he laughed at the creature, but it had only been a distraction. Energy bolts hit the center of his chest and he glared at the shiny weapon in the Kronkite’s hand. Tark advanced on him, receiving three more blasts, but the little reptile had miscalculated. Tark was no longer just Zelranian. He was cyborg, and the energy blasts only served to increase the power to the receptors in his brain.

Tark lashed out, his fist slamming into the Kronkite’s jaw. The creature flew half the distance of the dome and landed in a tangle of limbs. One foot was bent at an awkward angle, but Tark didn’t care. He advanced on the slaver, landing blow after blow, almost hoping he killed the nasty being.

The male began dragging himself backward, looking around as if seeking help, but none of his customers were paying him any attention. Panic blazed in his eyes as he moved even further away. The stench coming off him suggested he’d done more than just piss himself. Weakling.

“Whatever you wish,” the slaver said. “There are other females, if you’d prefer someone more exotic?”

“Her,” Tark said, pointing at Suki. “And only her. You will never touch her again, and neither will anyone else.”

Suki trembled as Tark lifted her into his arms. Her eyes were dark, filled with terror, and he wished that he could soothe her, but this wasn’t the place or the time. For whatever reason, she didn’t appear to be drugged like the others. He needed to get her far from here.

 

Available Today at Changeling Press

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Find more Jessica Coulter Smith titles at Changeling Press…

 

Award-winning author Jessica Coulter Smith has been in love with the written word since she was a child writing her first stories in crayon. Today she’s a multi-published author of over seventy-five novellas and novels. Romance is an integral part of her world and she firmly believes that love will find you at the right time, even if Mr. Right is literally out of this world.

Find Jessica on Facebook / Twitter / Instagram / jessicacoultersmith.com.

 

Something Wicked by Dahlia Rose #DarkFantasy #PNR #DarkDesire #Interracial @changelingpress

Something Wicked (Dark Love 2)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Dark Fantasy, Dark Desire, Paranormal, Interracial, Second Editions

 

Humans are marks in Locke’s ledger, nothing more, until he encounters the one woman he can’t tempt, can’t coerce and can’t get out of his head.

Paris Fairchild lives from one paycheck to the next, yet Locke’s never seen anyone happier with their life. Being a demon, Locke could spirit her anywhere, give her anything, but she wants to earn what she gets on her own, no easy way out.

Instead of walking away, Locke finds himself charmed by the young woman and after stealing a kiss he knows he wants to see the world through her eyes. For the first time in an eternity he sees something besides darkness in his future. But there will be a price to pay for falling in love and breaking his contract with hell. When the hounds of hell are set loose, can he withstand the gathering storm to have a forever with Paris by his side?

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Dahlia Rose

He walked in the shadows of the building. The city was ripe with sin, and he was all set to pluck the wayward fruit. Locke was the name he’d been known by for so many years he’d lost count. He frowned as he thought back. Sometimes he forgot the person he had been before. He’d given up everything, or was it nothing? Locke couldn’t remember. He knew it had been his choice to become this thing, this monster who preyed on souls. He was the strongest. He would survive while the others would be crushed.

Sirens wailing, couples arguing and fucking, the aroma of food, and the heat of the day seeping up from the cement brought his attention back to the present. Voices yelled in different languages. He understood them all. A man was trying to sell a tourist a knock-off purse. He talked as though he had little English knowledge, but knew exactly what people were saying. Locke shook his head in amusement when the guy talked the woman out of fifty dollars for a purse he claimed was authentic.

As he walked past a cafe, he took three steps back to look in the window. A waitress wiped her hair away from her face as she bussed a table, stacking dirty dishes on a big tray. She frowned as she picked up her two-dollar tip. When he looked at the table, he saw she was clearly under compensated. Without a doubt, she was the one. Locke saw a new soul to be reaped, one who clearly wanted more from life. He stepped in the Cafe La Paz and sat at a table.

Another waitress came over with a big smile, an appreciative look in her eyes.

“What can I get ya, sweetheart? I do mean anything,” she said in a breathy voice. He could smell the stink of her last cigarette on her breath. Nasty habit.

He pointed at his quarry. “You can get me… her.”

