Tag Archives: Paranormal Women’s Fiction

BOOK TOUR & GIVEAWAY: Scare Thee Well by ReGina Welling

Posted on by

Meet Rue Channing.

She’s just the witch to finish what her
ancestors started.

Scare Thee Well

Laurel Haven Witches Book 2

by ReGina Welling

Genre: Paranormal Women’s Fiction

Three hundred
years ago, one witch had to live with her mistakes. Today, another might have
to die for them.

 Tansy Shackleton has spent her entire life carrying the
guilt of her family’s legacy. If not for her ancestor’s mistake, good witches
might not be trapped in the coastal town of Laurel Haven, Maine. But no matter
how hard she tries to make amends, she can’t stop seeing the stain on her soul.
Not even at the cost of her marriage.

 Connor Shackleton has tried everything he can think of to
get his wife to see that she’s not to blame for the unwitting actions of a
long-dead witch. At his wit’s end and unable to watch Tansy work herself into
the ground for something that wasn’t even her fault, he proposes they take a
break for a few days, just to get some perspective.

 He should have known Tansy would martyr both their happiness
on the alter of guilt, but he didn’t. He wanted her back almost from the minute
he walked away, but she’s shut him out of her life as firmly as the door she
closed behind him.

 The problem is, life and death in Laurel Haven go hand in
hand for witches of the blood, and just like Tansy, Connor’s one of them. The
only way to move forward is to turn and face the past head-on. Together with
her new coven, Tansy will have to put all of Laurel Haven’s ghosts to rest or
die trying.

Amazon * Apple *
B&N
* Google
* Kobo * Bookbub
* Goodreads

Rue the Slay

Laurel Haven Witches
Book 1

Three hundred
years ago, four witches went into the forest to cast a spell of protection
against the evil creeping into their town but they were too late.

Today, Rue Channing never sees it
coming, and she should because seeing is her special power. Still, who would
have expected to be kidnapped and hauled off to a small coastal town in Maine?

But that is exactly what happened. Now, Rue, a lover of order and strict
routines, is dragged out of her comfort zone and into a new life in the small,
coastal town of Laurel Haven.

Things could not be worse, she thinks, until she meets the man next door and
decides they could. Ry McFadden is the most infuriating man on the planet. He’s
a study in contrasts; grumpy yet generous, intensely private, but somehow open.
Rue can’t think what to do with him, except she can, and that just makes things
worse.

The problem is, Ry McFadden just might be part of Rue’s destiny as she learns
she’s been brought to Laurel Haven to finish what her ancestors started.

  

Amazon * Apple * B&N
* Google
* Kobo * Bookbub
* Goodreads

“Excuse me. I don’t think that area’s for paying customers.”

The man’s voice sounded like Alan Rickman and Benedict Cumberbatch had a baby but without the British accent. He could read me a bedtime story, Rue thought as the deep tones shivered across the air.

“No worries. I’m not planning to pay for anything.”

“Get back here,” he called out when she took another step.

Dismissing that, Rue waggled her fingers over one shoulder but kept going and caught Tansy pulling another sheet of cookies out of a professional oven that Rue knew damn well she couldn’t afford. How much debt had Tansy racked up in a single morning?

Still, the scents of sugar and butter set Rue’s stomach grumbling. “You’re hired if you want the job. I have no idea how to run a bookstore, but if you stay on, I guess we’ll figure it out between us, so I’d like to make it official. Providing we don’t go out of business in a week because I can’t afford the stock or that stove. Or the ingredients in those cookies come to that.”

Grinning—did the woman ever not smile?—Tansy did a little two-step, bobbled the cookie sheet, then set it on the stainless worktable. “Not to worry. We’ll talk about the finances later.” With practiced speed, she transferred warm cookies to a lined display tray. “I have a customer waiting for these.” Picking up the tray, Tansy headed out, leaving Rue to follow.

“You mean Mr. Grumpy?” She kept her voice low since Tansy was nearly out of hearing distance anyway. The woman moved like lightning.

