Angel Falls Volume 1 by Stephanie Burke #PNR #UrbanFantasy #interracial #gay #LGBT @changelingpress @Flashycat

Angel Falls Vol. 1 (Angel Falls 6)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Renee George
Genres/Themes: Box Set, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, Bisexual and more,
Cougar, Elves Dragons and Magical Creatures, Gay, Interracial

 

With the town of Angel Falls, Maryland, on their side,
broken wings will learn to fly once more.

 

Most people avoid Angel Falls. They say it’s filled with crazy geeks and weirdoes. And they’re right. But Angel Falls has the best geeks and weirdoes anyone has ever met.

Broken Wings: Angel, foundling turned NFL star quarterback, and Klintic, a Fae warrior prince, have both been tested in the fires of torment and anguish and managed to survive to find each other. That the ex-footballer and the betrayed prince manage to discover each other is a miracle. With the town of Angel Falls on their side, broken wings will learn to fly once more.

Snake: Snake’s lived a good, long life and is comfortable doing tattoos and body modifications in her shop. But when young Ethan comes to her, he opens more than memories to her past. He unleashes a love she could never have anticipated. A May/December relationship will never work, but with a little magic and the secrets held in the town of Angel Falls, maybe together they can give love a second chance.

Sunspots: Bryan Adams finally has a date with the man of his dreams — Winston Macapthy, RN, descendant of a sun god and a caracal shifter to boot. Finally the geeks are going to come out on top. But if Bryan’s less-than-perfect physique doesn’t put off the handsome shifter, then kidnapping, torture, and running for their lives might.

Or it may just be another perfect weekend… perfect for the small Maryland town of Angel Falls.

Publisher’s Note: Angel Falls Vol. 1 contains the previously published novellas Broken Wings (M/M), Snake (M/F), and Sunspots (M/M).

 

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available in ebook and print

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Stephanie Burke
Excerpt from Broken Wings

“I’ll get back with you in a few days, Rich,” he finally said, cutting off his agent.

“Good.” Rich sighed, as if knowing Angel wasn’t invested in the conversation at all. “I’ll wait till I hear from you.”

“All right.” Angel started to disconnect the call, but Rich’s voice stopped him.

“There’s some reporter sniffing around about a ‘where are they now’ piece, Angel. I told him to fuck off, but I have a feeling he’s not going to give up so easily.”

Great, Angel thought, cursing mentally as he thought of being hounded once more by a media who felt they had a right to put his pain on display. Apparently the pseudonym hadn’t been enough to keep him under the radar. “Thanks for the heads up,” he nearly growled at the phone. “But I think I’m safe here.”

“It’s damn hard to find you in that twisted, crazy zone where you currently reside.” His agent laughed. “I’d keep my eye out just in case. The reporter’s name is Jonathon Greely.”

“Thanks, Rich. And goodbye.”

Angel disconnected the call and moved deeper into the woods. He braved the trails regularly in a bid to exercise his injured knee and clear his head.

It hadn’t been easy getting to the point where he could feel connected with life again, but the exercise and the fresh air helped, as did the acceptance of the people who lived here. They could care less about who he was or what had happened to him — they just accepted him as a shy recluse who fit into a town already half occupied by shy recluses.

It was great.

He was about to turn back home to stare at his computer screen again when he heard the screaming. It sounded like someone was stabbing a peacock with a pitchfork.

He turned toward the sound, his feet automatically moving him at a swift pace deeper into the woods, into a place he rarely visited. Before he reached its source, the screaming stopped.

“Damn,” he murmured, wondering what he would find when he got there. He had high hopes that whatever was attacking the poor creature had fled and that maybe the poor prey hadn’t died.

He’d just rounded a small copse of maple trees when he saw the body.

“Good God,” he gasped, looking around to see if whatever had savaged the poor man was still nearby.

And it was a man, wearing ripped pants and slashed boots. He was bare-chested save for a pair of ill-fitted costume wings attached to his back.

Moving around to the man’s head, Angel dropped to his knees and pulled what seemed like mountains of dyed hair out of his face, wondering what the green goo that covered him was. It was tacky, the consistency of drying paint, and it liberally splattered the poor man’s form.

But the man was breathing. When Angel pressed his fingers against his neck, he could feel the steady pulse beneath his soft, warm skin. The man wasn’t exactly pale. No, his skin tone was dusky with an olive tint. His body under the grime and fake wings was fit and muscular.

“Hey. Hey, buddy. Can you hear me?” Angel asked, tapping him on the face, not wanting to move him in case of injury. “Hey.”

