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.”

 

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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.

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Outcast Son by Emily Carrington #GayRomance #LGBT #interraciallove #shifters #IR #NewRelease @CarringtonEmily

Outcast Son (Wolf Schooled 3)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Angela Knight

 

Cast out of his pack for being psychic, Seiji seeks a home. Though he thinks of himself as lesser and doesn’t believe anyone could ever want him, he still yearns for love.

Nicholas sees all of Seiji’s potential, but he finds it difficult to be attracted to someone who’s so lost. Will Nicholas’ capacity for loving kindness help Seiji find himself and what his heart desires most?

 

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EXCERPT

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Copyright ©2019 Emily Carrington

Nicholas was a grunt at the campus’s main library. He did all the deliveries to departments, like trundling the projectors or VCRs around. Some of the newer rooms had LCD screens, but not everything had been upgraded. According to the head librarian, Mrs. Smythe-David, funding was being spent on more important things. Like books.

“It’s always preferable to use things until they’re no longer of use. And many of our volumes have been read to rags.”

Nicholas tended to think that access to good technology was just as important as written knowledge, but he didn’t dare argue with his boss. Being a grunt meant he could be fired out of hand if he roused any of his coworkers’ ire.

Today, his mind was taken up with thoughts outside of work as he shelved tomes on this or that. He was thinking about Seiji. Even if the black haired werewolf with the Japanese features didn’t remember him, Nicholas had watched him all semester. Not because Seiji was particularly outspoken in class, but because he was attractive. In a scruffy, clothes-too-big sort of way. His brown eyes were soulful and his small mouth was beautiful when he smiled.

Nicholas had slept with over half of the gay or bisexual males in his year. It was time to expand his circle. And maybe Seiji wasn’t gay, or bi, but there was no harm in asking.

The best thing that ever happened to our world, he thought as he shelved Magical Flora and Where to Find it, 23rd Edition, was Tilthos Charles taking over as alpha above all alphas. LGBTQ and psychic wolves are equals with straight wolves now, and having sex with someone doesn’t automatically mean you have to marry them.

Of course, there were still those traditionalists who discriminated against LGBTQ wolves, and even more who still thought having fun in the bedroom should lead directly to mating for straight and nonstraight wolves alike, but Alpha Tilthos Charles was slowly changing attitudes.

His shelving done for awhile, Nicholas headed back toward the front desk. Doubtless someone would have something for him to do. He only hoped it wasn’t cataloguing. That was boring, dusty work.

He passed one of the study carrels, glanced over… and stopped. Seiji was sitting there, poring over an open textbook. He kept rubbing at his forehead and there was a deep frown on his face.

“Do you work with flash cards?” Nicholas asked, thinking of a particularly arousing way to use the standard study tool.

Seiji jumped. He said something in another language that sounded like a curse because of the inflection he gave it. “You scared me,” he said. Then: “I know. I know. Trackers are supposed to be ready all the time.”

Nicholas blinked. “You want to be a tracker?”

Seiji flushed. “Yeah,” he muttered.

Nicholas whistled. “That’s aiming pretty high.”

Seiji said defensively, “It’s what I want to be.” He glanced at Nicholas and seemed to rein in his ill mood. “What about you?”

“A negotiator for Werewolf Watch. Why do you want to be a tracker?”

Seiji shrugged. “What did you ask about flashcards?”

So. He can be circumspect about some things. “I was wondering if you use them.”

“No.”

Nicholas’s cock seemed to leap to attention. He repressed a grin by reminding himself that Seiji might not even be gay. “I’ll make you some if I get a chance. If not, we can start with that tomorrow. It’ll be helpful,” he added when he saw Seiji’s doubtful expression.

“I can’t remember anything even after I’ve just read it,” Seiji said morosely.

“That’s because you haven’t turned it into a game yet.” Nicholas winked. “We’ll meet in my room, like we discussed. Ten still okay with you?”

Seiji nodded.

“And if you’ll take one more piece of advice, lay off the book reading for now. All it’s going to do is frustrate you.”

