Wanderer’s Rest by Emily Carrington #shifters #GayRomance #PNR #NewRelease @CarringtonEmily @changelingpress

 

When Michael mates with a lusty hawk shifter he knows it’s for life.
But Garrett has other plans……

 

Wanderer's Rest (A Pack of His Own 3)

 

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Dark Fantasy, Paranormal, Gay, Shapeshifters, Werewolves

 

When Michael has sex with a lusty hawk shifter, he thinks they’re mated for life. However Garrett isn’t one of Michael’s people, and he doesn’t understand the traditions — and very real consequences — that go with having a good time in bed.

Will their forced mating ruin their lustful desires, or feed the flames instead?

Publisher’s Note: This book is part of a series, and is best read in order.

 

Get it at Changeling Press

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Emily Carrington

Michael stood in the doorway to the bedroom where the unmated wolves of the eros pack to which he belonged slept. An eros pack was different from a straight one. The latter was, traditionally, composed of straight wolves who were full citizens, and LGBTQ, psychic wolves who were not. Eros packs had originally been invented to establish a place where psychic werewolves could be equals.

Michael scowled down at the body. His mind was taken up with werewolf history — namely description of packs — because he didn’t want to think about the task ahead: finding the assassin. Outside, the second or third snow of January was falling, but in here it was hot and the heat boosted the stench of blood, shit, and urine.

The wolf lying on the floor hadn’t been killed here. The drag marks left in the carpet were all too evident. So, the question was: where had he been killed? And who had murdered him?

Michael found himself praying that the murderer was from outside the Rowan pack even though the placement of the body made that unlikely. If the culprit was from within the Rowan pack —

But Michael cut off the thought cleanly there. This wasn’t the Rowan eros pack any longer. Rowan Alec was just over six months dead. This pack had no leader besides Michael, Rowan Alec’s beta, and no name except “formerly known as the Rowan pack.”
The artist formerly known as Prince. In spite of the situation, Michael smiled. It wasn’t as if he’d liked the wolf who had died. A troublemaker and an upstart, Joseph had been a thorn in Michael’s side even when Rowan Alec still lived. Too submissive to be a serious threat to most of the dominant wolves, Joseph had always been starting fights with the wolves ahead of him and the ones just beneath him in the pecking order.

Well, now someone had ended his troublesome existence and Michael wasn’t sorry to see him gone. But death in the pack meant danger, and he would not see this pack — Alec’s pack — fall apart. And besides, he thought as he began to follow the drag trail toward the back of the Rowan pack’s large, single story house, someone deserved to pay for Joseph’s death.

The trail of blood and other bodily fluids led outside. Michael trudged, barefoot and uncaring, into the snow. About three dozen steps from the house, close to the fence at the back of the property, he found the killing ground. It was mashed snow and mud, blood and gore. Michael couldn’t fathom why those who had killed Joseph had bothered to move his body into the house. After all, this was just as good a place for a corpse as any.

Unless, he thought, they wanted me to find it when I came in to do my daily check on Henry. The most submissive of Michael’s wolves, Henry had been slipping away little by little over the past half a year. Spending as much time on four paws as on two feet, Henry had been fired from his job for missing too much work. He’d stopped bathing on a regular basis and there was an unhealthy dullness to his fur. Michael had taken it upon himself to check on Henry every day when getting home shortly after five, and he usually found the submissive in the bedroom shared by the five — well, now four — unmated wolves.

Actually, there were still five, Michael being the fifth. But he’d reluctantly taken over Rowan Alec’s bedroom. Not because he thought he deserved it but because it was the expected thing. Rowan Alec had been unmated, but as alpha it was his prerogative to have his own room. And since Michael had stepped into Rowan Alec’s place, it had made sense to take over his space as well.

Maybe —

“I love you.”

— unmated by choice. Michael was disturbed by the thought that his alpha had loved him. Maybe it shouldn’t bother him now that Rowan Alec was gone but it did. Not because Michael wasn’t attracted to male wolves; he was aroused by both genders. But because, frankly, Rowan Alec had been too dominant to be Michael’s type.

Forcing himself back to the present, Michael scented around the killing ground until he discovered the identities of the two wolves who had teamed up to kill Joseph. They were wolves in the Rowan — in Michael’s pack, and he sighed. He would have to deal with them. He needed to find out why they’d killed Joseph. They were just above him in the hierarchy. Surely no matter how offensive Joseph hadn’t deserved the ignoble fate of being set upon by two wolves more powerful than he. Any fight that had reached killing level should have been brought to Michael to settle.

I hope none of our neighbors saw the murder. Especially since Joseph was in human form when he was killed. Michael would have to call in professionals, SearchLight operatives, to clean up any loose ends, meaning humans who had seen too much. At least I know the right SearchLight agent to call.

Michael trudged back toward the house after considering the killing ground for another moment and deciding he’d have to ask the cleanup crew to take care of that as well. The only good thing was that the wolves who had killed Joseph weren’t in the house. Michael wouldn’t have to deal with them until they got home.

Assuming they come home. He sighed. That was a bit of food he wouldn’t chew until he had to.

He found himself wishing those specific wolves would do something stupid and force either SearchLight or Firos William, leader of all North American werewolves, to end their miserable existences. Just so I don’t have to kill two friends.