He tapped the man again, looking around to find the cause of his injury. The ground wasn’t torn up as it would be if he’d been defending himself. The trees and even the grass in the small clearing remained undisturbed. Unless the man had been dropped out of a plane, Angel couldn’t see how he’d found his way onto his property wearing a set of wings…

“Wings,” he muttered, shaking his head. Maybe this was one of the citizens of Angel Falls. Maybe he was a geek who’d invented some kind of flying machine and had tried to test it, with disastrous results. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. A few years ago, an incident with a jet pack had torched a good half-acre of his land and the inventor, a fifteen-year-old boy who was way too young to be playing with jet fuel, broke a thumb on Angel’s property.

Angel reached for the wings and — “Damn it!” He quickly pulled his hand back as what felt like a hell of a lot of static electricity zapped his fingers.

Shaking his fingers, he again tried to get the man to respond. “Sir? Sir, can you hear me?”

He was about to give up on waking his avian visitor to call 911 when the man’s eyelids fluttered.

“Yeah,” Angel encouraged, speaking a little louder. “That’s it, buddy. Come on and open those eyes for me –“

The injured man’s eyes fluttered once more and then blinked open. His eyes — the color was shocking Angel nearly jumped back before he realized the solid black had to be contact lenses.

Calling himself all kinds of a fool, he moved in closer. “Hey? Buddy?”

Cosxgrturve exzline gzlk,” the man gasped, his tongue twisting the incomprehensible words.

“Slurred speech.” Angel spoke to himself, already reaching for his cell. This looked like it might be serious —

Cosxgrturve kzilei jemanzr!” the man said, his voice steadier.

“Calm down, buddy –” Angel rested a hand on the man’s shoulder when he suddenly lurched as if to get up. “Hey!” But the man braced a hand on Angel’s shoulder and fought to rise.

Not wanting him to hurt himself more — brain injuries could be tricky, as his year in the NFL had taught him — Angel braced the man as he lurched to his feet. Suddenly he was looking up into a dark-eyed visage that was staring back at him.

The man was big, and for Angel to say that was telling. Angel himself stood at six feet seven inches tall, a formidable height for a quarterback, but this man — he had to be about a foot taller than Angel.

And as Angel stared, his mouth open in shock, his cell dangling unused from his hand, the man arched his back and the wings fluttered. Then, as Angel tried to figure out how the massive things were attached, there was a zap that felt like a milder form of that earlier static electricity, and the wings began to glow faintly…

More from Stephanie Burke at Changeling Press…

 

It’s in the Mix by Ayla Ruse #PNR #UrbanFantasy #RomanceBooks @changelingpress @AylaRuse

It's In The Mix (Wit & Wizardry Multi-Author 3)

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

 

Mix 1 part narrow minded fairy with 1 part human bachelor:
get 2 parts love everlasting…

 

Asling is not happy to be tending bar in a human pub. Her fairy aunt predicted she’d find love by the next full moon, and that means she should be back in Ireland — not in the middle of Massachusetts.

Despite the happy married lives of his friends, Daniel is content to remain a bachelor. After all, the pretty new bartender may want to come home with him. Why spoil that with a relationship?

Something might have happened on its own, but a mischievous pub owner slips each of them a Wit & Wizardry brew known to contain a powerful love potion. Before either can say a word, Aisling and Daniel find themselves tumbling headlong into love.

Unfortunately, all is not happily ever after. Aisling does not want to love a human, and Daniel believes he’s unfairly pressured her into being with him. When the pair settle down to breathe, can they discover something deeper to bind them, or will daylight make the heady effects of a potioned brew fade away?

 

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Ayla Ruse

Dirv walked into the break room, looking down at his clipboard. A Russian leshy, Dirv ran the pub for the leprechaun Dunn brothers, owners of the Wit & Wizardry brewery. He was a tall, gnarled man of an indeterminate age, with long limbs and a nose to match. To see him grouchy meant he was having a good day, and she couldn’t imagine him being in love with anyone save the forests.

“I passed your sister, and the bar’s getting busy. Mitchell is ready for his break. You’d best get your winged ass out there.” He glanced up, and Aisling twisted her lips. “Don’t worry over the brews. I promised those trickster Dunns I wouldn’t sell them, and I won’t. Customs should come through tomorrow, then you can take it with you and begone.”

“That can’t come soon enough,” she muttered. Figured the man heard her.

“For me too. You think I appreciate my best bartender and waitress falling in love and running off, leaving me high and dry? It’s because of those blasted brews.” His bony hand pointed and shook toward the stacks of beer. “And you and your sister wouldn’t have to be working for me tonight. So don’t take it out on me, fairy. Take the blame out on those Dunns.”