Seiji hesitated. Then he closed the book slowly. “I guess I could give it a rest for a little while. Do you want me to make the flashcards?”

“Nope,” Nicholas said as he came to a decision. “We’ll do it tomorrow after I quiz you.”

Seiji winced. “Why?”

“Why am I going to test your knowledge? So I know where you need help.”

Seiji sighed and began packing up his text and notes. “I don’t know anything.”

Nicholas crossed to him and touched his shoulder. “One thing you can work on tonight,” he said softly.

Seiji looked up hopefully.

“Try some positive self-talk.”

“Huh?”

“Stop calling yourself a failure in the back of your head.”

Seiji looked startled. “It’s that obvious?”

Nicholas nodded. Then he leaned close and kissed Seiji’s cheek. It was a bold move, especially with his lack of knowledge, but he couldn’t help himself. The shorter wolf looked so lost and vulnerable. “Do yourself some good. I can see you’re going to worry all night long. Take a run.”

“Around campus?” Seiji sounded like that didn’t seem too exciting.

“How about just around the track?” Which was the only place, except the perimeter, where magical creatures were allowed to run in their true form. “Shift to your wolf and go for broke. See how fast you can go, and for how long.” He kissed Seiji again because the other wolf hadn’t pulled away. “I expect a full report in the morning.”

 

 

Dragons Wild by Willa Okati #PNR #UrbanFantasy #GayRomance #interraciallove #NewRelease #boxset @willaokati @changelingpress

Dragons Wild (Duet)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

There’s an old curse that goes “May you live in interesting times…”

Georgina’s Dragon: Gina may be a superhero, but all she really wants is to settle down to a normal life. And please, no spandex or comic book aliases. Too bad fate’s got other plans for her. Flaming hot plans. Like, an actual dragon, loose in her city. Gina’s no damsel in distress, but she knows she needs help. And the help she finds is hotter than the dragon — the sorcerer Dakarai and a zoologist named Randall. As if saving the city from a dragon wasn’t enough, now she’s got two hot men falling in love with her — and each other. She’s still drawing the line at spandex.

Wild Hunt: Delaney, a Celtic fusion musician, has spent his life creating love songs and erotic ballads with a driving rock beat. Then he meets Robbie and finds himself caught up in the whirlwind of a Wild Hunt. Feral, enticing Robbie captures Delaney’s heart, kindles his curiosity, burns him alive with passion, and draws him unwillingly into danger. The bindings and piercings that decorate Robbie’s skin are meant to keep him from betraying the secret that could save both their lives and win their freedom. Delaney’s determined to keep his man, and he’ll do what it takes to save him — even if it means sacrificing everything else.

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Willa Okati
Excerpt from Wild Hunt

Delaney’s guitar beat a thump-thump-thump tattoo on his back as he toiled uphill, toward the summit where he could look down and see the cellar. One of the oldest venue stickers, crumbled away in places, tickled his nape. He shrugged irritably and hitched his case higher on his shoulder.

“I have some aloe,” Black-Eyed Susan said, her sudden presence making Delaney jump. She had quite the way of sneaking up on a guy, didn’t she? “Well. I know where an aloe plant is. They won’t notice if I break off a stem. Probably.”

“What?” Puzzled, Delaney waited for Hugh to join them and reclaim his lady. Not that he thought Black-Eyed Susan would go along with anything she hadn’t chosen for herself. She reminded him of a maple sapling, small and thin, but with roots that stretched as deep as a thousand-year-old oak.

The flash of an eye through dark gold hair obscuring a man’s face. A double row of brass rings laced through with black suede, a false corset on a man’s firm back. Bared teeth, white and sharp.

“Are you all right?” Black-Eyed Susan stood on tiptoe to peer at him.

“Yes.” Delaney tightened a fist around his guitar case’s strap. He tried a fake smile. “I had too much to drink and went a little crazy. It won’t happen again. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it. Maybe going back to the cellar to practice isn’t such a good idea. I mean, memories and all?”

