Aera Cross is a man forged by hardship. His childhood, marred by pain
and abuse, has left him with scars that run deeper than the skin. Survival has
been his only mantra, that he’s learned to navigate with a hardened
heart. But when a desperate father approaches him with a plea to rescue his
‘daughter’ from the clutches of a sadistic doctor, Cross finds
himself at a crossroads.
The photo of Lorelei, a girl with an ethereal beauty, ignites something within
him—a flicker of hope amidst the darkness. Lorelei possesses a gift that
is both a blessing and a curse: she can heal with a touch. But this
extraordinary ability has made her a target, sold to the highest bidder and
forced to perform for those who seek to exploit her powers. Each transaction
chips away at her soul, leaving her a mere shadow of the girl she once was.
On the night of her daring escape, Lorelei stumbles into Cross’s world.
Though she is wary of this rugged stranger, she has no choice but to trust
him. Together, they embark on a perilous journey, where danger lurks at every
corner and the lines between savior and sinner blur.
Excerpt
The passenger door yanked open and very large man slid into the seat. Fear exploded through her. She couldn’t go back. She might have defended her life by killing a man, but she’d rather die than return to that cell. As she fumbled with the car handle to open in a desperate move to escape, the man reached over and caught her wrist. Instinct and desperation caused her to fight back, thrashing around in an effort to free herself.
Why? Why couldn’t luck be on her side for once?
“I’m not going to hurt you!” the man muttered. “You can’t take this car to escape. They’ll track you. Listen to me, Lorelei!”
Her name slipping from his tongue jolted her, and his words slowly penetrated the terror robbing her of sanity. Then she took a closer look at the man. It was hard to tell his eye color in the dark. Short hair. Bold, masculine features. Tattoos on one side of his neck. He wore a leather jacket, jeans and black boots. By his look alone, he wasn’t an employee.
“My name is Aera Cross, and I’ve come to rescue you. Although you managed that very well on your own.”
Suddenly, the alarm sounded, and lights flooded the perimeter. For a moment, she froze. Panic overrode any logical thought. Then Cross left the car and ran around to the driver’s side. Before she could blink, he took her hand and yanked her out. He looked down at her feet and frowned.
“Where’re your shoes, woman? Actually, never mind. We have to get away from here.”
He picked her up bridal style and ran into the darkness.
About the Author
I’m passionate about weaving tales of romance and connection, inviting
readers into worlds where love conquers all. Crafting heartfelt stories and
steamy scenes that make the pulse race, as well as dreaming up the next
swoon-worthy adventure. I love to weave emotions into my stories that punch
you in the gut. I try to write characters who aren’t cookie cutters and push
myself to write complicated situations that I have no idea how to resolve,
forcing me to think outside the box. I strive to create characters who are
complex and full of flaws. Deep passion romance between heroes and heroines
who find redemption through love.
If you make a deal with the Devil, don’t forget to read the fine
print.
Three operatives find themselves on the run after a corporate sabotage job
goes awry. Now, their predatory employer, a heavyweight weapons-tech firm,
wants its elite A-team dead at all costs. Jon is a smooth-talking
charmer. Friedrich is a hacker prodigy. And Guion is the ice-cold tactician
who keeps them all in line.
Backs against the wall, the men strike separate infernal pacts to stay
alive. They vanish into the urban badlands of New York’s Five Hives,
vowing to lie low and figure out why they’ve become targets.
Meanwhile, Jon suspects there’s an insidious evil possessing his
friends, and he wonders if they all got more than they bargained for.
Amid an escalating war between local gangs and the firm’s private
shock troops, the fugitives uncover a conspiracy that threatens to destroy
everyone they know and love. But can they stop the destruction before their
inner demons seize control?
About the Author
At the age of four, Russell Anders started telling stories, often
interrupting his mother during bedtime reading to ask, “Then what
happened?” She always answered, “You tell me,” and his
imagination conjured fantastical tales of dragons and dinosaurs.
He gravitated toward a career as a technical writer and writing coach for
software companies. He also briefly served as a columnist for Dragon
Magazine. One of his favorite hobbies includes tabletop role playing,
especially as the game master. And yes, he’s as cruel to the characters in
his games as he is to the characters in his books; his players love him for
it.
Russel lives with the constant canine companionship of whip-smart but goofy
Sigurd, an English Mastiff (the best breed ever).
Is it friendship or something more? I think I’m ready to find out.
Yulia — They call him Salvation, and that’s exactly what
he’s been for me. I was only sixteen when he swept me up into his arms
and carried me out of hell. Things were so bad, all I wanted was to die. He
and his club, the Reckless Kings, they saved me. Salvation’s never
touched me, even though we’re technically married, and he honestly has
enough on his plate already with a daughter who’s badly scarred from an
explosion. But we’ve been together for eleven years now, and the older I
get, the more I want our marriage to be real.
