Affer was once a peaceful planet, until a war broke out between its six
inhabiting species. The humans, who were once the mightiest force on Affer,
were massacred in droves, and the ones who survived the onslaught were reduced
to mere slaves. The five other species divided the humans amongst themselves
and returned to their respective kingdoms.
The years passed, turning into decades and centuries, without any change.
Eventually, the humans had accepted their fate as slaves. All except one. Four
hundred and seventy-three years later, Fletcher Rush starts his journey to
free his kind…and conquer the planet.
About the Author
I’ve always had a love for fantasy, and to this day LOTR and The
Inheritance Cycle remain some of my favorite books. There are limitless
possibilities when you’re writing, but with fantasy, it’s different. You don’t
have to adhere to rules or logic; you can create whatever type of world you
want. Characters can live in a dystopian society, a grand futuristic city, a
picture-perfect world, or a medieval wasteland. Time, technology, and magic
are all there for the taking, and as a writer, you get to choose what defines
your story.
This is a selection of short stories perfect for the dark, cold nights
of the Christmas season. Each warm tale is set on Christmas Eve and is best
enjoyed from a comfortable armchair by the fireside, as the special ambience
of Christmas fills the room and our hearts.
Within these six stories, you will discover a rich variety of seasonal magic.
One tale takes you to a snowbound ancestral home, where family secrets are
finally revealed beneath a blanket of white. Another follows a German refugee
in the 1940s who, by joining the local junior football team, finds hope and a
sense of belonging during the festive period.
You’ll also encounter unexpected meetings at a lonely country crossroads,
where characters’ destinies become entwined on the most magical night of the
year. The collection journeys further afield to the warmth and wonder of an
Australian Christmas, where high summer temperatures provide a striking
contrast to the traditional spirit of the season.
One story features two old neighbours returning to their hometown, doing their
utmost to recreate the cherished Christmases of years gone by. Each narrative
offers its own unique perspective on the joy, togetherness and wonder that
define this special time of year.
This book is lovingly crafted for readers of all ages and backgrounds who
delight in the spirit of Christmas. Let these stories bring warmth and festive
cheer into your home.
About the Author
Steve’s interest in writing came from the early 1970s when his somewhat
unconventional English teacher encouraged his creativity. His creativity and
imagination went back however to childhood when he would create stories and
draw them in a series of pictures. He has always had a strong interest in
History and music. As a teenager he composed many songs but never met with
success his creative abilities were slowly channeled into writing books.His
first Novel ” A Cafe In Arcadia”,about life in an insular Greek town, was
published in 2014. He had already published ” The Christmas Tree Of Tales ” in
2013 under the name S R Kerr Under the same name,he also published another
book of short stories for Christmas,”It Came Upon One Christmas Eve”..In 2021
he published another novel “The Winding Streets Of Kolonaki” set in
Athens..His last book to be published was the non-fiction Eurovision ;A Plea
For Respect(Continental Songs And British attitudes). He counts a love of
music in his interests as well as travel and reading. He has travelled
extensivly to places as diverse as Pakistan and Peru and hopes to visit Japan,
Hong Kong and the USA in the near future. Growing up next to the beach on the
River Tay in his home town was a a major influence on him as was living in a
castle. He was always interested in anthropology and visiting other countries
where he often immersed himself in their culture. Places he visited and lived
in inspired much of his writing, as did his interest in psychology, people
watching. He worked as a lecturer, tutor, journalist ,civil servant in London
where at a point he shared a house with the group The Test Department. He is
at the moment working on three other books 1)Short Stories For Christmas 3)The
afternoons of Sanjay Bassinger. 4.)The Golden Road To Glyfada
A strange boy. A shortwave radio broadcasting numbers. A kidnapping
plot.
Tahra Mamoun uses her power of remote viewing to escape the monotony of
London, only to find herself trapped in the frozen tensions of East Berlin.
There, she witnesses a spy drama unfolding around teenage Heinrich and his
illegal shortwave radio: a device receiving messages from a clandestine
numbers station.
Is it connected to his missing father? And will the Stasi kidnap the boy as an
asset designed to serve the secret police?
Thrust into the heart of a Cold War conspiracy, Tahra must rely on her friend
Edward to warn his mother. But how can one girl’s mind save his family?
A contract of power. A marriage of enemies. A love written in blood,
bound by desire.
Caterina: My father thinks he owns me. A spoiled mafia princess, good for one
thing — marriage to strengthen his empire. But I refuse to be sold to a cruel
man. If he wants an alliance, I’ll give him one — on my terms. So I go
to Dante De Luca, the De Luca family’s most dangerous enforcer. Cold.
Controlled. Lethal. Our contract marriage is supposed to be business, not
desire. Then he touches me, and everything I thought I knew about power and
control shatters.
Dante: Caterina Lombardi doesn’t know what she’s started. She
wants protection. I want her. She thinks she can use me to defy her father,
but once she’s mine, she stays mine. She’s fire wrapped in silk —
reckless, beautiful, and born to test every rule I’ve ever followed. But
in our world, rebellion comes with blood, and enemies are closing in.
I’ll burn everything to protect her… even if it means becoming
the monster she fears.
A dark mafia romance filled with obsession, betrayal, and dangerous passion.
For readers who love possessive alpha heroes, spoiled princess heroines,
enemies-to-lovers heat, and contracts written in blood.