Delaney thought, for an uncharitable second, that he liked Black-Eyed Susan better when she was drunk, and knew he preferred her when she had eyes only for Hugh. “There’s nowhere else to practice,” he pointed out. True enough; all the good grottos and groves and niches had already been claimed by the time he and his had stumbled ragtag out into the morning. “Don’t worry about me.”

“What he said.” Hugh finally reached them. He playfully batted Black-Eyed Susan’s shoulders with the smooth flat of his bodhran. “C’mon, lass. You promised to dance as long as my wrist action holds out.”

Tam, forever Delaney’s darker shadow walking silently by his side, covered her mouth but wasn’t able to hide her smirk at the innuendo.

“That’s good,” Delaney said, the joke a welcome relief. It felt good to laugh. “You don’t even have to think about them anymore, do you?”

“Funny.” Not in the least bit insulted, Hugh rumpled Delaney’s hair and then Tam’s, bound so tightly to her head as to be immovable as a skullcap of dark glass. “We’re going to check around later. See if there was anything besides whiskey in the jar last night.”

“Hugh…”

“I know, I know. But you’re too out of it for me to be comfortable, so humor me, okay?”

Delaney couldn’t argue with that, not without ingratitude fit to shame a thief. “I keep remembering things. Not what happened. I don’t think.” He chafed his forearms, a little chilly despite the heat of the summer sun rising toward noon height. “More like dreams. Maybe. Crazy stuff. They’re throwing me off my game.”

He walked ahead of the trio before they could press him on that and stopped at the top of the hill. Below him, the cellar pit opened like a mouth in the earth, the rough-hewn stones its teeth and the heavy-hanging pall of last night’s smoke its breath. No one had been back to clean up. The ashes and embers of the fire made an ugly black smear in the middle, with cigarette butts and detritus littered about like random snow.

“Real nice.” Hugh caught up and pulled a face at the mess.

Delaney tried to lighten the faltering mood. “At least I’m not the only one who got too buzzed to behave.” He knew it was a mistake the moment he’d said the words. Words had power; any musician knew that. “Hugh.”

Hugh rubbed his jaw. “It’s in the past. Leave it there. We’ve got the place all to ourselves, anyway. That’s something.”

 

Get more books 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.

 

 

✯✯Pre-Order✯✯ SPIDER (Hades Abyss MC) by Harley Wylde #bikerbooks #MCromance #MayDecember #interracial #olderhero #preorder

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Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

Luciana — All I’ve known is pain and suffering at the hands of men — even from my father, a man who was supposed to love and protect me. I’ve survived, nothing less and nothing more. When I’m dropped off with a club of bikers, I figure it’s more of the same. I’ll do as I’m told, make sure I please them, and hope one day I’ll find a way to escape. There is only one thing that could ever break me, and I’m scared of what will happen when the club learns my secret. Will they return me to my father? Or will I be used to broker yet another deal?

It never occurred to me the President of Hades Abyss would be my salvation, or that I would fall in love with him. I never knew men could be honorable and kind. He’s all gruff and domineering, but under that rough exterior I can see the heart of gold he tries to hide.

Spider — Assassin Casper VanHorne, Picasso of wet work and pain in my ass, has asked my club to take in two Colombian princesses. Well, he didn’t use the term princesses, but I have no doubt they’ll be spoiled little bitches. The first time I see Luciana and her sister, I think I’ve got them pegged just right — until I look in Luciana’s eyes and see the fear she’s trying to hide. Something isn’t right. I know it deep in my gut.

I never once thought a woman nearly forty years younger than me could ever captivate me, but the more I get to know her, the more Luciana holds me spellbound. I didn’t want to fall in love, didn’t want a woman in my life… but sometimes the Fates know better than a mere mortal man, and Luciana is exactly what I need. When her father demands her return, I vow to keep her safe. No fucking way I’ll let the sick bastards who hurt her get their hands on her again. Now that she’s mine, I’ll march into hell if need be in order to keep her by my side.

WARNING: This book contains bad language, graphic sex, violence, a heroine who has been physically and sexually abused, and an alpha male who will get vengeance at any cost.