Salvation — Since the day Yulia came to live with me, I’ve not once
cheated on her. She’s legally my wife, and that’s all that
matters. Besides, my daughter, Clover, has kept me busy. Now Clover’s
nearly an adult and I’ve noticed the way Yulia looks at me when she
thinks I’m not paying attention. But can we have a real marriage when
we’ve been nothing but friends all these years? It’s too bad my
family has be to taken before I realize the answer to that question. Now
I’ll do whatever it takes to get Clover and Yulia back, and I’ll
send their kidnappers straight to hell.
Warning: Salvation is intended for readers 18+ due to adult situations,
bad language, and violence. It can be read as a stand-alone, but the series
will be enjoyed more if read in order. This is a slow-burn romance with steamy
scenes. There’s no cliffhanger, no cheating, and a guaranteed HEA!
The wind whipped my hair across my face, stinging my eyes as I stood at
the edge of the school grounds. My heart pounded, each beat a reminder of the
choice before me. Memories flashed through my mind — cruel hands, mocking
laughter, endless fear. I closed my eyes, willing the images away.
This was it. The end. My fingers trembled as I gripped the knife tighter. Just
one cut and it would all be over. No more pain. No more shame. I took a shaky
breath. “Prosti menya, sestra,” I whispered. Forgive me, sister.
The blade glinted in the fading sunlight. So sharp. So final. I pressed it to
my wrist.
A roar split the air.
My eyes snapped open. In the distance, a motorcycle engine growled, growing
louder. Closer. I hesitated, the knife hovering above my skin. Who would come
here? Why now? The engine’s rumble filled my ears, drowning out the
frantic beating of my heart. Despite myself, I turned toward the sound.
A flicker of… something. Not quite hope. But curiosity. A momentary
distraction from the abyss. I lowered the knife, just slightly. My mind raced.
Should I wait? See who it was? Or finish what I’d started?
The motorcycle drew nearer. Any moment now, it would crest the hill. I bit my
lip, indecision paralyzing me. The wind continued to howl around me, urging me
forward. But that sound… it called to me. Promising… what?
I didn’t know.
For just a moment, my despair lifted. And in that moment, I chose to wait.
The motorcycle crested the hill, its rider a dark silhouette against the
blazing orange sky. My breath caught in my throat. He was massive, all broad
shoulders and muscled limbs, his leather cut emblazoned with a patch I
couldn’t quite make out.
He dismounted in one fluid motion, his boots hitting the ground with a heavy
thud. My fingers tightened around the knife as he strode toward me, his pace
urgent but measured. “Easy now, darlin’,” he called out, his
voice a low rumble that carried on the wind. “Why don’t you put
that knife down?”
I shook my head, taking a step back. “Stay away,” I warned.
“I don’t know you.”
He slowed his approach, hands raised placatingly. “Name’s Hawk.
I’m with the Reckless Kings. I was sent here to help. A few of my
brothers are waiting nearby to make sure we don’t run into
trouble.”
My mind reeled. The Reckless Kings? How did they know? Why would they care?
“No one can help,” I whispered, more to myself than to him.
“It’s too late.”
Hawk took another careful step forward. “It’s never too late,
sweetheart. Trust me on that.”
I laughed, a bitter sound that surprised even me. “Trust? I don’t
even know what that means anymore.”
His gaze met mine. “Then let me show you. Just… put the knife
down. Please.”
My hand trembled. Part of me wanted to believe him, to grasp at this lifeline
he was offering. But the fear, the pain of the past years, it all threatened
to drown me. “I can’t,” I choked out. “You don’t
understand what he did to me.”
Hawk’s expression softened. “Maybe not exactly. But I’ve
seen enough pain in this world to recognize it. You’re not alone, Yulia.
Not anymore.”
My name on his lips startled me. How did he know? Who sent him?
As if sensing my thoughts, he added, “Your sister’s worried sick.
She asked us to find you.”
Tears welled in my eyes. “Oksana?”
Hawk nodded. “She loves you. Let us help. Let me take you somewhere
safe.”
The knife slipped in my grasp, my resolve wavering… The knife clattered
to the ground, and my legs gave out. I crumpled, expecting to hit the cold
earth. Instead, strong arms caught me, steadying me against a broad chest.
“I’ve got you,” Hawk murmured, his voice a low rumble.
“You’re safe now.”
I trembled, my body wracked with silent sobs. Years of pent-up fear and pain
poured out of me as Hawk held me, his grip firm but gentle. “Can you
walk?” he asked after a moment.
I nodded weakly, not trusting my voice. Hawk kept an arm around me as he
guided me toward his motorcycle. The machine loomed before us, all gleaming
chrome and sleek lines. “Ever ridden before?” Hawk asked, swinging
his leg over the seat.
I shook my head, eyeing the bike warily. “Nyet… no.”
He extended his hand. “First time for everything. Hold on tight,
okay?”