WARNING: Intended for readers 18+ The Enforcer’s Possession includes
dark and possessive elements, emotional intensity, and morally gray behavior.
EXCERPT
Caterina
I sprawled across the velvet chaise near my bedroom windows, one leg dangling
over the armrest, my phone pressed to my ear while Adriana went on about some
party at the Castellano estate. I wasn’t really listening. Instead, I
picked at the silk blouse I’d tossed aside an hour ago — Valentino,
bought last week, already boring — and let my gaze drift across the disaster
zone my room had become.
Designer clothes lay scattered across the marble floors like expensive
casualties. A Gucci dress hung half-off my bed frame. Three pairs of
Louboutins created a hazardous path to my bathroom. My jewelry cases sat open
on every available surface, catching the afternoon light and throwing rainbow
refractions across the walls.
“Cat? Are you even listening to me?”
“Hmm?” I shifted, letting the blouse fall to the floor.
“Sorry, what?”
“I said Marco asked about you. Again.” Adriana’s voice held
that knowing tone that made me want to reach through the phone and smack her.
“He wants to know if you’ll be at –”
“Tell Marco to go fuck himself.” I sat up, reaching for my
discarded iced coffee on the side table. Watered down. Disgusting. I set it
back without drinking. “I’m not interested in whatever trust fund
baby wants to play gangster this week.”
“He’s not that bad.”
“He wore a fedora to Lucia’s birthday party. A fedora, Adi.”
She laughed, and I felt myself smile despite my mood. That was the thing about
Adriana — she got it. She understood what it was like to live in this world,
to be decorative and controlled and expected to smile through it all.
“Fair point,” she said. “So what’s got you in such a
charming mood today? And don’t say nothing, because I can hear it in
your voice.”
I stood, pacing toward my walk-in closet. The motion felt good, gave me
something to do with the restless energy crawling under my skin. “My
father. What else?”
“What did Giuseppe do now?”
“He’s acting like I’m some prized mare to be traded off to
the highest bidder.” I stepped into the closet, running my hand along
the row of couture gowns that lined one wall. Versace, Dolce & Gabbana,
Armani — thousands of dollars of fabric I was expected to wear while playing
the dutiful daughter. “Apparently, he’s been having meetings.
About my future.”
“Meetings.” Adriana’s voice went flat. She knew what that
meant. We all did.
“With families. Old families. Traditional families who think women
should be seen and not heard.” I grabbed a dress at random — something
in emerald green I’d worn once to a charity gala — and pulled it off
its hanger. Held it up. Put it back. Wrong. All wrong. “He actually told
me yesterday that it was time I started thinking about settling down. Settling
down. I’m twenty-one, not forty.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him I’d rather die.”
Adriana sucked in a breath. “Cat. You didn’t.”
“I did.” I moved to my vanity table, surveying the collection of
high-end makeup and perfumes arranged across its surface. My reflection stared
back at me from the mirror — dark hair falling in waves past my shoulders,
green eyes sharp with anger I couldn’t quite bank. I looked like my
mother had at my age, according to the photos. Before Papa had worn her down
into the perfect Mafia wife. “He didn’t appreciate it.”
“I’m shocked.”
“The thing is, he doesn’t even see it. Doesn’t see how
fucking archaic it all is.” I picked up a lipstick, twisted it open,
then put on a little across my lips. “We all know he’s doing this
for himself or the family, but I’m sure part of him also thinks
he’s protecting me. Providing for me. Making sure I’m taken care
of.”
“By selling you off to some capo’s son?”
“Basically.” I walked back to the windows, looking out over the
Lombardi estate gardens. Perfectly manicured hedges, marble fountains, rose
bushes that cost more to maintain than most people made in a year. Beautiful.
Like a gilded cage. “He keeps talking about duty and family and legacy.
As if I’m just another asset to be leveraged. At the same time, I know
he feels women are inferior. I’m sure he doesn’t believe I could
ever take care of myself.”
“You are, though. To him.” Adriana’s voice was gentle, which
somehow made it worse. “In his world, that’s what daughters are
for.”
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass. “I know. That’s what
makes it so Goddamn frustrating. He genuinely believes he’s doing right
by me. That finding me a wealthy, connected husband is the best thing he can
offer.”
“What about what you want?”
“What I want doesn’t factor into the equation.” I turned
away from the window, surveying my room again. The luxury that surrounded me
suddenly felt suffocating rather than comfortable. “I’m a
Lombardi. I’m supposed to want what’s best for the family.”
“And what do you want?”
The question hung in the air. I didn’t have a good answer. I wanted
freedom, but freedom to do what? I’d never had to think about it before.
My life had always been mapped out — private schools, designer clothes,
carefully curated social events, and eventually a marriage that would
strengthen family alliances.
“I want to choose,” I said finally. “I want to choose who I
fuck, who I marry if I marry, what I do with my life. Is that too much to
ask?”
“For Giuseppe? Probably.”
I laughed, but it came out bitter. Moving back to the chaise, I dropped onto
it dramatically, throwing one arm over my eyes. “He’s been worse
lately. More controlling. Like he knows something I don’t.”
“Maybe he does.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” I let my arm fall,
staring at the ceiling. The fresco up there — some Renaissance reproduction
that had cost a fortune — suddenly seemed ridiculous. Everything in this room
was ridiculous. Beautiful and expensive and utterly meaningless. “I can
feel it, Adi. Something’s coming. Some decision he’s already made
that’s going to change everything.”