 

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Emily Carrington has been writing m/m erotic romance (specializing in urban fantasy) since 2010. She is currently branching out into the other letters of the LGBTQ rainbow. She lives in Maryland with her guide dog. For short stories about the main and side characters in her books, please visit her website.

Website: emilycarrington.com/

Goodreads: goodreads.com/author/show/4619715.Emily_Carrington

Facebook: facebook.com/emily.carrington.370

Twitter twitter.com/CarringtonEmily

Blood Oath by Kira Stone #vampires #PNR #NewRelease #GayRomance @changelingpress

 

Unexpected consequences arise when a new
Vampire Lord is selected to endure the Blood Oath…

 

Blood Oath (Vampire Magic 5)

 

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Renee George
Genres/Themes: Dark Fantasy, Paranormal, Dark Desire,
Gay, Interracial, Vampires

 

In Taggert’s Bend, the vampires love to hate the magical tricksters, and the witches hate to love the unnatural beasts. So, to keep the feuding to a minimum, the blood drinkers refrain from dining on the magicians as long as the gifted spellcasters occasionally share with them a fraction of their natural charms.

Blending the essence of the natural and unnatural has unexpected consequences when a new Vampire Lord is selected to endure the Blood Oath. Each attempt to successfully conclude the Oath only creates more chaos. Will these powerful enemies conclude the spell before an evil they fear more than each other consumes them all?

Publisher’s Note: This collection contains the previously published novellas Blood PriceBlood MagicA Marked Man, andBlood Oath.

 

Get it at Changeling Press

also available in paperback

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Kira Stone
Excerpt from Blood Magic

Lord Rainer Allen surveyed the action in the steam room. Naked, writhing bodies adorned almost every surface, perhaps twenty in total. Any one of them could be his sex partner. All he had to do was beckon, and they’d come running. Just thinking about it made him hard.

That’s where he had to stop. At thinking about it. To act on his urges would be foolish in the extreme.

Kassian nudged him with a toe. “See anything you like?” The vampire lay on his side, one leg bent up to give Rainer a good look at his nine-inch cock as he stroked it to fullness.

“Nothing I’m dying to have.” Rainer preferred men to women. He’d made no secret of it, but his openness sometimes worked against him. Kassian had been trying to seduce him since he’d transferred in from Eastern Europe. Seventy-four years was one heck of a long time to continually reject a very tempting offer.

“Liar.”

“I’d be using them, and possibly hurting them in the process. They deserve better treatment than that.”

“Use me. I don’t mind a little pain.”

Sebastian’s arrival prevented Rainer from having to answer. The blond perched on the stone bench next to his husky lover. “I see you started without me.” He took over the stroking.

Kassian put his hands behind his head and interlaced his fingers, his eyes on Rainer as Sebastian turned putty into stone. “What took you so long?”

“Door alarm went off.” Sebastian kissed the inside of his lover’s knee.

Rainer watched the landscape of the black leather stretched across the blond’s lap change from a plateau to a mountain peak. Kassian alone was dangerous enough to Rainer’s self-control. When joined by his rough and ready live-in lover, the combination was kryptonite against his inner strength. Each time it got harder to resist their enticement. Tonight he might be foolish enough, and desperate enough, to take them up on it.

Hoping there was a crisis brewing so he’d have an excuse to dodge them a few more hours, Rainer asked, “Problem?”

“No, just a neophyte who couldn’t tell his ass from a hole in the wall. He’s so fresh out of the grave he still triggered the mortal buzzer.”

Kassian lowered the zipper of Sebastian’s pants, exposing a long white column of rigid flesh. “You should’ve taken the time to show him around. Maybe by then I’d have had Rani talked into fucking us.”

Rainer stiffened in more ways than one. “No. Not going to happen. End of subject.” His denial probably would have carried more weight if he hadn’t been drooling over the sight of Seb’s cleanly shaven balls. Kass was one lucky vamp to have such a fine lover in his bed every night.

Sebastian knelt beside Rainer, brushing against his arm. Rainer closed his eyes, both fearing and desperately eager for whatever the young vampire would do next.

A velvet soft caress of his nipple sent a shaft of heat to his groin. Again and again, the head of Seb’s cock rubbed over his sensitive nubbin. Rainer sat on the stone bench, boneless, and let him toy with danger.

“Let us fuck you, Rainer. We know how to take care of you. It’ll be okay, I promise.”

“No.” But the word meant nothing. Even as he spoke, his traitorous hand was gliding up the back of Sebastian’s thigh. He grabbed the blond’s firm, rounded buttock and guided him into a faster rhythm as the youthful vamp continued to fuck Rainer’s masculine tit. Such a little thing, but it was more than he’d permitted any other being to do in a long, long time. It felt so good.

And it was, oh, so wrong.

Rainer pushed Sebastian away. “Stop. No more.”

Kassian approached from the other side. He cupped Rainer’s straining shaft. Just holding it in his cool fist. Rainer fought against the strong urge to thrust through it as Kass said, “Trust us. Seb did some research on the Blood Oath and its effect on Vampire Lords. He has it all figured out.”

“Something’ll go wrong,” Rainer protested. “It always does.”