With shaking fingers, I grasped his hand and climbed on behind him. The
leather of his cut was smooth under my palms as I wrapped my arms around his
waist. I heard three more motorcycles and noticed the men were also from the
Reckless Kings.
“Ready?” Hawk called over his shoulder.
“Da,” I whispered, tightening my grip.
The engine roared to life, vibrating through my entire body. We took off, the
world blurring around us as we sped away from the school grounds. Away from my
nightmares.
I pressed my face against Hawk’s back, the wind whipping my hair. Part
of me still couldn’t believe this was real. That I was escaping. That
someone had come for me. “Where are we going?” I shouted over the
engine’s rumble.
“Somewhere safe,” Hawk called back. “Our compound.
You’ll be protected there.”
Protected. The word sent a shiver through me — of fear or hope, I
wasn’t sure.
As we rode into the gathering darkness, I clung to Hawk, to this stranger
who’d become my unexpected savior. My mind raced with questions, with
doubts. But for now, I let the roar of the engine drown out my thoughts,
focusing only on the road ahead and the promise of safety it held.
Tears stung my eyes, instantly whisked away by the biting wind. My chest ached
with each ragged breath, emotions churning like a storm inside me. Gratitude
and terror warred for dominance.
“You okay back there?” Hawk’s voice barely reached me over
the engine’s roar.
I nodded against his back, not trusting my voice. My fingers dug into the
leather of his cut, anchoring me to this surreal moment.
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
In a city plagued by hidden crime, Rachel Remington is a solitary investigator
haunted by her family’s tragic past—her mother’s murder and
her father’s assassination. At 26, her obsession with finding their
killers drives her into a dangerous confrontation with a shadowy underworld of
illicit drug trafficking.
Will Rachel Get Her Revenge?
As hope emerges through the enigmatic Detective Trent, Rachel’s life spirals
into chaos. As they join forces, she discovers hidden agendas and dark secrets
threatening to consume her.
Games, Betrayals, and Love
Caught in a perilous game of trust and betrayal, Rachel must uncover her
family’s past while evading those determined to silence her. In a
thrilling tale of revenge and unexpected alliances, will Rachel uncover the
truth, seize her chance for redemption, find love, or will the shadows of her
past cost her everything?
About the Author
It’s never too late to make my dreams come true. I was lucky to be
born on the southern shores of the Mediterranean Sea, specifically in
Alexandria. My summers were spent on the beach, enjoying the sunshine, the
original surfboards/paddle boards, and the game of sand pickleball before it
even made it to the US.
Not having TVs, I read many books, especially wartime ones, Ian
Flemings’s early James Bond novels, John Le Carre, Agatha Christie,
Maurice LeBlanc (Arsene Lupin), and other detective/mystery-type books. For
school, we had to read all the French Classics. I was always intrigued by how
the characters always managed to resolve their problems.
At the Age of 19, I came to California as a foreign student. After graduating
with an engineering degree, I was able to obtain my permanent residency. I
never looked back. My mother was able to join me, but unfortunately, my father
passed away.
Once I graduated with a Mechanical Engineering degree, I joined an
International Engineering and Construction Company and spent all my working
time with them. What was great is that the company moved me to many work
projects around the world, where I spent an average of a couple of years on
each. My wife joined me on some of these assignments.
But my love for writing was always with me. During my stay abroad, I wrote a
philosophical book and many articles for local newspapers and the Laguna Beach
weekly issues, comparing life in Laguna Beach with life in Indonesia. I wrote
articles for the company’s monthly newsletter, as well as for other
publications.
I recently decided to use a “nom de plume”/pseudonym for my
writings. My real name is Jean-Pierre Zacaropoulos. Having a last name
starting with a “Z” had me called upon in classes either as one of
the last ones or one of the first one. It was always a guessing game. But
usually having an A or B will push you to the top (Ha! Ha!). So I decided to
choose a “B”
Now, I have a little bit more time, so I decided to make my long-time desire
come true. I wrote my mystery/romance novel, which will be followed shortly
after by a sequel.
Zane Carter and his sons, eleven-year-old Ty and thirteen-year-old
Joseph, venture one hundred miles into the Idaho wilderness with only a knife
and the knowledge of their Nez Perce ancestors. Danger awaits at every
deadfall and lurks in every snowy shadow as the boys hunt, fish, make weapons,
and build shelter, learning to survive, taking only what they need from the
land, and leaving no trace.
During their eighteen-day journey, Zane’s determination to fulfill a
promise to his grandfather, an Indigenous warrior who exemplified the tenets
of a wise and spiritual existence, is thwarted by a fatal encounter that
transports Zane into an ancient realm as he straddles the thin line between
life and death.
He wonders what has become of his boys. Have they learned enough patience,
resourcefulness, and courage to complete this rite of passage? Will they make
it out of the wildlands alive? Or will the unforgiving forces of the natural
world take them too far from home to ever return?