“They’re still warm,” Tansy was saying when Rue came up behind her. “You came in at just the right time.”

Mr. Grumpy turned a million-watt smile on her and accepted the cookie Tansy offered, but his expression hardened when he turned toward Rue. “I’m not sure how they do things where you’re from, but in Laurel Haven, customers know enough to stay on this side of the counter.”

“Oh, but—“

Rue cut Tansy off. “I’m glad to hear it, but I believe I’ve already mentioned I’m not a customer. My name is Rue, and this is my shop, so if it’s okay with you, I’ll go anywhere I please.”

“You’re one of…them.” He nodded toward Tansy. “That explains some things.” His hazel eyes searched her face as if looking for validation of something she didn’t quite understand. He offered his hand when she came out from behind the pastry case. Steeling herself for what she might see, Rue took it. It wouldn’t bode well for her business if she ran off potential customers. Even ones like him.

The vision of him armed with a sword, his eyes blazing black, and riding a dark horse through misty woods slid across Rue’s mind, bringing with it a bone-deep sense of recognition. Here was the figure that had haunted her most romantic dreams come to life.

“I suppose I am,” she said.

“Then, I guess I’m your new neighbor. I live upstairs.”

“You have more than that in common.” After popping two cookies in a bag, Tansy joined them.

“I can’t imagine what,” Rue muttered. This man was clearly an outlaw of some sort. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have seen what she’d seen. He certainly looked the part with dark hair falling recklessly over his furrowed brow, eyes narrowed, and lips that might have been kissable if they weren’t set in a stern line. Even annoyed, Rue had to admit, he packed a hell of a punch.

He wasn’t Rue’s type at all. Not one little bit.

Grinning, Tansy made the introductions by pointing and naming them in turn. “Ry. Rue.”

Okay, now Rue understood. They lived in the same building and had names that sounded sort of similar. As far as common ground went, she figured theirs was roughly the size of a postage stamp. The man put her hackles up even when he wasn’t talking.

“Ry?” she said, unable to help herself. “What’s that short for? Wait, let me guess. It’s Ryder, right?” A wicked smile tugged at her lips. “Ryder…Storm. That’s it, isn’t it? Or maybe it’s Ryder Strong. Either one sounds like the perfect name for an urban cowboy with a hero complex.”

Where had that come from? Rue considered herself a circumspect woman, but everything about this day brought out the worst side of her tongue.

“The name’s McFadden, ma’am,” he drawled and tucked his thumbs into his belt. “Ryland McFadden at your service, but you can go ahead and call me Ryder if it helps you feel better.” He cocked his head to the side. “What’s Rue short for? Wait. Let me guess. It’s Rudella, isn’t it? Like Cinderella, only meaner.”

ReGina Welling prefers not to talk about herself in the
third person so…

I live in Maine with my husband, a silly flufferpup named
Dash, and a crazy cat named Cricket. I write full time and also create mixed
media artwork when I get the chance.

When I was three, my mom brought home a new book and when
she went to read it to me, I read it to her instead. That was when she realized
I’d learned to read. Since then I couldn’t even estimate the number of books
I’ve read. It’s a lot!

I love talking to other readers so please visit me in any
one of these various places and don’t forget to let me know you stopped by!

Website * Facebook * X * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a $10 giveaway!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

TEASER TUESDAY: Taken by the Satyr by Megan Slayer

Posted on by

 

(Taken 5): A Paranormal Women’s Fiction Novella

Paranormal Women’s Fiction / Urban Fantasy

Date to be Published: February 16, 2024

Publisher: Changeling Press, LLC


 

Preston, son of Hermes, has a secret. He’s been cursed to live as a
satyr — a monster with a dubious job he hates. He knows love is not in his
future. Can’t be.

Then he meets Lulu — the daughter of a witch and Elf. A woman unsure of
her place in the world. Luna has come back to Eerie to hide and heal, but a
chance meeting with sorcerers and being thrown together with Preston changes
everything. Love may be possible if only Luna can open her heart and change
Preston’s mind.