“Have you tried talking to him? Actually talking, not just
fighting?”
“You can’t talk to Papa. You can plead your case and then watch
him do whatever he was going to do anyway.” I sat up, running my fingers
through my hair. My diamond bracelet caught on a strand and I yanked it free
with more force than necessary. “He pretends to listen, nods in all the
right places, and then completely ignores everything you’ve said.”
“What about Sofia?”
“Mama?” I snorted. “She’s worse. At least Papa is
honest about being a controlling bastard. Mama just smiles and suggests I try
being more accommodating. More understanding of the family’s
needs.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah.” I stood again, unable to stay still. The restless energy
was back, stronger now. I moved to one of my jewelry cases, running my fingers
over the pieces inside. Tiffany, Cartier, Bulgari — gifts from my father,
purchased with blood money and given with the expectation of gratitude.
“She’s been doing this so long she doesn’t even see it
anymore. The way she swallows her opinions, plays the perfect hostess,
pretends not to notice when Papa comes home with blood on his cuffs.”
“Is that what you’re afraid of? Turning into her?”
The question hit too close to home. I closed the jewelry case with a sharp
snap. “I’d rather die,” I said again, and this time I meant
it with everything in me.
“Well, don’t do that. Your funeral would be boring and I’d
have to wear black, which washes me out.”
Despite everything, I smiled. “You’re the worst.”
“I’m the best and you know it.” I could hear her moving
around on her end, probably getting ready for whatever evening plans she had.
“Look, I know you don’t want advice –”
“Then don’t give it.”
“– but maybe pick your battles. Giuseppe’s old school.
You’re not going to change his mind by going head-to-head with him every
time.”
“So what, I should just roll over and accept whatever he decides?”
“No. I’m saying be smart about it. You’re clever, Cat.
Probably the smartest person I know, even if you are a spoiled brat.”
“Fuck you.”
“Love you too. My point is, if you’re going to fight him, make it
count. Don’t waste your energy on every little thing.”
I wanted to argue, but she wasn’t wrong. Papa responded to strength, to
strategy. Throwing tantrums — no matter how justified — just made him
dismiss me as a child. “Fine. I’ll be strategic.”
“Liar. You’re going to do something dramatic and probably get
yourself grounded, aren’t you?”
“Probably.” I glanced at my closet, an idea already forming.
“There’s a family dinner tonight. Something important, based on
how tense everyone’s been.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
“Caterina Lombardi, whatever you’re planning –”
“Gotta go, my warden’s here.” I’d heard the footsteps
in the hall, recognized my mother’s measured pace. “I’ll
call you later.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That leaves me a lot of options.” I ended the call, dropping my
phone onto the chaise just as my bedroom door opened.
Mama swept into my room like she was entering a ballroom, her posture so
perfect it made my spine hurt just looking at her. She wore a cream-colored
Chanel suit that probably cost more than a compact car, paired with pearls
that had been in the family for three generations. Every dark hair sat exactly
where it was supposed to. Not a wrinkle in sight. She looked like the poster
child for “Mafia wife perfection,” and it made me want to scream.
Her gaze traveled across the disaster of my room — the scattered clothes, the
open jewelry cases, the general chaos — but her expression remained serene.
That was Sofia Lombardi’s superpower. Nothing ruffled her. Ever.
“Caterina.” She said my name like it was a complete sentence, with
just enough weight to convey disappointment without actually expressing it.
“Mama.” I stayed where I was on the chaise, not bothering to sit
up straighter or pretend I was doing anything productive. Let her see the
mess. Let her judge it. I didn’t care.
That was a lie. I cared. But I’d rather die than admit it.
“I wanted to remind you about tonight’s dinner.” She stepped
farther into the room, her heels clicking precisely against the marble. Even
her footsteps were measured. “Your father expects everyone to be present
and properly dressed by seven.”
“Properly dressed.” I let the words hang in the air between us,
loaded with all the implications they carried. “You mean demure and
obedient? Quiet and decorative?”
“I mean appropriate for a family gathering.” Her tone remained
gentle, but I caught the steel underneath. Mama had spent twenty-some years
perfecting the art of being firm while sounding pleasant. “We have
important guests coming.”
“Of course we do.” I sat up, swinging my legs off the chaise with
deliberate carelessness. One of my discarded shoes clattered across the floor.
“Let me guess. Someone essential. Someone whose opinion matters. Someone
Papa wants to impress.”
Mama’s lips pressed together for just a moment — the only crack in her
composure. “This is vital to your father.”
“Everything is a key component to Papa. His reputation, his alliances,
his legacy.” I stood, moving to my vanity and picking up a bottle of
perfume just to have something to do with my hands. “His ability to
control every aspect of his daughter’s life.”
“Caterina.” This time my name came with a sigh, and when I glanced
at her reflection in the mirror, I saw something that might have been
weariness in her eyes. “Must you make everything a battle?”
“Must he treat me like property?” I set the perfume down harder
than necessary. The glass bottle made a sharp sound against the marble vanity
top. “I’m not a business asset, Mama. I’m a person.”
“No one said you weren’t.”
