Turquoise Trail by Julia Talbot #PNR #UrbanFantasy #GayRomance #interracial @changelingpress @juliatalbot

 

Soldier Chino thinks he has to be alone, but Oliver
and his dragons know life is hotter together.

 

Turquoise Trail (Desert Dragons 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Karen Fox
Genres/Themes: Action Adventure, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy,
Elves Dragons & Magical Creatures, Gay, Interracial

Elemental soldier Chino heads off into the Mexican desert looking for his promised bonded. He’s a loner, but he’s not used to being this alone. The only member of his team not to bond with a dragon, he’s feeling pretty hopeless.

That’s when he finds dragon guardian Oliver, who’s injured and needs Chino’s help. Oliver knows things, deep in his soul, and he knows Chino’s real name. Can he convince Chino to stay with him and help him raise his passel of dragons?

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Julia Talbot

Chino hadn’t felt this lonely in well over five years.

He sat at a small campfire somewhere deep in the Chihuahua desert. He had a feeling these days he was on the Mexico side, even if he’d started out in Arizona. This was the place the news stories bitched about, the barren wasteland where so-called “coyotes” plied their trade.

Christ, people sent their babies out here to survive through this nightmare wasteland? Insane. Fucking insane. Insane and empty.

Which was exactly how Chino felt. No team. No backup. Just his lonely ass and a directive from the big dragon he’d grown to admire, Damien. Go to the desert below Ice. Find your bonded.

That directive should have been way more mystical, but Ice, the leader of the black ops team Chino had been a part of, was from Phoenix originally. Not tough to figure out. He felt a little like he was running around going, “Here dragon, dragon, dragon.”

Why he was the only member of the Elemental Ops team who didn’t bond with a dragon on Dragon Mountain, he didn’t know. All he knew was he was tired of freezing his nuts off at night and broiling during the day while he searched for his so-called bonded.

Maybe this was just a wild goose chase.

Send the guy off to look for imaginary dragons.

He shivered, but Chino didn’t dare build up the fire. Those news story coyotes wouldn’t hesitate to attack one man, alone in the desert. Not like the animal they were named after.

Help? The single word was soft, scared.

Chino bolted up off the camp stool he’d set up, drawing his weapon. “What?”

Help? Help us? Hear us? They’re dying. Oliver. Azul. Turquesa.

His head echoed with the noise, and Chino clapped his hands to his ears.

Ow. Okay, no one was there, and no one was speaking out loud but him. “Where are you?”

Here. This time it was odd, an echo, but just the tiniest bit off. Here-here-here-ere-ere-ere.

He tilted his head. “Do you see me?”

You’re pretty. A warrior. We see.

Pretty? Right. Chino just needed a hairnet and a gold tooth to go full-on cholo. Well, maybe he dressed up better than that, but no one had accused Chino of being pretty.

“Where are you? I can help.”

Here. There was a twitch, a slither, and then two pairs of bright green eyes blinked at him from over the top of his pack.

Two. Whoa. If he hadn’t just come from Keon’s dragon’s den, he would have thought they were lizards. They weren’t. They were poquito dragons. Like his teammate Gig’s girl, like a feathered serpent, but these were teeny. Teeny and the color of sapphires.

Wow. He blinked. “Who’s dying, chicas?”

Oliver. Our Oliver and Azul and Turquesa.

Oliver. That was a nice, normal name, huh? Kinda old-fashioned. “Take me.”

They nodded together and began to move low over the desert, and he had to call to them. “Guys? Guys, hold up. Let me grab my stuff.”

They pulled up, hovering together and, Christ, their tails were twined around each other’s. Lord have mercy. They might melt a heart as frosty as his if he wasn’t careful.

Come? Please. They bobbed together, sharp little faces so eager.

“I said I would.” Reluctantly, he put out his fire by the simple means of dumping earth over it. No sense setting the damned desert on fire.

Fire fire fire. At our house there’s a fire. It was like singing, somehow.

They were like the Siamese cats in that Disney movie. The one about the dogs.

Hopefully less destructive than those cats. Somehow he doubted it, though. They emanated pure mischief. Worried mischief right now, so Chino shouldered his pack and waved. “You lead, I’ll follow.”

Follow!

They took off like fuck-starved jackrabbits, leading him deep into the desert. A man could die out here. Lots of men had. Hell, just knowing where to put his booted feet when it was night like this made him crazed. Arroyos loomed on both sides of him, cutting off his sight line.

A soft moan seemed to float up, the sound made of pure pain.

Oliver! The baby dragons screamed, sliding down into the arroyo to the left.

Chino changed direction abruptly, and went ass over teakettle down the side of the canyon wall. Ass over teakettle was one of Ice’s expressions, and now Chino knew what it meant. He came up hard against something that wasn’t a rock, but he didn’t get a chance to see what it was because two more feathered beasts — these guys aqua blue and glowing — were bashing at him with their little wings.

