Obsession by Harley Wylde #excerpt #comingsoon #darkromance #romance #rabtbooktours @ChangelingPress @RABTBookTours

(Raven’s Vale Psychos)

Contemporary Dark Romance

Date Published: June 28, 2024

 

 

I’m a monster.

The Boogeyman.

The thing you fear in the dark.

I’ve killed countless men and women, and I have no plans to stop.

They locked me up. Called me insane.

Until I escaped.

 

Raven’s Vale is mine. Well, partially mine.

Crash and Kane help me rule over this small town.

I’ve never wanted anything other than watching the life fade from someone’s eyes after I’ve taken my knives to them.

Until Hollis.

 

She makes me question whether there’s still a heart beating in my chest.

For some reason, I want her… and I don’t want to kill her.

I want her under me. Submitting to my every whim.

But I crave her fear too.

She’s my obsession…

And I’ll stop at nothing to make her mine.

 

 

WARNING: If you have triggers, please proceed with caution. This is not a sweet romance. The Raven’s Vale Psychos series contains very dark content, including a true anti-hero. For everyone who enjoys twisted tales, morally
gray to totally depravedcharacters, and lots of adult action in your books — this one is for you!

 

There’s no cheating. No cliffhanger. And a rather twisted version of happily-ever-after.

EXCERPT

Riot

Smoke filled the room as both Crash and Kane smoked like fucking chimneys.
The shit bothered me, and they both damn well knew it. Not that either of
them gave two fucks. They’d settled in for a game of cards, but the
darkness outside called to me. My skin itched and my fingers twitched. How
long had it been since I’d last killed?

Too long.

“What the fuck crawled up your ass?” Crash asked.
“Isn’t it almost your night? You should be pretty damn
stoked.”

“Not soon enough,” I muttered. “Besides, being offered a
lamb to slaughter isn’t as much fun as hunting one.”

Kane nodded. “I get it. They reek of fear either way, but it’s
always sweeter when they aren’t expecting it.”

“There’s something seriously wrong with you two,” Crash
said. “I don’t understand your fascination with getting all
bloody. My way is much better. Nice and neat.”

Kane snorted. “They still end up dead, don’t they? Don’t
pretend you’re any better than us.”

Crash shrugged. It was an old argument. The three of us had stumbled across
this town when Crash and I had barely been considered adults. Kane was a bit
older than the two of us. Freshly escaped from an institute for the
criminally insane, we’d needed a place to hide. Raven’s Vale
boasted a population of no more than five thousand. Cut off from the larger
towns and cities, it had been the best place for us to lie low.

If it hadn’t been for the fire we’d set, or the fact we’d
managed to keep them guessing over how many bodies had burned to death, the
law would most likely have been searching for us all these years. Instead,
they believed we were dead. Anywhere else, we’d need things like
driver’s licenses, birth certificates, or something to prove who we
were. Not in Raven’s Vale.

Then our cravings had kicked in. We hadn’t been able to help
ourselves. Not long after we started slaughtering anyone who crossed our
path, we found ourselves face-to-face with the mayor and sheriff. It had
been easy enough to convince them to bow to us. After the mayor received a
few pieces of his daughter, and the sheriff realized we had his two girls as
well, the tides had quickly turned in our favor. We’d released them
back to their families once we knew the mayor and sheriff would toe the
line. They both knew we could snatch them again at a moment’s
notice.

Now we ruled Raven’s Vale. No matter how many we killed, no one was
coming for us. None of them dared. And as far as the outside world went,
none of them knew we existed. We didn’t leave a paper trail.

“Get the hell out of here,” Kane said. “You know you
can’t wait.”

I flashed him a smile and flipped off Crash before I grabbed my knives and
headed out. Eyeing my motorcycle, I bypassed it and decided I’d track
down prey on foot tonight. The bike was fun to ride but noisy as fuck.
Everyone would know I was coming long before I got there.