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Harley Wylde

Spider

“They say anything on the way here?” I asked.

“No. The younger one cried a lot. I’ve never questioned the club, or you, Pres, but this doesn’t feel right.”

“Something is strange with this deal for sure, but I don’t know what just yet. In the meantime, treat the girls like guests. Not like club whores. Spread the word to the other Prospects too. These two aren’t a damn thing like what I’d expected.”

He gave a quick nod, then rushed over to the SUV. Rocket led the way, and I sighed as I looked at my house. It had been a nice quiet sanctuary, and now there was a woman inside. A stranger. A girl I’d thought would be entitled and spoiled, but who seemed more scared than anything else. It made me wonder exactly what their father had told them. Or Casper for that matter. Did they have any idea why they were here?

I made my way inside and went straight to the kitchen. I shook my head as I looked at the damn fancy coffeemaker Laken had insisted on giving me this past Christmas. It had taken me weeks to figure the fucking thing out. If I hadn’t been worried about hurting her feelings, I’d have stashed it and just used my simple one with an on/off switch. Who needed all the bells and whistles on a coffeemaker? AlthoughI had to admit being able to set a timer was nice when I had a set schedule in the morning. I liked walking downstairs to a fresh pot of coffee.

I brewed a pot, then sat at the table to enjoy it. I had a feeling I might need something a lot stronger if I was going to tackle the issue of Luciana and Violeta. Had the third girl arrived at the Dixie Reapers’ compound yet? I wondered what Torch thought of all this. I could call and ask, or I could wait for Luciana and ask her myself what the fuck was going on. As fearful as Violeta seemed, and given her odd comment, it made me think things were about to go sideways with this deal.

I finished my cup and poured another. As I reclaimed my seat, Luciana came downstairs, her tread soft on the staircase. She froze in the kitchen doorway when she saw me. I waited, wondering if she’d run the other way or be brave enough to come closer. I had my answer a moment later when she came farther into the room and looked at the coffeepot with longing.

“You can have a cup. They’re in the cupboard over the coffeemaker. I don’t keep creamer, but there’s regular sugar in the canister on the counter and some milk in the fridge.”

She wordlessly walked to the coffeepot and got down a mug. She filled it, then opened the fridge and pulled out the milk, staring at it a moment. Her questioning gaze met mine. Had the kid never seen milk before? Or maybe it was the fact I had to use the watered-down shit.

“I’m an old man, darlin’. I can’t stomach whole milk anymore. Even the two percent is too rough, so I only stock one percent. If you’ll give me a list of things you need, I’ll have someone pick up a few groceries.”

She added the milk to her coffee and put the carton back in the fridge. After looking around the kitchen with confusion etched on her face, I pointed to the drawer next to the stove. She walked over and slid it open, pulling out a spoon. Luciana sat next to me and stirred her coffee.

“Guess it’s a little stressful and weird to leave your home and go somewhere new,” I said.

She just stared at her cup and didn’t say anything, but I noticed her lower lip trembled a bit.

“Your dad probably has a big mansion in Colombia. I know this place isn’t a palace, but hopefully you’ll be comfortable.”

I honestly hadn’t given a shit. Until now. The more I watched her, the more certain I became things weren’t as they seemed. That fucker! Casper hadn’t made a deal with Gomez for his own merit. He’d been trying to get these girls out of Colombia. I just didn’t know why, but I would. And soon. If shit was heading my way, I wanted to be ready.

Luciana sipped her at her coffee and still didn’t say a word. I noticed her body was tense, and her hand shook a little. The girl was scared. Was it because of being somewhere new? Leaving her only home? Or was it something else, something that would likely piss me the fuck off? I shouldn’t have offered to keep her here. Anyone else would have been a better option. Hell, the girls could have shared a room at Rocket’s place, or Luciana could have stayed with Shooter or Knox. Both were a fucking lot younger than me. Maybe she worried I’d try to take advantage? She’d likely be disgusted if I made a move on her, not that I planned on it.