“Hey! Hey, come on. I’m trying to help. Ayudarte.” He tried Spanish, hoping they’d understand.

The wee sapphire dragons — who were glowing now too — got in between him and the pale ones.

We found him! We did! He’s ours to help! Oliver needs help!

“I can help.” Chino hoped. “Take me to Oliver so I can see what’s wrong.”

To his surprise the little ones began to giggle, the sound a touch insane. Beside you!

“Beside?” He turned, looking about, trying to understand what they meant.

Sure as hell, he was leaning against a body. A body. Shit.

Chino rolled up to his knees. “What the fuck?”

It was a shirtless redhead, pale as milk where the sun didn’t normally shine. What was this guy doing out here, in the night, with no gear? “You said there was a fire.”

At the house. Fiiiiiiiiiire. Warm.

The aqua dragons were fading, the light barely there. His sapphires ones were bright enough to see the way the guy’s foot was trapped under a fucking boulder.

“Shit.” Chino grabbed his emergency flashlight from his pack. It would give a little circle of light bright as daylight so he could see what he was doing. Then he grabbed his survival blanket and shook it out, covering the man. “We need to get you inside, buddy.”

A rock. A rock. A rock.

He was going to lose his mind with the random singing. He swallowed back nausea from the sudden headache and got to work clearing the smaller rocks surrounding the big one. Oh, man, he needed a lever.

“Big strong stick, guys. Need one.”

Stick. Azul. Turquesa. For Oliver.

The aqua dragons — who were about twice the size of the others — followed, tails brushing the ground. Poor babies looked exhausted.

Stick. Here. Together the four dragons brought him a piece of twisted cedar that could work for sure.

“Good job!” The praise made his dragons glow, but the aqua ones settled on the redheaded guy’s chest.

Oliver. His name was Oliver.

Dragon Alliance by Stephanie Burke #PNR #UrbanFantasy #GayRomance #NewRelease @changelingpress @Flashycat

Can Iffear and Vulwin survive the results of their mating?

 

Dragon Alliance (Dragon 2)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Genres/Themes: Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, Gay,
Elves Dragons & Magical Creatures, Magic, Shapeshifters

Iffear comes to Vulwin at his most vulnerable, but as their magical enemies and a plot to destroy the Dhrovish throne make themselves known, the newly mated couple find themselves drawing closer together in order to survive.

Get it Today at Changeling Press

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Stephanie Burke

“So, this is nice.” In his human skin, Vulwin, aka Win Arcarius, was an unmistakable albino black man with long, pale blond hair and bi-colored eyes that were to die for — or at least that was what his agent believed. He looked around his new quarters and gave them an approving smile.

He was tall, sleekly muscled with large eyes, one green eye and one silver, that peered out at audiences from a set of lashes so long they looked like they had to be fake. His cheekbones were high, his lips were full, his skin was an extremely pale tan, and his attitude, like his clothing, was fierce.

Beside him walked his proud mate, his dragon, who was wearing a tight, white tank top, a pair of tight denim jeans, and the most kick-ass pair of black riding boots that the world had ever seen. Probably because they were Dhrow-made and designed with his protection in mind.

In comparison, Win looked ready for the runway in his long, flowing red tunic and loose black pants. He was wearing black leather sandals on his feet and was resplendent in his gold jewelry… huge bangles on his wrists, several delicate chains in his ears, and rings on every finger and toe. He was a model in every sense of the word, and walking into this upscale tattoo shop and piercing parlor was guaranteed to bring traffic to a halt.

Strutting before them was a tiny black cat, Chinsie, who looked more of the human kind of pet than anything she looked like Under the Hill. Around her neck was a spiked collar of gold, and she moved with the same protective attitude she had presented before. She was a bad-ass and she knew it.

Once inside the small brownstone mansion, Chinsie took off like a shot to a bay window covered in plush silence pillows, obviously her spot in the shop front room, and perched herself like royalty.

“I thought you said you’d be gone for a month, bossman,” the short woman behind a tall glass counter said as she put down a sketch pad, looked up, and –”Well I’ll be damned.” Her mouth dropped open when Iffear reached out and grabbed Win’s hand.

“Plans change,” he offered, his voice deep and gravelly and still enough to put a shiver in Win’s loins. Was there ever a case of a creature passing on being in heat to another creature of a different species? He still didn’t know, but damn, he was feeling like he was in rut around his mate. “This is –”

“Win Arcarius,” the woman managed, eyes growing wide in shock. “Supermodel and spokesman for about a bazillion products. I’m sure you know you’re beautiful, but do you know how beautiful you are?” While she spoke, she not so secretly pulled her phone off the counter and began taking shots of them.