Aisling had no idea why, but listening to the man rattle on, acting upset, amused her. He wasn’t truly mad, because he loved a good trick more than anyone else, but he also loved to gripe. “No problem, Dirv. I’ll head on out and tend bar for ya.”

* * *

Two hours later, Aisling had been asked her name so often she practically growled it out in answer. That or flat out ignored the question. She’d also been propositioned more than she had been in her entire life. She’d had to do her best not to gag whenever a human dared speak to her. All her senses were overloaded with smells of beer, food, human sweat, and the thick New England accent that jarred her ears. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could take it. Lena, her happy, peppy self, had checked on her a few times, for which Aisling was grateful, but her attention kept straying to the clock, counting down the minutes until she could take her own fifteen-minute break.

“Hello, beautiful.”

Aisling didn’t even bother looking up when the human leaned against the bar. She’d been hit on so often she mentally blocked all their talk. “What’cha be needing tonight?” she asked instead and swiped a damp cloth across the bar’s work surface.

She could have sworn he murmured the word, “you,” and her head shot up at that, but his warm smile told her she must have been mistaken. Once she looked up at him, though, she couldn’t look away. She should be disgusted at the mere presence of him, a human, but he had the perfect, classic dark Irish look — hair as black as the Hidden Fairy Caves, eyes as blue as the deepest reaches of the seaside springtime sky. To complete the package, even though he leaned against the bar, she knew when he stood straight he’d be tall and athletically lean. His face was chiseled, and he looked as if he’d fit in perfectly with the clans of old. For a brief second she even imagined him in a tartan. True, she didn’t care for humans, but she’d always loved the old stories of when fairy folk would interact openly with them. She would be the first to admit she’d not want those days back, but looking at him reminded her of the old lore, and she couldn’t help it. She sighed.

“Miss? Are you okay?” He grinned, and his deep voice shook her out of her musings.

“What? Oh, I’m sorry. You said you wanted… ?” She tried to focus. He gave her his order, but nothing registered because she was so caught up in simply listening to his voice.

“Did you get that?” he asked.

“Hmm? Oh, um, forgive me.” She rubbed her temple as if she had a headache. The noise is getting to me, I think,” she lied and averted her eyes so she wouldn’t be looking at him. “Can you tell me again what you’d like?”

“Three house beers, please. I understand the Wit & Wizards aren’t available tonight?” He sounded amused, which both made her upset and made her blush. She didn’t like the dual feelings so she ignored both to focus on her temporary job.

She answered the man while pretending to work her cloth over a stubborn spot on the bar.

“You’d be right. There’s been a recall. It’s nothing bad. The taste was a little off. You know those Dunn Brothers. If something’s even a little off, they’re not happy.” Why was she rambling?

She stepped away to put distance between them and to pull the longnecks from the cooler below the bar.

“No, I don’t, actually,” he said.

“What?”

“The Dunn Brothers. I don’t know them. Who are they?”

“Well, they’re –” sniveling, slave-driving, demanding Leprechauns “– um, they’re the triplets what own the Wit & Wizardry Brewery.”

“Fascinating. I take it from your accent you know them well?”

“I work for them.”

“Wow. You’re straight from the source, so to speak. Being put to work here must be the very definition of excellent customer service.”

“Being put to work here is called punishment,” she muttered.

“How so? My name’s Daniel O’Hare, by the way.”

“Oh, never you mind. Nice to meet ya, Daniel.” She set the opened beers on the bar top at the same time as he reached for them. She allowed their hands to brush. Allowed because she’d kept a clear touching distance from the humans tonight. But with this man, something told her that she had to know what he felt like.

More from Ayla at Changeling Press…

 

Sky’s the Limit by Mychael Black #PNR#UrbanFantasy #GayRomance #LGBT @changelingpress @mychael_black

Ice and snow are cold. Ice dragons are definitely not!

 

Sky's The Limit (Wit & Wizardry Multi-Author 2)

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

 

Despite his last name, Kelly Snow despises winter. He hates being cold and tromping through snow and ice. So, naturally, he’s called to inspect and catalogue a hermit’s vast library… in the mountains.

Dregan Stone has been around long enough to amass an enormous collection. Instead of gold and jewels, however, his hoard is made entirely of books — so many he’s lost track of what he actually has. He needs help getting his hoard organized, so a friend recommends a librarian.