“We know the risks and accept them.”

Sebastian scooped Rainer’s black hair away from his neck, exposing his throat. He placed dry kisses along the cords of muscle he found there.

Danger!

No shit. Rainer didn’t need his inner guard dog to warn him of impending doom. If they pressed on, someone was going to get hurt. His friends might accept the risks, but he couldn’t. He refused to endanger them just because he was tired of his hand being the only one to jerk him off.

“Enough, guys. Stop. I mean it.” Rainer stood up, moving out of their range. He looked ridiculous given the way his erect penis jutted out. Nothing he could do about that here.

Kassian swore in a language so old that very few who heard the words would be able to translate them. “You’re a coward, Rani. I really thought you had bigger balls.”

Sebastian, equally frustrated, drummed his heels against the stone bench. “You don’t trust us.”

Seb had it wrong. It was the beast inside himself that Rainer didn’t trust. The Blood Oath he’d taken upon becoming a lord was both a blessing and a curse. The rite had imbued him with mystical powers which gave him more tolerance for sunlight, allowed him to consume less blood and heightened his senses, among other benefits.

The downside of the oath was that no one, not vampire or mortal, could withstand prolonged exposure to his bodily fluids, nor he to theirs. He had no choice but to obey its demands, a slave to its requirements above and beyond his own. If he didn’t heed the warning, he’d black out for hours, as long as a whole day. Those who tried to cheat the system too many times risked death, the kind a vampire could not recover from.

The single exception was to find the one person nature had assigned as his mate. His soul mate. The one person in a world of billions who could tolerate his touch. His kiss. His intimate embrace. One person Rainer knew didn’t exist in Taggart’s Bend.

And because he’d let his friends tempt him into thinking the oath could be circumvented, however briefly, he was going to have a raging hard-on for the rest of the night. He was angry, lonely and horny as hell.

He rounded on his companions, determined to get the message across so they would stop trying to cheat the system and accept his limitations. “If trust and desire were enough, Seb, you’d be on your back right now with my cock buried so deep inside you it’d tickle your nose. If affection meant anything, I’d be begging Kassian to suck me until I came so hard he’d choke on it.”

Even a simple kiss posed considerable risk. A tongue-tangling, soul-sucking kiss. He missed the intimacy of those more than all the rest combined. Another admission Sebastian and Kassian wouldn’t understand so he didn’t bother to make it.

He pushed the thoughts of unfulfilled desires aside and finished what he had to say. “If you care for me at all, help me look for the one person in the whole freaking world who isn’t poison to me instead of spending your considerable brain power on how you can circumvent it.”

The room was very quiet when he got done talking. He glanced around and realized he’d been shouting. None of the witnesses to his outburst would meet his eye, except for a lone figure hovering at the archway leading out of the hot moist chamber. A face he didn’t recognize. Rainer stared at him until he turned his back and walked out.

Fuck. Rainer started toward another exit leading to the dressing area.

Kass continued to peel his lover out of his leather encasement as if nothing untoward had been said. “Where are you going, Rani?”

He needed some time alone, a distraction. Anything to get his mind off his raging erection. “To find the ingénue. Maybe he’ll have a problem I can solve.”

 

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Kira Stone lives in a warm cave tucked away in the remote Scottish Highlands, where a small band of ever-changing heroes serves as company. As they relax in front of a roaring fire, demons dance in leather pants and angels stroke tunes from the harp strings, while the Fae stop in to share tales from other worlds. Bound by pen and imagination, these are the folk who wait to greet you from the pages of Kira’s stories.

The who and what of Kira in this more mundane world is not what turns you on, but the words sure do – so go discover the passion that awaits you between the covers of every Kira Stone book…

Website: www.kirastonebooks.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/#!/profile.php?id=100001644394480&ref=ts
Email: kirastone@gmail.com

 

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

 

He is Vulwin Valas — The Silver Prince.
Heir to the Dhrovish throne, strategist, warrior… model?

 

Dragon Stone (Dragon 1)

 

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

 

His Shining Majesty, King of the Dhrovish Throne, has one son, the Silver Prince Vulwin Valas who is a prince, a strategist, a warrior, and a… model?

In the human world, Prince Vulwin Valas is known as Win Arcarius, openly gay, very promiscuous, and one of the most highly sought-after models ever. To the Fae Realms, he is known as the Silver Shadow, the King’s assassin, and someone not to be crossed.

A routine visit home suddenly becomes more complicated, and Vulwin finds himself with a new mate, a new enemy, and a future he never considered before with… a dragon.

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

 

Get it from Changeling Press

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Stephanie Burke

Vulwin would have never noticed the male if it hadn’t been for the cat.

Really, in this age of mass hysteria about the agents of evil, who was brave enough to walk around with a cat in tow? And not only that, the cat was huge, black, and definitely noticeable.

The second thing he noticed was the chains around the male’s wrists, waist, and neck — rather his corded waist, very thick wrists, and a neck that was exposed due to his lack of hair.

He didn’t have a chance to contemplate this event further because his king, with a boding voice, bade him approach. He entered the audience chamber and ignored the massive set of silver doors that slammed shut behind him.

“I see you have returned to us from the realm of man.” The king eyed him from the top of his tousled hair to his bare feet. “Unscathed?”