“Luciana, I don’t know what you think of me, and I honestly don’t give a shit. But I can assure you that I don’t take unwilling women, so if you’re worried I’ll force myself on you while you’re here, you’d be wrong.”

She audibly swallowed, and the coffee sloshed over the rim of the mug and onto the table.

“You won’t have to force me. I know my place and what’s expected of me.”

What. The. Absolute. Fuck.

“Come again?” I asked.

She finally met my gaze and held it for longer than a few seconds. “I’ll do as you ask. Do you want me here?”

 

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ABOUT HARLEY WYLDE…

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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.

Harley’s Website  / Harley on Facebook  /  Harley on Twitter

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Master of Fate by Angela Knight #DarkFantasy #PNR #interracial #shifters #vampires #NewRelease @changeilngpress

Master of Fate (Merlin's Legacy 3)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Angela Knight

ABOUT THE BOOK

Davon Fredericks is on a self-appointed mission to keep Mad Alys sane. And that job’s never been harder.

Alys Hawkwood is the most powerful seer among the witches of the Magekind. She’s seen a lot of horrors in her visions, but this is the worst: the destruction of the Magekind. The only way to prevent the deaths of everyone she cares about is to allow their worst enemy to kidnap her. Her only hope of rescue is her vampire partner, Davon — the man she loves — and the one she can never have.

To carry out her plan and save them all, Davon must pull off the impossible: take on a dragon and countless alien enemies alone. But his most deadly opponent is Alys herself…

 

Available now at Changeling Press or Pre-Order for June 7th at retailers

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SNEAK PEEK

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Angela Knight

Davon Fredericks watched the rich crimson liquid swirl in the cut crystal glass as he rotated his wrist. The roots of his fangs ached.

He took a sip, and the taste exploded on his tongue, sending a jolt of magic lancing the length of his spine. Heat streamed into his groin at the flavor, the scent, the sheer, erotic essence of Alys Hawkwood’s blood.

His gaze slid over to her as she sat next to him on the dark tufted leather of the couch, watching Netflix on an enchanted tablet. Alys looked barely twenty — quite a trick for someone born when Shakespeare was writing Hamlet.

Twelve years ago, if someone had told Davon he’d be partners with an Elizabethan, he’d have put that idiot on a psych hold. He’d considered himself a thoroughly rational man, a believer in science and logic. He’d had to be. He was a twenty-first century African American trauma surgeon in Chicago, a city where it wasn’t easy to be either black or a doctor. He hadn’t had time for woo-woo crap — until a witch offered him the chance to become a vampire and save humanity.

Now here he was, immortal partner to another beautiful witch.

And Alys was beautiful.

Her skin was a couple of shades lighter than his own deep bronze, since she was the daughter of an African vampire father and a Caucasian witch. Her lean, muscled body was a product of centuries of fighting for the survival of humanity — and a tendency to forget to eat unless Davon nagged her.

A riot of gleaming midnight curls sprang from her elegant head, framing a delicate, angular face. Huge eyes of a deep cinnamon brown balanced the swoop of her wide nose and the lush curve of her mouth. Soft, vulnerable lips parted as she laughed at something on her screen, showing the white edges of her teeth.

God, Davon hungered for that mouth. He’d wanted to kiss her the first time he met her, and he still wanted it ten years later. And he wanted to taste a lot more than her mouth, starting with the smooth length of those golden thighs, only partially concealed by a tiny pair of yellow shorts. A matching silk shirt bloused over her pretty breasts, drawing his attention to the hard nipples tenting the thin fabric.

Davon’s fangs gave another throbbing pulse as his cock hardened. Yeah, no.
He dragged his gaze away by sheer force of will, focusing his attention on the oak wainscoting that ran around the house’s library. That section of paneling was intricately carved with magical symbols designed to amplify Alys’s magic. Though they’d shared the big Tudor-style mansion for ten years, he was still finding new flourishes in the decor.