Kelly and Dregan couldn’t be any more different, but neither man can deny the bizarre magnetic attraction between them. Dregan refuses to believe what it means, but that’s the least of his worries. What happens when Kelly discovers just what sort of man he’s working for?

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Mychael Black

“I hate snow.”

Kelly stared out his driver side window at the cold, wet blanket with which he shared a name. Autumn, spring, summer — any would do. But winter? No, thanks! He sighed and got out of the car, nose wrinkling when his boot sank into at least five inches of snow. The wind had stopped blowing, thank God, but he swore the temperature had fallen a hundred degrees by the time he reached the huge house high in the mountains.

Actually, huge didn’t quite fit. More like… massive. Castle, maybe? Surely, it rivaled any mansion in the big cities. Brick walls towered over the circular driveway, windows lining them. The double entrance doors could easily fit six grown men in a row, with six more guys sitting on their shoulders. The whole place looked more like a house belonging to a fairy tale giant.

One of the doors opened, revealing an older man in classic butler dress. Kelly carried his laptop bag while pulling his wheeled suitcase behind him. When he reached the butler, the man smiled, breaking the stereotypical stoic demeanor.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Snow. Master Stone is awaiting you in his library.”

“Thank you, Mr… ?”

“Just Joseph, if you will.” Joseph gestured to himself. He took Kelly’s suitcase handle and stepped aside.

Kelly entered, his gaze caught immediately by the sweeping grand staircase dominating the foyer. It tapered up from the floor to a broad landing, then continued upward on either side. A statue of a dragon, of all things, stared down from the landing.

Joseph shut the door and walked around Kelly. “I will take your suitcase up to your room. Master Stone doesn’t like to be kept waiting. This way, please.”

Great. A stuck-up hardass for a client.

Joseph left Kelly’s suitcase at the foot of the steps and led Kelly off to the left. Halfway down the hall, he knocked on a door.

“Yes?”

Kelly instantly recognized the deep, rumbling voice from the one he’d heard on the phone. A shiver moved up his spine.

“Mr. Snow is here, sir.”

“Show him in.”

Joseph opened the door and stood aside.

Kelly walked into the room, his jaw nearly hitting the floor. “Holy…”

The door shut quietly behind Kelly, leaving him alone with his new client.

Dregan Stone emerged from somewhere among the books. Dark hair touched his shoulders, and pale eyes reflected his stern expression. In any other circumstance, Kelly would’ve given anything to look his fill — or more. But Dregan Stone was a client, and no matter how fucking gorgeous, Kelly wasn’t about to cross that line.

“This is only one section of my library. I will show you the rest, but it is your job to organize it. I have business dealings I must attend to, so come along.”

Snapping himself out of a daze, Kelly followed silently. He would’ve at least shaken the man’s hand, but Stone seemed to be hyper-focused on work. So be it. Kelly could easily play along.

Stone pulled open a room divider to reveal what Kelly quickly realized was the bulk of the man’s book hoard. Three stories tall, and nearly as big as Kelly’s entire apartment, the library overflowed with books. There was no way in hell the man owned forty thousand books. Kelly would bet his life’s savings there were at least half a million books stacked, piled, shelved, and scattered on every available surface.

“You will begin work promptly at six every morning,” Stone said, intruding on Kelly’s awe-struck, reverent silence. “We break at noon exactly for lunch. Then resume until dinner at seven in the evening. I have a business to run, so I will not be available to assist you with the library. Do you have any questions?”

Kelly glanced at his hot-but-grouchily-stoic client. “When do I start?”

“Now.”

“Good.” Kelly entered the library, laptop bag sliding off his shoulder. “I will see you for dinner then.”

Stone nodded once and left Kelly to it.

Accounting for Love by Kate Hill #PNR #UrbanFantasy #holiday #NewAdult #StPatricksDay @katehillromance @changelingpress

 

A grumpy troll and a cheerful pixie prove St. Patrick’s Day
is the best day to fall in love.

 

Accounting for Love (Wit & Wizardry Multi-Author 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, Elves Dragons and Magical Creatures,
Alternative Universe, Holiday Themes, Magic, New Adult

 

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Lucas has just returned from a most unsatisfying vacation to find his department at the Wit and Wizardry Brewery in a shambles. Of troll ancestry, Lucas is a man of appalling disposition and astounding accounting skills. Determined to set everything in order as soon as possible, he refuses to leave the office at closing time, even thought it means missing out on St. Patrick’s Day celebrations.

Lucas finds he’s not the only one working late. Cait, the newly hired head of marketing for the brewery, is there as well. Her overly-cheerful manner drives Lucas crazy. The last thing he needs is an optimistic, chatty, adorable pixie distracting him at work, but she can’t seem to understand that he wants to be left alone.

