TEASER: The Wolf Experiment by Laura Daleo

Urban Fantasy / Werewolf

Date Published: 01-23-2026

 

 In Doford Peaks, a small mountain town, 19-year-old Ethan lives with his
grandma. His life is quite normal, at least as normal as it can be for someone
with asthma. A winter morning walk turns dramatic when he and his grandma
discover an 18-year-old girl, Mia, who is unconscious and injured. As Mia
recovers, bits of her past emerge, attracting agents Gibson and Cooper of the
Bureau of Supernatural Investigation (BSI). A complex web of secrets
associated with the Defense Forces of Genesis (DFOG) intertwines their fates.
As the truth emerges, Ethan and Mia must face the horrifying reality of The
Wolf Experiment.

 

 

Excerpt

Chapter 1

A whimper pulled me from my sleep, and my eyelids
fluttered open. Gracie’s snout was right in front of me, her light gray
fur softly brushing against my cheek. As her pale blue eyes looked into mine,
her tail began to wag. There was no way I was getting up, and I rolled over to
the other side of my bed, where Hank stood waiting. He fixed his golden eyes
on me, his pure white fur seeming darker in the dim light of my bedroom.
Sunlight filtered through the two large skylights above my bed, casting a warm
light over my room. The rays continued to spread across posters of my favorite
bands, my world map marked with where I wanted to visit, my only plant that I
hadn’t killed, and my high school guitar leaning against my bookcase. My
wolves whimpered again, signaling it was time to get up. Glancing at the clock
on my nightstand, it read 6:00 a.m.
I pulled the covers over my head and
tried to fall back asleep, but that didn’t work out well. My wolves
howled as they jumped onto my king-sized bed. Sitting up, I shook off the
sleepiness and raised my open palms toward Hank. “We’re bros,
Hank. Help me out here. It’s too early. Can’t you and Gracie give
me a little more time?”
Hank reacted by leaping off my bed,
sprinting into the hallway, and then vanishing. Gracie fixed her fierce gaze
on me, but I avoided her eyes. The sound of Hank’s paws tapping against
the floor broke the silence as he charged back into my room, his leash clamped
in his mouth.
I shook my head in frustration, tossed aside my covers, and
walked into the bathroom. They followed closely behind me. “At the very
least, let me take a quick shower before we go for a walk.”
I
didn’t let either of them protest with a bark, howl, or whine and
stepped into the shower. Turning on the hot water, my wolves settled onto the
cool porcelain tile of the bathroom, their eyes on me, waiting. My thoughts
drifted back to one year ago when I discovered the abandoned wolf puppies on
my way home from the local store. They huddled together on the roadside,
trembling and shaking, too young to be without their mother. Their bodies were
mere skin and bones, and they had that look in their eyes that they were ready
to give up. I tucked them into my jacket and rushed home, fully aware that my
grandma would not be pleased with my impulsive decision, but I had to save
them.
My grandma’s eyes widened in disbelief when she saw the
little bundles of fur sticking out from my jacket as I walked in the door.
“Ethan, did you bring wolves into my house?” She let out a deep
sigh and was definitely annoyed, but as she noticed their desperate state, her
disapproval began to fade. She quickly ushered me and the puppies into her
clinic and examined them thoroughly. “I’m a physician, not a
veterinarian,” she said, “but these puppies are severely
dehydrated and malnourished. I can give them fluids, and you need to buy puppy
milk replacement from the feed store. Let Walter know they are wolf pups and
about four weeks old. He will know what to give you.”