About the Author
After high school, Aaron Anderson set out to see the world, embarking on
adventures through North America, Europe, and North Africa. He enjoyed
traveling as a bicyclist, motorcyclist, train passenger, and even as a
hitchhiker, reveling in the excitement of the unknown.
At the age of twenty-two, Aaron returned to the US and worked on oil rigs in
Wyoming. He later became a carpenter and eventually a real estate appraiser.
However, his true passions have always been writing, developing powerful
friendships, and exploring new country.
During the 1980s he and his two sons hunted, hiked, and camped throughout the
western states. Here, his love for the natural world and respect for
Indigenous people prompted him to write his second novel, Never Lost.
Six to carry the casket and one to say the mass: reflections on life,
identity, and moving forward offers the unique opportunity for its readers to
start a new dialogue, take an active hand in creating culture and reshaping
the world, and think about making meaning from formative experiences and
relationships. From family dynamics and professional challenges that bolstered
and battered him to the TV shows, films, books, and people who impacted his
queer identity, Bill deconstructs the world that he inherited and begins to
reconstruct the person he wants to become through short, poignant,
thought-provoking, and frequently hilarious essays. The post-2020 world
revealed to Bill that social transformation only comes with individual
choices. If he wanted the world to change, he had to truthfully and
compassionately understand how choices made long ago brought him to this
moment and how the choices he makes now shape the future.
This book is not didactic or instructional; not self-help or psychology; not
academic philosophy or cultural criticism. It is an exercise in honesty and a
portrait of Bill, his family, and how we construct multiple
identities—sexual, religious, philosophical, political, familial,
relational—without reducing them to a monolithic whole, without being
argumentative.
For anyone looking to make meaning out of their lives and the world around
them, this book offers a model.
Hunter came to Eerie to give up on his life. Nothing’s gone right and
he’s ready to quit. Then he sees the most beautiful woman in the world,
but she wants him dead. Talk about bad luck. Until he meets Annika, a Huldra
— a Norse protector – and the woman he can’t seem to forget.
Unlike her twin sister Runa, who wants only to destroy, Annika is a nurturing
spirit. The moment she sees Hunter she has to save him from her homicidal
sister. He’s too pretty to kill, but he’s got a secret. He’s
not solely human, although he doesn’t know what paranormal blood runs
through his veins.
If he can survive Runa’s wrath, the scars of his past, and allow himself
to have a future with Annika, he might find the best things in life
aren’t exactly what they seem — they’re better.
EXCERPT
“I’ve had enough.” Hunter Hallahan drove past the line
separating the town boundary of Eerie from the rest of the world. To anyone
who didn’t have a drop of paranormal blood, the road went through
untouched woodlands. Unlike most beings, he had the very cells permitting him
to be there — paranormal blood. More specifically, shifter blood. By the time
he’d cropped up on the family tree, the strain of paranormal magic
coming down to him had been diluted enough he wasn’t able to shift.
Didn’t matter to him.
He had the keen senses of the wolf — sharp hearing, keen eyesight, a sixth
sense to detect danger, and lightning-fast reflexes. His abilities to read
other beings had served him well. They had in the past.
Not now.
He’d read Sally so wrong. He’d thought she loved him. Thought she
wanted to be together forever. All she’d wanted was a boyfriend for now.
He flexed his hands on the steering wheel and drove straight to the woods. His
eyes burned from shedding too many tears over her. Her words burned into his
brain.
“Oh, honey. You’re good for now, but you’re not marriage
material. You’re a mongrel.”
How could someone say those things?
No, he knew how they could. She wanted to get back at her now-fiancé.
Making him jealous got her a bigger diamond. Got her attention. Got her the
house in the suburbs with the large yard and the chance at having kids.
He’d never be able to give her children.
He turned onto the gravel road leading deeper into the woods.
When he’d set out for Eerie, he hadn’t planned on going to the
forest, but the second he crossed the city limits, he’d been drawn here.
He couldn’t even explain it. Like the car was being driven by itself.
Impossible.
Yes, he had magic, and Eerie was full of spells, magic and everything else
paranormal, but the car wasn’t driving itself. He wasn’t rich
enough to have one of those vehicles. This was something different.
Something stronger.
He continued farther into the woods, shocked by the darkness. This
wasn’t his first time venturing into the forests of Eerie. The area that
hid the town appeared to be only a few hundred acres on a map. But that was
the magic of Eerie. It might not appear big, but once one started exploring,
the place was huge.
As he drove, he noticed a woman walking among the trees. Seeing someone in the
woods wasn’t strange. The fact the woman wore a filmy dress and had
flowing blonde hair was the eye-catching part. He slowed his pace and cast a
longer glance at her. Her pale skin practically seemed transparent. Gods, if a
stiff breeze blew through, she’d fall over. She had no meat on her
bones.
Some might find her gorgeous. She had that stick-thin look going for her, with
more bones than curves. She cut a striking figure among the trees.
He liked women with a little more curve.