What neither realize is that earlier that evening, Lucas had washed down his dinner with a magical beer that will guide him toward his true love. The abominable accountant and the merry marketing manager are about to prove that opposites do attract and St. Patrick’s Day really is the best day to fall in love.

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Kate Hill

“Well, try to be nice to her,” Dillon said.

“Nice isn’t in my nature.”

“I hadn’t noticed. Believe me, Lucas, the only reason you’re working here is because you’re great at your job and because you don’t have to work directly with paying customers.”

“One thing I’ve always liked about you, Dillon. You’re honest.”

Dillon grinned and shook his head. “The second thing I wanted to say is you don’t have to stay late tonight. You have plenty of time to set things in order during working hours. What’s the point of taking a vacation if you’re stressed again by the end of your first day back? It’s St. Patrick’s Day. After work, my brothers and I are going to the pub to hang out with friends. Why don’t you come along?”

“Your brothers hate me and so do your friends.”

“They don’t hate you.”

“And I’m not too fond of them, either.”

“You’ll be doing me a favor if you come. Truth be told, I don’t feel like celebrating anything so soon after…”

Dillon paused and Lucas shook his head. Dillon’s girlfriend had left him recently and despite his grinning exterior, he still hadn’t gotten over it.

“You need to put that woman out of your mind entirely,” Lucas said. “Tell you what, instead of going to the pub, maybe you should work late, too. I find that if I immerse myself in –“

“Forget it. I’ve worked enough late nights and early mornings. I need to relax. If you change your mind about joining us –“

“No thank you, Dillon. I’m not leaving this office until it’s back in order. Pixie slurs aside, I ask again, who looked after this department and left such a mess?”

“That would be me. Your employer.” Dillon grinned and winked before he turned and left Lucas muttering over his paperwork.

Dragon Heart by Stephanie Burke #GayRomance #LGBT #DarkFantasy #UrbanFantasy #NewRelease @changelingpress @FlashyCat

 

Will Vulwin and Iffear’s quest for justice and revenge
lead to war between two Fae factions?

 

Dragon Heart (Dragon 3)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Dark Fantasy, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, Gay Romance
Dragons Elves & Magical Creatures, Single Parent/Pregnancy Romance

 

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Vulwin and Iffear know who was responsible for the attempts on their lives and how these attacks were carried out; they now only need to discover why. Seeking revenge could shatter the tentative peace and reignite the war between two Fae factions, but blood spilled in hate demands justice. How far will they go to fulfill a blood oath and see the Dragon Stones laid to rest once and for all?

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Stephanie Burke

“I will kill them all.” Vulwin wasted no time in breaking the magic circle he had created and stumbling down the stairs to his Dragon.

Mai hustled after him, looking as incensed as a Brownie could look as she flicked her fingers at him, cleaning him up and changing his clothes into a longer black tunic as he moved.

Vulwin had several things on his mind at the moment, but first he wanted to be with his mate. He left the wooden stairs and made it to the bedroom where Chinsie still sat beside a slumbering Iffear.

“Well, the link is broken to the chain and the poison,” Mai informed him as he moved into the bathroom. There was a popping sound and a smell of fresh herbs filled the air. “But you might want to bathe him to remove the rest. I have drawn a bath of elderberry, honeysuckle, plantain, and comfrey. It should soothe his pain and pull out what is left of the poisons in his system. I’m going to burn these sheets and change the bed… and then you can tell me what that grateful soul whispered to you.”

“A name, Mai,” Vulwin spoke softly as he unwound his Dragon from the blanket that encased him as Chinsie looked on. “It gave me a name.”

Mai tilted her head to the side and considered her friend’s mate for a moment. “I am to assume that this name will cease to be?”

“You can be assured that his direct line will cease to be,” Vulwin growled, but the aggression was restricted to his voice as he tenderly cradled his Dragon in his arms. His eyes filled with love as he stared down at Iffear.

“Bathe.” Mai waved her hand toward the waiting bath. “Get out and take your romantic nonsense with you. I have work to do. Chinsie and I are going to ward this house properly now that my secret is out.”

“Iffear didn’t know?” Vulwin pulled his eyes away from his mate long enough to ask.

“He suspected, but then he left me to my privacy. He gave me a choice. He has always given me choices. He’s cool like that.”

“Yes, he is,” Vulwin agreed before turning and exiting the room, his mate in arms, and he felt powerful Brownie magic begin to cleanse the air.