Although, sometimes it was fun to chase the rats when they started to
scurry. Tonight wasn’t one of those nights, though. Right now, I
wanted to instill fear before they even realized who was stalking them in
the shadows.

Most people feared the night and stayed indoors as much as possible. No one
knew when one of us might strike.

Movement caught my eye, and I crept closer, clinging to the shadows. A
young woman hurried down the sidewalk, her head bowed and shoulders hunched.
If she was trying to make herself invisible, she’d failed miserably. I
kept pace with her but remained out of sight. Something about her seemed
different from the others in this place.

There was no way she didn’t sense my presence. At some point, even
the most dense individuals would realize a monster was stalking them. If she
did, the woman never let on. She continued to wherever she was going.

For once, I didn’t experience the urge to snuff out her life.
Instead, I wondered what made her entirely oblivious. Was it a self-defense
mechanism? She disappeared into an apartment building, and I figured that
meant she was home for the night.

Going back the way I’d come, I walked the streets, hoping to find
interesting prey. Two punks were doing their best to break into a car. The
fact they didn’t have permission to do this sort of shit in my town
pissed me off. Rushing toward them, I ended one of their lives quickly with
a slice across his neck. The other dropped his tools and backed up several
steps.

“Holy shit!” He stared at his friend with wide eyes.
“What the fuck?”

“That’s what I’d like to ask.” I prowled closer.
“Who gave you permission to break into cars in this town?”

“Huh? What are you…” He paled. “Shit. Fuck!
You’re one of them, aren’t you? One of the Raven’s Vale
Psychos.”

I grinned. “Is that what everyone calls us?”

He tried backing up again and tripped over his own feet. The moment he
landed on his ass, he pissed himself. Crouching in front of him, I held the
knife where he could see his friend’s blood coating my blade.

“Don’t kill me,” he pleaded. “This was all
Rob’s idea. I didn’t want to do it.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Before he had a chance to move, I stabbed his
thigh with my knife. The little pissant screamed and I stabbed the other
leg.

He crab-walked backward, trying to get away. No point. He couldn’t
exactly run. Even if he did, I’d find him. Standing, I reached down
and grabbed his collar, then dragged him along behind me. Down a dark alley,
across another street, and into yet another alley. Dropping him by a
dumpster, I took my time, sliding my knife into his belly, his legs, slashed
his arms.

I could see the light fading from his eyes, and I sat to watch, taking it
all in until he’d taken his last breath.

It didn’t leave me feeling as satisfied as I’d hoped. Deciding
there wouldn’t be any others, I went back to the apartment building
and watched the windows, hoping to spot the woman from earlier. I found her
on the third floor, staring out into the night. She’d changed her
clothes, and her nightgown molded to her curves. Even from here, I could see
the peaks of her nipples through the material.

My cock hardened and I wanted to feel her under me. Chained to my bed,
begging for mercy. The thought of her crying, hearing her pleas for me to
set her free, was enough to make me smile.

I didn’t know who she was, but I wanted to find out.

She was the first in over a decade to make me want something other than
death.

 

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, Patreon, & TikTok: @harleywylde

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

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Ripple Effects by Alex Winters #contemporary #romance #excerpt #comingsoon #rabtbooktours @changelingpress @RABTBookTours

Contemporary Romance, Multiple Partners

Date Published: June 21, 2024

 

 

Brady Sampson and Myer Joyner met in college, quickly bonding in their business classes and both landing gigs at nearby Global Initiatives in
scenic Lost Lake, Tennessee. Combining their signing bonuses to invest in a rental house beside the lake together, the two take to being roommates the way they have every other challenge they’ve faced over the past two years — secretly pining for one another while never speaking a word about it.

That is, until their sexy new coworker, Carly Carmichael, produces an uncommonly sensual stirring in both men. When Brady invites their new neighbor over for a meet and greet, she takes him up on the offer on the one day he’s out. While she and Myer sip wine and get to know each other better, both let it slip that they have a crush on Brady, unleashing a series of events that threaten to topple everything they thought they knew about each other.