The woman rushed up to him. “Come to me.”
Part of him wanted to. Just stop the vehicle, leave, and follow her. The
rational part of his brain refused to comply. This had to be a spell. Had to
be something to bring him to his doom.
Except he’d initially set out for Eerie with the plan to end his life.
He’d thought that was what he wanted, but he’d never followed
through with his spur-of-the-moment intentions. Gods, he’d loved Sally,
but she wasn’t worth him doing something so drastic. Never had been.
The woman stopped in front of his car and pointed to him, then crooked her
finger. “Come with me.”
He flicked the button to lock the car. Why in Hades had he done that? If this
was magic, she could come into his vehicle despite the damn locks.
“Come with me,” she repeated. Then the woman winked.
As she did, he collided with something hard. Not just hard, but immediate. He
rocked forward, smacking his face into the airbag. The wind rushed from his
lungs, and he groaned. His limbs ached. What in Hades had just happened?
He blinked to clear his vision. Smoke wafted through the air and the bag
deflated.
“Odin’s sake.” The door opened and a person reached into the
car.
When he looked at the speaker, his blood chilled. “You’re
determined to get me to come with you.” The woman who’d pointed to
him was yanking him from the vehicle. “I’m not going with
you.”
“If you know what’s good for you, you will.” The woman,
almost too thin to be manhandling him, tugged him free of the seat belt.
“You’re dying, you fool.”
“Dying?” He’d come to the woods to do himself in but
hadn’t wanted to — not for real. “How?”
“You hit the fucking tree.” She hauled him against her body.
“Come on. Use your legs — or are they broken?”
“I don’t know.” His brain swam. “I’ve got to be
concussed.”
“Probably.” She grunted, then tossed him against the side of the
car. She waved her hand across his forehead and spoke words he couldn’t
understand. Her brow crinkled and her green eyes flashed. Her mouth twisted
into a frown. “Can you walk now?”
He hadn’t bothered to try. He stared at her. She looked a lot like the
woman who’d called to him, yet nothing like her. After a moment, his
brain cooperated, and he forced his legs to move. “Yes,” he
managed. He allowed her to slide her arm around him. “What
happened?”
“I’ll explain in a moment.” She fumbled across the
underbrush to a large tree. When she knocked on the tree, a hunk of the bark
opened like a door. “In here.” She didn’t give him a chance
to argue. Instead, she shoved him into the tree before closing the door behind
her.
“What’s going on?” He leaned against the wall.
“I’m so confused. I’ve got to be concussed.”
“You probably are.” She raked her hair back from her face.
“You’d better thank your lucky stars I got there in time.”
“Why?” He understood so little.
“That woman who called to you? That’s my twin sister,” she
said. “That’s some bad magic you don’t want to mix yourself
up in.”
“Jealous?” He’d tried for a bad joke, but it hadn’t
worked. “I’m sorry. I don’t get it.”
She flipped a switch, sending light across the space. “Here.” She
helped him to a chair. She knelt in front of him, then stared at him before
tipping her head. “I get it.”
“I’m glad you do, because I don’t.” He didn’t
like riddles or misdirects. “What’s going on?”
“You crashed your car into a tree.”
“I did? I didn’t see anything in front of me.” He’d
destroyed his car? Fuck.
“That was the point.”
“What?”
She sighed and folded her arms before sitting back on her heels. “What
brought you to Eerie? You’re here, so you must have magic. Why are you
here?”
About the Author
Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of
more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since
2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and
paranormal to LGBTQ and white hot themes. No matter what the length, her works
are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a
second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been nominated at
the LRC for Best Author, Best Contemporary, Best Ménage, Best BDSM and
Best Anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on various
e-tailer sites.
When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as
well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but
football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends
of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library.
A cursed lighthouse, a malevolent shapeshifter, and a deadly game. One
life-altering decision could seal their fate.
In Solitary Island, Australia. A malevolent shapeshifter haunts a
storm-battered lighthouse. When Dahlia confronts an ancient secret, she must
make a life-or-death sacrifice to save herself and Paranormal Jack from a
terrifying entity trapped between worlds.
Caught in a twisted game, Dahlia is forced to make an impossible
choice—one of them must die for the other to survive.
As Paranormal Jack fights to escape the lighthouse’s sinister grip, he must
explore the human fear of death and what lies beyond to uncover the horrifying
truth. Betwixt has been claiming the souls of those who enter the lighthouse
for centuries, and its curse runs deep.
As fate hangs in the balance, Dahlia must uncover the dark history of the
Island and make a desperate bid before the evil grave wind takes hold.
Grave Wind is the first book in the Haunting Dahlia series. This riveting
tale, packed with unforgettable characters, heart-pounding paranormal
investigations, and shocking twists, will leave readers spellbound. If you
were hooked by the eerie tension of Dean Koontz’s Phantoms, this electrifying
story is must-read.