The waitress frowned and her eyes flashed with irritation before she called out, “Paris, your table.”

“Be right there.” The dark-skinned beauty glanced at him casually. Walking to the kitchen, she put away her tray. On her way back, she pulled a pad out of her apron pocket. “Good evening. Welcome to Cafe La Paz. Have you had a chance to look over the menu?”

Locke assessed her. She was pretty in a simple way. Her ebony skin had a sheen from hard work giving her the look of a polished statue made of wood. Her dark brown eyes were wide and her lashes shone like soft waves when she blinked. Her lips were full and colored with lip gloss. She was wearing her hair in a simple ponytail with soft curls in the back.

“Sir?” she prodded gently. “Something to drink?”

“Espresso,” he said. “The other one who smells like cigarettes called you Paris.”

“Yes, that’s my name,” Paris replied.

“I am Locke.” He placed his hand over his chest and bowed.

“Okay, and are you ready to order?” she asked, dismissing the introduction.

“What do you suggest?” Locke asked, amused by her businesslike attitude.

“The spinach crepes with hollandaise sauce is my favorite.”

“Then I’ll have that.”

She moved efficiently to get his coffee, and when it was ready, his meal. She checked in on him as he ate. Paris kept her distance, unlike her co-worker, who kept staring at him. Locke ate as if he enjoyed the food, but in reality every meal tasted the same to him. He didn’t need to eat, but did sometimes to blend in. The only thing that filtered through to his taste buds was the bitterness of espresso. He admitted he loved the taste of the dark brew. Even one like him had vices.

“Anything else?” Paris asked.

“No, I’ve gotten what I came for.”

She gave him a curious look before ripping the receipt off her notepad and placing it on the table with a smile. He was finished his assessment. He reached into his empty pocket and the money he thought of appeared beneath his fingertips. He pulled it out and placed it on the table before standing and walking out the door.

Paris rushed after him a few seconds later. “Sir! Sir!”

He turned. “Locke.”

“Sir.” She didn’t use his name. “You left one hundred dollars for a meal that cost twenty. Don’t you want your change?”

“No, that’s your tip,” Locke replied.

“Why?” Paris asked.

He liked her bluntness. “Because I think you deserve that, and much more.”

“Uh-huh,” she said warily. “I’m giving you notice now, creeps who follow me home usually get a burst of Mace in the face. No one does anything in this town for nothing.”

“It’s just a tip,” Locke assured her. “Goodnight, Paris.”

“Yeah, goodnight.” Paris turned and headed back into the cafe.

He’d made the first move. From there he played the scenario out in his head. She was fierce in her distrust but he sensed the goodness in her like a beacon reaching out. She would make the bosses very happy indeed. A soul like hers fetched a pretty penny in the depths of hell.

More from Dahlia Rose at Changeling Press …

The Case of the Dead Frat Boy by Stephanie Burke #PNR #UrbanFantasy #interracial #murdermystery @changelingpress @Flashycat

 

The Case of the Dead Frat Boy (Mai-Fly Mysteries 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Action Adventure, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy,
Elves Dragons and Magical Creatures, Interracial, Murder Mystery

 

When an obnoxious frat boy hits on Fae Mai-Mai Collins, she nearly gets arrested for magical assault. But then he ends up dead on the back steps of her cafe, and her life, as well as that of her Gremlin lover, Ry-Ry, is sent into a tailspin.

Now the police are on her tail about the murder, her business has become a spectacle for Fae watchers and Fae haters alike, and her life seems to be in danger from some unknown force.

With a magical geas taking over her body to find the truth and a host of frat boys and sorority girls all lining up as suspects, it’s hard for the mild mannered coffee shop owner to tell who is guilty and who is the victim.

Is the true mystery discovering who killed the frat boy, or is it discovering what darkness lies beneath her skin?

Get it Today!

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Stephanie Burke

“You know, I have a theory.”

Mai Collins looked up from the book she was trying to read and stared at the man who unceremoniously dropped down into the seat opposite to her. She looked around the nearly empty coffee shop before shooting her uninvited guest a narrow-eyed, exasperated look and then again glancing around the Java Jump, hoping that he would catch the hint, but nope. He went right on speaking as if the huge, unsubtle hint she had thrown in his direction had never happened.