 

 

EXCERPT

“White or red?”

Brady Sampson glanced over at his new roomie, Myer, holding up two wine
bottles and wearing an almost face-splitting grin. He struggled to ignore
the equally cataclysmic ripples of desire that rang through his body as he
kept a placid look on his face.

“Which do you prefer?” Brady answered.

Myer glanced from bottle to bottle as if he’d never seen them before,
giving Brady time to openly adore his big, veiny hands as he held each
aloft. “I always drank beer before now.”

Brady chuckled, never less than amused by Myer’s vaguely off-kilter
outlook on life. “So why don’t we grab some beer
then?”

Myer wrinkled his nose, nostrils flaring under a spray of cheery soft
freckles to go with his mop of strawberry blond stubble. “I dunno,
this seems so grown up right now, you know?”

Brady steered his own shopping cart closer, inching into the liquor aisle
to join his new roomie. “Beer is grown up,” he suggested,
studying the labels next to the shelf where Myer lingered. “And
cheaper, too.”

Myer gave him a “spoilsport” frown but set the bottles back
just the same. “Dude, you’re not going to be one of those
cheap-ass roomies who puts his food on one shelf and mine on the other and
pro-rates the rent if I happen to steal a grape or two, are
you?”

Brady chuckled. “No, of course not. I just don’t really feel
like paying for stuff I’m not going to drink, you know?”

Myer considered this as if he’d never thought of it before.
“Valid point, I suppose.” His big fingers did unspeakable things
to Brady’s already lurid imagination as he moved down the aisle, touching
several brands of champagne. “Bubbly then?”

Brady nodded, as if equally inspired. “That’ll work,” he
agreed, taking one of the two bottles from Myer’s hand.

“Hey!” Myer’s youthful face — oh yeah, he was definitely
getting carded, for sure — broke into a surprised grin. “I thought I
was in charge of alcoholic beverages this time.”

“You are, but that doesn’t mean you’re paying for it
all.”

Myer’s gaze quickly assessed the running total of Brady’s
half-full shopping cart. “You’re paying for the steaks already,
though.”

“Cuz they come in a two-pack. You want me to tear them in half and
get the butcher to rewrap them?”

Myer frowned, looking effortlessly casual in a mustard-colored V-neck and
striped blue Madras shorts, the clothing seeming to hang off his lean, rangy
frame the same way his shirt and ties did at work every day. “Fair is
fair, though.”

“Now who’s the cheap one? Huh, Myer?”

Myer glanced at his own cart, only slightly less full than Brady’s.
They were facing each other in the liquor aisle, carts side by side, just
two bros out shopping like any other two bros out shopping. And yet, to
Brady at least, the seemingly humdrum errand had such an intimate feel to it
he had to struggle to keep from sweating.

“I mean,” Myer teased, nudging Brady’s elbow with no idea
of what that little tremor from his touch felt like racing through
Brady’s body. “Have you seen the price of yogurt
lately?”

Brady snorted, romantic reverie suddenly broken. “No, Myer, because
I’m not a retired housewife on a diet.”

They chuckled together, drifting onto the next aisle and quibbling over
potato chips and pretzels like an old married couple. Brady struggled to
keep things light when all he wanted was to reach out and grab Myer’s
hand and cling to it like they were an actual couple.

He swallowed the desire, as he had all his life, and played it cool
instead. Said the right things. Glanced Myer’s way just long enough,
but never too long. Walked just close enough to him as they argued over
wheat bread versus rye, and never too close. Laughed just hard enough,
smiled just wide enough, sending all the right signals like he always
had.

He’d leapt at the chance to room with Myer when they both got transferred
to the Tennessee branch of Global Initiatives after their internship at the
corporate offices in Latham, Georgia. They’d hit it off as interns,
sharing lunch breaks and chatting it up in the campus gym after weekend
workouts. Brady thought it would be the perfect way to solidify their
friendship, even if he knew they could never be more than that. He thought
he could be strong, thought he could fight the temptation, thought it would
be easy, like it had been back when they’d just shared a
cubicle.