“They don’t have to say it. They just act like it.” I turned
to face her directly, crossing my arms. “Do you know what he told me
last week? That it was time I started considering my options. My options. Like
I’m shopping for a new car instead of thinking about my future.”
Mama moved to my bed, perching on the edge with practiced grace. Even sitting
casually, she looked like she was posing for a portrait. “Your father
wants what’s best for you.”
“What’s best for the family, you mean.”
“Sometimes those things align.”
“And when they don’t?” I challenged. “What happens
when what’s best for the family means sacrificing what I want? What I
need?”
She looked at me then, really looked at me, and for a moment I saw something
genuine beneath the polished exterior. Regret, maybe. Or recognition.
“We all make sacrifices, Caterina. That’s what it means to be part
of something larger than ourselves.”
“I didn’t ask to be part of this.” My voice came out sharper
than I intended. “I didn’t choose the Lombardi name. I
didn’t choose this life.”
“None of us do.” She stood, smoothing her skirt even though it
didn’t need smoothing. “But it’s the life we have. The
question is what we do with it.”
I wanted to argue more, to push until that perfect composure cracked and she
admitted how much she’d given up, how much she’d swallowed to be
Giuseppe Lombardi’s wife. But I also knew it was pointless. Mama had
made her peace with her choices a long time ago. She’d decided that
compliance was easier than resistance, that playing the role was safer than
fighting the script.
I’d never be able to do the same.
“Seven o’clock,” she said again, moving toward the door.
“Please don’t be late. And, Caterina?” She paused, her hand
on the doorknob. “Wear something appropriate.”
I drummed my manicured nails against the vanity top, the sharp click-click-click filling the silence. It was a nervous habit I’d never
been able to break, and one that drove my father crazy. Mama’s gaze
flicked to my hand, but she said nothing. Just waited.
“I’ll be there,” I said finally. “Properly dressed and
everything.”
Something in my tone must have warned her, because her eyes narrowed slightly.
Not angry, just… knowing. She’d raised me, after all. She knew
when I was planning something.
“Caterina –”
“I said I’ll be there.” I gave her my sweetest smile, the
one I used when I was about to do something that would make Papa’s blood
pressure spike. “You can count on me.”
About the Author
Harley Wylde is an accomplished author known for her captivating MC Romances.
With an unwavering commitment to sensual storytelling, Wylde immerses her
readers in an exciting world of fierce men and irresistible women. Her works
exude passion, danger, and gritty realism, while still managing to end on a
satisfying note each time.
When not crafting her tales, Wylde spends her time brainstorming new
plotlines, indulging in a hot cup of Starbucks, or delving into a good book.
She has a particular affinity for supernatural horror literature and movies.
Visit Wylde’s website to learn more about her works and upcoming events, and
don’t forget to sign up for her newsletter to receive exclusive discounts and
other exciting perks.
Author on Facebook, Instagram, & TikTok: @harleywylde
Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress
Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15
Can two Rangers find love when they’re haunted by invisible
monsters — inside and out?
Earth civilians are obsessed with selfies and social media, but my life
revolves around alien starships, superhuman strength, and A.I. implants. Too
bad none of it helped when I was captured and tortured. Now I crave revenge,
but as a genetically engineered Ranger, I must obey Mothership’s rules:
protect humanity. Never kill.
When another alien ship sends monsters to invade Earth, Mothership’s
Rangers must stop them. My new Ranger teammate is everything I shouldn’t
crave: handsome, skilled, and haunted by his own dark past. He helped rescue
me from torture, but it cost him his entire team. Now I’m the mess
he’s got to clean up.
Battling invisible monsters may be the death of us, but our mutual attraction
is undeniable. Can we stop an alien invasion despite our dangerous chemistry?
EXCERPT
Present Day
Diana
I stared at the screen, watching the Earth grow larger as our transport raced
toward it. Even after two months as one of Mothership’s Rangers, the
sight reminded me how strange my new life had become. Down there, people were
obsessed with selfies, celebrities, and social media. I’d plunged into a
world of giant alien starships, AI brain implants, and super-strength.
And worse.
An image flashed through my head — the sadistic grin on Roger Bannon’s
face as he leaned in, the surgical drill whining as it spun. I’d fought
not to scream as the drill bit in.
Roger loved it when I screamed.
I shoved away the memory, hard. If I wasn’t careful, that thin face with
those pale, rabid eyes would start running through my head on an OCD loop.
“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” I muttered.
Next to me, Ian Cartwright turned to give me a narrow stare. “What did
you say?”
Damnit, Diana, you’re not supposed to creep out your battle buddy.
“Bad memories.”
His expression softened, ice-blue eyes going a little less chilly. “I
can imagine.”
No, you really can’t. I didn’t say it aloud. Cartwright already
thought I was a human hand grenade just waiting for somebody to pull my pin.
The team didn’t need that kind of distrust, especially in the middle of
an op.
I looked away to see Indra Fox watching me in concern. Crap, I’d even
freaked her out. She and our team leader, Rowan Kerr, sat on one of the other
bench seats beside the huge oval screens that lined the transport’s
curving fuselage.
Indy had been my best friend all my life, my sister in every way but blood.
She could read me as if she were telepathic. “Having a flashback?”
She tilted her head, long, dark hair swinging around her face, green eyes
startling against the silken fall of black. Like me, Indy had a tough,
athletic build from the combat and strength training we’d had from the
time we could walk. Our dads hadn’t been fooling around.