“I think you’re beautiful, but you would be even more so if you smiled.”

As if to demonstrate, he opened his mouth in some facsimile of a Miss Universe smile, complete with dimples. She was nearly blinded by the blue-white porcelain caps that glinted in the recessed lighting like a cosmetically implanted dental star. All that was missing was the high-pitched tone emphasizing the perfection of his artificial smile.

He really wasn’t that bad looking, once you got past the artificial moonlight of his teeth. He had short dark hair, deeply tanned skin, and a body that appeared to have more experience in a gym than in etiquette classes, because really… who just sits down at a table and throws out one of the cheesiest and most insulting pick-up lines ever?

This will not stand. She carefully placed a bookmark in her book and laid it on the table beside her cup of cooling peach nectar. People who creased pages were real monsters and deserved to be slapped about the face and head until they got a clue.

“You know,” she spoke in her smoothest tone, tossing long tendrils of her curly auburn hair behind her shoulders as she leaned forward. “I have a theory, too.” She shot him a sultry look that had him grinning harder and leaning forward to make their conversation more intimate.

“Really?” he encouraged eagerly. “Tell me more.”

“I have a theory that you will be more attractive from behind…” He perked up, then her voice fell flat “…as you walk away.” His smile fled and her face dropped into its usual resting bitch-face of epic proportions before she curled her lip in disgust, exposing two of the daintiest, sharpest fangs to ever grace a preternatural creature. “Care to test out my theory and prove how true it is? Why don’t you walk the fuck away?”

For a moment he stared at her in shock before the color drained from his face. The sound of his chair scraping back as he lurched to his feet was even sweeter than the sound of his muttered “You ain’t that hot” as he scurried out of her sight.

“I was right!” she called out to him. “You didn’t miss squat day, but that doesn’t mean you have to be a total ass!”

He left her shop, and she picked up her book.

Once again, life was beautiful.

* * *

Mai should have seen it coming. After all, she was dealing with humans, and when one dealt with humans it was best to assume the worst in any situation.

“I did not attack that boy,” she growled at the two detectives — Magics Division, of course — who now stood, grim-faced and determined as they tried to surround her in the middle of her coffee shop.

She glanced around at her customers. The humans showed a mixture of concern and fascination as they tried to see what was going to happen next. Most, however, being Fae themselves, were doing one of two things: the newbies were heading for the hills at the first sight of the iron badges and suppressant collars that hung from the two officers’ belts; and the regulars had their phones out because Fae harassment by law enforcement was finally getting recognition as something that every Fae, no matter the type, had to put up with because of the stupid magical malfeasance laws. The damn laws hadn’t really changed since the 1500s, when most Fae populations decided to make themselves known to humans — with the most disastrous of consequences. There was a time not too long ago when the Fae could be killed on sight, and from the way the police behaved, one would think those laws still applied.

And finally, the watchers who believed Fae were genuinely evil and were a blight against their god, no matter who or what they were worshiping this week, were trying to pack themselves into her coffee shop to see the downfall of another twisted being that shouldn’t exist.

For someone who liked to live life low-key, this was an utter disaster.

 

Cinder (Devil’s Boneyard MC) by Harley Wylde #MCromance #bikerbooks #NewAdult #silverfox #eroticbooks @changelingpress @HarleyW_Writer

HW_DevilsBoneyard5_XL

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Action Adventure, Contemporary, Interracial,
MC Romance, Silver Fox, Single Parent/Pregnancy Romance

 

Meg – For ten years I suffered at the hands of a monster, bought at auction and forced to be a slave, at the whim of a Columbian drug lord who also ran underground fights. Then the Devil’s Boneyard came to rescue one of their own and I was free. I don’t know who I am anymore, or what my purpose is. I only know one thing. Cinder, the President of Devil’s Boneyard, makes me feel safe and that’s something I haven’t felt in forever. But one kiss and I’m seeing him in a new light, and I know that one kiss will never be enough.