The smile that spread across Win’s lips was genuine as he pulled Iffear in closer. “Thank you.” His voice was accented in a way that most humans could not place, though the companies he represented loved it. “It’s nice of you to say so.”

At their close contact, the woman’s smile became a smirk. “Vacation, boss? Going to Europe for a month or so? So is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Mai,” Iffear groaned and Win smirked back at her. “What happened is none of your business.”

“Mai.” Win grinned. “I think I like your style.”

“Mai Wind,” she introduced herself, her purple-tipped afro adding height to her short stature. “Resident piercer and apprentice tattooist. And you better like my style. I’m wearing your name on my ass.” She hopped off her high stool and walked around to meet them, spinning around at the last minute to show the stylized WA on the back pocket of her pants. She turned to face them, holding out her hand as she drew closer. “And dare I pray you want to get your tongue pierced today? A nipple?” She pointed to his crotch. “Something in the lower region, perhaps?”

“I can’t take the time off from using my tongue to let it heal.” Win almost sounded disappointed as he shook her hand. “And if I can’t take the time to let my tongue heal, then anything lower is out of the question.”

“Ohh, kinky.” Mai chuckled before looking up at Iffear. “I hope he’s pulled you from your life of celibacy and popped your second virginity so you can stop being such a raging bitch.”

Win’s laughter was loud and obnoxious and he didn’t care. Talk about getting your roles reversed.

“Why do I like you?” Iffear snarked down at her, tapping her on the nose with his free hand. “And why haven’t I fired you yet?”

“Because I am the one who keeps your sorry ass organized. What would you do without me, boss?” She laughed, punching him lightly on the arm. “Like the time those drunk twin sorority girls –”

“So,” he spoke loudly over her, “This is my shop manager and main piercer, Mai Wind. She’s snarky.”

“I like snark.” Win chuckled.

“And Mai, this is Win Arcarius, my husband.”

 

Author Spotlight: Doris O’Connor #RomanceBooks #eroticromance #PNR #BDSM @mamaD8

I wanted to spotlight a very special lady today, Doris O’Connor. She’s written many series, as well as quite a few standalone books, in genres ranging from paranormal to scifi, contemporary and time travel, even BDSM, menage, F/F, and M/M romances. There was never a mountain Doris wasn’t ready to climb when it came to her writing, and she seemed to have that same determination and dedication in her personal life. While I only had the opportunity to speak with her online and via email, I consider myself blessed for having known her.

 

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Doris lost her battle with cancer this week, and she will be greatly missed. My heart is breaking for all who knew her, as well as her husband and nine children. Even those who never had the opportunity to meet Doris in person could see that she was always ready and willing to support those in the romance community, and she remained upbeat and optimistic, determined to conquer whatever obstacle lay in her path. She was one of the strongest women I’ve had the pleasure to know.

Doris was a prolific writer and has a large number of books available. If you’d like to check out all of the books written by Doris O’Connor, please visit her website.

I’ve selected a few of her titles to spotlight for this post, books I’ve read and enjoyed, but there are countless others if these aren’t quite what you’re looking for right now…

 

his prize doconnor

It’s the choice of her life—submit or die.

When Susie Elliot stumbles into the middle of a clean-up, undertaken by none other than Ellis Reynolds, she expects her life to be over. No-one disturbs this ruthlessly efficient killer and lives to tell the tale.

The man they call Ren has no time for tender feelings, but there is something about the curvaceous redhead that calls to him. Rather than killing her he claims her as his prize.

One night should be more than enough time to get her out of his system. However, Susie’s unwilling submission means Ren has to confront emotions, completely alien to him.

Killing is easy. This relationship thing is fraught with problems.

When his criminal activities catch up with him, loyalties are tested to the max, and Susie has another choice to make. Walk away or stay, and accept the darkness within.

Available now at Amazon  Amazon UK  Bookstrand   B&N 

 

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A nice hot, forbidden fling with her boss…what can possibly go wrong?

Jolie Pierson has lusted after her hot as hades boss forever, so when he finally takes notice of her, she can’t help but melt at his dominance. Besides, it would be rude to not give him a present on his birthday.

Richard Tomlin never dates the women at his office. However, when he realizes the sinfully curvy red head he’s been struggling to keep his hands off for ages is submissive…the gloves are off. This woman makes him forget all the rules and brings out his primitive instincts—to take, to devour, to mark her as his until everyone knows she belongs to him.

Jolie was ready to accept just one night of hot kinky sex, but when Richard pulls the boss card the very next morning, everything changes—she’s finally his.
Be Warned: BDSM, anal sex, sex toys, spanking, rimming

Available now from Evernight  Amazon  Amazon UK  
Bookstrand  B&N

 

bear project doconnor

When Animal conservationist Emmi Layne meets bad boy Cole Jackson there is no denying the instant lust between them. She has a thing for bears, after all.  However, you cannot build a relationship on awesome sex alone, especially when you live on different continents, and have nothing in common.

