New Today at Changeling Press! #RomanceBooks #NewRelease

Snake Charmer (Confessions 1)

Skye: I’m a lone wolf, but I’ve left the forest to fight against demons who’ve taken over the world. Right now I’m with a pack in Baltimore, but their alpha respects my ways. I take assignments from him, but I live alone and fight alone — until the night I’m attacked by a swarm of bat demons and a hot little snake dancer jumps in to back me up. For me, it’s lust at first sight, but it’s more than that. I think this adorable little tough guy is my mate, even though he’s not a wolf.

Erik: I’m called Snake Charmer. Dancer. Contortionist. Spirit twin to an alien serpent who has always been my protector. My life has been a series of horrors with some beautiful experiences tossed in. I’ve learned to be independent, especially after my best friend and I were brutalized in an attack that left her dead. Now I’m out for revenge, and it’s brought me to Maryland, directly into the path of a gorgeous werewolf who makes me feel things I never dreamed of. It can’t last, though, and nothing, not even desire this deep, will come between me and my vendetta.

Warning: While set in a futuristic paranormal reality, Snake Charmer includes references to previous child abuse, rape, and murder that may be triggers to some readers.

Cover Art by Bryan Keller

#ParanormalRomance #Gay #Vampires #Werewolves #AlienEncounters

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Combustible (Roanoke River Omegas 3)Long, lean, wild and unconventional for an Omega, Zane rocks and rolls Alpha Grant’s world. Zane can’t be predicted. He can’t be contained. And Grant freaking loves it.

But it’s not all beer and BJs, even for these two. Grant’s never wanted to have kids of his own. His family is Legacy Tattoo, the business he finally reclaimed after his grandfather’s death. He’s dedicating his life to making it not just flourish but thrive. And he doesn’t know — yet — about Zane’s status as a single father to a rambunctious pre-K rebel.

Their love affair is gonna be complicated. And — downright combustible.

Cover Art by Bryan Keller

#LGBTQ+ #Mpreg #ParanormalRomance

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Feral Heat (Feral 6)

Think werewolves aren’t real?

Tell that to the four women and one man who find themselves captive to the whims of the Zante pack’s males. Fierce, mythical, and sexy-as-sin, these delightfully debauched wolves guide their lovers through a journey of seductive exploration. Whether newly discovered or rekindled, their relationships are as passionate as they are.

And the women can give as good as they take. From a fairy bent on revenge to a vixen determined to destroy the pack, they’ll all discover that getting caught is its own reward.

Wild and dangerous, menacing and exciting, otherworldly and naughty to the last…

The men of the Zante pack will make a believer out of you.

Publisher’s Note: This box set contains the previously released novellas Firecrackers: Chemistry to BurnFeral MagnetismFeral BachelorismFeral Hedonism, and Feral Voyeurism. 

Cover Art by Bryan Keller

#LGBTQ+ #werewolves #multiplepartners

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How Not to Date an Alien by Stephanie Burke #RomCom #SciFiRomance @FlashyCat

How Not to Date an Alien (How Not To 1)

Cover Art by Bryan Keller

 

Kilana knows what her eyes are telling her can’t be true.

There’s a naked man in her bed and he’s glowing. And then there are the solid black eyes, the floating several feet above the bed, and the most damning of all… he has antennas.

The newly divorced Kilana thinks she’s seeing things, but when he opens his mouth and tells her he’s hunting humans and his intentions are to devour her, Kilana knows she has an alien problem.

But who will help her get away from the admittedly sexy creature that wants her pleasured and fattened until her flavor is perfect? Maybe her hair-brained friends Se and Lena can help her avoid the big suppertime cut…

Or maybe she’s on her own with the drooling, leering, orgasm-delivering fiend. And maybe dating an alien won’t turn out to be as big a problem as she thinks.

 

Get it today at Changeling Press

Only $0.99!

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2020 Stephanie Burke

“You have antennas.” Kilana peered closely at the man who was resting rather comfortably beside her on her bed. Somehow, he made the huge California King feel like a college dorm twin.

“And you do not,” he helpfully pointed out, with a black-lipped grin that made his spiky white teeth look all the more deadly.

And, of all things, his long black hair was tied back into a braid that seemed to snake around his firm, pale body. His eyes were a solid black, too, and she was sure if she weren’t so hung over, she would probably be screaming bloody murder right about now.

And the man was naked.

There was only one explanation for this phenomenon. She was still drunk.