He had no idea how long he sat in the tub, cradling his mate close before Iffear jerked in his arms, his eyes snapping open.

“Settle,” Vulwin purred at Iffear, hugging him tighter to his chest. “Settle, my Dragon.”

“What happened?”

Vulwin smiled to discover not a hint of weakness in his mate’s voice. He watched, amazed, as Iffear sat up, his eyes traveling around the room, before he turned and centered his gaze onto him. “Vulwin?”

“You were poisoned.”

Iffear’s eyes widened at that before a low growl rolled from his throat. “How?”
His hand went to his chest, going to grip the amulet, and he started when he discovered that there was nothing there. Again his gaze went to Vulwin for an explanation.

“I sang it to rest, my Dragon. The soul is at peace.” Vulwin felt the tension leave his mate as he relaxed against him again.

“Yes.” Iffear was nodding. “I don’t feel its lure anymore, nor its cries of pain.” He looked up at Vulwin, his red eyes glittering in joy. “I thank you, my mate.”

“It was also how you were poisoned.” Vulwin knew that his voice had deepened in anger, but he couldn’t help himself. Someone had tried to make him suffer, to take away the one thing that he held most dear.

“It would not have killed me.” Iffear sniffed. “I am virtually indestructible, even more so with your protections holding me safe.” He waved the threat away. “It was a stupidity of their belief system and outdated information, I would assume.”

“Yet they did this to annoy me? To claim my vengeance? To start a war? It doesn’t make sense.” Vulwin reached out and pulled his Dragon into his arms, inhaling his scent, feeling his body warm and alive in his arms. “Why?”

“Miscalculation, I suppose.” Iffear hugged Vulwin back just as hard. “I am sorry I scared you.”

“Having a mate passing out mid-coitus will do that to a Dhrow.” Vulwin relented and joked a little, though he was still horrified at the thought of losing his mate. “You stole years of my life away.”

Iffear snorted, flicking him on the nose with a wet finger. “You haven’t even reached maturity yet, Dhrow. You have years to spare. And then you can’t start losing them until after our son is grown. Seeing you have a neat piece of contraception jewelry, um… thrust upon you, that won’t even happen until the king decides to release you.”

Iffear chuckled but stopped as Vulwin stiffened in his arms. “Say that again?”

“No son, because you haven’t reached your majority?” Iffear pulled back enough to look back up at him again. “Contraception ring?”

“It is not common knowledge that I have not yet reached the age of my majority,” Vulwin said carefully as his mind roared with plots and information and schemes. Being politically minded was a bitch some days, but in other ways it did more than make one suspicious of everyone else’s motives. Sometimes it pointed you in the correct direction whether you wanted it to or not.

Shifter Rescue: Scales by Sean Michael #BDSM #GayRomance #UrbanFantasy #shifters @changelingpress @seanmichael09

Sometimes life gives you something magical –
if Drill can rescue a dragon that is.

 

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Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Karen Fox
Genres/Themes: BDSM, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy,
Elves Dragons and Magical Creatures, Gay, Shapeshifters

 

Sometimes life gives you something magical — if Drill can rescue a dragon that is.

The Old Tavern Club is a front for a shifter rescue organization. The BDSM club works well in keeping the owner’s true purpose secret, but when Pirou makes an unusual rescue, it might just be beyond the club’s purview. So he calls in Drill, the owner’s brother.

Drill has never even heard of a dragon shifter before, much less seen one, yet that’s exactly what the beast in the club’s basement looks like. As he works with the dragon, he finds all his instincts insisting that this is the sub he’s been looking for.

Can Drill and the dragon rescue a happy ending for themselves?

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Sean Michael

Drill headed into the Old Tavern Club, the subtle BDSM club that was the front for his brother Drongo’s shifter rescue operation. Having members who needed discretion and wouldn’t blab themselves if they saw weird things made the place legit and let them offer safe places for their rescues to stay. Only a handful of people who worked in the club knew what was really going on.

He smiled at the twink working the coat check tonight. He’d had that ass a time or two. Over his knee, around his cock. As a part of his cover as a club member, of course.

Heading for the bar, he smiled at Fargo. “Whiskey, neat. And tell Pirou I’m here, please.” Here as requested, summoned almost, although Pirou would never, ever admit to anything so… toppy.

“You got it. How’s life treating you, man?”

“Good. I’m building a third golf course on the far side of the city.” He made a good living with the golf courses, and the best part was that they practically ran themselves, giving him a lot of time for his true passion — helping with the shifters that made their way here.