 

 

EXCERPT

Copyright ©2024 Megan Slayer

 

Back to the old homestead. Lulu snorted and pulled onto the dirt road
leading to the witch enclave. She wasn’t a witch herself. Hell, she
wasn’t even sure what she was — the daughter of a witch and an elf.
Did that make her a Wilf? An Elch? She had magic, but she wasn’t good
with spells. She couldn’t bake for shit and refused to live in a
tree.

She drove the mucky path passing for a street to the house she’d
grown up in. When she’d left for college, she’d been so
wide-eyed and excited. So ready to embrace the world.

Then Tom happened. He’d consumed her life. He made her feel things.
Showed her there was more to life, but most of it wasn’t good. He
needed control.

Of course, he did.

Being a sorcerer, he lived for control.

Every time she looked back on her last few years, she winced. She’d
been so naive. She’d let him do all the things he’d done because
she thought she loved him.

He’d never loved her.

But that didn’t matter now. She’d broken free from his control,
and he’d moved on to his next victim.

She stopped in her parents’ driveway, but her thoughts clogged her
mind. She’d considered his next girlfriend a victim. God. What a piece
of work Tom was!

That didn’t matter. She’d come home. She’d gone back to
what she knew so she could heal her heart.

She left the car and strode over to the barn. Poofs of colored smoke shot
from the chimney. Her mother must be creating.

She spied the plants in the field. Her father had finally got the crops out
on time. Good for him. A smile pulled at her lips. At least someone had
their life going in the right direction.

She’d figure hers out soon enough.

She diverted from the barn and made her way over to the field. She breathed
in the clean scent of the crops. Eerie was a hot mess at times, but it was
also the place for paranormals to be themselves. It was a safe place.

She’d thought she needed a place to run away to, but not when home
called. It wasn’t like she had a lost love back home. She’d
never had a boyfriend when she’d been in Eerie. She hadn’t been
enough of a paranormal — not looking like an elf or witch. She’d been
too normal and teased for her appearance. Being different hadn’t
bothered her, though. She shook her head. She’d pulled herself up and
grown. She wasn’t the same girl who’d left town.

“You made it.” Daff, her father, bounded up to her. “Got
a lot to move in?”

“I’m not moving in, Daddy.” She’d found an
apartment on March Avenue, above a bakery. Sue her for liking the
smells.

“I didn’t think you would be, but I cleaned up the second floor
just in case.” He wiped his hands on a towel hanging from his pocket.
“What are you planning to do?”

“I’m living in the Towers. Fourth floor. I’ll get the
keys this evening. It’s furnished so I don’t have to move
anything but my clothes.” She’d worked out a deal with Marina,
her second cousin, to get the last furnished unit.

“Good. I’m glad.” Her father hesitated. “Are you
having a roommate?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? A witch alone?” Her father shook his head.
“We have room.”

“You do, but I need to do this on my own.” She hugged him.
“But I appreciate the concern. I’m only a call
away.”

“I know,” her father said. “Got a job yet?”

“At Linc’s.” She wasn’t sure working at a bar was
smart, but it was a job.

“The bar?”

“In the restaurant. I head there next.” She stepped back.
“Just wanted to see you and Mom. I can use all the anchors I can
get.” She needed them.

“You’re always welcome here.”

“I know. Is Mom around?” She hadn’t seen her and her
mother tended to be the center of attention.

“She’s mixing spells with Grinella.”

She should’ve guessed. “She spends a lot of time there with
her.”

“She does.”

Sadness tinged his voice and she hesitated. “To the exclusion of
you?”

“A bit.”

“Daddy.” She wasn’t sure what to do to help him.

“She needs to find herself, so I’m letting her.”

“But you’re unhappy.” She would be, too.

“I am, but I’ll be here for her.”

“What do you want? For you? Not for Mom?”

He stared at her. “I never thought about it.”

“I know.” She sat beside him on the fence. “What do you
want?”

“To farm. To have my animals and work the land. To feel the earth in
my hands. To be loved,” he said. “All those things.”