Cinder – Meg’s a sweet girl, a little angel who tends to sing and distract me as she cleans my house. I never said she had to pay for her keep around here, but she insists. She’s easily thirty years my junior, which makes me feel like a sick fuck every time I get hard around her, especially after all she’s suffered. Then I royally fucked up and kissed her. Now that I’ve had a taste, I want more, even though I know we’re doomed. A threat to my club, and to Meg, has her under my roof 24/7, and I have no idea how I’ll keep myself from giving into temptation. Whoever leaked her information to The Inferno is going to pay in blood. Even if I haven’t claimed her, Meg is mine, and I always protect what’s mine.

WARNING: Scorching hot sex, a club president who isn’t afraid to inflict some violence on his enemies, and a woman who discovers she’s stronger than she thought. Please be advised there are mentions of physical and sexual abuse, as well as human trafficking of teens, even though nothing is described in detail.

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Harley Wylde

Cinder

That damn woman was singing again. How the fuck was I supposed to concentrate on club business when she was sashaying all over the damn house belting out whatever song she’d last heard on the radio? All the women from Colombia were re-homed and off living their lives. Then there was Meg. Damn woman refused to leave the compound unless I sent two men with her. She was constantly jumping at shadows, and doing things like organizing my fucking closet by item type and color. Who the fuck did that shit?

When she started the song over, I growled and threw my pen across the room, watching it bounce off the wall and clatter to the floor. No matter how damn annoying I found it, I couldn’t very well go down there and growl at her. I’d tried it once and she’d promptly burst into tears before running from my house. Then I’d felt like an asshole for scaring her. I didn’t know what to do with her. The men gave her a wide berth most of the time, unless she needed something. They were all there in an instant if they thought Meg was having trouble, or needed protection.

She was always cooking for someone or other, cleaning my fucking house, doing my laundry. Hell, she even bought my groceries. I should be thrilled I didn’t have to handle any of that crap anymore, and I might have been, if the woman didn’t make me hard all the damn time. Even now, with her singing the same thing over and over, I was hard as a fucking steel post. I was staring sixty in the eye and Meg couldn’t be more than twenty-five or twenty-six. Young enough to be my daughter, damn near young enough to be my granddaughter. Made me feel like a sick fuck, even though the age difference didn’t seem to bother my VP. He was more than twenty years older than his wife, Clarity, and I’d never seen two people so in love. Except maybe Havoc and that psycho woman of his.

When I’d reached forty and hadn’t found a woman, I’d decided that family shit just wasn’t for me. I hadn’t even touched the club sluts, not in a long-ass time. It had gotten too fucking complicated when I discovered some of them were trying to get pregnant on purpose to trap me and the others in my club. After that, I went on dates here and there with older women in surrounding towns. I hadn’t scratched that itch in probably six months, which might explain why Meg was getting a rise out of my dick all the damn time. Or maybe it was just how sweetly she was curved. I had no doubt she’d be a nice handful if I had her in my bed.

My eye twitched when Meg started her damn song yet again. It wasn’t that the song was annoying so much as it pissed me off that my dick seemed to like her voice a little too much. I unfastened my pants, knowing there was only one way to fix this shit, at least for an hour or two. I pulled open the desk drawer and grabbed the bottle of lube and dragged the box of tissue closer. After squirting a liberal amount of the liquid on my palm, I wrapped my hand around my shaft and started stroking. My eyes slammed shut as her voice carried through the closed door, and I imagined the sounds she’d make as I pounded into her. It only took a few strokes after that for my cum to cover my hand and hit the desk. I groaned as my dick twitched but didn’t completely deflate.

After cleaning myself and the desk up, I tossed the tissues into the trash and shoved my chair back. I rose to my feet, fastened my pants, and decided enough was enough. The way she was affecting me today, I knew I’d be hard again within an hour, and I had too much shit to do to keep jerking off. I went through the house to the kitchen, where she’d dumped the laundry all over the table and seemed to be matching socks. Her hips swayed back and forth as she belted out the lyrics to whatever pop song was stuck in her head this time.

“Is all that fucking racket really necessary?” I asked, my tone a bit harsher than I’d intended.

She gasped, her hand at her throat as she spun to face me. Her wide, frightened eyes made me feel like a complete shit, but I could only handle so much. I needed her gone. Not just from my house, but from the compound. I just hadn’t figured out how to make that happen yet. I couldn’t exactly toss her out without anywhere to go or a way to take care of herself. I wasn’t that big a monster, but she was too fucking tempting.