It was Pirou who answered him, Fargo fading away to the other end of the bar. “Excellent. I’m glad to hear it.” There were heavy lines of worry on Pirou’s face and they looked totally out of place.

The slinky kitty worked hard, but Drill knew he loved his job, was happiest working at it, helping people.

Reaching out, he touched Pirou’s cheek. “So why did you call me down here?”

“I need help.” Pirou was usually far more loquacious than that.

“I figured that much out, sweet kitty. I’ll be needing more details.” In the end, though, he imagined he’d help Pirou, just because it was Pirou.

“Come walk with me?”

Oh, it must be bad. He picked up the whiskey Fargo had brought and downed it. “Okay, lead on.”

Pirou took his hand, fingers sliding on his, touching and playing.

He brought their hands to his mouth, kissing Pirou’s knuckles. “You’re buttering me up.”

“I’m worried. I’m in big trouble with the boss.”

He found that hard to believe, given that Pirou was the soul of the Old Tavern Club. “What did you do?”

“You know how, sometimes, I find an unusual rescue and bring it in even though it’s not our usual werewolf or werekitty?”

Something like constantly? Pirou was the softest touch on Earth and had contacts everywhere. Like he was almost scarily connected.

“I have heard you have a hobby, yes.” Drill teased gently. His brother often said that he had a theory that Pirou went out of his way looking for the hard cases, for the strange beasts.

“Well, I have one downstairs. He’s… special. Like for real. Like oh, my God.”

“They aren’t all special?” He wasn’t teasing anymore — it was an honest question. He could remember the lion Pirou had taken in, the poor thing so bedraggled and abused no one had thought he’d live. No one except Pirou, who had nursed the beast back to health. Then there’d been the zebra. Talk about high-strung. They weren’t really equipped to deal with equine shifters, didn’t have anyone qualified to help them. Pirou had made it happen.

“Yeah, but most of them are normal special. Not about-to-get-me-fired special.”

“Okay, okay, you did it — I’m intrigued now.” Because Drill couldn’t imagine anything that would make Drongo fire his beloved Pirou.

“He’s in the basement. He’s sedated. I’m scared to let him wake up.”

“You’re making him sound like a serial killer.”

“God, I hope not.” Pirou’s fervent words made him even more intrigued.

They headed past the kitchen, deep into the basement. It was clean, but… uncomfortable. Underground was far away from the air, from the sky and clouds.

Drill wrinkled his nose. “A vampire?”

“No. No, he’s… Here. It’s easier to just show you. I won’t open the door, in case he’s awake.”

Drill pressed his nose against the window in the door, but it was dark and he couldn’t see anything. Before he could complain, Pirou pressed a button and a light came on highlighting a shape draped over the mattress, which was the only furniture the room boasted.

Long tail, wings like a bat, pointed snout, sapphire-blue scales. Whoa.

“Pirou… That’s… he’s… a dragon.” Drill was stunned.

“Uh-huh.”

“Why is he here?” There had to be a reason the dragon was one of Pirou’s special projects and sedated. Hell, Drill hadn’t even known there was such a thing as a dragon shifter. No, he hadn’t even known there was such a thing as a dragon. They were a thing of legends.

“The slavers had him. My contact said that they hadn’t managed to get him to wake yet.”

“Slavers!” That made him growl. “So you don’t know if he’s even sane or not, let alone a shifter.”

“I don’t know anything except that he’s a dragon and he needs help,” Pirou admitted.

“And you want me to help him and find out as much as I can before you have to tell my brother what you’ve done.”

“Uh-huh. Please.”

“You’re lucky I like you, Pirou.” Drill went to the door. “I’m going in.”

Wanderer’s Haven by Emily Carrington #GayRomance #LGBT #UrbanFantasy #DarkFantasy @changelingpress @CarringtonEmily

Poison, a forced marriage, untamed lust; what’s not to love?

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

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Emily Carrington

Garrett woke moderately early the next morning, which meant the sun had risen and he could see in the dimness without using his hawk-given sight. He had gone to bed confused about Michael’s odd behavior from the night before. The beta wolf had refused to share the bed that was rightfully his. Instead, he’d slept in the den — assuming he’d slept at all. He’d been acting strangely yesterday, letting Garrett put an arm around him and then pulling away. It was as if he couldn’t make up his mind.

Garrett could hear muffled sounds all around him, not in the same room but indicative of a crowded house. His heart ached for the aloneness of his house in Arizona. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t made any provision for being away for a long time beyond asking his friend Maggie to water the spider plants.

It’s not like I have pets or anything. That was true, but… well, he hadn’t meant to abandon his home. Especially not for these frozen wastes.