About the Author
Janice Tremayne, hailing from Australia, is a celebrated author
specializing in supernatural horror. Her novel “Haunting in Hartley” achieved
finalist status in the Readers’ Favorite 2020 International Book Awards in the
category of fiction-supernatural, clinching the prestigious Distinguished
Favorite Prize for paranormal horror at the New York City Big Book Awards.
Janice’s literary prowess was further acknowledged with the silver medal at
the IPPY Awards 2021 in the Australia/New Zealand/Pacific Rim – Best
Regional Fiction category, as well as the Bronze Award in Adult Fiction at the
Wishing Shelf Independent Book Awards 2020. In 2023, she secured the Literary
Titan Gold Book Award, a testament to her excellence in writing.
Residing in Melbourne with her family, Janice intricately weaves cultural
superstitions into her narratives, drawing from her upbringing where such
beliefs were deeply embedded in daily life and customs. Her bestselling
series, “Haunting Clarisse,” has consistently soared to the top of Amazon
Kindle rankings, captivating readers with its blend of occult supernatural,
ghosts, haunted houses, and British horror.
Janice’s journey as an author began with a simple cup of coffee, sparking the
inspiration to translate her fascination with cultural superstitions into
gripping tales of horror. Her books are renowned for delivering
heart-thumping, bone-chilling, and thought-provoking paranormal experiences,
each narrative offering a fresh twist that keeps readers enthralled worldwide.
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Gilbert Sullivan, crown prince of the basilisks, hates his name, but he
fears the rhyme may be prophecy.
Rhyme of Longing (Jack & Gil 1): When Prince Gilbert Sullivan meets Jack
Sowerby, the new head of SearchLight, his attraction won’t let him stay
away. Jack’s need for Prince Gilbert blossoms and he’s unable to
resist — until he’s forcibly changed into a magical creature. Will
their shattered relationship ever be restored?
Rhyme of Longing (Jack & Gil 2)
Jack is falling apart, but no one seems to notice. As Jack withdraws, the tide
of war rises. Jack must find a way to regain his strength and determination or
SearchLight will fall. And he’s convinced he must do it alone.
Rhyme of Love (Jack & Gil 3)
Gil struggles to hide his loss of status from Jack, but when he finally
confesses, Jack blurts out his secret. Jack knows he screwed up. Well, almost.
Running the risk of losing Gil, Jack must learn to lie convincingly, or
he’ll lose SearchLight, his life, and Gil, as well.
Excerpt from Rhyme of Longing
Jack wanted so badly to be done with this night that he felt uncomfortable in
his skin. That was not the proper way to begin thinking about his sixty-eighth
birthday, his five-year anniversary as the head of SearchLight Academy. This
was a party for both those things but no one said “no” to Agent
Weinberg.
Not necessarily the most powerful magical being in the world, she was still
the head of the entire organization. Even though she held the nominal title of
“head of Public Relations,” SearchLight’s whole reason for
existing was to protect the relationship between magical and nonmagical
peoples. Which was, of course, officially, no relationship at all. SearchLight
was a secret and must remain so.
The influence she held would make most magical creatures bow in submission.
Jack, being merely human, was suitably impressed. And although as yet not
cowed, he was too fond of his life to waste it needlessly. Not that Agent
Weinberg had killed anyone. Recently.
Jack took a deep breath in through his nose as the limousine pulled up to the
curb. He’d been commanded to take this limo and the implicit service of
a driver, and although he hadn’t enjoyed it particularly, he was glad
that he hadn’t needed to find a place to park in downtown Washington,
DC. So, unsure if he was supposed to tip the driver but wanting to show his
appreciation, he stepped around to the driver’s side after the car was
parked at the curb and offered the person behind the wheel, whom, his
telepathic sense, told him wasn’t human, ten dollars.
“Would you be trying to bribe me to take you home, Agent Sowerby?”
Jack saw the humor in the green eyes turned up to his and smiled. “Never
in life,” he told the Irish-sounding sprite or Faery or leprechaun.
Damn, sometimes he wished for a werewolf’s sense of smell so he’d
know the magical creatures around him at once.
“You’re a good man, Agent Sowerby. Don’t let her bully you
now.” And with that, he winked and rolled up his window. Jack stepped
around the car to the sidewalk and watched the limo drive away.
“Hey there.” The voice was soft, lightly accented, and full of a
syrupy, sarcastic undertone that put Jack’s hackles up. He turned more
slowly than he could have, wanting to appear older and so less threatening. He
gazed at the three people facing him and saw they were all armed.
He was aware of others watching from the doorway of the restaurant but knew
they wouldn’t intercede unless it became obvious he couldn’t
handle himself. That was one thing about Agent Weinberg he didn’t like
much. She believed in the “sink or swim” philosophy.
The woman who’d spoken was smiling in a particularly condescending way.
“Got a handout for me?” She twirled the knife in her right hand as
she reached out with her left for the ten spot Jack still held.