Gracie’s
and Hank’s urgent barks jolted me into the present and forced me to
quickly finish my shower. Staring at myself in the double mirrors over the
bathroom vanity, I saw bits of my grandma in me. We both had curly, caramel
brown hair, although hers had strands of gray. The left corner of our smiles
was slightly crooked, a trait that ran in the family. Our hazel eyes had more
green than brown, and while she stood at 5’6″ and weighed 125 pounds, I was
taller at 5’10” and weighed 165 pounds.
She was a tough, 66-year-old
woman with a strong personality who never remarried after my grandfather
passed away. I never knew him. He died before I was born. Grandma, being the
town’s physician and surgeon, was accustomed to interacting with people
and found comfort in those conversations. As for me—I was a loner and
found socializing to be a challenge. I preferred the company of animals over
people. Hank and Gracie were my best friends. All I truly needed was their
companionship, along with my grandma’s, of course.
When I was five,
my parents left me at my grandma’s house. That was fourteen years ago.
We lived in Doford Peaks, a small mountain town in the state of Oakridge, with
a population of around 1,200. With winter fully upon us, I dressed in utility
pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and my winter boots to prepare for the cold. I
also dressed Hank and Gracie in their waterproof winter coats and booties.
Along with my down jacket, I grabbed a beanie and gloves. I stuffed my cell
phone, inhaler, and compass into my pants pockets. With Gracie’s and
Hank’s leashes in hand, I left my bedroom and dropped my jacket, beanie,
and gloves on the entryway table.
Hank and Gracie followed me into our
rustic kitchen, with exposed wooden beams and oak cabinets. Grandma
particularly loved the large windows that allowed natural light to stream
across the stone-tiled floor and the breathtaking views of the surrounding
mountains. She was seated at the antique wooden table in the center of the
kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee. Grabbing a granola bar and a bottle of
water, I breathed in the rich aroma of French roast. “Morning, Grandma.
You’re up early.”
“Ethan, good morning. A slight
emergency brought me into the clinic.” She sipped her coffee and
continued, “LuAnn fell on the ice and sliced her hand open. She needed
several stitches.” Grinning, she said, “She asked about
you.”
“Please stop with the matchmaking.”
“She’s
intelligent and attractive, much like you.”
“That
doesn’t mean I have to date her.”
“It doesn’t
mean you have to date her. But what’s the harm in having a casual cup of
coffee?”
“Being single works for me. Plus, I wouldn’t
know how to talk to her, and I wouldn’t want to give her the wrong idea.
Can we change the subject?”
She placed her coffee mug on the
counter. “Fine. Are you going out for a walk with your wolf
pack?”
I scratched Gracie and Hank behind their ears. “As
much as I wanted to sleep in, they insisted I get up and take them for a
walk.”
Her gaze drifted to one of the large windows, where
snowflakes were gently falling outside. Turning her attention back to me, she
asked, “Do you have your inhaler?”
I patted my pocket.
“Yes, Grandma.”
“What about your cell phone?”
“I
have that too.”
“Since it’s snowing, you should
definitely take a jacket, and—”
My chin bobbed toward the
door as I interrupted her. “I have a jacket, a beanie, and
gloves.”
“Hmm. What about water or a snack?”
I
groaned and replied, “Grandma, I’m 19. I’m not a kid
anymore. I can take care of myself.”
A protective expression
crossed her face as she placed her hand on her hip. “Ethan, no matter
how old you get, in my eyes, you’ll always be my precious
grandson.”
A sigh escaped my lips, and I shrugged my shoulders.
“Do you want to just come with me?”
Her hazel eyes brightened
with a smile as she waved a finger at me. “That’s a great
idea,” she said. “I’ll get my coat.”
Grandma came
back wearing a down jacket. She was bundled up in winter clothing. A scarf was
wrapped around her neck, and gloves covered her hands while she tucked her
hair beneath the hood of her jacket. She grabbed a bottle of water from the
cupboard and tucked it into her jacket pocket. Then she reached for
Gracie’s leash. “Gracie can come with me.”
“Gracie
is definitely easier to control than Hank. He tends to pull a lot, especially
when he catches a scent.” I handed her Gracie’s leash.
“That’s
true!” she said with a smile. “I’m ready. It’s
beautiful right now. The sun is breaking through the clouds, the snow is
falling, and the air smells of pine cones. What more could we ask
for?”
“You sound like a greeting card, Grandma.”
A
chuckle escaped her lips. “I do, don’t I?” She opened the
solid wood door and replied, “After you.”
Wood siding wrapped
around my grandma’s single-story home. The deep green roof blended into
the surrounding trees, and the many windows let in tons of light, which my
grandma loved. I led Hank through the doorway and onto the wraparound deck. We
made our way down the stairs and onto the cement driveway. Continuing down the
sloped driveway, we passed Grandma’s clinic, a smaller replica of the
main house. Glen’s truck had cleared the road of snow. At 70, he was
still going strong as the owner of a snowplow truck company. His silver hair
was often dusted with snow, mirroring the bushy eyebrows that framed his kind,
gray-blue eyes. Every time I saw him, he was wearing a flannel shirt, a heavy
jacket, jeans, and boots. Maybe they were his favorites or maybe it was his
uniform, but at least he was consistent.
We walked along the towering
pine trees, now filled with snow, lining both sides of the road. The crisp,
cool air stung my cheeks, so I pulled my beanie down as far as possible and
still be able to see. Hank and Gracie strolled alongside us, their noses in
the air, sniffing at whatever scents they could find.
Grandma asked,
“Would you like to talk about the letter your parents sent?”
“I
don’t,” I abruptly replied.
“I think we ought to talk
about it,” she insisted.
I looked at her, hoping my expression
conveyed my hurt, frustration, and exhaustion. “Grandma, I love you. I
know my dad is your son, and I don’t mean any disrespect, but they
handed me off to you fourteen years ago. Mom and Dad haven’t visited me
for any occasion—birthdays, Thanksgiving, or Christmas. They ghosted me!
I couldn’t care less about their stupid letters.”
“I
understand where you’re coming from,” she sympathized.
“Although I don’t support the choice they made, I know it was very
tough for them to leave you in my care, and I can only imagine how confusing
this all is for you. I don’t know what your letter said, but in my
letter, they reiterated their continued search for a cure for asthma. Their
letter made it very clear that they’re doing everything possible to help
you live a healthier, happier life. I hope you know how much both your parents
love you.”
“Researching for fourteen years, Grandma?” I
exclaimed, my voice filled with exasperation. “I’m sure even you
don’t even believe that.”
“I know they love
you.”
“If they truly loved me, they would have been present
in my life instead of concentrating on scientific research. My parents
didn’t want a flawed son.”
Her hand touched mine as she
paused. “Ethan, you can’t possibly believe that.”
“Regardless
of what I believe, the fact remains that I have asthma, and I manage it. You
stood beside me, not my parents. They’ve been absent most of my life.
Even if they returned now, I probably wouldn’t want to see them.
I’m sorry, Grandma.” I softened my tone. “My anger is
directed at them, not you, and I’m just not ready to forgive
them.”
She hugged me tight and reassured me. “Ethan, I will
always be here for you.”
In her arms, emotions surged within me,
and tears threatened to fall. Hank and Gracie surrounded me, nuzzling their
furry heads against my body in an attempt to comfort me. As I pulled away, I
admitted, “Talking about them doesn’t help. It only makes matters
worse.”
“I understand how you feel. Everything is going to be
okay, I promise. Let’s continue our morning walk with Hank and Gracie
and enjoy the day together.”
Relieved, I nodded, and we continued
down the road. Hank and Gracie glanced back at me occasionally to ensure I was
okay. As we walked, the various smells around us began to capture their
attention more than my presence. They trotted happily alongside me, their
snouts pressed to the pavement, wagging their tails as they sniffed every
tree.
“It’s chilly today,” Grandma said and shivered
and then glanced at me. “How are you feeling? Any shortness of
breath?”
“So far, so good, but I agree it’s super cold.
Maybe we can cut our walk short.”
“Good idea, and I
agree.”
Hank suddenly stopped, raised his nose, and howled. A few
birds scattered from the branches above, startled by his abrupt call. Had he
sensed something: an approaching storm or another animal nearby?
Gracie’s ears perked up as she lifted her head and let out a softer but
equally determined howl. My wolves stood side by side, their eyes scanning the
horizon, alert to something I couldn’t see. Hank started tugging on his
leash, and I pulled backward. “What is it, Hank?”
“I
don’t see anything,” Grandma said, glancing around the area.
I
peered between the trees, searching and feeling compelled to understand what
Hank and Gracie were sensing. “They definitely smell something.
Let’s check.”
“I am not sure if it is safe,
Ethan.”
“Grandma, we need to investigate. If it’s an
injured animal or more abandoned pups, we can call Marsha and have her send
her wildlife team out here.”
“Fair enough.” Grandma
nodded.
I released the slack on Hank’s leash and commanded,
“Find it!
Hank and Gracie raced ahead, tugging Grandma and me
along. Our breaths rose into the air like swirls of smoke. Frost covered the
road, crunching beneath our boots as we followed my wolves. As we went down
the road, the trees got thicker and thicker, reaching up to the pale sky,
casting shadows, and blocking out the sun.
My wolves’ noses skimmed
along the damp earth, sniffing. Occasionally, they paused to circle a spot
several times before continuing on their determined path with their noses once
again on the ground. They sped up and tensed their bodies as they focused on
the trail that led us up the hill to a cliff that looked like the entrance to
a cave.
Despite the cold, beads of sweat formed on my forehead, and a
tightness spread across my chest. The familiar constriction gripped my lungs
the higher we climbed. I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed my medicine.
Fumbling in my pocket, I reached for my inhaler. I could feel Grandma’s
eyes fixed on me as I struggled to breathe.
Grandma’s voice was
tense as she ordered, “Stop and use your inhaler. You’re having
trouble breathing.”
“Hank is pulling me too hard. I can take
a puff while I’m moving.”
“Nonsense,” Grandma
said, taking Hank’s leash from me and bringing both Hank and Gracie to a
halt. The wolves howled in protest. “There, now they’ve stopped.
Please, Ethan, use your inhaler right now, and I mean it.”
I
didn’t argue and put my inhaler in my mouth, pressed the button,
releasing the medication, and breathed deeply. After a few seconds of inhaling
and exhaling, the pressure lessened, and I put my inhaler back in my pocket.
Gradually, the tightness in my chest vanished.
“Better?”
I
nodded.
“I can’t risk your health for Hank and Gracie to
chase down some scent. We need to turn back.”
“No, Grandma!
I’m fine. If there’s an animal in trouble, we need to save it.
I’ll never forgive myself if we don’t keep going.”
Her
lips formed a thin line, and her brow furrowed with disapproval. Grandma knew
that Hank and Gracie were not just my pets. They knew me better than any
human. They were part of our family. I felt a deep responsibility to protect
all animals, and my grandma knew that.
Again, I begged, “Please,
Grandma.”
After several minutes of hesitation, she finally
responded, “We’ll proceed, but if you have another episode,
we’re finished.” She handed Hank’s leash back to me.
I
let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I’ll be okay. I
promise.”
She huffed and waved me forward.
After hiking up the
hill, we arrived at the cave, its dark entrance framed by jagged rocks. A
thick fog floated within the darkness, reminding me of dry ice. I had my
doubts about going inside. The cave floor could be unstable or wild animals
could be hiding inside. And what if the air was thin and stale and triggered
my asthma? But Hank and Gracie were insistent, pulling on their leashes to get
closer.
Peering into the cave, Grandma asked, “Did you bring a
flashlight?”
“No, I didn’t,” I replied, my eyes
widening as a thought struck me. “I can use the app on my
phone.”
When I pulled my phone out of my pocket, Hank leapt
forward, yanking his leash from my grip. Gracie followed suit, breaking free
from Grandma’s hand and racing after Hank. I switched on the flashlight
app, flooding the cave with light. The beam flickered across dirt and jagged
rocks. I pointed it upward, and Hank and Gracie running down a narrow
passageway fell into view. The musty stench and distant sounds of water
dripping grew stronger as we followed them.
“They must have found
the source,” Grandma said, matching my pace.
My heart raced as fear
tightened in my throat at the thought of something harming my wolves.
“I’m freaking out,” I blurted, trying to keep my phone
steady with trembling hands. I had no idea what this cave contained, whether
it was safe, or what Hank and Gracie had stumbled upon. They never disobeyed
me. Maybe Grandma was right about turning back.
“They’ll be
fine. They’re strong creatures. Just try not to worry.”
“I’m
trying not to.”
Hank barked sharply, his call signaling to me that
he needed me. I rushed blindly into the cave, adrenaline coursing through me.
The sound of Grandma’s boots brushing against the cave floor echoed
behind me as she ran.
The flashlight beam caught something ahead, but the darkness obscured my view.
Upon closer inspection, I saw Hank and Gracie circling something on the
ground. Slowing down, I hoped it wasn’t an injured animal. As Grandma
reached the spot ahead of me, she gasped. I stood still, unable to take
another step. “Grandma, what’s going on? What is it?”
As
her gaze turned toward me, she said, “Not a what, but a who. It’s
a young woman, maybe 18 or 19 years old.”
“What?” I
rushed forward, closing the distance to the scene. I halted just behind
Grandma, who was kneeling beside an unconscious girl, curled up in a fetal
position, wearing a hospital gown. Hank and Gracie stood close by. Her long
strawberry blonde hair was a matted, tangled mess hanging over her face. Her
pale skin stood out in contrast to the bruises and deep red cuts all over her
arms, legs, and especially her bare feet. Pus oozed out of them.
Grandma
was in full-on doctor mode, checking the girl’s pulse, listening to her
breathing, and examining her numerous wounds. As she assessed the girl’s
condition, her eyes narrowed in concentration.
“Jesus,” I whispered. “Is she alive?”
“Her
pulse is weak, and her breathing is shallow, but she’s alive,”
Grandma confirmed, her focus on the girl. “Her body temperature is low.
It could be hypothermia. She’s wearing a wristband, but it’s not
from the hospital in town.” She turned to me. “Give me your
jacket. She needs to warm up.”
I removed my jacket and handed it to
Grandma, who carefully wrapped it around the girl.
“We need to get
her out of here and to my clinic immediately,” Grandma urged. “We
can’t carry her, and I need my medical van. You’ll need to keep a
close watch on her while I go get the van. Be prepared that you may have to
perform CPR if her heart stops.”
My jaw dropped slowly as the
weight of responsibility washed over me, sending a wave of anxiety coursing
through my body. The thought of performing lifesaving measures on someone was
terrifying. What if I screwed up? “I’m your bookkeeper. This is
beyond my capabilities,” I said, gesturing toward the girl. “I
can’t help her.”
“You can handle this. Besides,
we’ve trained many times on all emergency procedures.”
The
cave felt as if it were closing in around me. Memories of Grandma’s
first aid lessons flooded my mind, each one a jumbled mess of instructions and
distant recollections. I shook my head firmly. “No, I can’t do it.
What if she wakes up and sees some guy standing over her? You know I’m
not comfortable with people. She’ll probably freak out. Just let me go
get the van, and you stay here.”
Grandma looked at me, as if
weighing my suggestion, but her expression remained firm. “I understand
your hesitation, but she needs medical treatment immediately. You’ll
have to run to the house, Ethan. I can’t risk you having an asthma
attack. It’s better if I go.”
The thought of being alone with
an unconscious stranger filled me with anxiety. What if I made a mistake and
ended up making things worse instead of better? What if her injuries worsened,
and I wasn’t able to save her? Every rational part of me screamed at me
to let Grandma handle it. I had to be the one to get the van.
“I’ve hiked trails many times—maybe not up a mountain, but
I’ve covered long distances without an episode. Plus, I have my inhaler.
Please let me get the van, Grandma.”
She studied me for several
minutes, probably envisioning various scenarios and their likely outcomes.
After sighing, she relented. “All right. The keys to my van are in my
office in the top drawer on the right side of my desk at the clinic, not my
home office.”
I nodded and turned to leave but quickly faced
Grandma again. My gaze shifted to Hank and Gracie. Instead of coming with me,
they remained by the girl’s side. My brows furrowed in confusion. Why
had they tracked her in the first place, and why were they so protective of
her? Was it her injuries? The blood? The situation? It didn’t make
sense.
“Ethan, what’s wrong?” Grandma asked,
interrupting my thoughts.
I glanced at her before shifting my focus back
to my wolves. “Hank and Gracie,” I said. “It’s odd how
they’re behaving. They don’t even know this girl that
they’re trying so hard to protect.”
“We can figure that
out later. Right now, we need to get this girl to my clinic.” She waved
me away. “Go now and hurry back. Stay safe.”
“I
will.” I cast one final glance at Hank and Gracie before hurrying out of
the cave.