Everything changes, when Emmi discovers that their night of passion has left her with more than erotic memories. She has no means of contacting him, even if she wanted to, but she hasn’t counted on this bear shifter’s determination.

Cole is not what he seems, and he will stop at nothing to claim what’s his—even if that means breaking all the rules.

Can he trust the mating bond to deliver, or will it spell the end of an ancient blood line?

With the odds stacked against them, can this unlikely duo find happiness together?

Be Warned: rimming, spanking, anal sex, bondage

Available from Evernight  Amazon  Amazon UK  Bookstrand

 

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[Siren Classic: Erotic Paranormal Consensual BDSM Romance, shape-shifters, spanking, sex toys, HEA]

From the minute Ronan Bernhard roars into Tina Snowdon’s sleepy village on his Harley, he inhabits her thoughts and dreams. The inked mountain rescue biker is a sex-on-legs hunk, and her knickers aren’t the only ones that melt in a flash at his wicked smile.

Ronan, however, keeps his distance and simply becomes another client of her cleaning firm, until the morning she turns up and finds his cottage trashed, and her life is turned upside down.

Bear Shifter Ronan recognises his mate the minute he scents her. Having her clean for him means he can watch over her from afar, because to claim her as his mate and sub is out of the question.

As the village protector he has responsibilities he can’t ignore—duties that will place Tina in grave danger—even if she were able to accept not only his bear, but also his darker desires.

The morning she finds him injured, his bear takes over…          


Available at Bookstrand  Amazon  Amazon UK Barnes&Noble

 

If you would like to give your support to the O’Connor family during their time of sorrow, a multi-author anthology is being released on Valentine’s Day, with 100% of the proceeds going to Doris’ family.

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Ashton Grove MC is now on Audible! #audiobooks #shifters #romance #MCromance #bikerromance #PNR

agmcaudiocover

Available in Audiobook at:

Audible US / Audible UK / Audible FR / Audible DE / Amazon / iTunes 

 

Books one to four:  A motorcycle club has rolled into Ashton Grove, trying to make a place for themselves. For a motley crew of shifters, f—ing and fighting are just a way of life. But if there’s one thing they can’t stand, it’s anyone who abuses a woman.

Viper: When Viper sits down to a game of poker with the Red Devils MC, and their sergeant at arms tosses a woman in as his bet, Viper knows he has to win at all costs.

Axel: Axel Bloodmoon loves his life in the MC. Danger abounds and there’s lots of willing women to be had. But when he goes on a mission to rescue some abducted women, things don’t turn out quite as he’d planned. One sniff of Amelia and his cat is convinced she belongs to them. Stubborn beast!

Ghost: When Ghost realizes Shelly is being forced to sell her body, and that her pimp is a little too free with his fists, he realizes he can’t sit back and wait any longer. Charging in on his Harley, he swoops in, and rescues the damsel in distress. There’s only one problem. Who’s going to rescue him from her?

Crimson: When Crimson nearly loses Holly, he realizes that he will do anything to keep her by his side – and when a bear gets an idea in his head, he’ll stop at nothing to make it happen. What’s a love-struck shifter to do when his mate has cold feet?

 

Red Cloud Wolves by Kate Steele #interracial #WildWest #cowboyromance #PNR #werewolves @changelingpress @Kate27Steele

 

Lovers in the desert fight for their lives against legends,
wild men… and wolves.

 

Red Cloud Wolves (Red Cloud Wolves 4)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Renee George
Genres/Themes: Action Adventure, Paranormal, Wildest West,
Gay, Interracial, Werewolves
Length: Box Set

Almost a century ago Landon Jeffers was on the run from a posse determined to see him dance at the end of a noose when he made a discovery that would change his life forever. Landon’s dreams of desert’s riches morphed into images of moonlit nights, howling wolves and a man whose piercing black eyes turn to fire. A wild man who will tame his heart — a man named Dark.

Over the years legends have taken shape about wild men inhabiting the Grand Canyon — men who turn into wolves. Now Landon and Dark will need every bit of courage they possess to preserve the existence of the Moon Wolf. It’s up to them to stop a killer — one who’s been holding a grudge for a very, very long time…

Publisher’s Note: This box set contains the previously published novellas Silver Dreams, Night Gems, and Facets of Night.

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press

Also available in Paperback!

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Kate Steele
Excerpt from Silver Dreams

As was common in many saloons, the wall behind the bar shone with etched and polished mirror. Rows of glinting glass and bottles filled with whisky, rye, bourbon and the like marched along the low shelves built beside and beneath it. Lan sidled up to the bar and ordered a whiskey. With glass in hand he turned to admire the sight before him. Now this, he mused, feels just like home.