Whenever Alys felt anxious, she conjured something beautiful. The unicorn tapestry that covered one of the library walls had appeared following the last battle with King Bres. Davon’s near death at the hands of a troll had resulted in a stained-glass portrait of Merlin. He suspected every statue, rug, and carved ceiling beam in the house owed its existence to post-battle anxiety.

The whole place was the three-dimensional equivalent of Pinterest page therapy — lovely, whimsical — and ever so slightly OCD.

Aaand his erection had finally deflated, thank God. He blew out a breath in relief. He and Alys didn’t have that kind of fuckbuddy partnership. Damn it.

Mostly to keep his mind off his dick, he asked, “Any word on what Bres is up to?” Nothing could kill an erotic mood quite like a magic-using psychotic who wanted all humans dead.

Alys looked up, intelligence burning like a flame in cinnamon eyes. “The Fomorians have gone quiet. I have a feeling he’s up to som…” Her voice trailed off.

What looked like a wave of ink flooded Alys’s sclera and irises, drowning her eyes in black. Points of light burst against the darkness, stars igniting in the eternal night. Oh, hell. She was having a vision.

Though his heart had begun to pound, Davon didn’t move, didn’t do anything to interrupt. Alys was the most powerful seer among the Magekind’s witches. They all got flashes of the future, but no one else saw as clearly. More importantly, she could often predict how to avoid a horrific future, a talent not even Morgana Le Fay had.

So no, you didn’t interrupt one of Alys’s visions.

Not that what she learned was always welcome. Sometimes preventing one ugly future would trigger something even worse, so they couldn’t do a damn thing.

Which didn’t do a lot for her mental state. There was a reason they called her Mad Alys. Davon’s mission in life was making sure that shitty nickname didn’t become a reality.

He watched her expression, trying to determine whether this one was going to be another one of those situations. At least there were no flickers of terror and despair on her face, though the tightening line of her jaw suggested growing anger.

A kid must be involved in this. Nothing pissed Alys off like some asshole hurting a child. Often the asshole in question ended up very, very dead by the time she and Davon finished teaching him the error of his ways.

The blackness drained from Alys’s eyes as if someone had pulled a stopper in her skull, revealing her normal irises. She blinked at him, her gaze a little confused.

“Alys?” he asked.

The vague air vanished as her eyes snapped into focus. “We’ve got a mission.” Surging off the couch as if she’d been launched from a catapult, the Maja flung her arms wide.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

New York Times best-selling author Angela Knight’s first book was written in pencil and illustrated in crayon; she was nine years old at the time. A few years later, she read The Wolf and the Dove and fell in love with romance. In addition to her fiction work, Angela’s publishing career includes a stint as a comic book writer and ten years as a newspaper reporter. Several of her stories have won South Carolina Press Association awards. Angela lives in South Carolina with her husband, Michael, a detective with the Spartanburg PD.

More from Angela at Changeling Press…

 

 

Don’t Fear the Reaper by Dahlia Rose #DarkFantasy #PNR #interracial @changelingpress

Don't Fear the Reaper (Dark Love 3)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

Calliope thought she knew death. She sees it every day in her job and feels it around her. Who knew when she called to that presence it would appear in the form of Arius?

The connection they make is almost instantaneous. She kisses him on impulse, but she falls in love with him because that’s how her heart works. Teaching a reaper about life might seem strange to others, but Calliope accepts the responsibility willingly. But at the end of their time, he will leave, and Calliope will be forever changed.

Arius’s destiny is to take the scythe of his father and become the Angel of Death. But the woman who can feel his presence piques his interest, and he gives in to curiosity. He thought he knew his purpose — that he was created to be a caretaker of the souls who cross over, and nothing more.

Being with Calliope changes everything and tips his world on its axis. Now he questions his destiny, especially when he longs to be with her. The short time they have together might not be enough, for when the bell tolls, the new Angel of Death must answer.

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Dahlia Rose

Calliope slept well knowing that she helped others on their journey, and she’d found her calling in life. She was intuitive, one of the gifts she’d honed growing up. She had gifts for empathy and healing, but nothing she knew could save her patients. When Calliope was at home, she knew in this world she was very alone.