But now? Sharing a sprawling house out on secluded Lost Lake, shopping
together, padding barefoot down the same halls in various stages of undress?
Suddenly Brady wondered if he was strong enough to weather the ups and downs
of living with someone who only wanted to be friends.

When obviously, achingly, frustratingly, Brady wanted to be so much
more.

 

 

About the Author

Alex Winters is the pseudonym of a busy restaurant manager whose curious young staff would love nothing more than to follow him around the dining room reading his steamiest, most romantic passages aloud! When not writing romantic holiday stories of various heat levels, he enjoys long walks with his wife, scary movies and smooth jazz. Visit him online to see what stories are brewing up next!

 

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Instagram

 

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

 

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Soul Ink Volume 2: A Dragon Soul Press Anthology #excerpt #poetry #rabtbooktours @ReadersRoost @RABTBookTours

Poetry

Date to be Published: June 23, 2024

 

 

Poetry; a unique and beautiful way to express feelings and ideas. Weaving words into perfect poetic prose, these authors remind you of your childhood, bring comfort from the hardships of life, fiercely spur emotions, and tell tales of old. All lovers of poetry will find a favorite here!

Featuring poems by Rhiannon Bird, Luke Dylan Ramsey, Ron Perovich, M. Kelly Peach, John Grey, Michael J. Corrigan, K.J. Watson, Jonathan Reddoch, Vanessa Bane, Stephen Schwei, Daniel Anaya, Dana Trick, Cara Hartley, Douglas Allen Gohl, Samuel Samba, Monica Kakkar, Rizwan Akhtar, Emma Laurent, Ebuka Stephen, and J.E. Feldman.

Excerpts

 

A Brief Ode to an Unseen Eclipse

Though we were not in the path of totality

Partial eclipse sighting was possibility

Overcast as it was, it was not meant to be.

Clouds thick and heavy

Obscuring the sun.

 

Butterfly

many sing your praise

while your numbers grow smaller

precious butterfly

 

Charcoal

I inflame your fire

giving you warmth you desire

fundamental fuel

 

Dear Author

Dear Author,

Thank you for the submission of your story for our anthology.

Your story has good bones.

For us to consider publishing the piece, you must make it more innovative
by changing the characters to amorphous blobs with no discernible age,
ethnicity, nationality, sex, or size.

Within the confines of ten thousand words, we also insist on more
descriptive descriptions of the futuristic setting while not getting lost in
describing the futuristic setting but rather concentrating on compelling
character development between the amorphous blobs.

Further, we insist upon inclusion of an enemies to lovers trope.

Yours truly,

The Publisher

 

a wintry shower

dusting of snow on the trees

as spring awakens

 

Elm

I sit in my house listening to house music at 6:23 AM.

The skies are gray and the birds have not yet started stirring

In the ugly Siberian elm outside my window.

My father hated these trees with their rough bark and leaves.

He despised their haggard appearance,

Lamenting the downfall of their handsomer cousins, the American elm.

I remember seeing technicians cutting off branches of trees

Spraying them with paint, sometimes felling the whole thing

In order to stop the spread of Dutch elm disease.

I hope my father would be pleased to know

About the efforts made to save the trees he loved

So future generations can appreciate them

As he always did.

Outside my window, an ugly Siberian elm is a dwelling place for beautiful
birds.

 

For my father

31 May 1936 – 28 November 2010

 

Ornery Owl is a wise old bird who seeks the truth behind the lies. She uses her observations to heal the wounded soul. In essence, she is the spirit of
an odd little bird whose wings were clipped at a young age. She is at once a whimsical manifestation of poetic expression and a fierce protector of those
targeted for derision by an angry and unsympathetic world. Depending on how you perceive her, she can be either a goddamned delight or your worst nightmare.