“Then that’s what you should do. All of those things. Have you
told Mom you don’t feel loved?”

“She’s never home and when she is, she’s drifting.
It’s like I can’t reach her.”

“You need to try and tell her.” She hugged him. “I
didn’t tell Reuben how I felt and it made life miserable. It
would’ve changed so much and might have kept me from dating
Tom.” Might have made her life better.

“I will.”

“You need to.” She sighed. “I’ll check on you, but
I need to get to work.”

“Go ahead. I’ll be okay.” He nodded. “It’ll
always be okay.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am.” He offered a sad smile. “Go. Get your life
going.”

“I will.” She hesitated before heading to her car. She wanted
to be there for her dad. To help him have the best. For both him and her
mother. She loved them and they did love each other, but they weren’t
good at communicating. Right now, they seemed pulled apart. Sort of like her
situation with Reuben. He’d felt abandoned and used that feeling to
walk away. He claimed he had to find his happiness. He hadn’t cared
that she was confused by her own feelings and overwhelmed. He didn’t
care that she wasn’t sure how to deal with stress, but he wanted what
he wanted when he wanted it, and if someone argued, they were wrong. Not
him.

She’d been wrong often. But she hadn’t told him how she’d
felt.

She slid behind the wheel, then left the farm. Dust swirled in her wake.
Gravel crunched under her tires. A sense of freedom washed over her. She was
her own woman. No Tom or Reuben to stand in her way. A single lady. And it
was time she found her own happy.

Not at a bar, but that was a job. She drove across Eerie, passing the
woods, the lake with light sparkling on the water and so peaceful.
She’d never been much of a nature lover, but she appreciated the
solitude and ability to get lost in the woods to center herself.

She continued to the east end of town. Most residents hated the east end
because of the rough crowd that tended to frequent the area. The bars and
dance halls were there. So was the bail bondsman’s office.

She parked in the lot behind the bar in the staff area. The hotel stood
behind the bar and seemed to groan in the late afternoon sun. She
didn’t know many of the vehicles, but she hadn’t worked there
yet. She hadn’t met the gang. Being hired the day before made knowing
people difficult. She left her car and locked it, then ventured into the
building.

“Hi.” A blond man with a dirty T-shirt stood by the kitchen
sink. “First day?”

“It is.” She recognized the man. The satyr. She thought his
name was Stav. Or something like that. “You’re here
today?” She’d been warned against him.

“Always.” He grinned and dried his hands. “My brother
owns the bar. I’m sure Lance hired you.”

“He did.” The easy conversation reassured her. “He
mentioned his baby brother.”

“Good or bad?” A wicked glimmer filled his eyes.

“A little bit of both.”

About the Author

Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author
of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing
since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary
and paranormal to LGBTQ and white hot themes. No matter what the length, her
works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her
characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s
been nominated at the LRC for Best Author, Best Contemporary, Best
Ménage, Best BDSM and Best Anthology. Her books have made it to the
bestseller lists on various e-tailer sites.

When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as
well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but
football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends
of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library.

 

Author Contact Links

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

Author on Instagram

 

Publisher on Facebook, Twitter & Instagram: @changelingpress

 

Pre-Order Today



TEASER TUESDAY: Antler and Bone by Siondalin O’Craig #PNR #Fantasy

Posted on by

 

(Celtic Magic 5): Mabon –Autumnal Equinox

 

Paranormal / Fantasy / Women’s Fiction

Date Published: 09/15/2023

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC


 

Maine artist Libby McNulty’s dreams are haunted by the terrifying Wild Hunt
of Celtic legend. As if that isn’t bad enough, the landlord threatens her
and her friends with eviction in order to turn their apartments into more
profitable condos.

Tom O’Sylvan is a reclusive combat vet who serves as the building manager.
When Libby discovers Tom is also the Huntsman, legendary leader of the Wild
Hunt, myth and ordinary life begin to collide. Can the two of them face
their demons to save each other from danger?