“I’ve got it handled.”
“Cyberpunk could block those if you’d let him.”
She was right — my AI brain implant could suppress the firing synapses that
triggered those memories. “I’m not going to give Roger the
satisfaction.”
Rowan Kerr snorted. “Satisfaction’s the last thing Bannon’s
feeling.” Our team leader was even bigger than Cartwright, though his
features were less classically handsome, with the rich golden coloring of his
Latino heritage. His angular features and intense gaze made him look like
he’d escaped a temple in ancient Greece. “If he even thinks about
what he did to you, he’ll get a one-way trip to PTSD hell. Pissing Mothership off is never a good idea.”
“She still turned him loose. He could try it again.” That’s
why I dreamed of killing him, First Reg or no First Reg. If Bannon was dead,
he’d never come back.
Cartwright gave me a frustrated glower. “Newman, he can’t. His
conditioning won’t let him. If you violate the First Reg again,
you’re going to find out why — the hard way. You’ve used up the
only second chance you get.”
That just pissed me off. “If Mothership had rescued Indra and me when
Satan’s Horsemen murdered our –”
“How about not starting a fight in the middle of a mission?” Rowan
interrupted. “We’ve got a child and his family to rescue.
Preferably before the damn Boars grab them.”
I shut my mouth so fast, my teeth clicked. I’d seen the file photo in
Aiden Scott’s dossier. Just eight years old, the kid had huge brown eyes
in a pale, round little face under a flyaway mop of dark hair, his grin wide
and white and missing a couple of baby teeth.
When Aiden was diagnosed with a high-risk medulloblastoma at age four, doctors
treated the brain tumor with surgery, chemo, and radiation. He’d still
relapsed three years later. The boy would probably be dead now, except Mothership spotted his family’s medical GoFundMe. She’d sent a
Ranger team to the Scott family with an offer to heal Aiden. His parents
hadn’t looked a gift miracle in the mouth — just packed him up and
flown off with the Rangers.
Giant alien spaceships are a lot less scary than losing a child.
Mothership’s doctors had infused Aiden’s body with nanotech —
molecule-sized bots that hunted down every cancer cell in his body and killed
them all. Then the tech corrected the genetic condition that caused the cancer
while healing the damage it had inflicted. He’d been healthy and happy
within three months.
But that nanotech also made him a tempting target for the Boarosans
who’d invaded the solar system a decade back. The humans whose bodies
the Boars used as unwilling hosts were as vulnerable to disease as everyone
else, and the aliens wanted to keep their meat suits healthy. That was why
they’d ordered the Horsemen to kidnap me, why Bannon and his
“researchers” had cut me, scarred me, peeled me so they could
watch my tech put me back together. They’d hoped to reverse engineer my
nanotech.
They could easily do the same to Aiden. Mothership’s simulations
predicted that since I’d escaped, the Boar might well decide to go after
the Cured she’d treated.
The idea of that sweet little boy at the mercy of the same aliens who’d
given me to Roger…
Rescuing Aiden’s a hell of a lot more important than beefing with my own
team. Better mend some fences.
I gave Ian a tight nod. “Sorry for going off on you, Cartwright.
Rowan’s right — an op isn’t the time to get pissy.”
He studied me thoughtfully. Rangers were universally attractive — Mothership’s genetic engineering at work — but Ian was even more
gorgeous than the typical agent. His face was intensely masculine, all high
cheekbones and square jaw, his nose aquiline, his mouth wide, with a lower lip
I longed to nibble. He wore his sable hair in a severe style that made him
look even harder, sexier, but it was his eyes that pulled me in. An icy blue,
they were ringed and rayed in a rich cobalt, watchful and cool. People tend to
dismiss a man that pretty, but Cartwright was also six-five and built like an
NFL defensive lineman. As one of Mothership’s Rangers, he was even more
dangerous than he looked.
“I started it.” His voice rumbled in a way that made me yearn to
exchange more than snark with him. “Shouldn’t have poked the
wound. I’m sorry.”
“Let’s just… start over, okay? The point is getting Aiden
and his family to safety.”
His nod was tight and controlled, like everything else about the man.
“Works for me.”
About the Author
New York Times best-selling author Angela Knight has written and published
more than sixty novels, novellas, and ebooks, including the Mageverse and
Merlin’s Legacy series. With a career spanning more than two decades,
Romantic Times Bookclub Magazine has awarded her their Career Achievement
award in Paranormal Romance, as well as two Reviewers’ Choice awards for
Best Erotic Romance and Best Werewolf Romance.
Angela is currently a writer, editor, and cover artist for Changeling Press
LLC. She also teaches online writing courses. Besides her fiction work,
Angela’s writing career includes a decade as an award-winning South
Carolina newspaper reporter. She lives in South Carolina with her husband,
Michael, a thirty-year police veteran and detective with a local police
department.
Set sail for suspense in the thrilling first installment of the Sailing
Mystery Series!
In Murder on the Squid Row Run, oboist Georgiana Quilter is finally hitting
her stride—with a dream orchestra job and a new apartment. But when she
agrees to pose as a celebrity’s girlfriend during a glamorous
international sailing rally, things take a dark and deadly turn.