“I can’t work with you singing at the top of your lungs,” I said. “I need to get the week’s numbers to Shade by end of the day so he can pay everyone, and it requires concentration.”

“I’m s-sorry, Cinder. I didn’t mean to keep you from working.” She glanced at the table full of laundry. “I can come back and finish this later. I was going to make lasagna for dinner with garlic bread, and I can always fold this stuff while it’s cooking.”

I ran a hand down my face, not sure how to make this clear to her without making her cry. “Meg, I appreciate you helping around here, and that you seem hell-bent on fattening me up, but I’m a grown-ass man and can take care of myself.”

“Right,” she said softly, her hands wringing in front of her. “I’ll just go, then. Sorry about the mess.”

She couldn’t quite hide the flash of pain in her eyes before she hurried out of the kitchen. A moment later, I heard the front door shut. I stared at the pile of laundry and wondered how asking for some quiet in my own fucking house could make me feel like such a bad man. It wasn’t like she was my fucking wife. I’d given her a place to stay, but it seemed she was always under my damn feet.

I went over to the table and swept the laundry back into the basket, then carried it to my room and dropped it on the bed. I’d fold the shit later and put it away. I couldn’t help but notice she’d made the damn bed already, with military precision at that. She’d been a quick study of how I liked to keep things, and made sure everything was perfect. Too perfect, if my closet was anything to go by. I had to wonder if she wasn’t a bit OCD.

Now that there was peace in the house, I could focus on the fucking reports and make sure my men were all paid. We’d sold a truck full of guns and ammo to some ex-military men I knew who had become vigilantes. Since they didn’t harm innocents, I didn’t mind doing business with them. Even the drugs we sold never made it into the hands of kids. I made damn sure of that. Anyone who bought from us knew better than to pull that shit, or they’d end up with a bullet between their eyes. These days we only dealt in pot, but I didn’t want to hear about some fifteen-year-old getting high off the stuff we grew and killing themselves or someone else.

I’d scaled back quite a bit on our illegal dealings, for the most part. We still had the chop shop and had opened a second one outside of town. The marijuana pulled in a small profit, and the guns were a nice bonus. When Scratch had discovered his daughter was alive, and he was going to be a grandpa, I’d pulled back from the heavier stuff. Didn’t want any of that blowing back on my VP’s family. Shade had said he could invest some of the club funds and double our profits, so I’d given him a few hundred grand to play with. Now he was investing over half a million on a monthly basis thanks to the nest egg those initial profits had brought in.

We’d never be completely legit, and I was fine with that, but I also didn’t want the law breathing down our necks and chance any of the men with families getting locked up. It was my job to protect everyone in the Devil’s Boneyard, down to the smallest kid. If that meant fewer illegal dealings, then so be it. I still took the odd job from the government as well, but the older I got, the less they called on me. Couldn’t blame them. I was still sharp, still had perfect vision, but I was getting old compared to the eighteen-year-olds they were recruiting.

I’d just finished the week’s numbers and stuffed everything in a folder for Shade when my doorbell rang. I rubbed my eyes and hoped like hell Meg wasn’t on my doorstep. I needed to get laid, and soon, if I was going to keep having her underfoot. I shoved my chair back and went to see who the fuck was bothering me. When I jerked open the door I saw Jordan with her two-year-old daughter, Lanie.

“Jordan, everything okay?” I asked.

She glared at me, her lips a thin line of displeasure and her eyes snapping with fire. I didn’t know who had pissed her off, but I had a feeling my afternoon just became incredibly busy. She was perfect for Havoc, but a general pain in my ass.

“Meg is crying and packing her shit,” Jordan said.

My heart stuttered in my chest. “What do you mean she’s packing? To go where?”

“She doesn’t know and apparently doesn’t care. You. Made. Her. Cry.”

Fuck. I hadn’t meant to drive Meg away completely, just out of my fucking house. Life was so much easier when I only had to deal with club sluts at the clubhouse. Adding women to the family just complicated shit and added drama I didn’t need.