It wasn’t long before he was concentrating on the tables where card games were in progress. At one such table, a man rose. Tipping his hat at those assembled, he walked out of the bar. Another man seated there, at least part Spanish by the look of him, caught Lan’s eye and with a short move of his head indicated the empty seat. Lan sent him an answering nod and joined the other players. Seating himself with little fanfare, he bought into the game, was dealt his first hand and the play began.

For the first couple of hours the game went well. He won his share of hands and had a nice stack of chips in front of him. His fellow players were all obviously experienced but unaware of the fact that they were giving away their hands in subtle ways. As the game progressed Lan was learning their tells. One player would narrow his right eye just a bit when bluffing. Another would tug the corner of his mustache when he had a good hand. Ever so slowly, small bits of body language began to betray each players’ mood and if he held good cards or bad.

One of the bargirls had taken a shine to Lan and made frequent stops at his table. Susie waited on Lan before anyone else and gave him sweet come-hither smiles and meaningful looks from big brown eyes. She also managed to show him quite a bit of her bosom in the process. Lan gracefully bore her attention, not about to enlighten her in this roomful of strangers that he preferred his partners a hell of a lot more flat-chested. And male. This pretty girl was sporting all the wrong equipment to engage Lan’s interest, unlike the fresh-faced cowboy across the table. Lan could definitely see himself letting that beefy, blond-haired, young man ride his cock. Putting those thoughts aside, Lan kept his mind firmly on the game.

It was in the early hours of the morning that the trouble began. Lan had begun to suspect it for quite sometime but the last hand had proved it for sure. The duded up swell who acted like he owned the place was cheating. Lan threw his cards in before the hand began and started to gather his money in spite of the protests around him.

“I got nothing against losing, but I won’t play with a cheat,” he told them. His words brought a quiet hush to the table.

“Who are you accusing of cheating?” the dude asked.

“That’d be you.”

The man sat there bold as brass and slowly nodded his head. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

Around the table chairs were pushed back. The tension quickly spread to the neighboring tables until they had an audience looking on with anticipation and dread.

“Would that make a difference?”

“The name’s Roger Coburn.”

“And that should mean what to me?”

“My brother is Daniel Coburn, Marshal of Calico. We own this town.”

Lan felt a slight frisson of dismay which he more than adequately hid behind his calm demeanor. Every nerve in his body was trying to dance with the rising stress that winged through his veins and tightened each muscle in tiny, nearly invisible increments. This situation was far from unfamiliar but he didn’t carry a gun for show. With composure only the best of his breed could exhibit, Lan put his life on the line.

“Do tell. Well, Mr. Coburn, where I come from a man wins at cards with luck and skill, not by intimidation and most definitely not by cheating. I don’t give a damn who you are. No double dealing braggart is lining his pockets with my money.” Lan rose to leave.

Across the table, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, Roger Coburn stood. His chair tipped back and fell. There were screams. Men and women scrambled to get out of the way. A gun appeared in Coburn’s hand as he drew it from his holster. Without stopping to think about it, Lan answered the threat. Two revolvers fired. One found its target, the other didn’t. Coburn gasped and grabbed his middle, blood blossoming and spreading against his shirt in a flood of red. With a look of astonished disbelief on his face, he fell to the side, dead before he hit the floor.

Landon didn’t need any encouragement to get moving. Smoking gun in hand, he grabbed his money up. Keeping a wary eye on those around him, he crossed the floor and was out the door and gone. He didn’t question the need for haste or the need to run. That Coburn had had the bald-faced gall to expect his cheating to be overlooked just because his brother was the town marshal boded ill. From the sound of it, this wasn’t the first such incident. Apparently the marshal backed his brother. More than likely he wouldn’t take kindly to someone killing the man, even if it had been a fair fight.

Walking swiftly to the hotel and entering, he took the stairs two at a time. Once in his room, he stuffed his belongings back in his saddlebags and was back outside in seconds flat heading for the livery stable.

Cursing the darkness, he fumbled in his saddlebags for matches and lit one just inside the stable doors. A lantern hung nearby and he lit the wick then made his way down the line of stalls, quickly finding his horse and tack. The roan gelding blew and stamped, disgruntled at being disturbed but he held steady while Lan got him saddled and bridled. Around him the other horses answered with low whickers. After adjusting his gear, reins in hand, Lan led his horse to the doors and replaced the lantern after carefully extinguishing the flame.

Heart pounding, he paused and listened. In the distance he could hear shouting. Without wasting another second, he was out the door, leading his horse. It was still dark and he wasn’t about to risk injury to the roan. Taking his bearings, he started in an easterly direction and was soon out of town. So far there was no sound of pursuit. The ground rose steadily as he went. Glancing back he could see lights flitting around town like fireflies. They were searching for him.