“I’m going to close my eyes and count to ten,” she whispered, her head not willing to take even the shock of her own voice raised to a normal conversational tone. “And when I open them, you are not going to be here. Do you understand?”

He nodded his head sadly, pouting a bit. But she hardened her heart. She didn’t have time for imaginary beings in her bed. She was a newly divorced woman, and she had things to do.

Like maybe wake up sober and get her divorce papers framed and gilded.

She peered at him again and had to blink fast and swallow hard. He had the biggest eyes she had ever seen. Those large, liquid eyes were solid black; there was no white at all.

It appeared that all the white seemed to have leaked out into his pale skin. It was kind of a molten silver, rather uncommon but certainly not too abnormal for a figment.

But his head nodding was making her dizzy.

“Don’t nod.” She swallowed again, holding onto a moan with the persistence of a clinging vine of ivy. “You’re making me seasick. God, you’d think that my own figment wouldn’t be so monochromatic as to cause seasickness. I thought I had more imagination.”

So she closed her eyes, inhaled softly, exhaled long, and started counting.

One figment two many. Three reasons to never drink again four any reason. Five senses going crazy, and six is the devil’s number to remind me to stick to seven, heaven’s number, unless it is the number of tequila shots. I should not have eight the worm thing last night and nine martinis are more than enough, especially at ten dollars a glass.”

She opened her eyes, but the very pale and very monochromatic creature was still lying next to her in bed.

“You’re still here,” she moaned, dropping her head back onto the pillows.

“Yes, I am,” he replied, before reaching out with one finger — one finger with the longest black fingernail she had ever seen. “And I will be here for a while.”

He tapped her on the nose, and she knew her eyes were crossing as she stared at his finger, but that was one awesomely sharp-looking talon.

“Doing what?” she asked, wondering if it was insanity to talk to an obviously drug-induced creature from her boring imagination.

Maybe someone had slipped her Special K. Ketamine was said to produce very believable hallucinations in users. Maybe someone had slipped her some and had their wicked way with her prone, helpless body.

Then again, maybe not.

She thought about it for a second, and none of her girl parts seemed particularly sore. Her va-jay-jay felt normal and unused as usual. No odd taste in her mouth, other than stale beer and regret —

“I am hunting.”

“Yeah.” She scrunched her nose and thought for a moment. “That makes sense. Hunting, in my bed, while totally naked. Yes, that makes perfect sense.”

He remained silent and smiling, showing off that mouth filled with fangs.

“Okay, no, it doesn’t.” She winced at the lancing pain in her head. “What exactly are you supposed to be hunting in my bed at –” She glanced out the window, noting it was still night. “–o-dark-thirty? Tell me that, Mr. Monochromatic Figment of My Imagination.”

“I am not a figment.” He stopped smiling. “And my coloring is very nice for my people. It is considered very attractive.”

“I’ve hurt my figment’s feelings.” She groaned, rolled over and closed her eyes again in an attempt to make him go away. But when she opened her eyes, he was still there and waiting to speak.

“I don’t have feelings in the way that you mean.” He pouted prettily.

“Of course not,” she allowed, wondering when she had actually slipped around the bend into insanity.

“And I am not a figment. I am a Scrimtat from Veta Belga.”

“Scrimtat, sure,” she spoke around a yawn. “I can tell by your very black lips and your very black hair.”

“My tongue is black, too. See?” And he stuck out the longest black, forked tongue this side of a freak show.

“I can see why I dreamed you up.” Her voice went thready. “Each fork in your tongue operates individually?”

She had to know. There were so many things she could imagine him doing with that…

 

More from Stephanie Burke at Changeling Press …

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

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

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

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

 

Torque (Wicked Mayhem MC) by Harley Wylde #ContemporaryRomance

Torque_Cover

Cover Art by Marteeka Karland

 

BRISTOL – When I met Torque, I didn’t expect more than a steamy one-night stand from the sexy-as-hell biker. His bedroom eyes. His wicked smile. His sinful body. I couldn’t resist him. It was only supposed to be one time. He didn’t do repeats, and I wasn’t looking for more. Until our night together had consequences – the kind that lasts eighteen years. Torque might be phenomenal between the sheets, but I wasn’t too sure the bad boy biker was daddy material.