 

Excerpt

Copyright ©2023 Siondalin O’Craig

 

Libby McNulty reached a paint-spattered hand toward the chipped mug on the
counter, not turning her gaze from the six-foot-tall canvas standing on a
low easel. Her brush remained poised in the air. A drop of chartreuse paint
clung to its tip, quivering as if envious of the heavy raindrops splattering
the studio windows.

The image of the woman in the center of the canvas looked a lot like Libby,
or rather what Libby would have looked like if she were a goddess of the
hunt in medieval Ireland. The painted huntress wore a green velvet gown
instead of threadbare Lee jeans rolled up around her calves, and her auburn
ringlets bounced free under the canopy of autumn beech leaves, rather than
tucked haphazardly under a bandanna. In her left hand, the woman on the
canvas held a bow, while her right clenched an arrow rather than a
paintbrush. Their luminous chestnut eyes were exactly the same though;
alert, intent, seeing something beyond the edge of the picture.

Libby took a sip of her tea and grimaced. It had gone cold, and the milk
was sour. Its taste spread across her tongue and pulled her mind back inside
the white-washed wooden walls of her studio. She shivered.

The air was cold and damp, colder than it ought to be in September. Soon it
would be Mabon, the autumnal equinox, when the equal length of day and night
brought balance before the long winter slide, through the pumpkins and
trick-or-treating of Samhain, into the darkness of Yule on the longest night
of the year. Usually, the Mabon season meant sunny T-shirt days and warm
sweater nights, but the persistent rain this year had Libby shivering in her
plaid flannel shirt.

She set the mug back down on top of a folded letter pocked with tea stains.
The letter was signed by Dave Wolf, Vice President and Senior Partner of
James Carbill Real Property LLC. In other words, her landlord. It said
something about selling the building.

Despite the fact that she had a five-year lease with a renewal clause, the
letter made Libby uneasy. That lease had so much fine print, so many pages
she hadn’t read. Her anxiousness to sign something that said
she’d have a home and a place for her art for five years had her
putting blinders on, made her impatient.

She ran a chipped fingernail over the thick paper. It was signed in real
blue-black ink from an expensive fountain pen. Libby knew ink and pigments
better than leases; she made most of her own from bits of trees, flowers,
mushrooms, and stones that she gathered from the forest and rocky shore
surrounding this little town of Lisna, Maine. She was able to make ink and
paints from the plants and barks and stuff she found walking through the
woods — materials that were free to anyone who could read the land. Yet
that blessing was so easily used for evil rather than beauty. She pondered
how many people’s lives around the world had been changed, even
eliminated, by the stroke of ink on paper, wielded for power rather than
art.

But I have my lease, Libby reminded herself again. They can’t kick me
out, at least not for another five years. Over the drum of rain, Libby could
hear the creaking floorboards that rested overtop of her studio’s tin
ceiling, footsteps of her little band of apartment neighbors. Straight
overhead was the apartment of dear little KatieMor. Next to that, retired
lobsterman Jim Johnson lived with Mario Perkins. Jim with his cane and Mario
with his walker both relied on the Limerick Block elevator as the only way
they could stay living out their end days in their own hometown. Donna
Constantine, the librarian. The Halls, who had a business training
nonprofits how to organize. And Tom O’Sylvan — Tomayo — the building
manager. Libby often heard his distinctive footsteps heading down the stairs
and out the door late in the evening, his big black Irish wolfhound padding
by his side.

Fingering the triskele medallion she wore around her neck, Libby stepped
back and took another look at the painting. Behind the Libby-as-Huntress
stood a cloaked and hooded figure, its face obscured. They stood at the
edge-line between a harvested field and a late-autumn beech forest. The
Libby-Huntress looked off-canvas, toward where, in the real forest just
north of town that it was painted to resemble, a mysterious standing stone
jutted out of the ground in a mossy clearing. The stone — a foot taller
than Libby, and covered with a patchwork of pale green and orange lichens —
had become a grounding point for Libby in her many hours of wandering
through the woods, gathering fiddleheads, ramps, and nettles to eat, along
with oak galls and dyer’s polypore mushrooms to make ink and
paints.