“I never told her she had to leave the compound,” I said.

“No, just your damn house.” I heard Jordan’s jaw crack she was so damn angry. “If you don’t fix this shit, I’m going to leave Lanie with you. For an entire week.”

The demon spawn in her arms gave me a grin that I wasn’t about to admit scared the shit out of me. I didn’t do kids, especially not this kid. Loved Havoc, and Jordan for the most part, but their kid was damn frightening. Anyone else who spoke to me like this would have met my fist, but Jordan was a woman and I wouldn’t lay a hand on her. Not to mention, if I upset her, then she’d make it hell on Havoc, and the last thing I needed was my Sergeant at Arms being pissed at the world because his wife was being a bitch, even though that seemed to be Jordan’s default setting.

“I’ll go talk to Meg,” I said.

My phone started ringing in my pocket and I pulled it out, noting CJ’s name on the screen. Jordan’s brother was a pain just like his damn sister, and I had serious doubts he’d ever be allowed to patch in, even if he hadn’t been fucking up as much lately.

“What?” I demanded as I answered.

“Uh, Pres, Meg is at the gate wanting to leave. Alone. With a bag in her hand. On foot.”

I closed my eyes and counted to twenty. “Keep her there. Don’t open that fucking gate for anything.”

 

Angel Falls Volume 1 by Stephanie Burke #PNR #UrbanFantasy #interracial #gay #LGBT @changelingpress @Flashycat

Angel Falls Vol. 1 (Angel Falls 6)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Renee George
Genres/Themes: Box Set, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, Bisexual and more,
Cougar, Elves Dragons and Magical Creatures, Gay, Interracial

 

With the town of Angel Falls, Maryland, on their side,
broken wings will learn to fly once more.

 

Most people avoid Angel Falls. They say it’s filled with crazy geeks and weirdoes. And they’re right. But Angel Falls has the best geeks and weirdoes anyone has ever met.

Broken Wings: Angel, foundling turned NFL star quarterback, and Klintic, a Fae warrior prince, have both been tested in the fires of torment and anguish and managed to survive to find each other. That the ex-footballer and the betrayed prince manage to discover each other is a miracle. With the town of Angel Falls on their side, broken wings will learn to fly once more.

Snake: Snake’s lived a good, long life and is comfortable doing tattoos and body modifications in her shop. But when young Ethan comes to her, he opens more than memories to her past. He unleashes a love she could never have anticipated. A May/December relationship will never work, but with a little magic and the secrets held in the town of Angel Falls, maybe together they can give love a second chance.

Sunspots: Bryan Adams finally has a date with the man of his dreams — Winston Macapthy, RN, descendant of a sun god and a caracal shifter to boot. Finally the geeks are going to come out on top. But if Bryan’s less-than-perfect physique doesn’t put off the handsome shifter, then kidnapping, torture, and running for their lives might.

Or it may just be another perfect weekend… perfect for the small Maryland town of Angel Falls.

Publisher’s Note: Angel Falls Vol. 1 contains the previously published novellas Broken Wings (M/M), Snake (M/F), and Sunspots (M/M).

 

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available in ebook and print

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Stephanie Burke
Excerpt from Broken Wings

“I’ll get back with you in a few days, Rich,” he finally said, cutting off his agent.

“Good.” Rich sighed, as if knowing Angel wasn’t invested in the conversation at all. “I’ll wait till I hear from you.”

“All right.” Angel started to disconnect the call, but Rich’s voice stopped him.

“There’s some reporter sniffing around about a ‘where are they now’ piece, Angel. I told him to fuck off, but I have a feeling he’s not going to give up so easily.”

Great, Angel thought, cursing mentally as he thought of being hounded once more by a media who felt they had a right to put his pain on display. Apparently the pseudonym hadn’t been enough to keep him under the radar. “Thanks for the heads up,” he nearly growled at the phone. “But I think I’m safe here.”

“It’s damn hard to find you in that twisted, crazy zone where you currently reside.” His agent laughed. “I’d keep my eye out just in case. The reporter’s name is Jonathon Greely.”

“Thanks, Rich. And goodbye.”