About the Author

 
 Laura Daleo is an accomplished multi-genre author known for weaving
captivating tales across dark fantasy, urban fantasy, supernatural/paranormal,
sci-fi, and young adult fiction. Her acclaimed Immortal Kiss series showcases
her unique take on vampiric lore, reimagining the origins of vampires through
the lens of the Egyptian pantheon. Originally from San Diego, California,
Laura now calls Tucson, Arizona home, where she shares her life with her two
beloved dogs, Rose and Cooper.

Contact Links

Purchase Links

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RABT Book Tours & PR

BOOK BLITZ: Serial Overkill by Kelley Barks-Baker

Mystery, LGBTQ Mystery

Date Published: February 27, 2024

A small community has a killer with a gruesome vendetta in this darkly
humorous LGBTQ+ mystery, featuring a group of tight-knit investigators whose
lives are as complex as the murderer they’re chasing.

When a serial killer terrorizes their town, Doc, Switch, Saphine, and Lauren
are hot on the trail—despite pushback from local law enforcement. But
while they work to solve the crimes before more lives are lost, the detectives
have to handle personal problems and repair trust with found family in order
to even have a chance at solving the murders.

Soon, however, the group learns how the past affects relationships and their
ability to serve justice. Will they find motive behind the violent crimes? Or
are some mysteries never meant to be solved?

Serial Overkill is a suspense-filled, character-driven whodunit drama that
will have readers chasing answers until the bitter end.

 

About the Author

Kelley Barks-Baker has a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice
administration. She enjoys reading and vacationing on the beach.

Barks-Baker currently resides with Cape Girardeau, Missouri with her family.

 

Contact Link

BookBuzz

Purchase Link

Amazon

RABT Book Tours & PR

COVER REVEAL: The Helmsman of Anthesis by Lee Hodiak

Historical Fiction

Date Published: March 12th

Publisher: Acorn Publishing

William Sukara, a gregarious dreamer, emerges from the 1950s an estranged son.
In divorce debt and with limited visitation rights as a father, he searches
for order in failure. Pursuing self-discipline as an answer, he enlists in the
Navy, volunteers for underwater demolition team training, and survives the
elite course.

With five other team members, he raises his hand for a clandestine mission,
knowing only that it’s a “hundred day operation in a warm climate.” They
are led by a mysterious civilian who alludes that their authorization comes
from the Oval Office, and they are to operate with extreme malice. They
revolt, escaping under bizarre circumstances.

The Helmsman of Anthesis is a raw, close to the nerve, psychological
thriller about a mission gone wantonly mad.

 

About the Author

At age twenty, Lee Hodiak joined the Navy and spent most of his enlistment
attached to Underwater Demolition Team 12. After serving, he joined the San
Diego Police Department but realized he needed to follow his passion for
wilderness travel and adventure instead. He went on to backpack the Baja
California Peninsula, built a thirty-six-foot sloop, and lived in Australia
for twenty years.
Now a resident of Central California, Lee enjoys
birdwatching and living by the ocean. Sixty years in the making, The Helmsman
of Anthesis is his debut novel.

RABT Book Tours & PR

TEASER: Vengeful Fire by Mikala Ash

Dark Fantasy / Paranormal Romance

Date Published: February 6, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Heat rages out of control as the pub burns. The only thing hotter is the
woman watching the flames.

Diana Kendall just had an argument with the owner of Cornwall’s pub. Now
Cornwall’s is burning to the ground. Diana’s an enigma, an artist,
beautiful and intelligent, but strangely aloof. How can Mike resist? But when
he wakes up the next morning, Diana’s gone.

It’s not until Mike sees a naked woman disappear into an art gallery
with a wolf at her side that the real trouble starts. The woman looks
incredibly like Diana. But what is the mysterious apparition trying to tell
him?

Mike needs to find out what’s really going. Does Diana’s fiery
past tell the story, or will he get burnt by Vengeful Fire?

 


Excerpt

Copyright ©2026 Mikala Ash

As he watched the flames, Mike wondered if Prometheus had known what he was
doing when he stole fire from the gods and turned it over to mankind. Humans
had been nothing but trouble ever since.