TORQUE – The hot blonde with the lush curves and naughty mouth had given me a wild, wicked ride. A man could drown in her seductive eyes, but I never go back for seconds, no matter how tempting Bristol might be. Then she storms back into my life with news that sends me off kilter. I hadn’t planned to keep her, but now that she’s having my kid, there’s no way I’m letting her go. She’ll be mine whether she likes it or not.

*WARNING: This book is recommended for ages 18+ due to sexual content, strong language, and darker undertones.

Now Available at:

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also available in paperback and large print paperback

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2020 Harley Wylde

BRISTOL

The biker at the bar had held my attention since I’d walked through the door. There was a group of bikers, all wearing the colors of the Wicked Mayhem MC. Whispers around town said they were dangerous, and many gave them a wide berth. I’d always loved the thrill of a bit of danger, or rather dangerous men. The one on the end was captivating, a stark contrast to the blond man on his right, his swarthy skin and dark hair made my fingers itch to touch him. I hadn’t seen a sexier man before, not even on the covers of books.

I held back, watching as other women approached. Each was sent on their way, and none too gently. Mr. Sexy shook off a desperate looking redhead, a sneer on his lips. All right. The direct approach wouldn’t work with this one. Either he wasn’t here for a good time, or he didn’t like clingy women. I adjusted the top of my dress, so the girls were on display, then sauntered over to the bar, being sure to press against his side. Before he could send me on my way, I leaned over and lifted my hand.

“Bartender! I need a drink.” The man shifted, his arm brushing my nipples. I turned my gaze to him, trying to look surprised. “I’m so sorry. It’s just so crowded. I didn’t mean to practically crawl into your lap.”

His gaze skimmed over me, stopping to take in the swells of my breasts. He shifted again, turning to face me a bit more. Before I could step back, he’d pulled me between his legs, my back to his chest.

“If you want his attention so badly, you could tug that dress down a little more.” His voice was deep and raspy, sending chills down my spine.

“I wanted a drink. I wasn’t offering a lap dance.”

His fingers skimmed up my thigh and toyed with the hem of my body-hugging dress. “Wearing something like this? You seem to be offering more than just that. Makes a man think maybe you’re what’s on the menu for tonight. That it, babe? Want me to lift this scrap of fabric and fuck you right here and now?”

I gasped, but it wasn’t in outrage. No, his words were setting me on fire. I’d always loved a man who could talk dirty, and I had a feeling this biker bad boy could back those words up with his actions. He didn’t seem like the type who would be shy about whipping out his dick in the middle of a crowded bar or club.

He turned us that my belly was to the bar, but I was still firmly pressed to the front of him. He slid his hand around my hip, under the edge of the bar and out of sight. I felt his fingers sliding up my inner thigh and my heart started to hammer in my chest.

“I’m betting a woman like you came here without panties on. Were you a naughty girl and came out nearly naked?” he asked.

I tipped my head back and bucked against his hand. “Why don’t you find out?”

 

Get more from Harley Wylde …

 

Her Perfect 10 by Brianna Cash #ContemporaryRomance

Title: Her Perfect 10
Series: Stars in the Sand #1
Author: Brianna Cash
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: April 2, 2020
For the online writing course I’m enrolled in, I’m assigned a partner for the entire semester. The syllabus says we’re to remain anonymous. While I never learn her name, she breaks every other rule there is. She’s dragging my grade down with hers, even after I’ve repeatedly asked her not to.
 
As our conversations turn personal—another broken rule—she encourages me to push my boundaries, and I learn why she has none: she doesn’t believe in love. Instead of looking for a guy who’ll sweep her off her feet, she rates them in different categories in an equation she created to find someone that’s supposedly perfect for her.
 
I have no idea what she looks like, how old she is, or where she lives. But I know I can change her mind about love.
 
Too bad I’d never measure up.

According to her equation, there’s no way I’m her perfect ten.
 
I’ve never played these games before, but they’re kind of childish. I like to have a say in who I kiss. Not that the two girls I kissed during that first game were bad kissers, but I don’t even know their names. Maybe Rob and Alena should’ve had everyone go around and introduce themselves first. That would’ve made me a little more comfortable.

This whole thing was probably Rob’s idea. He’s always making fun of me, talking about how inexperienced I am. Just because I don’t sleep with anyone who gives me a second glance doesn’t mean I have no idea what I’m doing.

Alena locks us in some kind of housekeeping closet, yelling through the door. “Seven minutes, starting now!”