Vulwin nodded, standing tall before his king. “That I have, Your Shining Majesty.” Vulwin wanted to smirk at the man, indeed he did, but common sense prevailed and he contained his amusement at this old familiar back and forth.

“Strip.” The order was given negligently as the king turned to speak to one of his many advisors.

Vulwin looked around the chamber. Some things never changed. His king’s pet crows still perched along the rafters of the dimly lit room. A mixture of candles and old fashioned gas lights gave the whole chamber a yellow tinge, while burning incense took away that odd smell that filled the chambers because of the gas lights.

This audience chamber was dominated by the huge circular throne platform. It stretched along the back wall, its concave design dominating the small room. In the center sat the highest chair, the throne of the king, draped in furs and embroidered silks given as tribute from faraway lands. On either side of the throne sat two chairs, one for each of His Majesty’s advisors who helped him maintain peace and order in the realms.

Knowing that he would be ignored until he complied, Vulwin let go of the human glamour he wore, his long, pale gold hair disappearing with a subtle flow of light, lengthening until it became the knee-length silvery white that helped lend him his second name, Valas — silver in the old tongue.

As the light passed over his body, it took along with it his human skin tone — the pale gold that humans called albino and that his human manager found attractive — and in its place his natural skin bled through.

Valas was proud of his skin tone, black as the starry night with a tracery of brilliant stars that gleamed when the light hit it just so. Others called his complexion speckled, the mark of a blessed child, and with his easy life he tended to agree with those old tales. No one else in the realm had skin like his and he was proud to show it off, a little miffed that his current assignment had him hiding it from prying eyes, but content to be smug about it when he was summoned to make his periodic trips home.

Removing the glamour was but the first step. With a wave of earth magic, he conjured from the floor a low table that sprouted forth like a small tree. It grew to about waist height and then Vulwin began to carefully remove the jewelry that adorned his body, starting with the delicate chains and hoops of gold that swung daintily from his long, pointed ears.

Unlike other Fae, the Dhrovish could be identified in an instant from the long, arching ears that rose up majestically from the sides of their heads. It was a point of pride to sport the most perfectly arched ears and the Dhrovish adorned them properly to show off their shape. He knew that Elvhenkind often looked down upon the Dhrovish for their midnight complexions and their large, ungainly ears, but he thought they were overcompensating for their lack by harping on the subject. Besides, a good, large set of ears generally meant that the Dhrow was sporting something thick and meaty between his thighs.

Oh yes, Vulwin Valas had a massive set of ears.

The necklaces of gold followed and the many rings that adorned his fingers and toes were removed next. Then the human clothing was carefully pulled off and folded, the long tunic of black silk, the loose fitting pants, and the anklets with their tiny bells.

He wore no underpants — he couldn’t get used to that human concession — so he stood there naked save for the thick swirl of ornate gold rings that encircled the base of his cock, his chastity device.

He stepped back from the conjured table and turned his gaze to his king…

 

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Have You Been Flashed?

It’s the question Stephanie Burke is asking. Stephanie is a multi-published, multi-award-winning wife and mother of two whose unparalleled imagination causes her no end of trouble. From sex shifting shape-shifting dragons to undersea worlds, up to sexually confused elemental fey and homoerotic mysteries, all the way to pastel challenged urban sprites, Stephanie has done it all, and hopes to do more.

Stephanie is co-founder of the charitable organization Write 4 Hope, co-creator of the Japanese Culture and Anime Convention Mikomicon, home-school mom, English tutor, an orator on her favorite subject of writing and world building, a sometimes teacher when you feed her enough coffee 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 more and 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 interracial stories that make the reader sit up and take notice.

You can find Stephanie at
TheFlashcat.net
Facebook.com/TheFlashCat
Flashycat2004@aol.com
Theflashcat.tumblr.com

 

 

Angel’s Eye by Katerina Ross #NewRelease #BDSM #PNR #GayRomance @evernightpub

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The Son’s of Gomorrah 3. Angel’s Eye by Katerina Ross

Title: The Sons of Gomorrah 3. Angel’s Eye

Author: Katerina Ross

Publisher: Evernight Publishing

Published: 14 December 2018

Length: 25,000

Keywords: M/M, paranormal, dark, bdsm

Add to Goodreads

The Sons of Gomorrah is a paranormal M/M series set in Prague. It’s a beautiful city where anything magical might happen…but sometimes it’s dark magic.

Blurb: For Tristan Todorov, formerly a freelance magician and now a consultant on occult matters, living with an incubus turns out to be rather challenging. Not only because there’s little information on incubi, Gomorrah pleasure demons. Jarek, the one he has a contract with, has a fiery personality and a dark past, and sometimes he’s a mystery Tristan can’t decipher.

When Tristan ends up in possession of an illegal artifact with peculiar powers, he hopes it might help him and Jarek to finally understand each other. Will it be a blessing indeed—or a curse that might put them both in danger?