The alcohol fueled flames consuming Cornwall’s Pub were hypnotic —
mesmerizing and beautiful. They writhed in an almost sensual way. No, Mike
corrected himself. The flames were sensual — the rhythmic way the tongues of
fire bent and unbent were undoubtedly sexual, as if they were alive, pyrrhic
creatures in the throes of orgasm, riding the stiff wooden beams that fueled
their passion. There was even a sense of playful capriciousness about the
sound of splintering beams, which created a staccato beat cheekily mimicking
the act — the fucking act, the act of fucking.

Mike thought there was even something sexual about the words that described
fire. Tongues of flame that licked, seething cauldrons of searing molten heat,
glowing embers pulsing white hot, bursting explosions of showering sparks,
inflamed… His mental thesaurus eventually failed him and he settled in
to enjoy the show.

Several roof beams collapsed with a whoosh. Sparks showered the street and
plumes of acrid smoke belched out of the roiling flames.

Mike looked forward to the climax of the act, when the last sinews of
structure that held the roof aloft would melt, bend and break as the building
collapsed completely into the smoldering debris of orgasm.

Moments later there was another explosion, no doubt the last of the bottles of
bourbon, gin and scotch that had lined the mirrored bar. The firecracker bangs
brought a cheer from the fickle crowd, who twenty minutes earlier had been
drinking and singing within the Cornwall’s convivial walls. The crowd,
Mike thought, were like jilted lovers who laughed self-consciously at the
misfortunes of an unfaithful ex-partner.

Adrenaline still pumped madly through Mike’s veins as if he’d just
come inside the cock-melting pussy of some stranger. He had reason. He’d
been the one who’d shouted the alarm causing these rats to desert the
sinking ship. Not one, he noted, had stayed to fight the hungry flames. No one
had been loyal and true, though they’d drunk there, as he had, for the
last several years. Ten minutes after the final climax of this act of
consuming passion they’d likely be drinking at someone else’s bar.
He felt unaccountably guilty, like the concerned friend who had to break the
news of an infidelity. Knowing that what he did would have ramifications
beyond a simple busted relationship. A step once taken…

Across from him, in the semicircle of voyeurs, stood a dark-haired girl, tall
and lithe. He remembered her from earlier in the night. She was a stranger to
the bar, a newbie, attractive enough to stop conversation… at least on
the men’s parts and, he recalled, some of the girls too.

The pulsating conflagration illuminated her pensive face. She had striking
features; high cheekbones, full lips, large dark eyes and long straight ebony
hair that reached her waist. She seemed strangely familiar but he
couldn’t place her. She wasn’t someone overtly famous, someone who
was always in your face like a movie star. More likely she was a lingerie
model or perhaps he’d seen her in a TV commercial.

His interest in her had been heightened, of course, by the ruckus she’d
caused. An argument with the manager of the place, that stuck up prick
Cornwall himself.

There followed a brief, angry exchange with the bouncer who’d been
instructed to escort her furious body off the premises. Mike had left his seat
to go to her assistance but she’d been too quickly ejected and by the
time he’d reached the street she’d gone.

She’d returned an hour or so later, just before he raised the alarm
about the fire. He noticed she’d come in the side door that led from the
alley. Her serious and cunning expression reminded him of a jilted lover who
can’t resist sneaking into the ex’s bedroom. The scene of so many
orgasms; where so much cum had been ejaculated, spilled, and swallowed. Just
once more to lie on the sodden sheets of love.

Mike made a decision and moved between the drunken observers and stood beside
her. Amazingly, despite the choking, plastic laden smoke that swirled around
them, she smelled of… oranges.

“Hi there,” he said.

“Do I know you?”

She hadn’t looked at him. Her eyes were fixed on the firefighters, those
modern knights with watery lances who battled the angry chimera; the mindless
fire-breathing beast.

“No. I saw you earlier when you had a row with that prick
Cornwall.”

“So?”

“I really don’t think you should be standing here. The fire chief
will tell the police that the fire was deliberately lit. The police will then
interview the staff and they’ll describe you and they’ll see you
here watching the place burn down. Not a good look.”

She turned to face him then, dark eyes sizing him up. The rippling flames were
reflected in them and he found himself lost in those glowing embers, looking
for his silhouette.

“What do you have in mind?”

Infidelity, a sweet, sweet friend. “The smoke has made me thirsty. I
know a bar across town that’s not so… hot.”

Her full lips curled into a smile. One last look at the inferno and a shrug as
if it didn’t matter anymore. The deed was done. “Lead the
way.”

Mike took her arm in his and pulled her gently through the swelling crowd, now
ten deep. The Cornwall had been popular and would, no doubt because of its
prime location, be rebuilt and open for business within six months. Bigger and
better, like a whore returning to her favorite corner after a boob job.

The Glass Half Full was a pretentious little dive frequented by philosophy
students. Mike liked it. Some of the regulars even knew his name. She gave it
an appraising glance through the frosted windows before nodding and following
him in.

“What do you do?” she asked once settled on a high stool at a
round pedestal table.

Mike couldn’t help but notice how her full breasts rested on the
tabletop. “Webpage designer. And you?”

“Student. Art.”

“I guessed it.”

“And how did you do that?” she said tiredly.

He lowered his eyes to her hands. “Paint on your fingertips.”

She laughed and the pure tones resonated playfully in his ears. “I could
be a house painter.”

“Interior design?” he countered.

“Renaissance art.”

“Ah, ceilings. Just as good. Forgive me, but I may not know art but
I…”

“… yeah, yeah, don’t say it.”

He took a sip of his beer but couldn’t take his eyes off her. He felt
strangely comfortable being with her. No nerves at all, which was unusual,
given the circumstances. He was, after all, sitting with a stunningly
beautiful woman who he desperately wanted to fuck.

Usually, whenever he was alone with a new girl, he had butterflies the size of
eagles flying out of formation in his stomach. “I was in the art gallery
just the other day,” he said suddenly to fill the silence. “And I
realized the thing about reality is that it’s, in fact, an
illusion.”

He shuddered inside. What an incredibly stupid passé thing to say.
She’d think him a pretentious prat, which was precisely what he was at
that very moment.

She lent toward him, unaccountably interested. “How so?”

“Well, meaningless rays of light enter our eyes and excite some neurons.
Neuro-chemicals jump across synapses. These excite more neurons. A pulse of
electrical current travels to the next synapse and so on until eventually our
brain sorts them into some sort of matrix we can consciously interpret.”

Her nod of interest urged him on. “But it’s an illusion, something
our brains make up. It’s all a fiction. There are gaps, things we
don’t see, because of lighting or perspective. Our brain fills in those
gaps with assumptions and pre-conceived ideas. We see what we expect to see.
Due to our common brain structure and culture we fill the gaps the same way
and the result is we all share the same illusion.”

She licked her bottom lip and for a moment he lost his train of thought.

“Like a mass hallucination?” she prompted.

He nodded, grateful for her lifeline. “Something like that. I know
it’s been said before. It’s hardly an original thought, but it
struck me there in the gallery and for the first time I knew what it meant.
There was this painting…”

“How unusual to find one of those in there.” Her eyes twinkled
mischievously in the Glass’s dim lighting.

He smiled back. He knew she wasn’t being sarcastic, only getting into
the spirit of the absurd that seemed to have fallen about him this evening. He
actually liked her. “That’s what I thought,” he said,
joining in the fun. “This particular painting was just a mass and swirl
of fine lines in blue ink. The title of the painting was “Stand
Back,” so I did. And the lines resolved themselves into a face. It was
the artist resting her head on her forearm while she drew her own face while
looking at a mirror. It was quite brilliant, but it showed me that reality is
perception, excuse the cliché. That an alien being seeing that
painting, having not seen anything else from Earth, would just see some fine
lines in blue ink.”

“And apart from the face, what else did you see that an alien would not
have?”

“Emotions are hard to judge.”

“Try.”

He put on an aristocratic English accent. “It’s like looking at
paintings from the eighteenth century, don’t you know.”

He saw her lips tighten as she suppressed her laughter. “I
don’t.”

“I can see what they have painted — that shared human knowledge again.
But not what’s going on within the minds of the people depicted even
though they’re only a few hundred years in the past… because
their world view is completely different from ours… they’re an
enigma.”