Angel disconnected the call and moved deeper into the woods. He braved the trails regularly in a bid to exercise his injured knee and clear his head.

It hadn’t been easy getting to the point where he could feel connected with life again, but the exercise and the fresh air helped, as did the acceptance of the people who lived here. They could care less about who he was or what had happened to him — they just accepted him as a shy recluse who fit into a town already half occupied by shy recluses.

It was great.

He was about to turn back home to stare at his computer screen again when he heard the screaming. It sounded like someone was stabbing a peacock with a pitchfork.

He turned toward the sound, his feet automatically moving him at a swift pace deeper into the woods, into a place he rarely visited. Before he reached its source, the screaming stopped.

“Damn,” he murmured, wondering what he would find when he got there. He had high hopes that whatever was attacking the poor creature had fled and that maybe the poor prey hadn’t died.

He’d just rounded a small copse of maple trees when he saw the body.

“Good God,” he gasped, looking around to see if whatever had savaged the poor man was still nearby.

And it was a man, wearing ripped pants and slashed boots. He was bare-chested save for a pair of ill-fitted costume wings attached to his back.

Moving around to the man’s head, Angel dropped to his knees and pulled what seemed like mountains of dyed hair out of his face, wondering what the green goo that covered him was. It was tacky, the consistency of drying paint, and it liberally splattered the poor man’s form.

But the man was breathing. When Angel pressed his fingers against his neck, he could feel the steady pulse beneath his soft, warm skin. The man wasn’t exactly pale. No, his skin tone was dusky with an olive tint. His body under the grime and fake wings was fit and muscular.

“Hey. Hey, buddy. Can you hear me?” Angel asked, tapping him on the face, not wanting to move him in case of injury. “Hey.”

He tapped the man again, looking around to find the cause of his injury. The ground wasn’t torn up as it would be if he’d been defending himself. The trees and even the grass in the small clearing remained undisturbed. Unless the man had been dropped out of a plane, Angel couldn’t see how he’d found his way onto his property wearing a set of wings…

“Wings,” he muttered, shaking his head. Maybe this was one of the citizens of Angel Falls. Maybe he was a geek who’d invented some kind of flying machine and had tried to test it, with disastrous results. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. A few years ago, an incident with a jet pack had torched a good half-acre of his land and the inventor, a fifteen-year-old boy who was way too young to be playing with jet fuel, broke a thumb on Angel’s property.

Angel reached for the wings and — “Damn it!” He quickly pulled his hand back as what felt like a hell of a lot of static electricity zapped his fingers.

Shaking his fingers, he again tried to get the man to respond. “Sir? Sir, can you hear me?”

He was about to give up on waking his avian visitor to call 911 when the man’s eyelids fluttered.

“Yeah,” Angel encouraged, speaking a little louder. “That’s it, buddy. Come on and open those eyes for me –“

The injured man’s eyes fluttered once more and then blinked open. His eyes — the color was shocking Angel nearly jumped back before he realized the solid black had to be contact lenses.

Calling himself all kinds of a fool, he moved in closer. “Hey? Buddy?”

Cosxgrturve exzline gzlk,” the man gasped, his tongue twisting the incomprehensible words.

“Slurred speech.” Angel spoke to himself, already reaching for his cell. This looked like it might be serious —

Cosxgrturve kzilei jemanzr!” the man said, his voice steadier.

“Calm down, buddy –” Angel rested a hand on the man’s shoulder when he suddenly lurched as if to get up. “Hey!” But the man braced a hand on Angel’s shoulder and fought to rise.

Not wanting him to hurt himself more — brain injuries could be tricky, as his year in the NFL had taught him — Angel braced the man as he lurched to his feet. Suddenly he was looking up into a dark-eyed visage that was staring back at him.

The man was big, and for Angel to say that was telling. Angel himself stood at six feet seven inches tall, a formidable height for a quarterback, but this man — he had to be about a foot taller than Angel.

And as Angel stared, his mouth open in shock, his cell dangling unused from his hand, the man arched his back and the wings fluttered. Then, as Angel tried to figure out how the massive things were attached, there was a zap that felt like a milder form of that earlier static electricity, and the wings began to glow faintly…

More from Stephanie Burke at Changeling Press…