Grimly, Landon turned his back and kept walking. When the sun rose high enough to make the landscape visible, he mounted up and headed east, intending to put a lot of miles between himself and Calico.

 

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“I want to improve.” This has become my mantra. I think of my authorial skills as a work in progress. I began with no formal training and no degree, just a need to tell a story. I hope, as time goes by, my ability as a teller of tales will improve to the point where, from beginning to end, the reader can immerse her/himself in the world I’ve created, live, laugh and cry with the characters born of my imagination and emerge satisfied and hopefully even happy with the experience.

As for the boring details, I revel in the quiet life of rural Indiana with family and pets. When not writing I read, garden (battle with weeds) and on warm summer nights sit on the front porch to watch Mother Nature’s fireworks. I think fireflies are pretty and pretty amazing, don’t you?

Feel free to direct questions, complaints or compliments (fingers crossed) to katesteele27@yahoo.com or visit my website at www.katesteele.com.

 

PRET OPS by EmmaRay Garrett #SecondEdition #PNR #Vampires #Werewolves @changelingpress

Even on the toughest op, there’s always time for love.
If you don’t get killed first.

 

Pret Ops (Pret Ops 5)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Renee George
Genres/Themes: Action Adventure, Paranormal, Bisexual and More,
Shapeshifters, Werewolves, Vampires
Length: Box Set

This collection contains the previously released Pret Ops novellas FamiliarWarWolfInfiltrator, and Identity.

In a world where preternaturals work behind the scenes to keep men and supermen safe, the Recondite Corps is the CIA, FBI, and Armed Services all in one.

Familiar: In the wilderness of Siberia, the past will resurrect itself and secrets will be exposed. There’s only one way to defeat The Veil, but can Stas and Nat do it, alone?

WarWolf: All Jeremiah has to do is convince Joshua that in order to stop the mounting violence between the human mob and the Heteroclites, they’ll need the help of the only female the Ascendant vampire can’t forget.

Infiltrator: Brian O’Connor has been in the office too damn long. Rescuing the President’s daughter from guerillas sounds like the perfect op: a little action, a little fresh air, an exotic locale.

Identity: After building the newest branch of the Corps, Cyber Operations, John and Cole Marshall are ready for a real test of their new unit’s skills. Being called in to track down a stalker turned murderer targeting one of their own sounds right up Cy Ops’ alley.

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Emma Ray Garrett
Excerpt from Pret Ops 3: Infiltrator

Charlie groaned, lifting a hand to her aching forehead. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into now?” The sickening pound in her skull didn’t provide an answer.

Charlene Thompson, First Daughter, was stuck in a shit hole, somewhere near the equator based on the oppressive heat, with no idea who’d cracked her on the skull and brought her to this place. It was safe to assume it had to do with her father and/or politics, but beyond that…

The acrid smell of wood smoke and the sickly sweet stench of decomposing plants clogged her nostrils. Her skin felt grimy, sticky, where sweat had partially dried and mixed with the dirt of the floor beneath her. Charlie ached for a hot bath for about a half a second. You can bathe when you’re free.

Weak sunlight drifted in through tiny, irregular holes cut high into the walls of the room. Her vision blurred and her stomach pitched, but Charlie choked down the bile. Blinking to clear her sight, she struggled to her feet. Her entire body protested each movement, but Charlie fought through the pain and staggered to the nearest wall.

She stood on weak legs, breathing slowly, and pressed her shoulder to the wall, completely focused on staying upright. She stayed there for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes. Finally, the thumping in her skull ebbed to a dull throb and the triple vision cleared to a muzzy, but coherent, single sight.

“Now what?” Charlie looked around the dimly lit space. A wooden door faced her, but she didn’t see any handle or knob. “Great.”

From outside she heard voices speaking, though she couldn’t make out the words. The rapidity of the speakers’ cadence reminded her of Spanish. Having grown up in New Mexico, and despite the situation she was in, the sound of the language comforted her.

The earthen room blocked out the dialogue. Thinking the door might offer better eavesdropping, Charlie straightened from the wall and made her way toward it. Getting there took all the strength she’d mustered and she slipped to the floor beside the rickety entrance. The voices outside weren’t much clearer, but the depth of the tones suggested the speakers were probably male. She caught a word here or there, but three she heard distinctly gave her hope. Rio Orinoco and transportamos. The first words signified the Orinoco River, in northeast Venezuela, and the second suggested they were transporting something.

“Probably me.” Knowing where she was gave Charlie a sense of control. She’d never been to continental Venezuela, but she’d enjoyed the islands off the coast more than once.