“The girl in blue ink,” she said slowly. “Is she an
enigma?”

 

About the Author

Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development
consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night.
Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is
concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags of
fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on Twitter.

Author Links

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Author on Twitter

 

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

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BOOK BLITZ: By Dawn – The 13th House by Martha Wickham

Horror/paranormal

Date Published: 11-22-2025

Nine Tales. Nine Secrets. All Before Dawn.

In the shadow of Bloomstone
Manor, a dilapidated estate hauntingly known as “Lily Lane”, the veil between
the living and the dead is impossibly thin. This collection of nine paranormal
mystery stories explores inheritances, dark family legacies, and spectral
demands, all bound by the Manor’s enduring, dark influence.

This
Halloween, meet the three students who dare to knock on the door of “The 13th
House”—a black, unnumbered prison that holds the sinister secrets of the
past. Their trick-or-treating leads them to a terrifying collection of
artifacts: a bent spoon, a rusted key, and a doll’s eye. Every artifact is a
clue left by a child who vanished, whispering pleas for help from beyond the
grave. The teens must solve the mystery and free the spirits before the
night’s magic fades, or they might become the next secret the old house
keeps.

Every house has a debt. Every ghost has a tether. Uncover the
restless spirits and broken promises that demand attention and resolution.
When the clock strikes dawn, the secrets settle back into the dust and the
lilies—and it may be too late.


Excerpt

Night of the Spirits 

 

Anthony pushed through the thick brush that had swallowed the old path. His
friends told him the house was hidden somewhere ahead, rumored to be haunted.
When he finally saw it, the place looked half-demolished, with climbing walls
that had paint curling and peeling. Yet every window was perfectly intact.

He
opened the front door. Stale, cold air rushed out, thick with dust. His
footsteps echoed through the empty living room.As he moved down the hallway,
the front door suddenly slammed. He spun around and ran back, and in that
moment, he was sure he heard a whisper: Sam.The door wouldn’t budge. He
was trapped. He tried the windows too none of them opened.

Again, the
whisper came, louder this time. Sam.

“Who’s Sam? I’m not
Sam!” he shouted.

A hiss answered him, followed by footsteps
upstairs. Heart pounding, he raced up the stairs. At the top, he stopped and
listened. The footsteps were clear, moving steadily into an empty room. He
followed them.

Moonlight spilt across the floor through a bare window.
The invisible footsteps crossed the room and came to a stop at the closet.
Inside, there was only a small box containing a single book. The spirits
wanted him to find it; maybe it would explain everything.

He lifted the
book. It was an old, battered ledger. Inside, a name was written: Samuel. He
began to read.I made a promise to the spirits trapped here. One of them is
buried downstairs. I swore I would help free them with my rituals. I study the
occult, and they own a golden statue worth a fortune. It must be used in the
ritual. If I hide it now, I can return for it later. No one alive will see me
take it.

Anthony reached deeper into the box and pulled out a loose page,
a torn sheet from another book. It carried a chant and the instructions for a
ritual to free spirits.A freezing gust swept through the room. Then a booming
voice declared:“Complete the ritual by dawn, or be trapped here
forever!”

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked the
spirit.

Once again, he heard footsteps descending the stairs and followed
them. Near the kitchen, the basement door creaked open. He cautiously stepped
down the dark basement steps and saw the cloud-like spirit hovering over a
crypt in the floor, where it looked like a ritual had been started over
someone’s grave. Candles and matches were scattered nearby.

About the Author

 

Martha Wickham has a knack for finding the
ghosts hidden in the dust. A lifelong student of the arcane and the artistic,
Martha has an Associate’s Degree and professional writing credentials, but she
honed her skills in the thrilling shadows of screenwriting and horror. Martha
lives for the secrets that only come out “By Dawn”. You can discover more of
her work, including her newest audiobooks, at your favorite retailer.

Contact Link

Purchase Links

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TEASER: Ace by Harley Wylde

(Savage Raptors MC)

 

Motorcycle Club Romance, Age Gap, Suspense

Date Published: January 9, 2026

He’s the calm before the storm. She’s the chaos that makes
him feel alive.

 

Marci: Running only works for so long when the devil hunting me wears a badge.
I’ve spent a year hiding behind fake names and cheap motel rooms,
praying I could disappear. Bryson Corners was supposed to be a quiet stop
before I ran again.

Then I walk into The Broken Spoke and meet Ace. He looks at me and I feel
safe… and I believe him. I shouldn’t. Attachment gets people
killed. But every time he touches me, every time he stands between me and the
world, I want to stay instead of run.

Ace: I’ve learned the hard way that peace never lasts. Managing the bar
keeps me steady — until Marci walks in, scared and stubborn and pretending
she doesn’t need anyone. She’s mine before I can stop it.

She’s running from something brutal, and whoever wants her will have to
go through me — and through the Savage Raptors MC. I’ve fought for my
brothers, my patch, my life… but for her?

I’ll burn the world down.

 


An emotional age-gap MC romance full of danger, loyalty, and the kind of love
that takes root and refuses to let go.

 

EXCERPT

Marci

The Honda’s engine ticked while heat faded, each sharp sound far too
loud in the afternoon quiet. I sat behind the wheel, hands locked around the
steering wheel, knuckles white, and counted my breaths the way I’d
trained myself to do whenever panic climbed my throat. One. Two. Three. The
parking lot stretched empty before me except for a single pickup truck near
the building’s entrance, and I’d already checked every mirror
twice to make sure no one had followed me here.

The Broken Spoke hunched low under the Oklahoma sky, weathered boards faded
from sun and storms, neon sign quiet during daylight hours. The whole place
looked tired and rough around the edges, the kind of bar where broken people
carried wounds behind their eyes, where forgetting felt easier than healing.

I peeled my fingers from the steering wheel, joints stiff from the grip.
Shaking returned, small at first, then stronger once my focus locked on the
tremor. Two years of this — two years since I’d walked away from
everything I knew, carrying only a backpack and clothes from a life better
left behind. I learned to hide the tremor. Learned to keep my hands busy, to
move like I belonged anywhere, even on days when my balance barely held.

A Help Wanted sign waited in the window, same place I saw yesterday during a
slow drive through town. I had bartended, waitressed, cleaned houses, taken
any job paying cash, asking no questions. Those jobs kept me fed and moving
forward. My ribs remembered hunger. My heart remembered the way loss hollowed
me out.

I drew a breath rough enough to scrape my throat and reached for the door
handle. One step at a time. Survive first. Trust later.

I grabbed my purse from the passenger seat and checked my reflection in the
rearview mirror. Blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, no makeup except a
touch of lip gloss I’d worried off an hour ago. I looked tired. I looked
like someone who’d been running for too long. But I also looked
ordinary, forgettable, and the point settled heavy in my chest.

The door handle felt slick under my palm as I pushed the door open. Heat
washed over me in an instant, thick afternoon warmth turning every breath into
work. I locked the car — muscle memory by now, even though nothing inside
held any value — and started across the parking lot.

Each step carried a quiet prayer for a place where I could disappear, earn
enough to survive, and not draw attention. Ordinary helped. Forgettable kept
doors from slamming in my face. I clung to both, even when my heart begged for
something more.

Gravel crunched under my sneakers. I kept my gaze moving, scanning the tree
line beyond the building, the road I’d just come from, the shadows under
the eaves where someone could wait unseen. Old habits. Survival instincts kept
me alive this long. I couldn’t let go of those instincts, no matter how
hard I tried to believe safety waited here for me.

The hinges announced my entrance in a drawn-out creak, a sharp warning
dragging tension through my shoulders. Inside, the bar sat dim and cool, the
smell of old beer and wood polish settling over me like a memory I
didn’t know I needed. My eyes took a moment to adjust, shapes forming
slowly from the gloom. Tables and chairs. A long bar, bottles lined up behind
the counter. A jukebox quiet in the corner, waiting for someone brave enough
to wake the music.

A small part of me wanted to collapse into the comfort promised by that
familiar scene. A larger part stayed on guard, ready for danger around every
shadow. Hope and fear fought under my skin, and neither side won.

And a man.