 

Follow Ornery Owl (AKA Cara Hartley)

Cara H and Ornery Owl Amazon Author Page

C. L. Hart Newsletter

(C. L. Hart is my fantasy, horror, and sweet romance author pen
name.)

Naughty Netherworld Press Start Page

 

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Ghosts by Carolyn Watson Dubisch & Mike Dubisch #excerpt #yafantasy #youngadult #graphicnovel #giveaway #rabtbooktours @CarolynWDubisch @RABTBookTours

The People That Melt in the Rain #2

 

Graphic novels-YA Fantasy

Date Published: 05-23-2024

Publisher: Abigail Books

 

Laura has only just come to terms with moving to the strange town of Deluge, when she is mysteriously transported into a painting that is displayed in the school library.  Shocked by her sudden relocation she
realizes she’s been brought back home to Seattle, Washington, but it isn’t the Seattle she left behind. Has she also stepped backwards in time?

 

About the Author

Mike and Carolyn began collaborating artistically at the School Of Visual Arts in New York City.  They married soon after graduating and began working together. Their first major project was designing rides on the Turn of the Century Carousel that was displayed in Grand Central Station in New
York, The LA Auto Show in California, also in Washington DC and New Orleans.  Their comic book adaptation of the Japanese fable Urishima Taro, initially created for a fundraiser for the tsunami victims in Japan, was licensed by FOX in 2013.

Mike is well known for his fantasy art and comics, including art for Star Wars, Dungeons & Dragons, and Aliens VS Predator. Carolyn is a multiple award winning author and illustrator of numerous children’s books, working with multiple publishers and authors, and has appeared in Highlights For Children magazine. Their most ambitious project, the all-ages graphic novel series The People That Melt In The Rain, is the product of over ten years of development.

Contact Links

Carolyn’s Facebook

Mike’s Facebook

Twitter

Goodreads

Pinterest

Carolyn’s Instagram

Mike’s Instagram

Amazon Author Page

Preorder Links

Amazon

Lulu

ENTER THE GIVEAWAY

Morgue by Marteeka Karland #comingsoon #motorcycleclubromance #romance #excerpt #rabtbooktours @changelingpress @RABTBookTours

A Bones MC Romance

Iron Tzars MC, Book 11

 

Motorcycle Club Romance

Date Published: June 14, 2024

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

 

Dorothy: Spring Break turned into my worst nightmare. Drugged and held against my will, the brutality I witness seems too horrible to be real. Unable to escape, unable to do anything other than await my fate, I nearly gave up hope. Then he burst through the door like an avenging angel. My very own angel of death.

Morgue: I’m a straight-up killer. It’s what I’ve trained for my entire adult life. I got my road name because I’ve put more men in the morgue than all my brothers combined. So when we rescue a group of women being held by human traffickers, I did what I do best. I killed. But not for all the women we rescued. For her. Dorothy. My very own angel of mercy. Now that I have her, I’ll do anything to keep her. I just hope she can accept what I am and not condemn my soul to hell.

 

WARNING: Morgue includes scenes of graphic violence and adult situations including those that may be triggers for some readers. There’s also a protective hero, a determined heroine, and an eventual happy ending. No cheating, as always.

 

 

Excerpt

 

Dorothy

Moans of the other women in the shitty little shack filled the air. I knew
the feeling. My head throbbed and every muscle in my body ached. The rooms
were paper thin so we all could hear the screams of the others around us.
The cruel laughter of men. The frightened whimpers of the women. And girls.
I had absolutely no idea where I was or how long I’d been there, but I
knew it wasn’t Kansas.

“Levántate, perra. Afuera.”

“I don’t understand.” It wasn’t a new thing. And
I’d paid for not knowing Spanish more than once since I’d been
taken.

“¡Ahora!” The guy knew I didn’t understand. It felt
like he took pleasure in the fact I didn’t understand so he could
single me out. I shrank back, trying to make myself smaller in the face of
the brutality I knew was about to happen. He lunged forward and backhanded
me before grabbing my arm and shoving me out of the tiny room I shared with
five other girls.