A body turns up on board. A child disappears. A saboteur strikes. As the Squid
Row Run heads from San Diego to Cabo San Lucas, Georgiana races to uncover
secrets buried at sea—all while navigating a fake romance that’s
becoming dangerously real.
Perfect for fans of cozy mysteries, strong female sleuths, and nautical
adventures, authentic maritime details inspired by the author’s own
seven-year circumnavigation. Suspense, wit, and danger at every port
“… action-packed with a pitch-perfect ear for all the craziness
of an international sailing rally.”
—Cap’n Fatty
Goodlander, Cruising World Magazine
Love mystery series set on the water? This is your next great read.
Author Julia Shovein brings authenticity and edge to her mystery novels, drawn
from a life spent at sea and in service. After a thirty-year career as a
university professor of nursing (Professor Emeritus), Julia retired and
embarked on a global sailing adventure with her husband, circumnavigating the
globe over seven years.
She lived and wrote in exotic locations like New Zealand, Turkey, and
London’s St. Katherine Dock. Upon returning home to Paradise,
California, Julia and her husband narrowly escaped the devastating Campfire
wildfire. These life-altering experiences shaped her writing—and her
heroine, Georgiana Quilter.
Now living in Bremerton, Washington, with her husband Horst and husky Blue,
Julia is a proud member of the Poulsbo Yacht Club. She’s truly, as
Cruising World puts it, “the real thing.”
What would you risk to uncover a secret buried for over 150 years?
From bestselling and multi–award-winning author David R. Leng comes the
next pulse-pounding installment in the Echoes of Fortune series.
His debut, Echoes of Fortune: The Search for Braddock’s Lost Gold,
captivated readers and earned a 4.5-star rating on Goodreads. Now the
adventure continues with a brand-new novella that plunges deeper into
history’s deadliest secrets.
When historian Jack Sullivan, Smithsonian curator Emma Wilson, and fellow
former Navy SEAL Steve Johnson set out for a Thanksgiving dive off Cozumel,
they expect nothing more than warm waters and forgotten wrecks. Instead, they
uncover a Confederate ghost ship that vanished in 1865—along with a
sealed brass tube containing secrets powerful enough to change history.
But they’re not alone. Shadowy mercenaries and a black-hulled yacht
stalk their every move, determined to silence them before the truth surfaces.
From dazzling reefs to the back alleys of Veracruz, Jack and his team are
forced into a deadly game where history isn’t past—it’s a
weapon.
Some secrets don’t want to be found. And some will kill to stay buried.
Perfect for fans of Steve Berry, Clive Cussler, Dan Brown, and James Rollins, Shadows Over Cozumel delivers nonstop action, historical intrigue, and a
mystery that spans centuries.
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Cozumel Mexico
Thursday, November 22, 2018
8:56 AM
The black mega yacht waited beyond Cozumel’s harbor mouth, a dark
predator lurking in sunlit waters. Cruise ships gleamed at the pier, fishing
boats slipped out toward the open sea, but this vessel did not belong. Sleek,
silent, and perfectly placed in deeper water, it radiated intent.
At the bow rail, a man in a white Panama hat with a dark band stood with
military stillness, his weathered hands gripping the binoculars trained on the
harbor. A gold watch caught the light as he lifted his wrist to check the
time.
A striking young woman approached in a sheer white cover-up over her swimsuit,
her smile as rehearsed as the silver tray she carried. She might have been a
model from one of the glossy magazines scattered in the salon, another prop in
the theater of wealth the man commanded.
Ice clinking, he took the drink without a glance, eyes locked on the port, as
if even beauty and luxury were beneath his notice.
“Sir,” a subordinate murmured, appearing at his shoulder,
“the Americans arrived last evening. Right on schedule.”
The binoculars never wavered.
“Our marine park contact confirmed they requested to dive La
Sombra.” The man paused, then continued in his Caribbean accent,
“We’ve been tracking them since they arrived. Sullivan—the
professor, the tall one. His Smithsonian curator fiancée. And his
fellow former SEAL friend. Our hacker says he’s been digging into the Del Rio.”
Through the lenses, he watched three figures board the Maria Elena—a
tall, blond man helping the athletic woman with her gear, the muscular Black
man arranging air tanks with quiet efficiency.
“Possibly lethal. High profile,” he noted. “We should keep
this out of the media if we can. Let them dive.” He lowered the
binoculars, his eyes tracking the dive boat pulling from the pier. “But
if they become a problem…history will bury them too.”
About the Author
David R. Leng, known for his expertise in risk management and insurance, now
ventures into the world of fiction with his latest historical thriller, Echoes
of Fortune. With a distinguished career spanning over 30 years, David is the
author of International #1 Best Sellers including “Insured to Fail” and “The
10 Laws of Insurance Attraction,” and has saved clients over $42 million in
premiums and overcharges. As Executive Vice President and Partner of the
Duncan Financial Group, David is celebrated for his innovative Risk Profile
Improvement Process and has earned numerous accolades, including Advisor of
the Year by the Institute of WorkComp Professionals. An avid contributor to
industry publications, David’s passion extends beyond his professional
achievements to include boating, skiing, woodworking, and supporting his local
high school’s musical productions. His foray into historical thrillers
reflects his deep storytelling skills and a lifelong commitment to engaging
and captivating audiences.
Lily ran from a nightmare straight to Rattler’s arms. He’s all leather,
muscle and lethal promise. Dare she hope for an HEA?