That man whose face lay hidden below the dark hood haunted Libby’s
restless dreams. She could feel him now, pulling her out of her studio
again, out past the brick walls of the Limerick Block, beyond the small
bounds of the village of Lisna, back into the painting, back into the
trees.

The bright green drop of paint let go and landed with an audible plop on
one of Libby’s black canvas sneakers. Libby looked down.

I just need a good long walk, she thought. If only this rain would let up.
A few hours in the forest would set her back to rights, let her get some
sleep, some real sleep, a night without fractured bits of nightmare shocking
her awake. Visions of the stone, the hooded man, a hunt, and all-consuming
flame.

 

About the Author

Siondalin O’Craig writes romance with the slow burn of a peat fire on an
autumn night deep in the woodland hills. Sip a glass of Irish whiskey, turn
the page, and let the magic overtake you. Siondalin lives in the mountains
of New England where she walks under the trees celebrating the wheel of the
year, grows a luscious garden full of magical herbs, and plays a wicked
Irish fiddle. Follow her on Facebook and email her at
siondalinocraig@gmail.com to sign up for her newsletter.

 

Author’s Facebook

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, and Twitter:
@changelingpress


Pre-Order Today



TEASER: Taken by the Gorgon by Megan Slayer #ParanormalWomensFiction

Posted on by

Taken, Book 4

 

Paranormal Women’s Fiction

Date Published: August 11, 2023

 

Trudi wasn’t looking for a romantic partner when she stumbled on Nick
in the park, but the sweet man sure seems out of place in Eerie. He also
seems drawn to her. He might be the death of her, but he could also be her
soulmate if she’s willing to open her heart.

There’s just the tiny matter of her deathly stare.

Nick knows the moment he meets Trudi that he’s met his match. The
beautiful gorgon haunts his dreams and he can’t get enough of her
kiss. When she agrees to help him research his past and unravel his family
tree, he knows he can’t let her go.

As long as she doesn’t kill him…

 

EXCERPT

 

“This has got to be the place.” Nick stopped at the edge of the
town. Eerie, Ohio. He stared at the sign and everything within him screamed
to get the hell out of there. He wasn’t much of a paranormal. He was
supposed to be the grandson of a gorgon, but honestly, he wasn’t even
sure. He’d come to Eerie in search of answers. His life didn’t
feel like his own and his family didn’t seem to want him around. Like
he wasn’t one of them. His father kept dropping hints that he needed
to find out where he’d come from, and now it was time to do
that.

Shit. No one wanted a man who might or might not be a gorgon around. He
wasn’t seen as a trickster. He was the most serious person he knew. He
sucked at jokes, sucked at relaxing and was a disaster with relationships.
He didn’t know how to give over control.

He looked up at the sign again.

 

Eerie

The best little town around.

 

Best little town. Ha! Maybe the place to find anything that didn’t
make sense. According to legend, the town was home to every paranormal
creature known to exist. Probably had a few the humans didn’t know
about, either.

If he was going to learn about his family and figure out who he was, then
he had to cross over. Had to go to the town hall and look up the records.
He’d have to face his past. He was the bastard son of a pair of
humans, so he’d been told. To be honest, the people he referred to as
his parents were actually his adoptive parents. The real ones were still a
bit of mystery to him.

His mother might or might not have been a human. His father was equally an
enigma. He might have been a gorgon, but he might not have been if Dino
wasn’t his true father. If Nick wanted to unravel the mess, he’d
have to go to Eerie.

He had no choice.

He forced himself forward because he needed those answers.

He drove into town and a shiver ran the length of his spine. He’d
heard stories about Eerie. If one didn’t have a drop of paranormal
blood, then one wasn’t going to get into town. He’d made it, so
he must’ve had something within him that allowed him passage. Was he
really a gorgon? Hell if he knew.

The only thing he knew about gorgons was what he read in books, scrolls and
on the Internet. The information freaked him out. Turning people to stone?
Who wanted to do that? But it made sense as to why he couldn’t seem to
keep a relationship. His girlfriends claimed he was hard to love. He
hadn’t really turned anyone to stone, though.