The girl I followed in spins around to find me watching her. She steps closer, swallowing the distance between us in two quick strides. She’s almost pressed against me, she’s so close. I step back, creating some space, reaching for her hand, ready to introduce myself. But she grabs my waist instead, tipping her head back and pushing up on her toes to press her lips to mine.

Her lips are soft and sure, melting instantly beneath mine as I kiss her back, and I quickly forget that she was making out with two other guys before me, a short time ago.

She pulls away, her eyes wide as she stares at me. There’s something familiar about them, the color, or the shape, or the incredibly long eyelashes that are framing a shade of green that matches not only her mask, but also her dress. There’s something about those eyes I can’t quite put my finger on.

I reach for her again. My hands slide around her hips and pull her closer, right up against me. She’s short, but with her heels, she’s just tall enough. Her eyes flutter closed as her head leans back, her lips parted in a silent invitation that my body is very intent on accepting, with or without my brain’s permission.

I’ve never been this close to anyone without knowing their name.

The thin silk of her dress caresses my fingers as I lower my face to hers. The warm cavern of her mouth teases me as her lips move under mine. Her body leans on me more fully—a silent protest as I pull away. I’m only changing the angle, though. I don’t hesitate to come back in for more.

And more.

And more…

Her lips part farther, wordlessly asking me to deepen the kiss. But I’m content to keep kissing her like this, with open mouths and soft lips merging together repeatedly. Her hands, which are still around my waist, pull my shirt out of the way, and then her fingertips are on my skin, trailing confidently over my back, right along the edge of my pants.

She smells like honeysuckle, like early summer nights spent catching fireflies in the backyard. There’s something else mixed in with that sweet memory. Something that’s probably all hers, whoever she is. Her eyes fly open when I take a second to breathe her in. I want to keep the memory of her scent forever, so I can relive this moment later, when I’m lying in my bed remembering how good she feels. When I need some fascinating moment to focus on. Something good. Something happy. Something…perfect.

“Kiss me,” she whispers, her breath warm on my cheek.

“Pretty sure we were kissing,” I whisper right back. No one can hear us. We’re totally alone, but it feels like we’re under some kind of spell, and we’ll break it if we’re too loud.

“No, really kiss me. Like you mean it.”

“I did mean it.” My voice rumbles in my chest as I try to keep quiet. I don’t know anything about this girl except she’s good friends with my future sister-in-law. But I also don’t know if I could stop myself from kissing her again if my life depended on it.

“That’s not what I meant.”

There’s a frown on those delicious lips, and all I want to do is change it into a smile. I clear my throat and keep whispering. “Kiss you like I know you?”

She gives a quick nod. “Kiss me like I’m the person you’ve been waiting for your entire life.”

Her eyes move back and forth between mine, her hands still on my skin under my shirt, making me want her in ways I never would’ve imagined possible at this point. She flexes her fingers on my sides before pushing both my shirt and her hands up, up, up.

It gets caught on my damn mask, but I reach up and untangle it. She then drapes my shirt over a shelf beside us. The mask stays on my face.

Her eyes are on mine as her fingers trail down my chest and stomach, lightly brushing over the dusting of hair that will lead her directly to something she has no right to discover. Not like this. Not in a closet. Not when I know so little about her. Not when she knows nothing about me.

When I inhale, the pressure of her touch lingering on the button of my slacks has my heartbeat pounding in my ears. She tilts her head to the side.

She’s daring me.

Kiss her the way she wants, or she’s going to do her best to get me out of the rest of my clothes.

I want to kiss her again. The simple kiss we shared was by far the best I’ve ever had.

But I also want to see how far she’s willing to take this.

Her gaze dips down, to where her hand is about to undo my pants, and then back at my face.

Which direction am I going to take us?

Cupping her cheek with one hand, I raise her face. With my other hand on her hip, I make sure she stays as close to me as is physically possible. And then I kiss her like she’s the person I’ve been waiting my entire life for.
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Release Blitz: Callous Criminal by Lynn Burke #contemporaryromance #MCromance

Title: Callous Criminal
Series: Vicious Vipers #3
Author: Lynn Burke
Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: March 26, 2020
Cover Design: Designs by L~
I’m a cold hearted criminal, and I’ve lived a callous life as the Sergeant at Arms of the Vicious Vipers MC. I spent most of my childhood as a victim, and because of the junkie who raised me, I hate to be touched.