Lily — Abusing me was bad enough, but when my a**hole of a boyfriend
threatened to shoot a tiny kitten, I brained him with a pot of spaghetti sauce
and ran — straight into the arms of the tattooed VP of the Riptide MC.
He’s everything my ex isn’t, and that gives me hope. He promises
to keep Scrapper and I safe, but my ex isn’t the forgiving kind. He said
he would kill me if I left him and I know he’s going to come looking for
revenge.
Rattler — She might be younger than me in years, but there’s a world of
experience looking out of those gorgeous eyes, and it isn’t the good
kind. When she pulled a gun on me, I knew she was my kind of woman.
She’s on the run from an a**hole who used her as a punching bag. He
might have the local law enforcement in his pocket, but me and my brothers in
Riptide have military experience, and sometimes vigilante justice is
necessary.
Trigger Warning: This is an MC action thriller romance. It contains violence,
abuse, coarse language, vigilante justice, and adult situations. No cheating,
no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after. Enjoy!
EXCERPT
Rattler
Thor and Janet were actually going to tie the fucking knot! I suppose I should
have seen it coming, but they’d been playing friends-with-benefits for
so long I guess I thought that’s all they’d ever be. And now here
I was — sitting in a bakery waiting for a box of frilly wedding-type cupcakes
to take back to the clubhouse for the old ladies to sample. Not sure how I got
conned into playing fetch. I was happy for them and all, but you’d think
they could have sent a prospect, not the fucking VP.
The bell on the door tinkled, and I looked up as a woman came in. She looked
rough. More than rough. One eye was black, and through the open collar of her
coat I could see a circle of greenish yellow bruises on her neck. Her clothes
looked like she’d slept in them, and she had a bulging backpack slung
across one shoulder. She looked young, too young to be stuck in the kind of
relationship those bruises indicated.
She glanced in my direction and quickly looked away. Yeah, she was scared of
something. Or more likely, someone. She walked up to the counter, and I
noticed a slight limp. Probably from the same incident that gave her that
black eye.
Maybe I was wrong. Ace always chided me for jumping to conclusions. She could
have been in a car accident or tripped and fallen down a flight of stairs. The
problem was, in my experience, that only happened once in a very long while.
I’d bet my bottom dollar there were more bruises hidden under her
clothes, in varying shades of blue, yellow, and purple. Evidence of an ongoing
series of attacks.
Impotent assholes who beat up on their women were one of my triggers, and I
looked outside to see if maybe this was my lucky day. Maybe the asshole was
here with her.
She asked the woman behind the counter for a coffee, and when the lady turned
to get it, she grabbed a muffin and stuffed it in her pocket. The attendant
turned back and sat the cup of steaming coffee on the counter and rang in the
purchase. Pulling a few bills out of her bra, the newcomer paid the bill and
hurried back outside, gulping the coffee down as she went. I watched as she
turned the corner and headed down the alley beside the bakery.
Standing, I strode over to the counter. Tossing a couple of bills on the
counter, I smiled. “For my coffee, and the muffin you forgot to charge
my friend for.”
“Your friend?” Her brows raised in disbelief.
“That’s right. She must not have seen me waiting for her.
I’ll be back in a few minutes for those cupcakes.” I pivoted and
strode out the door before she could ask exactly how anyone could miss seeing
someone as big as me.
I turned the corner and saw the woman crouched down at the far end of the
alley, petting a kitten that had its head poked out of her backpack. She gave
me the side-eye as I sauntered toward her, trying to look as unthreatening as
possible.
I obviously didn’t do a very good job. She waited until I was about ten
feet from her, far enough away not to touch her but close enough to block the
view of anyone who happened to walk past the mouth of the alley. Then she
straightened up and pulled the gun out from under her shirt. She made damn
sure I saw her flick the safety off.
“Don’t come near me.” She pulled the backpack a little
closer as if to protect the tiny scrap of a kitten in it.
Did I seriously look like the kind of guy who’d hurt a kitten?
Apparently, she thought so. I held my hands up. “I just wanted to talk.
I’m not going to harm you.”
She didn’t look convinced. “Tim send you?”
I frowned, taking in her battered appearance. “Tim the guy that did that
to you?”
She didn’t answer for a moment, and the gun didn’t waver.
“Fuck off.”
I had to work at not smiling. The swear words sounded cute coming out of such
a tiny thing. “No, I have no fucking idea who Tim is. I just saw you
come in and nick that muffin and wondered if maybe you needed a hand. I paid
for the muffin, by the way, so you don’t have to worry about
that.”
She snorted. “Not high on my list of worries right now.”
“Fair enough.” I gestured at the ground. “Doesn’t look
all that comfortable down there. Care to come back into the bakery and we can
talk?”
“Why would I want to talk to you?”
I shrugged. “I’m a nice guy. No offense, but it’s pretty
obvious you’re running from someone. Maybe I can help. Do you have
somewhere to go? I can offer you and your little companion there a
ride.”
Her eyes narrowed, and I could see her calculate the odds of me being a serial
killer. “I’m looking for the Riptide MC. Do you know where to find
them?”