She forced her sore brain to think about her college geography. The Orinoco River was one of the longest in South America. Her memory wasn’t the best, but she hoped they were in the Lower Orinoco, near the delta and the Atlantic Ocean. Based on the humidity, it was quite likely. It was possible she was somewhere in the plentiful mangrove forests, the swamps, of the country.

Charlie held onto her hope. Even if she were in the middle of a swamp, she’d rather escape and take her chances with Mother Nature than stay here and wait. Tensions between the States and Venezuela hadn’t been the best for more than twenty years. However, a lot of the country was urbanized. If she could escape, and make her way out of the jungle, if that’s where she was, she had a good chance of getting home.

The voices outside grew louder, approaching footsteps launching her heart into her throat. She couldn’t afford to let her captors know she was awake. Without thinking, Charlie scrabbled away from the door, flopping onto the floor and closing her eyes. Something scraped against the wood and the door opened.

Though her blood pounded, Charlie stilled her breathing to soft, shallow expulsions and inhalations. She rolled her eyes beneath her lids, the action stilling any fluttering that might give away her cognizant state. The footsteps moved closer and she felt a hard, round object pressing into her back. She didn’t react and her visitor shoved at her deeper.

When she remained unresponsive, he must have been satisfied. With a grunt, he shuffled away, the sound of rubber soles on dirt sending relief surging through her body. The door closed with a squeak and a thump and Charlie had to stifle a sob. She had no doubt the man had nudged her with a gun.

“What have you done, Dad?” Anger at her father gave her strength, but Charlie couldn’t sustain it. She needed to formulate a plan of escape. Whether her father was involved or not, Charlie knew it was up to her to get free. Waiting on the US government for a rescue wasn’t an option.

She got up slowly and crawled back to the door. She pressed her ear to it, listening, learning. More and more words became clear, and Charlie felt the beginnings of a plan form.

 

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“…and I — I took the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”

-The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost

The last line from award-winning author Emma Ray’s favorite poem pretty much sums up her life. Her tendency to do her own thing is what her friends and family love best, and least, about her. Chaos is a constant in the Garrett home, which currently houses her intelligent, energetic children, a devoted husband, a very large, very lazy, white tom-cat, a very crazy, very small black cat, and a very happy, very healthy rescue pooch — who’s black and white.

Other books by Emma Ray Garrett

 

A Year and a Day by Willa Okati #GayRomance #NewRelease #PNR @changelingpress @willaokati

 

Three stories of heartbreak, passion, and magic in the mountains of Appalachia.

 

A Year and A Day (A Year and A Day 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Paranormal, Gay, Second Chance

 

A Year and a Day: Nothing is going to stand in Slate’s way when it comes to getting his lover Ash back. He plans on using unfamiliar magics to call Ash back to his side — but magic always comes at a cost.

Unspoken: Once a famous vocalist, Ian has become mute for reasons no doctor can explain. At a low point, Ian encounters a strange man in his garden — a wandering musician, like the bards of old times. Andy teaches Ian love itself is one of the greatest forms of expression.

The Letter: It’s been hard, but Luke and Brandon have decided to part so Luke can follow his New York dreams. The lovers question that decision when they discover a chest of letters in their attic containing details of their relationship down to the last moment — except these letters were written in 1948. Should they reconsider their choices? The answer is in the final letter…

 

Get it at Changeling Press

also available in paperback

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Willa Okati
Excerpt from A Year and a Day

Six o’clock in the morning, and the sun was just beginning to glow over the horizon. Faint whispers of red and pink light crept through Slate’s bedroom window, painting stained-glass pictures on his ceiling. He lay awake on top of the covers, staring at them. “You know, there’s folk who say they see the face of the Virgin Mary in a squash,” he said out loud, to himself. “Wonder if I look hard enough, I’ll see my lover’s face in the sunlight?”

He snorted. Fool’s dreams. A year since Ash had died, and he still woke up every morning expecting to see that tousled dark head lying on the pillow next to his. Every night, he dreamed of the two of them in that same bed, arms and legs tangled around each other, limbs straining as they made love. Slate let his eyes flutter half-shut, imagining he could feel Ash’s strong young hands skating over his skin, laughing about measuring him by spans. He licked his lips, fancying he might be able to taste the salt.

No. Nothing. Just his own flavor, that of a man who’d brushed and swished before falling on top of his bed sometime around three a.m. Sterile, minty, lonely as hell. He’d trade any number of fresh morning breaths for one kiss from Ash, breaking apart to laugh about who ate what the night before.

No more kisses from Ash, anymore. No more anything.

The sunlight grew stronger, stretching across Slate’s ceiling. In times past, he’d have had a rooster out back, lord of the coops, standing on top of the henhouse and letting out a mighty crow. There were those who said that was an old wives’ tale, but they hadn’t met the ugly old beast he and Ash owned.