 

But her…
The social worker my fingers itch to reach for—she’s wholesome. Kind. Too good for a man like me, and yet, I can’t curb my weakness to be near her.
When one of her teenage clients needs protection from the same type of man who hurt my sister, I know I’ll be revealing my true self, my darker side, to help the girl.
For her.
I’ll lose the only person I’ve found who values my feelings above her own—the woman whose sweet nature is a force to be reckoned with.
I know I should walk away, but how do I leave the heart I didn’t know I still had behind?
*This is the third book in the Vicious Vipers MC series and may be unsuitable for someone under 18 years of age. HEA guaranteed, however, secondary characters make appearances in other’s stories. Reading in order is recommended.

 

The sun hit my face along with hot, humid air stinking of exhaust, and I turned toward my bike.

Head down, focused on a cell, a woman hurried toward me, and I scuttled sideways to escape her fast clip.

Not fucking fast enough.

She slammed into my side and grasped hold of my bare forearm, a squeak of surprise ripping from her mouth as her cell clattered to the sidewalk.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” She lessened her grip on my arm, and I clenched my teeth as my stomach knotted fast as fuck.

I hated to be touched.

Not wanting to be a complete asshole, I didn’t shake off her hold but waited for her to steady herself in her sandals. Her soft touch burned my skin. Sent a shot of need to lash out with my fists along with an energetic zap to my dick I hadn’t felt in years.

I pulled away the second I could and bent to retrieve her cell while she righted her purse and the sweater she had draped over one arm.

Standing, I handed her the phone she’d dropped.

Straight blonde hair brushed her shoulders, her blue-green eyes and pale lashes unframed or painted by makeup. Pink flushed her cheeks, and she pressed her lips together, drawing my focus to the sparkling gloss coating them while reaching for her cell.

I made sure to keep our fingers from touching. “Not a problem,” I stated with a gruffness I hadn’t meant to do while noting the flush across her chest and the hint of cleavage peeking at the top of her plain, buttoned up blouse.

She smiled up at me, a plain-Jane yet classically beautiful woman who smelled like fresh, juicy watermelon.

My mouth watered, and I stepped back out of her way. With a dip of my head, I moved around her, intent on my bike—and escaping the weird vibe breaking me out into a sweat atop the bright as fuck sun.

It is the heat, I told myself while fighting the need to look over my shoulder. See if her back was as pretty as her front, even if she hadn’t dressed to showcase the curves I’d caught a glimpse of.

The bike roared to life between my thighs, and I glanced toward Dunks while pulling on my helmet. She’d gone inside, escaping the heat, but I couldn’t see her past the glare of the sun on the shop’s windows.

Lips set in a line, I put on my shades and pulled out, already sweating through my t-shirt. 

© Lynn Burke 2020

Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of spicy romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.
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Chasing Charli by Anne Kane #paranormalromance @AnneKane

Chasing Charli (Northern Rockies Pack 2)

Cover Artist: Angela Knight

 

Designated bait slut. Hardly the job Charli dreamed of growing up, but as a single parent with a toddler to protect her choices are limited. She cruises the local bars looking for unsuspecting victims to lure into the pack’s clutches. The future looks bleak until she runs into her childhood sweetheart in a downtown pub.

Wyatt is in town for his semi-annual meeting with his pack’s financial advisor. This trip, though, he finds more than a good return on investment. The moment he lays eyes on Charli he realizes she is his mate, the one female who can complete his life. He’s determined to convince her to bond with him. From a tooth and claw fight with her Alpha, to reading bedtime stories to her daughter, he’ll do whatever it takes to get her to say “Yes.”

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press
Use Discount Code TGIF02-28-2020 for 15% off your entire order!

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2020 Anne Kane

Charli glared at Henry. “Enough already. This is bullshit. I joined this pack because you promised to support my studies if I agreed to look after your pack’s health. You lied. You haven’t let me anywhere near the campus, let alone helping me actually enroll. I’m done. I want out. Let me go, and I won’t report your sorry asses to anyone, werewolf or human. I’ll just leave, and I promise you’ll never hear from me again.”

The slap came so fast she didn’t have time to duck. Her neck snapped backward and she lost her balance, landing in an undignified heap at his feet. Although he didn’t deserve the title, Henry was the Alpha and he ruled by brute force combined with a healthy dose of fear. Like the blow that had landed her on the floor, Henry’s temper could explode at any minute and often for no reason that she could understand. Living with him and his pack was like sitting on a live, ticking time bomb and wondering when it would blow up.