Supposedly, he might even be immortal. But if that was the case, he
didn’t buy it. If he was a gorgon, then why didn’t he have
snakes for hair? No, he had unruly curls that spent more time out of control
than in. He didn’t have scaly skin, either. He had freckles, but those
couldn’t count. His skin wasn’t golden, either. He did have a
mark on his back — he’d been told the mark looked like a pair of
wings – but he didn’t have an abnormally long tongue, like the
statues did.

According to the rumors, his mother was possibly Stheno, a monster and the
most dangerous of the gorgons, but if she was the fabled gorgon, was his
father a gorgon, too? Dino was, but none of the stories made sense.

If he’d had any idea, then he’d feel better about himself,
instead of being a walking disaster. One rumor claimed his parentage might
have even been from someone in the underworld. He did have a mark on his
chest that resembled a shield, but he had no idea what the shield might
represent. Some claimed he had sea creature within him. His grandfather
might have been a basilisk.

Anything was possible. He drove through town and felt oddly at home. Like
he’d always belonged here. Maybe he did.

He parked in a spot in the center of town, where the road ringed the park.
Children played on the equipment and caregivers sat on the benches. Unlike
the rest of the world, here he saw faeries, trolls, giants, witches and even
a couple elves.

What a remarkable place. No one had to hide what they were. No insults were
hurled. No laughing and pointing.

“I could belong here. I could.” Nick left the car and wandered
around the park, drinking in the images and view. He’d never seen such
lush plants and bright flowers. The laughter of children rang out in the
air, calming him. Where had Eerie been all his life?

He’d been stuck in the human world when he could’ve been
somewhere more welcoming.

“Excuse me? Can you tell me where the café is?” A woman
slid her gaze over him as she stepped into his path. “Aren’t you
delicious?”

He stopped short and stared at her. “I’m sorry.
What?”

“Where is the café?” She grinned. “You’re
quite handsome. Got a girlfriend?”

“Aren’t you forward?” He cleared his throat. “I
don’t know where the café is. I’m new to
town.”

“Are you?” Her eyes lit up. “Well, maybe we can
investigate town together. We’re both new.”

“Uh…” He didn’t like this. He hated confrontation
and being pushed. Then again, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be with this
woman. He didn’t even know her name.

“There you are.” Another woman rushed up to him. Snakes curled
on her head like a messy permanent, and she wore dark glasses. The slight
green of her skin caught the light and shimmered. The tight tank top barely
contained her curves. “Honey, I told you to stay close. But you never
listen. Excuse us.”

Stay close? Huh? The women were so pushy in this town.

The snake woman threaded her arms around his biceps. “We should go.
See you around, Lucy.”

“Sorry.” He allowed the new woman to drag him away. “Who
are you?”

“Me?” She tugged him to the other end of the park, away from
the playground. “I’m saving your ass.”

 

About the Author

Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author
of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing
since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary
and paranormal to LGBTQ and white hot themes. No matter what the length, her
works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her
characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s
been nominated at the LRC for Best Author, Best Contemporary, Best
Ménage, Best BDSM and Best Anthology. Her books have made it to the
bestseller lists on various e-tailer sites.

When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as
well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but
football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends
of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library.

 

Megan on social media…

Facebook

Instagram

BookBub

 

Publisher on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram: @changelingpress

 

Preorder Today

 

 

NEW RELEASE: Will (If It Feels Good) by Alice Gaines #PNR #WomensFiction

Posted on by

Will (If it Feels Good 3)

A Paranormal Women’s Fiction Novella

Sarah collects and sells antiques, and she lives in a fantasy world of her own creation. When she’s transported to another universe, she meets the man of her dreams, but he wants to teach her how to find pleasure in her “real” life.

Will Loudon is Sarah’s pleasure trainer. He’s also an honest-to-God English earl — the exact sort of man Sarah reads about in her forbidden books. He does such a good job of teaching her to find real pleasure, neither of them wants her to go home.