He straightened from a crouch beside a stack of crates, turning toward me in
an unhurried movement conveying complete awareness of his surroundings. Tall
— easily over six feet. Broad through the shoulders from real labor, not
hours in a gym. Dark hair needing a cut, hazel eyes finding mine and holding
my gaze through an intensity strong enough to steal a breath from my lungs.

“We’re closed.” His voice was deep, measured. It
didn’t need to be raised to command attention.

“I saw the sign. The Help Wanted sign. I was hoping to talk to someone
about the position.”

He studied me for a long moment, and I forced myself not to fidget under his
gaze. I’d gotten good at standing still, at appearing calm even when my
pulse was hammering. He set down the clipboard he’d been holding and
walked closer, his movements economical, controlled.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Marci. Marci Robbins.”

“I’m Ace. I manage this place.” He leaned against the bar,
arms crossing over his chest. “You have experience?”

“Yes.” I’d practiced this part, rehearsed what I’d
say. “I’ve bartended before. A few different places over the
years. I’m good with customers, I show up on time, and I’m a hard
worker.”

“Where was your last job?”

The question I’d been waiting for. “A place in San Antonio. Small
bar, nothing fancy. It closed down a few months back, and I’ve been
moving around since then, picking up work where I can find it.”

His gaze hadn’t left my face. He was looking at me the way people looked
when they were trying to see past the surface, searching for whatever you were
hiding. I had seen the same look before — from cops pulling me over for a
busted taillight, from landlords asking for references I could never provide,
from strangers sensing something off and failing to name the source.

“You got any references?” he asked.

“No.” I met his gaze directly. “The owner of my last place
died, and I lost touch with the other employees after it closed. But I can
prove I know what I’m doing if you give me a chance.”

“Why The Broken Spoke?”

“I need work.” Simple. Honest. “I’m new to the area
and this was the first place I saw hiring. I’m not picky about where I
work as long as it’s steady.”

He nodded slowly, leaving me unsure whether anything positive would come from
the moment. My hands wanted to shake again, so I shoved them into my pockets.
The bar felt too quiet around us, just the hum of coolers and the distant
sound of traffic from the road. I’d already mapped the exits — front
door, back door through what I assumed was the kitchen, emergency exit near
the restrooms. Automatic assessment, the kind I did everywhere now.

“Family in the area?”

“No.” The word landed sharper than I wanted. I tried to soften the
moment through a shrug. “Just me.”

Something shifted in his expression, though I couldn’t read the meaning.
He pushed off the bar and stepped behind the counter, reaching for a glass. He
filled the glass from the tap and set the water in front of me.

“Drink,” he said.

I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was until the glass was in my hand. I
drank half before I could stop myself, the cool water cutting through the
dryness in my throat. When I lifted my gaze, he still watched me, and a new
intensity in his eyes replaced whatever I’d seen before. Not quite
sympathy. Not quite suspicion. Something in between.

“The work’s hard. Long hours, late nights. We get a rough crowd
sometimes — bikers, locals, people passing through. You have to be able to
handle yourself.”

“I can handle myself.”

“You sure about that?” The question wasn’t challenging,
exactly. More like he was genuinely asking, trying to gauge whether I
understood what I was signing up for.

“I’m sure.”

He studied me for another moment, then nodded. “All right. I’ll
give you a trial shift. Tonight. Be here by six. I’ll show you the ropes
and see how you do. If it works out, the job’s yours.”

 

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

 

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BOOK BLITZ: With These Hands by T.R. Motley


Crime Thriller

Date Published: December 3, 2025

At the age of 13, Aurelia’s entire life changes when her parents
begin to align themselves with the Juarez Cartel, running drugs and
trafficking women through Rio Bravo, their small town off the Rio Grande
River. Determined to get away from this life, Aurelia collects years of
evidence on the cartel.

At the age of 17, she is forced to run when her parents arrange a marriage to
a cartel member. After working with the FBI to take down most of the cartel,
she is placed in a protection program. Unbeknownst to her, the Juarez Cartel
has rebuilt and is stronger now than before.

In a twist of fate, Aurelia is kidnapped, forced to marry Diego, son to the
leader of the cartel, and produce an heir. Diego, who becomes an unseen ally,
along with Aurelia begin to align themselves with individuals throughout
Mexico to take down the cartel. They will fight, blackmail, and kill to
protect those they love.

In an act of desperation, Diego makes the ultimate sacrifice and enlists the
help of Daniel Zimmerman, a U.S. FBI agent and Aurelia’s first love. On
the day of the raid, will everyone make it out of Mexico alive?

About the Author

T.R. Motley. I have lived in Oklahoma all of my life. For the last 28
years now, I have dedicated my life to taking care of my family and other
families as a nurse. I worked in the Pediatric ICU for 25 years taking care of
extremely sick children. There were highs, when I was able to place a child in
his parent’s arms after a being on life support to watch the smile on both of
their faced for a very long time. There were lows, when I placed a child in
their parent’s arms, which would be the last time they would ever hold them.

My love of books started as a teen when life was not the best, and I would
place myself in the characters shoes and get lost in the story. As an adult,
it was my escape from reality in a sometimes cruel world. Along the way, my
own stories began to swirl in my head. I always wanted to put those stories on
paper, but needing to be a responsible adult, took the safe route.

On my last week in the PICU, my fellow coworkers and I went on a float trip.
Several people asked if we had it to do over again, would we still have become
a nurse. Surprisingly, only two people said they would. When going around and
asking what everyone would have done instead, I said I would have become an
author. Silence ensued for a minute, before there was a chorus of, “Go for
it!” Two months later, I did a ton of research and started my first novel.
Seven months later, I had a completed piece of work. Months of beta reading
and changes along with and editor, helped round out what my book has become.

Now, twenty years later, I am pursuing that dream of storytelling.

Aurelia’s story is about overcoming any obstacle, even when being pushed down
from every angle for most of her life. It is about seeing some of the worst
circumstances in life, facing those head on and fighting back to make her life
better. It is about believing that just because you were born into a certain
life, you can fight for what you want and make your way out. It is about
finding love in the worst circumstances and having life ripped away once more.
It is about a woman fighting in a man’s world and excelling. It is about
finding friends in the misted of tragedy and realizing sometimes people will
fight for you just as hard.

We see the mark drug cartels not only leave on the U.S. and Mexico in general,
but in the lives of real people. We see how easy human trafficking and
bringing drugs in from Mexico can be. We learn that people are so greedy for
power and money, that they allow these things to happen. People that should
protect us. This is a powerful story of how Aurelia, who is immersed into this
world, not only fights for herself, but others who have been drug in along
with her. There are powerful characters that Aurelia meets along the way who
join forces to not only help her with this fight but become the family she
never had.

This is a romantic suspense novel, appropriate for ages 18+ (adult only).

Contact Links

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BOOK BLITZ & GIVEAWAY: Ceremony of Innocence by Stephen Asher

Literary / Historical Fiction

Date Published: 12-02-2025

Publisher: Scrivener Quill

It is June 1924 when an inquisitive but skeptical Gemma Danforth
graduates from Wellesley College. Despite a loving family, an idyllic New
England girlhood, and family summers in the Hamptons, little had assuaged her
doubts Now, with college behind them, she and two classmates leave America
bound for post war France where they will be immersed in the pulsating culture
of European modernism. While in France, she reunites with her Paris based
parents, and, in Nice, amidst its creative ferment, she falls in love with
Rhys, a British aristocrat and ex-pat journalist. During this year spent along
the Cote d’Azur, encounters with Sara and Gerald Murphy, Somerset
Maugham, Zelda, Isadora Duncan and others, adds a depth and richness to the
ambience of le midi. And so begins the process of displacing her doubts.

She and Rhys return to American where their values collide with antithetical
and alien attitudes. It is these experiences that come to challenge long-held
beliefs and provide a vivid counterpoint to their recent immersion in the
Modernist aesthetic and world view.

Resolved to return to France, Gemma shares a final day in America with Gerald
Murphy at his ocean front Hampton estate. As this unhurried afternoon unfolds,
it becomes clear that Gemma’s skepticism and doubtfulness have been
replaced with a clear-sighted maturity and hardened resolve. The next morning,
aboard the Ile de France, Gemma and Rhys sail for France.