Right now, she didn’t really care. A pack was supposed to protect and support its members, all of its members. Since she’d been recruited, all they’d done was use her as bait. They had one gig, one way of bringing in cash and it involved dressing her up like a slut to lure a likely victim into their trap. She’d proposition them and promise to provide some very adult services if they came with her to some sleazy motel. The motels differed, depending on where she’d picked up the mark, but they were all the same run-down, grubby places. Then she’d let the pack know where to find them. If she timed it right, a couple of very scary-looking werewolves in human form broke into the room and took the mark for everything they could before she had to ante up on her promises. During the shakedown, Charli would sneak out to be transported back to their headquarters by one of the pack.

From what she’d gathered from the few females in the pack, she’d be the designated bait slut until they managed to recruit a new member. Not that that would improve her status much. If she wasn’t busy luring horny human males with poor judgment into the clutches of the pack thugs, she’d be given to one or more of the members as their plaything. She honestly wasn’t sure which fate she’d prefer.

A pile of lacy material landed beside her. “Put that on and get ready. We need to make some money tonight.” Henry turned on his heels and stalked out of the room.

Time to go with Plan B. Problem was, she didn’t have a Plan B.

* * *

Wyatt took a long pull on the mug of beer, his gaze constantly moving from patron to patron in the sparsely populated pub. Habits are hard to break, and checking his surroundings was a deeply ingrained habit. Thursday nights didn’t seem to be very popular with the pub’s clientele, making people-watching less interesting than usual.

He’d been in Calgary for almost a week now, dealing with financial matters for the pack. A wry smile curved the corner of his mouth. Pack accountant. Somehow it didn’t sound quite as impressive as Alpha or Enforcer or any of the other positions in the hierarchy of the Northern Rockies Pack.

Of course, being a werewolf, Wyatt wasn’t the stereotypical desk jockey. At six foot four, he weighed in at a hefty two hundred and sixty pounds, and none of those pounds were fat. Werewolves were a lot more civilized these days but there was still the need to be able to defend the pack, and its territory even if it was rarely necessary. And then there was the DNA. No escaping the territorial, fight to the death to defend your pack brothers, instincts that were bred into his very bones.

Tonight was his last night in cow-town, which was fine with him. He had a final meeting with the pack’s investment counselor in the morning, and then he’d be on the road. The city had its good points. Wyatt enjoyed the culture, the theaters, and the shopping. Heck, he could spend days browsing the Bass Pro Shop or MEC, but he’d had enough of pretending to be human. He’d be glad to get back on pack territory and be able to change in comfort, be able to run without constantly looking over his shoulder to make sure he hadn’t been observed by anyone not of the werewolf community. Those were the kinds of things a werewolf took for granted until he didn’t have them anymore.

Wyatt lifted his mug and downed the rest of his drink in one long swallow. He gave the bartender a friendly nod, tossing enough bills on the bar to cover his tab. He stood and turned toward the doorway. Time to head back to his motel room and turn in for the night. He could feel the urge to run, but it wasn’t urgent and he’d prefer to wait until he was back in pack territory.

A faint but tantalizing scent drifted past his nose, stopping him in his tracks. Werewolf. Female werewolf. Familiar female werewolf. Wyatt turned slowly in the direction of the scent, wary of being caught on another pack’s territory. As far as he knew, there were no official packs in the city, the closest one being just south of it in the open plains, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

Packs tended to avoid cities for one obvious reason. Humans. There were so many of them in cities, all packed together, and that made it hard to avoid detection. Changing became a problem. Running was a serious issue. Where do you run when there are people and buildings and vehicles everywhere? Sure, you could drive out to some nice field every time you needed to change but that could be inconvenient. And, if you didn’t make it out of the city to run you risked the chance of an involuntary change. No, cities were not highly sought after pack territories.

Given the lack of patrons in the pub, it didn’t take him long to track down the source of the scent. By the wide-eyed look on her face, she hadn’t come in expecting to find another of her kind. He searched the area around her but could see no one with her, and the single glass that the bartender set down in front of her seemed to indicate she was alone.

The city just got a whole lot more interesting. Charli.

 

About Anne Kane

Anne Kane lives in the beautiful Okanagan Valley with a bouncy little rescue dog whose breed defies description, a cantankerous Himalayan cat, and too many fish to count. She spent many years trying to fit in and act normal, but finally gave up the effort. She started writing romance in 2008, and her fate was sealed when she won a publishing contract with Red Sage Publishing and just a month later Changeling Press accepted her first submission. Since then she has published more than thirty stories in a variety of sub-genres, all with a happily ever after.