Purchase links:

The Sons of Gomorrah on Amazon

Angel’s Eye on Amazon

Angel’s Eye on Smashwords

Angel’s Eye at Evernight Publishing (it’s cheaper here!)

angel's eye-3D-series

 

Excerpt

In the shower, Tristan discovered there was a bruise where Jarek had been gripping his hip, in addition to the hickeys. He poked at it experimentally. It was strangely enticing, to be marked like that. He wouldn’t mind if Jarek joined him, like he often did, and explored his skin under the hot spray in search for more marks of the same origin, but Jarek stayed away this time and Tristan couldn’t muster enough cheekiness to call him.

During breakfast, they always bumped into each other in the tiny kitchen, and Tristan liked it. Particularly when Jarek wore nothing but boxers, like now, and sometimes even less. Today, however, Jarek kept his distance, and it was a tad worrying, but Tristan withheld from commenting on it.

It wasn’t until Tristan started washing the dishes when Jarek finally slipped closer. Very close. He caged Tristan in against the counter, one arm on each side of his body, not quite pinning him but also not giving him anywhere to go. He licked a swath of skin below Tristan’s ear, which was a nice way to start a conversation.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I? Tonight.”

Maybe it was easier for him to talk when Tristan wasn’t looking.

It was the same for Tristan. If it made Jarek forget his nightmare, he didn’t mind a little rough, and he had no problem with saying that, face to face. But he had something else to admit, and it was better doing it like this.

“Uh. I liked it, actually.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Jarek whispered into his nape. His hands hiked up Tristan’s t-shirt, slid underneath it, but not demanding this time, just tenderly wandering up and down Tristan’s flanks. “I … you see, it wasn’t … I wouldn’t normally…”

Jarek seemed to be uncharacteristically out of words.

Tristan turned, facing him now, but still pinned to the counter by Jarek’s whole body.

“It’s really fine. I know you would have stopped if I said I didn’t like it.”

Jarek avoided his gaze.

“I’m usually more … calculating. In the sense, how would it feel for you if I do this, how you’re going to respond if I do that. I’m not supposed to be…”

“…enjoying yourself?”

“More like losing control. Don’t get me wrong, I get off on this kind of scheming. I guess it’s natural for incubi, watching for reactions, striving to get it right. It’s part of the fun, doing a detective’s work while shagging. Or a psychologist’s. So I’m enjoying myself perfectly well. But tonight … it was a bit egotistic, wouldn’t you say?”

Tristan leaned in to nip at Jarek’s lower lip, rubbed his nose against Jarek’s. “Hey, it’s called spontaneous sex.”

Jarek sighed like he hadn’t been entirely convinced, but answered with a slow open-mouthed kiss to Tristan’s chin, licking down his neck after that to lave at the spots where he’d left suck marks last night.

“Sorry about those,” he murmured. He sounded genuinely apologetic.

Tristan let out a small laugh, embarrassed to confess they fascinated him. “That could be a way to tell us two from each other, I guess.”

“You could mark me, too, if you want,” Jarek suggested, but there was unusual hesitancy in his voice.

About the author: Katerina Ross lives in Russia and works as a journalist. There are no M/M romance publishers in her country, so she writes hot and kinky M/M stories in English.

Author Web Links

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A Changeling for All Seasons – Volume 9 #Christmas #holidaystories#BoxSet @changelingpress

 

Cool Text - Thirteen tales of Christmas Magic from your favorite Changeling 308426189307600

 

A Changeling For All Seasons 9 (Changeling Seasons 9)

 

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, Christmas
Length: Box Set – 464 pages

Thirteen tales of Christmas Magic from your favorite Changeling authors!

Ayla Ruse — Racing Wild: A wild race can lead to anything — even love.

Anne Kane — Tinsel Wars: Braedon intends to win the final skirmish in the Tinsel Wars!

Ruth D. Kerce — Christmas Cowboy: Chaz breeds horses. What’s a cowboy supposed to do with a herd of reindeer?

Dahlia Rose — Silver Bells: Tia was the sexy little elf that made Danny Grinch’s Christmas that much hotter.

Crymsyn Hart — Sleigh Balls: Instead of snow this Christmas, it’s raining reindeer!

Lena Austin — Ghosting: Ghost hunting means sometimes you find a ghost you weren’t expecting, when you aren’t even looking.

Judy Mays — Jingle Buds: Dr. Jon Claus finds the perfect woman when Emily Olson’s grandmother gets run over by a reindeer!

Julia Talbot — Merry X-Moose: Can a were-moose and a Santa-obsessed Elf fall in love — and save Christmas at the same time?

Lily Vega — Wicked Game: All’s fair in love and war during Santa’s Reindeer Games.

CJ England — Snip! Snap! Dragon!: With a fiery Snip! Snap! a passionate modern day dragon lures his forever mate into the flames.

Ana Raine — White Stag: When the scent of peppermint reaches his nose Crane knows he has to remember or lose it all forever.

Sara Jay — Sleigh Ride: Can one magical sleigh ride deliver love to two lonely Elves?

Sean Michael — Five Golden Beads: When kinky gifts begin arriving, Shay knows it’s time for a visit from his very own special Elf.

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press
Also available in print

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 The Changelings
Excerpt from Merry X-Moose (Julia Talbot)

“Seriously, Laird, you’ve lost your mind,” Laiyde said. His sister didn’t pull any punches, even with him being the head of sleigh engineering. “You do remember eight tiny reindeer, right? There’s no way Santa’s team can pull the sleigh with the extra weight you’re proposing.”