About the Author
Anne Kane lives in the beautiful Okanagan Valley with a bouncy little rescue
dog whose breed defies description, a cantankerous Himalayan cat, and too many
fish to count. She spent many years trying to fit in and act normal, but
finally gave up the effort. She started writing romance in 2008, and her fate
was sealed when she won a publishing contract with Red Sage Publishing and
just a month later Changeling Press accepted her first submission. Since then
she has published more than thirty stories in a variety of sub-genres, all
with a happily ever after.
She has two handsome sons and six adorable grandchildren and enjoys spending
time with them whenever she can. Her hobbies, when she’s not playing
with the characters in her head, include kayaking, hiking, swimming, playing
guitar, singing and of course, reading.
Cupid trades arrows for scones in a magical screwball comedy
Romantic Comedy, Humor Novel, Light Fantasy
Tropes: Valentine’s Day romance, Small Town Romance Slow Burn Romance,
Found Family, Forbidden Romance, Meddling Family
Publisher: Making Hay Press
Date Published: 12-09-2025
“The Valentine Lines” reimagines Cupid—aka Bart
McGee—as an underdog ditching the corporate grind of Mt. Olympus, Inc.,
for small-town life in quaint Mineral Point, Wisconsin. When Bart launches a
matchmaking business and falls in love with a local baker, chaos ensues as his
meddling Olympus relatives crash the scene. It’s packed with snappy
banter, slapstick escapades, mythological mishaps, and thoughtful explorations
of love, trust, and self-discovery.
It’s a modern “Bell, Book, and Candle.” A light,
literary escape for readers craving whimsy with emotional resonance.
No sex, politics, foul language. Manuscript winner/finalist in CIBA (humor)
and Southwest Writers.
About the Author
TK Sheffield, MA, writes stories to laugh and escape, including new a romcom
“The Valentine Lines,” and “Nellie’s Island,” a children’s horse
story set in Mackinac Island. Sheffield also writes funny cozy mysteries, “The
Devil Wears Prada” meets a Wisconsin supper club, which have earned an IBPA
Humor medal, a Claymore, and an IPPY. She’s on the Wisconsin Writers
Association’s board, host of the Wispresso Café, an author talk
show, and a member of Blackbird Writers, Sisters in Crime, and SCBWI.
Santa’s making a list. He’s checking it twice. And if you’ve been
naughty… run. Because Krampus is real…but the legend never told the whole
story. In this eclectic anthology, multiple authors unleash the Alpine myth in
unexpected ways. He’s a monster. A protector. A lover. A nightmare. Sometimes
charming, sometimes deadly, always unforgettable. From vivid poetry to
spine-tingling terror to sinful spice, every story peels back another layer of
the creature who passes judgment on the naughty ones…and what happens next.
This multi-author collection features stories with varying tones and heat
levels. Graphic content is clearly labeled for your reading pleasure.
ALL proceeds from the sale of this anthology go to Quill Cottage Wildlife, a
501c3 wildlife rehabilitation
Featuring Works By
Jodee Jean Daniels, Luna Nyx Frost, C.L. Hart, Spiros Katsaras, Jayce Maxwell,
J. Noble, Jenna O’Malley, Kay Parquet, Melissa Power, Alyce Reads, E.L.
Summers, Jason M. Spencer, Kyle Thomas, Cass Voit
Excerpt
Crimson Retribution by C. L. Hart
Hashim led Donata to a clear spot where a cluster of trees blocked the wind.
After relieving herself, she returned to his side.
“All right, let’s see the fabulous view you’ve been raving about.”
“Would you like a pair of binoculars?”
“Certainly. I’ve always enjoyed pretending I was a bird flying above the
world.”
“Or an angel,” Hashim proposed.
“I imagine I have a few more miles left in this aging body before God or
whoever calls me home.”
“Darling, you’re always my angel.”
“What are you angling for with all this flattery, Hashim?”
“I’m only trying to make things right, my love. I don’t want a divorce. I love
you, and even though Libby is biologically Javed’s daughter, I’ve always
thought of her as my own.”
“No matter what happens between you and me, you will always be Libby’s father.
I’m open to working things out, but you need to understand that I will not put
up with any more abuse, either verbal or physical, and I won’t abide any more
cheating.”
Hashim handed Donata the binoculars.
“Gaze through your magic spectacles and tell me what appears to your wondering
eyes, my snow queen.”
“I believe this is what Santa sees from his sleigh as he swoops down on a
quiet Christmas Eve night. There are fantastical decorations, and the
multicolored lights make everything look festive.”
“You always had an amazing imagination.”
Hashim reached behind the seat of the sleigh, retrieving an axe.
“Picture being here with Libby on Christmas Eve. Imagine walking out on the
deck with her to marvel at the lights and look for Santa flying overhead.”
“Oh, there’s a house with a life-size Santa on the roof! He and the reindeer
seem so real. Rudolph’s nose flashes bright red, and Santa is waving to the
people below. I can almost hear Christmas carols playing and taste hot spiced
cider.”
About the Author
C. L. Hart, also known as The Terrible Old Woman, is an
editor who writes. She enjoys creating holiday stories with a twist, usually
in either the dark fantasy/horror or sweet romance genres. Her short stories
have appeared in several anthologies, and she has self-published her own works
as well, including four poetry volumes, a novella, a fix-up novel, and several
short stories.
Ms. Hart lives in a tiny town on the Northeastern Colorado plains with her
adult son, cat daughter, and cat grandson. She doesn’t mind cooking, but she
hopes one day to hire elves to do the housework for her.