She has two handsome sons and six adorable grandchildren and enjoys spending time with them whenever she can. Her hobbies, when she’s not playing with the characters in her head, include kayaking, hiking, swimming, playing guitar, singing and of course, reading.

Website | Anne at Changeling Press | Facebook

 

 

Release Blitz: Tricks and Bids by Jacqueline Grey #contemporaryromance #LGBTQ

Title: Tricks and Bids

Series: Suit of Harte’s, Book One

Author: Jacqueline Grey

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: February 17, 2020

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 20300

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, BDSM, romance, contemporary, gay, sex industry, prostitution

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Synopsis

When Michael Nole propositions Dillon Spade outside a BDSM club one evening, all he is looking for is a potential client and a little kink. He gets much more than he bargained for. As a prostitute, Michael enjoys sex but keeps an emotional distance between himself and the men he sleeps with. His priority is to keep himself safe, but after a night in Dillon’s bed, he finds the line between enjoyment and occupation blurring.

Dillon hasn’t taken another man home since his previous lover passed away six years ago, but there is something about Michael that calls to his inner Dominant in a way he cannot resist. His instincts want to claim the boy even as he reminds himself that he is only paying Michael for temporary company.

Their relationship may have started as a business transaction, but it’s difficult to remain professional when breaking all the rules.

Excerpt

Tricks and Bids
Jacqueline Grey © 2020
All Rights Reserved

“Hey. Wanna play?”

Dillon glanced up to find a young man leaning against the hood of his car. At Dillon’s pointed look, he took a step back, so he no longer touched the automobile.

“What gave you the impression I want company?”

“You obviously didn’t find what you were looking for in there” came the reply with a nod back at Harte, the BDSM club Dillon had just exited. “If you had, you wouldn’t be leaving this early.”

“And you think you’re what I want?”

The boy shrugged.

Dillon peered at him. He appeared to be in his midtwenties, fit and tight in the way Dillon remembered being before he’d hit thirty-three. He was shorter than Dillon with dark-brown hair long enough to grip: two things Dillon liked in a submissive. There was something familiar about him as well. If Dillon wasn’t mistaken, he’d seen him heading into a nearby motel a few times and never with the same “date.”

“Are you a prostitute?” Dillon asked.

The blunt question evoked an expression of surprise, but it rapidly morphed into a smooth smile. “‘Prostitute’ sounds like a job. It’s more of a hobby.”

“One you get paid for.”

“It’s a good hobby.”

Dillon cracked a smile. “How much do you charge?”

“Depends on what you want to do.”

That was reasonable enough, and if he’d been waiting outside Harte, he must know to expect kink and charge for it accordingly. “Are you clean?”

“Yes, and condoms are necessary and at your expense.”

“Expense? That sounds like a job term to me,” Dillon teased.

He considered his options. The boy was right. He hadn’t found what he was searching for in the club, and he held no illusions he ever would. Even after six years, he couldn’t help comparing every submissive he came across to the lover he’d lost. Harte called him a stubborn old goat, but the thought of building a relationship from scratch exhausted him. It was so hard to find someone whose rhythms and tastes fit with his own. Granted, the club was designed for negotiation and mutually desired play, but that was for the scenes that took place there. What about the rest of the time?

Dillon didn’t want a casual play partner. That did nothing more for him than scratch an itch that would return in no time. He wanted someone he could build a life with. He wasn’t going to find that with a prostitute, but something about the stranger brought forth yearnings Dillon hadn’t felt in years. He could take the boy home with him, indulge in what he wanted in his own territory and under his own rules. It would be a purchased illusion, but it beat going home alone and sleeping in an empty bed.

“Come on,” he said, pulling his car door open and unlocking the other side. “We’ll talk details when we get to my place.”

“Your place? Don’t you mean a hotel?”

“My place,” repeated Dillon. “I don’t do quick fucks.”

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Meet the Author

Jacqueline Grey currently lives on an island on the east coast of the United States. She spends her time outside her day job juggling her many interests which include reading, writing and drinking tea. She loves M/M romance, usually focusing on stories that include BDSM themes to one degree or another.

Jacqueline has always been driven by characters. She loves a good plot, but it’s the characters that pull her into a story. She loves romance and believes everyone has a right to be happy. She enjoys seeing her characters find that happiness for themselves.

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