“He’s not getting any younger, Lai. Santa needs protection. This little cockpit is nothing. Hell, if Rudolph would just go full time…”

“Rudolph retired to Finland after you created that LED beam, remember?” She rolled her eyes, dark brown like his. They were twins, but thankfully she couldn’t grow a full beard like he did. That would be awkward.

“Right.” Shit. “Well, there are always a hundred young bucks competing at the reindeer games. Just get Sparkle to add two more to the team.”

His sister threw up her hands. “Just add two more. Like it’s that easy! Santa has used the same harness since the fifties! One extra attachment was added then for Rudolph. You can’t just change the whole of Christmas history every year!”

“Hey, I just want him to be safe.” Santa had slipped and damned near fallen off a house last year pulling a package out of the back of the sleigh. Laird thought about the implications of losing Santa and wanted to throw up.

“We all do. You’re going to have to redesign.” She patted his arm. “Talk to the magic team. See if they can make a bubble or something.”

“I did. They can’t make my dome lose any weight, even though they say they can equalize the pressure and keep flight horizontal without loss of velocity and altitude. Best they can do.”

“Well, that’s something.” She smiled. “I’ll make hot chocolate.”

“With star marshmallows?” Laird asked.

“Anything for you, Bro.”

“Cool. Give me an hour to go talk to Sparkle and you’re on.”

She rolled her eyes again, but didn’t say anything. She just waved him off.

Laird pulled his parka on over his flannel shirt and snow pants. While Christmas Elves were well suited to the cold climate, this time of year was brutal. The toymakers and cobblers and all never went outside right now. They had long breezeways between their dorms and the workshops.

The rest of them had to brave freezing their balls off.

He trundled down to the reindeer barns, where he knew Captain Sparkle would be putting the chosen eight through their paces. The pulling reindeer had to bulk up as much as possible between now and the big day, and they all had to learn emergency procedures and weather contingencies.

He stomped snow off his boots once he got to the barn offices, the wind howling behind him when he slammed the door shut.

“Shit, it’s colder than a well-digger’s ass out there,” he mumbled.

“I imagine that’s colder than a witch’s tit.”

Laird whirled around to face the guy who’d just walked up behind him. Then he grinned. “Depends on if it’s in a brass bra.”

“Mmm. What about a sleigh reindeer in a snowstorm’s balls?” the guy asked.

“Nothing is colder than that,” Laird said. “There’s too much ether to fight.”

“I bet. I’m Bruiser, and I’m on desk duty today. What can I do for you?”

“New guy, huh?” He smiled. New guys were few and far between. Bruiser was an amazing newcomer, taller than Elves, even, and contrary to myth, Santa’s Elves were way more Tolkien than Oompa Loompa. This guy was all leg, lanky and surprisingly tanned, with a shock of dark hair. Dark brown eyes shone with humor.

 

 

Christmas Carole by Angela Knight #Christmas #holidaybooks #romance @changelingpress

You’ll want a visit from these Ghosts of Christmas Yummy…

 

Christmas Carole (Christmas Spirits 5)

 

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Angela Knight
Genres/Themes: Christmas, Paranormal
Length: 56 pages

Carole Elzer is no Scrooge — she loves Christmas. But when she’s visited by the ghost of her best friend and business partner, Marley, Carole learns she must make amends for something she hasn’t done — otherwise, Marley warns, she’ll spend the rest of her life in anguish and guilt.

She’s guided on her voyage into Christmas Past, Present and Yet to Come by three sexy spirits, all of whom look just like her partner, Bob Crockett. Bob is still grieving for the wife he loved and lost years ago, but Carole nurses a guilty love for him.

As Carole explores her past, present and future with her handsome spirits, she realizes just how high the stakes are. Bob’s young son Tim’s life hangs in the balance. If she doesn’t learn how to save the child, none of them will ever again know a merry Christmas — and she and Bob will have no future together.

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Angela Knight

The rambling old Victorian house looked like it had fallen off a Christmas card as it sprawled under the full moon, all white wooden siding, mansard roof, and lacy gingerbread trim. A gorgeous tree stood in an upstairs window, decorated in antique toys and draped in flashing twinkle lights.

“Bah fucking humbug,” I muttered, my breath steaming in the cold as I trudged up the steps, wanting nothing more than my bed. I’d been at work since seven in the morning. It was almost midnight now.

To make matters worse, we’d been shooting a wedding video. Weddings require you to capture every moment, from decorating the church all the way to the last drunken guest stumbling home from the reception. Which makes for a looong day that seems even longer when it’s Christmas Eve.

And did I mention it was a wedding? No other event we shoot calls up old anger, pain, and grief like the joyous union of two people in holy matrimony. Not just for me, either. There’d been ghosts in Bob Crockett’s eyes all day. Which just goes to show, even the best marriages will eventually kick you in the teeth.

My partner deserved better. His wife, Marley, sure as hell had.

My keys jingled merrily as I unlocked the door. As I started to turn the knob, I glanced up at the goofy plastic lion doorknocker Marley had put up at Halloween two years ago. I’d left it up, even changed the LED batteries a couple of times. Looking at it always made me remember her, and smile. Or blink back tears.

It had never made all the blood drain from my face — until now.