But lately, she’d sensed something more, a change in the ether when one of her patients passed. There was a presence in the room, one she’d never felt before. It didn’t scare her. Far from it — Calliope was more curious than anything else.

That was, until she felt that same presence at her home. Now she was almost hesitant to open the door of her little flourmill house in McAddenville, Georgia. Usually when she got home she would eat and watch some television before taking care of her online class work. It was her way to de-stress and think about something other than death — and at night, she would sleep deeply until her sixth sense prodded her awake. That was when she knew something watched her in her house. Sage didn’t help, and neither did crystals at the door. None of the methods her aunt had taught her to keep her home cleansed did anything.

Either way, she followed her routine — shower, food, TV while her laptop sat in her lap — and tried not to think. Finally, the nightshift buzz wore down and she yawned. After setting things aside, she went to her bedroom and made sure no light would come through the shades. Thank God I’m off for the next two days, she thought as she climbed under her soft covers. Her weighted blanket was like a secure hug that made her feel comforted. From the time her head hit the pillow, Calliope was asleep.

And just like clockwork, a few hours later, her eyes popped open, sleep instantly gone. The presence was there. She could feel it ripple through the ether of the room. The air was thick with it, even as her central air ran silently.

Enough is enough, Calliope thought angrily, and she sat up in bed. “Show yourself. Why are you here?”

Silence. But still she felt it. Calliope closed her eyes, opened her senses and reached out. The quiet only irritated her more. Her sleep pattern was being affected and by God, she would have her answers.

“I feel you,” Calliope said as gently as possible as she got out of bed, hoping the new tactic would lead to results. “I don’t want to harm you. I just need to know why you’re here in my house.”

Zippo.

Calliope stomped her foot. “Answer me right now or I swear to all that is holy that I will get a herd of priests in here to exorcise your ass.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. The dimness of the room didn’t matter. It was there, close to the window. The air seemed to shimmer and fold in soft waves while Calliope held her breath. Did she really want to see what would appear in her bedroom? Her mind screamed run, but her feet wouldn’t move. She saw a body form from the feet to the shoulders, slowly. Calliope moved away and the backs of her knees hit the footboard of her bed. There was a head now and, hell, trying to run wasn’t an option for something that could appear at will. Instead, she scrambled back into bed until her back slammed against the headboard.

A man stood by her doorway now, and his dark eyes assessed her. He didn’t smile. His mouth was a firm line on a rugged jaw line that held a hint of stubble. He had dark curls that fell to the collar of his shirt. He wore all black down to the silk tie around his neck. Everything about him was dark including the look on his face, and her heart raced in fright and excitement all at once. She wasn’t crazy; there was someone… something there.

“Who are you?” Calliope asked.

“I thought you knew me. You sensed me, requested my presence, for your patients,” he answered. The tone was deep but soft and held a note of curiosity. “How is it that you can sense me?”

Calliope shrugged. “I can sense lots of things; it depends on who you are. I don’t recall you as a patient of mine.”

A small smile and then it was gone. “No, not a patient, but I have seen you with them.”

“A family member?” she asked.

“No.” He stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Then who?” Calliope asked in frustration “And how are you dead and talking to me?”

“Because I am death itself,” he answered. “Or one of them.”

She furrowed her brow. “You’re… you’re a grim reaper?”

“A reaper is fine,” he answered. “I don’t understand why grim was ever added to the title. To some, death is a blessing.”

“Holy shit,” Calliope breathed out.

 

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USA Today Best Selling author Dahlia Rose writes contemporary and paranormal romance with a hint of Caribbean spice. She was born and raised on a Caribbean island and now currently lives in Charlotte, NC with her five kids who she affectionately nicknamed “The children of the corn” and her biggest supporter/long time love. She has a love of erotica, dark fantasy, Sci-fi and the things that go bump in the night. Books and writing are her biggest passion and she hopes to open your imagination to the unknown between the pages of her books.

 

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?

 

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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 …