Available At:

Excerpt

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2023 Alice Gaines

The dust in the old attic made Sarah Meadows sneeze, but she wouldn’t have been happier anywhere else in the world.

“You sure you want to look through this ancient stuff?” Mr. Gamble, the owner of the house, asked from where he stood on a ladder behind her, his head poking out of the entrance to the attic.

“You said your wife saved everything,” Sarah answered as she scanned an assortment of old trunks, boxes, and antique furniture someone had found the strength to haul up the ladder.

“Never could get her to throw away anything,” he answered. “As soon as you’ve found everything you can use, I’m going to clean it all out.”

“I’m very grateful to be the first dealer you’ve had up here,” she said. “I’ll pay you a fair price for anything I find.”

“Guess that’s all it amounts to… a little bit of money.” He sighed. “Anything’s helpful these days. I’ll leave you to it.”

Which he did. Left her all alone in the relics of his wife’s life. Poor man. She’d probably find something she could sell in her shop. Then, she’d refer Mr. Gamble to a few businesses that could help him empty his attic in preparation for selling the house. This couldn’t be a joyful enterprise for him. It might be for her.

Dressed in grungy clothing for a dirty job, she got to work. The first box held a bunch of record albums. Vinyl was making a comeback these days. She pulled one of the discs out of its protective sleeve and did her best to scan it for defects in the dim light. Looked pretty good.

The next box had pots and pans. Nothing much there. She hauled herself to her feet and approached what looked like a lady’s dressing table. The wood was dinged, but it could be restored. Polished, it could make a lovely piece for a period boudoir.

One drawer held a hand mirror. Again, wood. Potentially salable. She glanced into it and almost dropped it. It wasn’t a mirror, after all, but the framed picture of a man’s face.

Okay, that shouldn’t have startled her. Maybe the lady who’d owned the piece kept her lover’s face framed in her dressing table. It sure didn’t look like Mr. Gamble, though. In fact, his wicked smile and scandalously long-ish hair fit more with a wealthy rake of another century. Maybe the piece was older than she’d thought.

“Don’t be frightened,” a man’s voice said from somewhere in the attic. A voice with a very distinct English accent.Her heart started beating like crazy. “Who’s there? Mr. Gamble?”

That sure hadn’t sounded like Mr. Gamble. Neither did the laughter that followed her question. Even without having heard the actual voice of a wealthy rake, she recognized it as such.

She’d read about such voices in her favorite novels. She’d never expected to hear one. She put her hand over her heart and did her best to keep breathing.

“That wasn’t a picture,” the voice said. “It was my reflection.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” she said with as much authority as she could muster. “Who are you, and where are you?”

“Over here,” came the answer. But there was still no indication of the direction it came from. Rather, it seemed to be everywhere.Crap. She wasn’t staying up here with some stranger who could be deranged for all she knew. Who hid out in attics? Instead, she got up and walked slowly toward the ladder. She’d tell Mr. Gamble he had a prowler, and once the police had evicted said prowler, she’d return.

“Don’t go, Sarah.”He knew her name. How? She stopped in her tracks but didn’t turn around.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the voice said. “I’m here to fulfill your dreams.”

What did a formless voice know about her dreams? She hadn’t shared them with anyone because they sounded ridiculous, even to her own ears. To live in a former time that seemed to glitter so much on the pages of novels and in the movies. Back then, most common folk, like her, had led difficult lives with no real education and folk remedies their only health care. But the gowns and the balls. The architecture and art. The manners. Today seemed so coarse compared to that.

“Come find me, Sarah.”

Oh, that accent, like butter on a scone to be covered with jam and clotted cream. Wise or not, she was going to find him, so she might as well set about it. But where?

About the Author

USA Today best-selling author Alice Gaines has published several sensuous and erotic works. She prefers stories that stretch the imagination, highlighting the power of love and sex. Alice has a Ph.D. in psychology from U. C. Berkeley and lives in Oakland, California, where she sings in her church choir.