Marley glared at me from the spot the lion’s head should be, her eyes blazing red, her brows lowered, teeth bared. Her lips shaped the word, “Idiot.”

“Christ!” I leaped backward, heart in my throat. And stared. The knocker was just a goofy plastic lion again, red LED eyes glaring.

Huh. I really was tired if I’d mistaken the beast’s mane for Marley’s long curls, its snarl for hers. Not that Marley had been the type to snarl without a damned good reason. She’d been more the rainbows and unicorns type, endlessly creative and funny.

Maybe the slice of wedding cake I’d eaten had been laced with cannabis edibles. Which was illegal as hell in South Carolina, but we were talking about the kind of people who held weddings on Christmas Eve. Being the richest fish in the very small pond of Carson, SC, the Grahams didn’t think rules applied to them.

Being Candice Elzer’s daughter, I knew a lot of people like that.

My heartbeat began to slow as I reached for the key I’d left hanging in the lock, twisted it, and pushed inside. I hurried to the foyer alarm system keypad to disarm it. My hand shook as I punched in the code, and I curled my lip in irritation. “Get a grip, Carole.”

Pissed at myself, I stomped over to pull my keys out of the lock and close the door.
My textile-magnate great-great grandfather had built the house a hundred and thirty years ago, and it had been in the Elzer family ever since. It still retained a certain dark Victorian grandeur, between its antique furniture, carved oak wainscoting, and odd little nooks and crannies created by asymmetric architecture.

Which could have been creepy as hell, if I hadn’t decorated the crap out of the house for Christmas. Holly, fresh pine boughs, and mistletoe were everywhere, along with Victorian Santas, angels, and antique toys. I’d put up two different live trees, one in my bedroom, and a twelve-footer brushing the parlor’s intricately carved ceiling details. The whole place smelled like a pine forest.

Unfortunately, my Christmas spirit had died of an advanced case of Graham Wedding around noon. My shoulders ached as I started up the stairs that were ridiculously wide, even by Victorian standards.

Somewhere in the house, wooden flooring creaked, sounding exactly like a footstep. The house had a habit of groaning and creaking to itself like an elderly lady bitching, but something about that particular sound made the hair rise on the back of my neck. I peered over the banister, listening, one hand dipping into my purse to fish for my cell phone.

Nothing. No other sound. Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself. The security system was still armed. Nobody broke in.

I turned to continue up the stairs — and gasped.

Parked on the stairs ahead of me — stairs that had been empty a heartbeat before — a hearse stood, its back hatch swung wide to reveal the coffin inside.

Lurching backward with a yelp, I barely saved myself from falling with a frantic grab for the banister. I spun and raced back down the steps so fast, it was a miracle I didn’t break my neck. At the bottom, I wheeled to peer back the way I’d come.

The stairs were empty.

Dumbass, what did you expect? No way in hell could a set of hundred-and-forty-year-old steps support a couple tons of hearse.

It hadn’t been cannabis that cake had been laced with. It had been LSD.

Bob. I needed to call Bob. Six-foot-four with a broad, muscular build, Bob Crockett could handle anything. One call and he’d be here in ten minutes. Back in his hard news days, Bob had covered everything from shotgun murders to high-speed chases, and nothing shook his cool. Not even his business partner’s overactive imagination.

But it was Christmas Eve, and we’d spent all day working that wedding because the bride’s family had written us a check with a lot of zeros. I wasn’t about to drag him out of bed now. For one thing, he shouldn’t leave his twelve-year-old son home alone just to calm me down.

Tim had gone along on today’s shoot, just as he’d been doing from the age of five. He’d always been a laughing, bright-eyed boy, but his mother’s death had left him pale and quiet. He’d seemed particularly withdrawn today.

Damned if I was going to bother them because visions of serial killers danced in my head. Instead I stood at the foot of the stairs, concentrating on getting my racing heartbeat under control.

I kept a Lady Smith .38 in my upstairs closet. Bob had bought it for me one Christmas, then dragged me to the range to practice until he was sure I could hit what I aimed at.

“I’ve covered too many fucking murders,” he’d told me. “If you’re going to live alone, you’re damned well going to be able to defend yourself.”

Now I took back every time I’d teased him about his paranoia.

Pulling my cell out of my pocket, I started up the stairs almost as fast as I’d come down them. If I heard so much as a floorboard creak, I was calling 911.

And tell them what? demanded the voice of common sense. That your doorknocker turned into your dead partner’s face and you saw a hearse parked on the stairs? The cops’ll search the house for drugs.

Damn it. No cops.

I hurried up the steps and down the hallway to the master bedroom, flipping on lights as I went. Pausing, I gave the room a once-over. The brass bed was neatly made under a beautiful heirloom quilt I’d inherited, like the house, from my grandmother. An antique cherry armoire and bureau stood along opposite walls. Next to the bow window, the Christmas tree was draped in twinkle lights, swags of gold tinsel, and wooden replicas of Victorian toys.

I closed the door behind me and hurried to the antique cherry armoire, where the Lady Smith resided in a top shelf gun safe. Fingers flying, I punched in the code and pulled out the matte black automatic.

Yep, fully loaded, safety on.