He groaned softly and rolled to a sitting position. He put his legs on and thought his clothes into existence. Standing, he made his way toward the door. Just as he opened it a crack, two close, lowered voices reached his ears. Garrett stood perfectly still, hoping he was upwind as well as mostly invisible thanks to the door.

“You’re spitting on our traditions,” said a voice Garrett recognized but couldn’t immediately name. He had the distinct feeling this other person had challenged Michael before.

“How, exactly?” Michael asked, his tone emotionless.

“You aren’t treating the mating bond with respect.” If the other wolf was intimidated by Michael’s flat delivery, it didn’t show.

“How?” Michael asked again, although after a pause that Garrett thought betrayed nervousness. He was right, he decided, when Michael added, “We had sex yesterday.”

“Yesterday morning. Most new couples can’t keep their hands off each other and there’s nothing but sex, as you put it, between you. Does he hold your hand? Does he submit to being guarded by you? Does he even tell you where he’s going?”

Garrett cursed silently. He had called Michael to inform him of his plans. But that had been when he was five minutes away from the house in Hamburg.

Michael was quiet for several moments. Then he replied, “Where is it written that we have to be exactly like every other couple you’ve ever met? And have all the mated pairs you’ve encountered been the same? And as for the prescribed ten times, that may be tradition but it’s arbitrary.”

“Ten is a number of power. As you well know. You should be careful, Michael. You’re pushing back against centuries of tradition. And if you keep on, we can dismiss you.”
“Donald, I think that’s Tilthos Charles’s purview, not yours. Wolf packs are not a democracy.”

“No, but the alpha will listen if there is unrest in his pack.”

“Face it,” Michael said, and real emotion entered his voice for the first time since the conversation had begun. “You just want to get rid of me. You’re hoping for a better place in the pack, or for more favor from our new alpha. You thought, with Katka and Viktor gone, that you’d have a chance to get a little higher. But you’ll have to eventually admit to yourself that you just aren’t dominant enough.”

“And you’re not dominant enough to defeat Jeremy Redpath, so you’re not beta anymore.”

Michael didn’t answer.

Garrett’s heart ached, but he couldn’t think of any way to step in that wouldn’t make Michael look weak.

“The be-all-and-end-all of it is this,” Michael said at last. “You don’t have as much power as you think you do. I’m not going anywhere, and my relationship with Garrett is none of your business.”

Footsteps approached the door and Garrett moved back quickly.

Michael entered, looked at Garrett, probably read what Garrett couldn’t quite keep off his face, and pressed suddenly trembling lips together. Then he closed the door and went across to the radio. WYRK came in clear. Garrett had no particular feelings about country music one way or the other, but he had to admit there were some more liberal songs on this station than he was used to associating with the genre.

“Well?” Michael asked. “I assume you heard all of that.”

Garrett crossed the room and took Michael’s hands. “You’re not anything less in Charlie’s eyes –” He saw Michael wince. “Sorry. It’s just that I knew him before he was an alpha. You’re not anything less in Charles’s eyes if you’re not his beta. He’s not like that. All of his people matter to him.”

“How do you know if you’ve never seen him as an alpha before?”

It was a valid question, but luckily one that Garrett could answer easily. “Because I’ve seen how he treats students, faculty, donors, and SearchLight agents alike. With respect, but in such a way that you know he won’t take any shit. And he is not going to like how Donald is bullying you.”

“He’s not going to know about that,” Michael said, bearing down on Garrett’s hands. “At least not by me. Or you.”

“Why not?”

“Because Donald’s not really a threat to me. He’s just a pain in the ass.”

Probably that was the only answer that Michael could have given that might convince Garrett not to go to Charlie right now. “So… you don’t think he can raise the pack against you?”

“I have too many friends here for him to get what he wants.” Michael sighed. “It does hurt knowing that I’m breaking traditions I’ve believed in all my life.”

“I’m not sure how to help you if having sex won’t do that.” Garrett hesitated before adding, “Because Donald’s right, at least in this: I’m not a hand-holder and I’m unused to having to answer to others for my actions. At least not unless it’s in an official capacity.”

Michael nodded, looking miserable.

Garrett reminded himself that werewolves could smell lies, so instead of spewing some assurance he didn’t mean, he took Michael into his arms and rubbed his back.

“Thought you didn’t like hand-holding,” Michael said against his shoulder.

“Being sentimental isn’t my nature. Being compassionate is.” And he kissed Michael’s hair.

“This is more than compassion,” Michael said, and he cupped Garrett’s crotch…