Jack offered it, keeping a good distance from her, forcing her to step forward
to take the bill. He was aware of the other two moving to flank him. He
disliked using his telepathic sense against what he considered to be
defenseless people, magical or mundane, and yet he wouldn’t risk his own
life to preserve theirs. “I suggest you take this and be on your
way,” he said softly, putting a slight psychic push into the words. He
blanketed the area with his calming presence, lacking the ability to focus on
more than two people at once. Both of the men who’d been flanking him
stopped. One of them shook his head but the other was definitely under
Jack’s control.
“Back off,” Jack said and watched the woman lower her knife a
little.
She snatched at the bill and her knife hand flicked upward.
Jack dropped the ten spot and caught her wrist. The knife’s blade
skidded across the waterproof material of his trench coat. He forced her to
drop the knife as he said, “Go away.”
The man under his control turned and fled. But the other lunged at Jack.
Yanking the woman close, Jack used her as a shield. The other man’s
blade slid between her ribs. He swore, stumbling back, and lost his grip on
his knife. As he turned to flee, Jack lowered the woman to the ground. He
shouted, “Someone call nine-one-one.”
Someone joined him out on the sidewalk. It wasn’t Agent Weinberg. It
wasn’t a SearchLight agent he knew. There was regal bearing in the
other’s posture as he crouched beside Jack. “Let me heal
her.”
Jack didn’t protest, although he did skate his telepathic sense outward
to determine if this was a magical creature. The fact that he’d said
“heal” rather than “help” argued for him not being
human. He came into contact with an impenetrable psychic wall and winced as
his telepathic sense bounced off. Well, there weren’t all that many
humans who could resist even his most casual reach. Ergo, this was a magical
creature.
Jack nodded and said, “Go ahead.” He retreated inside his own head
and as he pulled out his cell phone, unwilling to trust to others to call for
help, he watched the broad-shouldered male beside him spit into his hand and
press the palm against the wound even as he pulled the knife free.
Dragon, Jack thought. Dragons could heal with their saliva or a blood
exchange. But this wasn’t a dragon Jack knew.
About the Author
Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender
women’s speculative fiction. Seeking a world made of equality, she
created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its
problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host
of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires. And in the
contemporary world she’s named “Sticks & Stones,” Emily
has vowed to create small towns where prejudice is challenged by a passionate
quest for equality. Find her on Facebook at Shapeshifter Central or on her
website.
Get ready to dive into the gritty yet heartwarming world of the Dixie
Reapers.
Amelia: I know monsters. Hammer isn’t one, regardless of what he says. He’s a
born protector with a big heart, and he’s exactly what my family needs. Sure,
there’s a big age difference between us, but why should I care about other
people’s opinions? All that matters is that Hammer makes me happy. He’s just
what my sons need and he and the Dixie Reapers can protect me from my piece of
s**t ex. Anything else is unimportant. Now I just have to convince him that we
make a good team.
Hammer: I haven’t walked the path of righteousness by any means, but it
doesn’t mean I’m a heartless bastard. Found out I had a kid who’s now a
Prospect. Discovered I had a granddaughter, and now I’m a great-grandfather.
Adopted a kid who didn’t have anyone. None of that makes up for the shit I’ve
done in my past, or the fact I’ve been in and out of prison most of my life.
So why does the sweetest woman I’ve ever met see me as her savior and not the
monster I really am? Somehow she’s become mine, along with her teen boys. If
anyone ever said I’d be a family man, I’d have laughed in their faces. Guess
the joke’s on me.
Are you ready to experience a love story that challenges the boundaries
and proves that every heart deserves a second chance?
Warning: Hammer is intended for readers 18+ due to adult situations, bad
language, and violence. There’s no cheating, no cliffhanger, and a guaranteed
HEA!
EXCERPT
Amelia
I sat on the deserted Florida beach as dusk painted the sky in shades of
orange and pink, my boys flanking me like sentinels. The rhythmic crashing of
waves against the shore masked our hushed voices, nature’s white noise
ensuring no one would overhear plans that could get us killed.
We’d chosen this spot carefully — far enough from the tourist areas to
avoid casual onlookers, but public enough that Piston wouldn’t think to
look for us here. My old man hated beaches, hated sand, hated anything that
couldn’t be controlled. The vastness of the ocean offended him somehow,
as if the world had no right to be bigger than his ego.
The setting sun cast long shadows across the sand, stretching our silhouettes
into distorted versions of ourselves. How fitting. We’d been living as
warped reflections of a family for too long — smiling in public while wearing
concealer over bruises, making excuses for absences at school functions,
practicing cover stories until they flowed from our lips more naturally than
the truth.
“Do you think he knows we’re gone yet?” I asked, my voice
barely audible above the surf.
Neither of my sons answered immediately. They’d learned to measure their
words, to calculate risks before speaking. Another gift from their father.