 

About the Author

Stephen Asher is a graduate of UCLA and was subsequently educated at the
University of Rochester School of Medicine, University of California San
Francisco, and St. Catherine’s College Oxford. His professional life was
spent as a neurologist, often walking the fine line separating the mind from
the brain, a vantage point which encouraged a perspective molded not only by
the scientific and the rational but also shaped by the aesthetics of the
senses. It is this unity of world view that fashions one of the novel’s
central themes.

Asher and his wife were drawn to Idaho’s arid vistas, glistening rivers,
and rugged skylines. As a travelling angler, he has pursued Atlantic salmon
throughout their natural range, has sought sea run brown trout in Patagonia,
and steelhead in his home waters in the Pacific Northwest. He and his wife
have cycled much of France, and, during quiet times at home, he enjoys music
and plays cello.

Previously, he has published essays, and short pieces in the British sporting
literature. He is a member of the F. Scott Fitzgerald Society, the Barbara Pym
Society, and is a proud supporter of PEN America. He lives in Idaho with his
wife, adult children, and his bird dogs.

 

Contact Links

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TEASER TUESDAY: The Dhampir by Angela Knight

A Destined Mates Vampire Romance Novella


Dark Fantasy Romance

Date Published: January 2, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

An ancient vampire, Hunter can command any woman he wants — except the
one woman he needs. His mate.

Genevieve Drake is a Dhampir — half vampire, half mortal, born and bred to be
the perfect complement to her vampire mate, like those of her family for
sixteen generations. Instead, she chose to become a cop. Three months ago she
survived a vicious attack by a psychotic ex that left her with psychic scars
and a desperate need for a new line of work. Time to rethink her future.

Hunter is tall, dark and handsome — and very, very powerful. He’s also
been waiting for Genevieve. She was just eighteen when he had a vision that
they’d one day become lovers. He’s been biding his time ever
since. But Genevieve’s experiences have left her unable to trust any
man, even Hunter.


If he wants them to have a future, the vampire will have to find a way to
banish her ghosts…

Excerpt

Copyright ©2026 Angela Knight


The vampire’s bodyguard was sloppy when he searched Genevieve Drake. He
missed at least three places where she could have stashed weapons. Would have
stashed weapons, if she hadn’t been going to an interview for a job she
desperately needed. To add insult to injury, he smirked up at her when he
crouched at her feet to pat her down, hands lingering on her thighs and
calves.

Genevieve gave serious thought to kneeing him in the jaw.


Finally, after a last knowing leer, the guard ushered her into Hunter’s
sprawling office, then closed the heavy double doors and left them alone.


“Ms. Drake.” Tall, radiating a power that made her Dhampir senses
vibrate like harp strings, the vampire stepped around his big rosewood desk to
shake Genevieve’s hand, his grip careful and warm. His touch sent a flush of
magic radiating up her arm. Her mouth went dry, and she felt her nipples peak.
“It’s a pleasure.”


Her body’s intense response surprised her. She’d felt dead from the neck
down for months. “Please call me Genevieve, Mr. Hunter.” Not Genny. Never
Genny.
Smiling up at him, she used all her years undercover to keep her
expression no more than pleasantly professional.


“It’s just Hunter,” the vampire said in a black velvet purr of a voice.
He gave her a slow, white smile, his eyes the sharp and startling blue of an
arctic wolf. His features were starkly masculine, with a long swoop of a nose
and a broad, square chin. His hair was thick and black, just long enough to
touch his collar.


He gestured her away from his desk toward two armchairs that sat facing
each other. Just beyond the chairs, a plate glass window ran the length of the
room. Sixty stories below, the glittering glory of Atlanta spread across the
night.


As Hunter ushered her to the chairs, Genevieve studied him. If anything,
the vampire was more impressive than she remembered. Easily six-foot-two, he
had a powerful build that made him look like a warrior even camouflaged in
black Armani. His tie was a splash of crimson against his white shirt, while
cufflinks of onyx and gold adorned his French cuffs.


“It’s good to see you again,” Hunter said as they sat. The chairs were
positioned so close, their knees almost touched. It was not exactly the
arrangement she’d have expected for a job interview — but then, this was not
a typical job interview. “You were what — fifteen? — when last I saw you.”


“Sixteen,” Genevieve corrected. And madly infatuated with you. But that
was something she had no intention of sharing. And anyway, it had been
fourteen years ago.


Before Gary. Before she’d been left bleeding in a dirty alley with the
last of her illusions in shreds.


Hunter probably knew about her painfully intense crush. Probably knew
about Gary, too, for that matter. As her father always said, you can’t hide
anything from a vampire, so don’t even try. “It was good of you to grant me
this interview.”


“Not at all. I need an assistant, and you have excellent
qualifications.” He watched her settle back into the chair’s soft wine red
leather. His gaze sharpened. “Something concerns you.”


Genevieve hesitated, caught between her desire not to offend and her
sense of duty. She needed the job, but her family had been Dhampir for sixteen
generations.


Duty won. “Your bodyguard was more interested in feeling me up than in
making sure I wasn’t armed. I could have knocked him cold at least twice. In
my opinion, he constitutes a security risk.”

Hunter lifted a cool black brow. “He’s a former Navy SEAL.”

“And a current idiot.”


“You are blunt, bordering on rude.” Hunter smiled, satisfaction in his
eyes. “And every bit as fearless as I would have expected of Tommy Drake’s
daughter.”

She relaxed back into her chair. “Well, that’s a relief.”


“That I took the criticism well?” His arctic eyes heated to burning blue
as he watched her cross her legs. Her knee inadvertently brushed his, and the
contact sent magic flaring up her thigh. Straight into her sex.


She tried to ignore the pulse of erotic heat that flared low in her
belly. “No, I’m relieved you ordered your man to play the fool to test my
honesty. I’d hate to think you’d hire someone that sloppy.”


The vampire laughed, a deep, masculine rumble, seductive and warm. “No,
I have not survived three hundred and forty years by surrounding myself with
sloppy bodyguards. And there’ve been times even careful ones…” Hunter
stopped and rolled his powerful shoulders as if shrugging off a painful
memory.


“Sometimes it doesn’t matter how careful or well-trained you are.”
Genevieve’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Especially if you’re betrayed.”


He studied her, going still as a predator. Seeing too much. “The scars
from betrayal go to the soul. And they never quite fade, do they?”


“Not so far.” Genevieve forced a smile and deliberately sought to turn
the conversation back to business. “What are you looking for in a personal
assistant?”

You, Hunter thought.

 

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.

 

Author Links

Author’s Website

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

 

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

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

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TEASER: Spirit Bear Conspiracy by Anne Kane

Brotherhood of the Wild 1

A Riptide MC Romance

MC Romance

Date Published: January 2, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

My mission: Save my woman, guard the secret of the rare spirit bear, and
take down the poachers.

Ryland — I was tailing a gang of poachers, certain they’d lead me
straight to their kingpin, when a stray arrow from a crossbow slammed into me.
Pain lanced through me and everything faded to black. In that blur of
unconsciousness, I could have sworn a pure white bear stood over me, calm as
can be. When I opened my eyes again, a woman — curvy and impossibly beautiful
— was watching me with the cutest look of mixed concern and distrust on her
face.

Kimberly — I thought I was alone on a tiny island off the coast of British
Columbia until an arrow from a crossbow barely missed skewering me. With my
dog Diego at my heels, I ran to hide in a maze of caves, my heart pounding.
Crouched down in the dark, I listened in terror as voices and footsteps
floated to me from outside. I prayed the shooters wouldn’t find the
spirit bear that inhabited this place. When I finally crept back out into the
daylight, I found I wasn’t the only target — but the unconscious man
lying in a pool of his own blood wasn’t talking. Victim or one of them?


Excerpt
Copyright ©2026 Anne Kane

Ryland

A sudden squawk of alarm sounded directly in front of me. The quiet morning
exploded into sound as a covey of startled pheasants took flight.

Damn! I was hiding in the thick brush off the side of the path, out of sight
of my quarry, but right behind the fucking birds. One of the poachers turned,
aiming a crossbow straight at the panicked birds. Straight at me.

Double damn.