He’d sold that critter not long after… after… Well, mornings were hard enough to face. Almost as bad as the nights. Daylight meant another night without sleep, meant another day to get through without his lover.

Turning on his side, he stretched one arm across the smooth expanse of made-up covers beside him, not mussed in the least. Blankets tucked in smoothly, pillow plump and fat. Ash’s side of the bed. A year to the day, and he wasn’t able to bear sleeping in the middle, or even crossing sides of the bed. He had tried, once. Lain in Ash’s place, hoping he’d have a good dream.

Hadn’t worked. He’d seen that day in the barn over and over inside his mind, so crystal clear in his thoughts as if it were happening all over again. Ash, gasping for air. Ash, falling. Himself, down on the hard-packed dirt, Brown Sugar getting all agitated and kicking her stall. Finally remembering to call 911.

Firemen. Paramedics. His friend Marianne and her lover Zillah trying to draw him aside, and when he wouldn’t go, being muscled back by two big, strong men in yellow suits. Sinking down on a bale of feed and feeling their soft, womanly hands on his back, his shoulders, trying their damnedest to soothe. He hadn’t paid them a bit of mind. Everything in him had been focused on Ash, lying so still… so still…

Someone in a uniform had come to talk to him after a spell. He could still remember the man’s words, letter-perfect. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kincaid. Slate. He’s young, but best as we can tell he had a heart attack before he fell. It does happen to some men this young. Do you know if he had any congenital heart defects?”

Slate had shaken his head, baffled. “No… not Ash… he was fine. Never said a word about anything wrong with him.”

“He might not have,” the uniform allowed. “The fall did break his neck, though. There’ll have to be an autopsy –”

There Slate had lunged up from where he sat, raging at the man telling him this news in a voice schooled to be soft and sympathetic. Liar. He hadn’t felt a damn thing. “You’re not cuttin’ him up.”

Marianne and Zillah had managed to drag Slate back into a sitting position, and they’d held him there. Strong for women, they were. “I’m sorry for your loss,” was all the uniform had said, before he went back to the scene of the… where Ash lay, cooling off in the dirt.

Slate hadn’t cried then. He still hadn’t, one year later. His eyes burned with the need to, but no matter how many times his lady friends offered their shoulder, he hadn’t been able to coax out a single drop.

Grieve, they’d told him. You have to mourn him, Slate. Otherwise you’ll never be able to let go.

Damn them. He didn’t want to let go. And as long as he had reminders, he wouldn’t have to.

Rolling over again, he reached out to touch the leaves of a pretty plant on his bedside table. Glossy green leaves shaped like hearts, bell-like flowers. Foxglove. Digitalis. “You did have a heart problem,” he whispered. “And you didn’t tell me. I think I might just hate you a bit for that, Ash. Always had to be messin’ around with your herbal medicaments. So sure you had it under control.” His hand tightened into a fist. “Didn’t you know you can’t fix something like this without goin’ under the knife? Did you really think your herbs and your potions would fix it all? Damn you, lover. Why didn’t you tell me?”

But as when he’d asked those questions, every single morning as he rose out of his bed, there were no answers. There wouldn’t be, either. Dead men didn’t talk.
No matter how much one might want them to.

Ash’s radio kicked on as the time ticked over to six-fifteen. Dimly, Slate knew he should have been getting up, too, but damned if he could find the energy to rise. Still fondling a leaf of the foxglove between his fingers, he listened to good old Patsy Cline singing about how she was crazy, crazy for feeling so blue. He thought — not crazy at all. It’s hell to be by yourself when you were promised forever.

He closed his eyes and remembered a certain morning when Ash had been the first to wake. Slate had still been asleep, drowsing past the sunlight’s first peek into the sky. Normally he was the one to rise earliest, but not this time. He remembered Ash’s warm arms sliding across him, the man molding himself to Slate’s side. They’d been playing Elvis that morning. “Love me tender,” Ash had sung into Slate’s ear, following it up with a nip to the lobe, then soothing the sting with the tip of his tongue. “Love me true…”

“And I do,” Slate had said. “Come here and give me a kiss.”

Ash had folded gladly into his arms. They were young and horny; it hadn’t been long before they’d been writhing against one another, hard cocks bumping together. He’d come just from the feeling of his lover on top of him, so desperate for him that neither of them had been able to wait.

Now, he woke in the same clothes he’d laid down in, on top of the covers instead of beneath them. Woke, if he’d slept at all, which to be frank, he hadn’t. Is this grief? he wondered. Is this mourning? The women push, push, pushed at him. But he had to deal with things in his own time, at his own pace.

Besides, he had some secret, certain plans they didn’t know about…

 

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

You can reach Willa at willaokati@gmail.com.

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