The breeze coming off the water carried a chill that had nothing to do with
temperature. Until this week, I’d been biding my time and slowly
preparing. I’d learned the hard way what happened when we ran. Then
things changed and I knew I needed to get us out of there. Waiting
wasn’t a luxury we could afford. Watching Piston, the boy’s
father, slam my youngest son’s head against the kitchen counter had
severed whatever twisted loyalty I still felt toward him. I’d been with
the enforcer for the Devil’s Minions for seventeen years. At least
sixteen years too damn long.
I glanced at Chase’s profile, so much like his father’s it
sometimes made my heart stutter with fear. But where Piston’s features
were permanently hardened by cruelty and excess, my sixteen-year-old
son’s face showed a different kind of hardness — determination,
protectiveness, the kind of strength that built rather than destroyed.
He’d been taking the brunt of his father’s rage for years,
positioning himself between Piston and his younger brother whenever possible.
On my other side sat Levi, his slender shoulders hunched against the evening
air. At fifteen, he should have been worrying about homework and video games,
not researching safe houses and motorcycle club rivalries. The fading
yellow-green bruise around his eye made my stomach knot with guilt. I should
have left years ago.
“We’ve got about eighteen hours before he realizes this
isn’t a shopping trip,” Chase said finally, scanning the beach for
potential threats. Always vigilant, my oldest. “Maybe less if he checks
the bank account. Especially since he thinks we’re staying overnight
somewhere. When we don’t check into a motel, he’ll come looking
for us.”
I nodded, feeling the weight of time pressing down. Piston hadn’t wanted
me to have access to money — control was his favorite weapon — but I’d
been skimming cash from the household funds for months, hiding small bills in
a tampon box he’d never deign to touch. It wasn’t much but
combined with the emergency credit card I’d applied for in secret, it
might be enough to get us to safety.
“He’ll come after us,” I said, stating what we all knew.
Piston, aka John Minsley, didn’t lose possessions, and that’s all
we were to him — things to own, to use, to break when the mood struck him.
Levi’s fingers curled around mine, his palm clammy despite the cool
evening air. “We planned for that, Mom. The Devil’s Boneyard MC
–”
“Keep your voice down,” Chase hissed, though there was no one
within a hundred yards of us.
The mention of another motorcycle club sent ice through my veins. Trading one
MC for another seemed like jumping from the fire into a different kind of
hell. But Levi had done his research, had shown me the forum posts from women
who’d escaped abusive situations with their help.
“I know you’re scared,” I told them both, squeezing
Levi’s hand. “I am too. But we can’t stay. Not
anymore.”
The evidence of that decision was written on my youngest son’s face, in
the shadows under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and the bruising
from his father’s temper. It was etched in the scars on Chase’s
back from that time Piston had caught him trying to call for help. It was
branded into my own skin, hidden beneath long sleeves even in Florida’s
heat.
Behind us, beyond the dunes and the sparse vegetation, our packed car waited
— everything we could safely take without raising suspicion crammed into the
trunk. Old clothes, important documents hidden in tampon boxes and
hollowed-out books, the few mementos I couldn’t bear to leave behind.
The sky deepened to purple as we sat there, three refugees planning a
desperate escape from a man who would rather see us dead than free. But in
that moment, with the endless ocean before us and my boys beside me, I felt
something I hadn’t experienced in years — hope, fragile as sea foam but
just as persistent.
Chase stood abruptly, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the sand as
he paced a few steps away, never taking his eyes off our surroundings. At
sixteen, he already carried himself like a man who’d seen too much, his
shoulders set with a tension that no teenager should know. The ocean breeze
ruffled his brown hair — the same shade as mine — but his green eyes,
Piston’s eyes, scanned the beach with a vigilance that broke my heart.
“Someone’s coming,” he muttered, nodding toward a couple
walking their dog at the far end of the beach. “We should move.”
I watched as he shifted his stance, angling his body to place himself between
us and the distant strangers. The motion was so automatic, so ingrained, that
I doubted he even realized he was doing it. Years of protecting his brother,
of trying to shield me when he could — it had become instinct. And it made me
feel like a shit mother.
“They’re just walking their dog, Chase,” I said softly.
“They’re not his men.”
His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping beneath his tanned skin. “You
don’t know that. Piston has eyes everywhere.”
“We’ve been careful.”
“Not careful enough.” He glanced at his brother, his expression
softening marginally before hardening again. “Levi’s research is
good, but Piston will call in every favor, track every account, hunt down
every friend we’ve ever had.” He knelt in front of me, his voice
dropping to a whisper. “Mom, if we do this, there’s no halfway. We
either disappear completely or we don’t bother running at all.”
The fierce intensity in his eyes reminded me so much of his father that for a
moment, fear flickered through me — not of Chase, never of him, but of the
genetic legacy he carried. Would my gentle boy who used to catch and release
spiders from our bathroom eventually morph into the monster who’d sired
him? Or was that intensity, channeled through love instead of hate, the very
thing that might save us?
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