I ducked low to the ground, hoping to avoid detection. My handgun was nestled
in its shoulder holster, and a couple of my favorite throwing knives were
strapped to my thighs but there were six poachers and one of me. Not sure why
they were using crossbows instead of firearms. Maybe they wanted to avoid
making any noise that might bring attention to their presence, but I
couldn’t imagine who they thought might hear them on this deserted piece
of dirt off the coast of British Columbia.

Even without guns, though, the odds were against me. I braced myself as the
arrow arced its way toward me.

Moving to avoid the projectile wasn’t an option. I couldn’t afford
to let the poachers detect my presence. My mission depended on them not
knowing they’d been made.

The shooter had already turned back to catch up with the rest of the group
when the sharp tip of the projectile sliced through the meaty outer part of my
upper arm. I gritted my teeth as blood spurted from the wound.

Son of a bitch, that hurt.

Still, it was a lucky shot — a flesh wound, even if a painful one. I’d
had worse. Just one foot to the left and it would have gone straight through
my heart. A broadhead arrow could prove fatal under the right circumstances.

The flapping of the pheasants’ wings made so much racket that it drowned
out any noise I made as I lowered myself to the ground, grimacing at the red
stain spreading on my sleeve. I needed to staunch the bleeding. Like it or
not, the chase was over for today.

I glanced down at my watch. I was cutting it close. I needed to get back to my
boat and report in. If William didn’t hear from me on schedule,
he’d send the troops storming in to find me and that would blow any
chance we had of learning what these guys were up to.

I leaned back against a moss-covered tree stump in the center of the bushes.
The sound of the poachers joking amongst themselves as they retreated let me
know my presence hadn’t been detected.

Well, at least that was a positive.

I’d been tailing these jerks for almost a week now, ever since an
anonymous tip-off to the Operations Center had clued William in on their
activity in this neck of the woods. When they’d landed on this island
though, I was baffled. What could there possibly be here that would interest
an international ring of poachers? If they’d been farther north or on
the mainland, I would have assumed they were going after bears for their
saleable parts, a lucrative business these days. Bear gall was in high demand
in the traditional Chinese medicine markets for its supposed healing
properties. Bears were territorial creatures, though. On an island this small,
the chances of finding more than one were slim, assuming you even found one.
Hardly worth the effort of getting here.

Wincing, I shifted my weight slightly to take the pressure off my injured arm.
I didn’t dare leave my hiding spot, not yet. I needed to be sure the
poachers didn’t circle back. They were a nasty bunch, not above killing
someone if they thought they could get away with it.

I closed my eyes, gritting my teeth against the pain lancing through my arm.
The slow drip of water hitting the rocks beside me had a mesmerizing effect.
Or was it the blood from the wound?

I pivoted my head to look at my injured arm. Despite the copious amounts of
blood staining my shirt and the ground beneath me, the wound didn’t
appear serious. The flow of the blood would have cleaned out any foreign
debris, and the arrow had missed hitting the artery.

Yup, I’d definitely had worse.

Using my good arm, I pulled a knife out of the sheath strapped to my thigh and
sliced a large swath of fabric from the front of my shirt to use as a
makeshift bandage. A tight compress would staunch the bleeding long enough for
me to make my way back to the mainland and get it taken care of properly.

I struggled to remove my belt, the worn leather creaking and groaning in
protest as I pulled it loose.

It should not have taken that much effort. Maybe I’d lost more blood
than I thought. Didn’t matter. I wasn’t dying, and the mission
took precedence over a little discomfort.

The reason we had decided to investigate this group was the anomalies. This
was one loaded group of badass poachers. Normally poachers were a solitary
bunch, untrusting and cynical in the extreme. Finding two or three teamed
together to go after larger prey wasn’t uncommon but teaming up like
these guys were doing was totally out of character.

I’d been following them since they’d arrived from Hong Kong and
met up with a local guide of questionable repute. It was evident that the
meeting had been scheduled ahead of time. Prior to heading north, the five
stayed at the Vancouver Airport Hotel for the night. That meant they had money
behind them. They’d rented a Jeep and driven to their staging area,
where they parked the Jeep in a forestry site lot on the coast. A fully
stocked boat, complete with captain, was waiting for them, and they motored
straight to this little island.

That was a considerable amount of effort just to reach this deserted piece of
land in the Pacific Ocean. If not for the bug I’d managed to plant on
one of the poachers at the airport, I would have lost contact with them. It
was impossible to track a boat on the open ocean without visual sightings, so
stealth required electronic solutions.

It would take someone with local knowledge to even find the island. It
certainly didn’t show on international maps, and as far as I knew it
wasn’t big enough to have a formal name, just a number on the navigation
grid. That still didn’t explain what the attraction was, though. Given
the people involved, there had to be some tie-in to the illegal poaching
running rampant in this part of Canada. I just needed to figure out what it
was.

I’d heard rumors one of the protected spirit bears inhabiting one of the
small islands in this area. I knew they were extremely rare, but no one had
been able to verify the story, and I put it down to a myth the locals used to
lure tourists to the area. A quick Google search confirmed that the small
population of spirit bears in this part of the world lived farther north,
around Haida Gwaii.

Surely a group of international thieves would know better than to get taken in
by such a blatant tourist-trapping lie? The parts from such a creature would
be worth a devil’s ransom, but it would be difficult to harvest salable
items from a myth. More likely, they were after something else, something
valuable. But what?

I folded the soft strip of flannel from my shirt and placed it over the wound
on my arm. The bleeding had slowed, a good sign. Gritting my teeth, I wrapped
the belt around the makeshift bandage and pulled it tight.

A searing bolt of pain sliced through the raw wound, and colored dots danced
before my eyes. I concentrated on my breathing as I waited for the throbbing
to subside.

Looked like the wound was worse than I’d thought.

I’d left my medi-kit on the boat, but I’d seen a birch tree a few
lengths back. My grandfather had been a bit of a survivalist and had shown me
how to make a traditional wound dressing from birch bark. That would serve to
dull the pain until I retrieved the medi-kit and the heavy-duty painkillers in
it. I’d outgrown that macho, I-can-take-the-pain stage a long time ago.

I got to my feet, using the massive tree stump to steady myself. For a moment,
the world swam in front of my eyes. Great, just what I needed.

I closed them, waiting for the forest to stop moving. When it did, I pushed
off from the stump, trekking slowly in the direction of the beachhead where
I’d left my boat.

One foot in front of the other. Easy as that. I could do this.

My arm throbbed, and I glanced down. No fresh blood. Good.

I stopped by the birch tree, dropping to one knee. Using a sharp-bladed
hunting knife to slice off a few lengths of bark, I shredded it into fibers
and formed them into a compress. Sucking in a deep breath, I gently placed the
birch bark poultice over the raw flesh and reapplied the dressing, securing it
with the belt.

Resting for a bit to let the pain ease up, I rose to my feet and continued in
the direction of the boat.

Seconds later, I stumbled over a surface root, thudding heavily to my knees.
The loss of blood must have weakened me more than I’d realized, and it
took a long moment before I managed to get back up. I picked up a broken tree
limb, leaning on it for balance.

My focus narrowed. I needed to get to the boat. Keeping my hold on the
makeshift walking stick, I took a step. Better, much better.

The birch bark compress supplied some relief from the pain in my arm.
I’d had worse injuries back in my military days. I could do this.

Concentrate. The boat.

Need to get to boat.

Need to report back in.

Whatever these guys were after, the Brotherhood of the Wild would put a stop
to it. We had the advantage of operating internationally, bypassing local
bureaucracy. And we had money. Money could open doors and make officials look
the other way.

Boat. Need to get to the boat.

I stumbled again, pausing to lean on a tree until my vision cleared.

Clenching my jaw, I pushed myself upright and took one step. Then another.

Leaning heavily on the walking stick, I steadied myself. The notion of balance
seemed to have deserted my brain entirely, and I compromised with a slow
shuffling gait that kept me on my feet and heading in the right direction.
That was really all I needed.

I felt myself start to fall again and reached out for the closest tree. Had I
even made it twenty feet since the last time I’d had to reach for a
tree? Maybe. But not much farther.

I took a deep breath and tried to clear my head. Nope. Wasn’t going to
work this time. Never mind. I just needed to keep moving in the direction of
the boat. That was all.

Just keep moving.

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.

 

Author Links

Website

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

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

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