Feeling a lot more secure — and a bit stupid at my freak-out — I put the gun down on the cherry nightstand and started undressing. We always dressed up for weddings, but shooting video requires stringing cable on your hands and knees. Not the kind of thing you do in a dress and hose. Today I’d worn a black wool pantsuit and an ice-blue silk blouse. For a moment, I distracted myself with the memory of Bob in a suit. The jacket had needed no padding to call attention to his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and long legs. Not to mention that perfectly muscled ass…

Cut it out, Carole. No lusting after Marley’s husband.

Still, I loved the intent look he got in those gray eyes whenever he was setting up a shot. There was something sensual in the way his powerful hands gripped one of our commercial-grade video cameras, balancing it effortlessly on one strong shoulder…

 

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.

 

Ghost Hunting by Mychael Black #GayRomance #Christmas #PNR @changelingpress @mychael_black

Hoping for a real haunting may be the one Christmas wish
Caleb shouldn’t have made this year!

 

Ghost Hunting (Christmas Spirits 3)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Paranormal, Christmas, Gay, Silver Fox

As the resident medium for Southern Kansas Haunts, Caleb Ryan is used to overacting for the camera. He hates it, but the show pays well. The small city of Tory, Kansas, doesn’t have much more to offer, even though he longs for something… real.

Scott Pennington, heir to an aging farm on the outskirts of Tory, desperately needs help. When no other groups will talk to him so close to Christmas, he turns to the crew of the local ghost-hunting show, Southern Kansas Haunts.

Caleb hopes this “investigation” pays off, but he quickly finds more than he bargains for at the old Pennington farm.

 

Now Available at Changeling Press
Pre-Order at Amazon, B&N, iTunes, and Kobo for December 7th

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Mychael Black

“Look, I’m just saying that maybe a little more… drama is what we need. Just a little –”
Caleb Ryan threw his hands up, exasperated. “I might say I feel something when I don’t. I might overact for the camera. But I will not pretend to talk an old lady’s dead husband!”

“Um, Caleb,” someone said from behind him.

Whirling around, Caleb continued, “I will not…” He blinked. “Oh. Uh, hi?”

The director’s assistant smiled rather sheepishly. “Sorry to interrupt. This is Mr. Scott Pennington.”

“Scott,” the silver fox said, extending one hand to Caleb. “Just call me Scott.”

Caleb dumbly nodded before managing to kick his brain into gear. “Um, Caleb Ryan. How can I help you? Are you a fan of the show?”

Scott glanced at the assistant and the director, both of whom left. He cleared his throat. “I got your name from a waitress in Pratt,” he said. “She gave me a list of names, people who deal with… otherworldly things. No other groups near here will see me until after Christmas. I’m kind of desperate, to be honest.”

Caleb nodded. “Yeah, I don’t observe it, so I’m usually the one folks come to this time of year. What sort of otherworldly things are you talking about?”

“Ever hear of Pennington Farm?”

Caleb snorted out a laugh. “Are you kidding? Everyone’s heard of that place! The old loon who owned it fled the house and refused to go back. Rumor has it that it’s haunted, but no one’s been able to get in to investigate.” Caleb narrowed his gaze. “Why?”

Scott drew a key from his pocket and held it up. “That old loon was my uncle. The farm is mine now. And I need help.”

“I see,” Caleb muttered. “Um, we’re wrapping up here, but I’d love to talk to you about it. When’s a good time?”

“You free for dinner?” Scott asked.

Ignoring the brief thrill of having a not-date with the gorgeous man, Caleb nodded. “Sure. What did you have in mind?”

“This is the first time I’ve been back this way in almost thirty years.” Scott pulled out his wallet and handed Caleb a business card. “Give me a text or call when you’re done, and I’ll meet you wherever. I’m staying at the Spicer Inn in downtown Pratt.”

Caleb glanced at the card, then smiled and nodded. “Sure thing. Shouldn’t be too long. Maybe an hour or so?”

“That works,” Scott said. “Thanks. I’ll talk to you then.”

Caleb watch the man walk away, unable to stop staring at muscular thighs and a tight butt encased in slightly faded denim. Thirty years? Judging by the hint of silver in the dark hair, Caleb put Scott Pennington in mid-forties, maybe. It didn’t matter. Caleb would sit up and beg just to see lust in those luminous baby blues.

Fingers snapped in front of his face. Caleb shook his head. “Sorry.”

His friend and fellow investigator, Jay, just laughed. “What was that about?”

Caleb studied the business card. “We may be the first to investigate Pennington Farm.”

“What?”

He met Jay’s gaze and held up the card, emblazoned with Scott Pennington, Homicide in dark blue across the middle. Below it, in black: St. Louis Police.

“Holy shit,” Jay muttered.

“Yeah. I’m meeting him tonight to talk it over.”

Jay smirked. “Talk what over? The farm investigation? Or getting into his pants?”

“Asshole. The farm, dude. Yeah, he’s hot, but I doubt he’s gay.”

“You never know,” Jay said with a shrug. “Just because he’s a cop doesn’t mean he doesn’t like guys.”

“I know.” Caleb pocketed the card. “Anyway, enough of that. Let’s get this stuff finished up. I’m eager to hear what he has to say.”

 

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

https://arianderwyddbooks.wordpress.com