I hit the floor, my knees slamming onto the hard dirt. Pain shot from my
knees up my thighs, and I cried out. When I tried to get up, the guy kicked
me in the side. My head spun with all the sudden movements. I thought it was
also some kind of lingering effect of the drugs they kept shooting me full
of. They did it to everyone who fought. Unless they wanted us to fight. I
got dosed often.

“Perra estúpida,” he muttered. I got the
“stupid” part, and I could only assume the other was
“bitch,” but it could have been anything. The kick knocked the
breath out of me and sent pain exploding through my ribs. I groaned but knew
better than to make too much of a fuss. Noise drew attention I didn’t
want. Attention meant someone was about to hurt me worse than I already
was.

“¡Escuchen!” The big brute swept his hand through the
air, obviously wanting everyone’s attention. He spoke in a string of
rapid-fire Spanish I didn’t understand. I was pretty sure something
horrible was about to happen and I sincerely hoped it didn’t have
anything to do with me. I’d been here maybe a week. Seemed like
longer. I was surprised this guy or the men and women with him hadn’t
done more than terrorize me or the other women. Though I was sure the
qualifier “yet” needed to be added. There was no way
they’d brought us here for tantalizing conversation. Though I’d
been smacked around a lot and was covered in bruises, they hadn’t
seriously harmed me. Again, there was that fucking qualifier hanging over my
head.

I crawled very slowly to the wall where the other women were, trying not to
make sudden moves so he didn’t bring his focus back to me. The one
thing I knew for sure — in spite of the language barrier — was that I
absolutely did not want any of these men to focus on me for too long.

All the women around me were whimpering and trembling, looking as terrified
as I felt. A few looked like they might have checked out and I didn’t
blame them. If I knew how, I probably would too. Fighting back didn’t
seem like the smart thing to do if I wanted to live. While I knew there were
fates worse than death, I wasn’t ready to contemplate them just yet. I
was sure, at some point, I’d have to face that decision, and I
wasn’t looking forward to it.

More rapid-fire Spanish followed as one of the other men dragged a young
woman down the hall and tossed her to the ground so she skidded several feet
before rolling to her knees with a whimper. She’d been beaten, one
side of her face swollen. I hadn’t seen her before, but, given the
track marks on her arms and how badly she’d been beaten, I was certain
she’d attempted to escape. They’d likely dosed her as much as
they’d dosed the rest of us when we got out of line. Only, this time,
I got the impression this guy was done taking shit.

“Esto es lo que les pasa a las perras que no me obedecen. Si no me
obedeces, esto te pasará.”

I didn’t understand. But I didn’t have to. The next thing I
knew, he’d drawn out a machete. The girl screamed and tried to
scramble back only to be held in place by two more men. A third helped them
wrestle her to the ground onto her back. Once they had her down, the third
guy held her legs at the ankles. There was a whoosh as the blade cut through
the air and came down on her right thigh.

Blood arced when he raised the machete and brought it down again on the
same leg. It took three more tries before he hacked her leg off and started
on the other one. Everyone screamed, myself included. When anyone turned
away, there were men to force them to turn back. And watch.

Before he got her second leg hacked off, the woman was unconscious. There
was blood splatter everywhere, but once a limb was completely severed, the
bleeding slowed dramatically. Still, the men tied tourniquets above the
stumps.

I’m sure I was one of the women screaming. If I was, though, I had no
memory of it. All I could process was a young woman getting her legs chopped
off.

“Esto es lo que sucede cuando intentas escapar.” He spat on
her. “Una puta sin piernas es más fácil de follar.
¿Sí?”

I stared at the unconscious woman. Though he hadn’t killed her
outright, I was sure she wouldn’t last long. One of the men grabbed
her wrist and dragged her out of the room, leaving a trail of blood as he
went.

As I watched, one of the men approached me with an evil smirk on his face.
“In case you’re wondering,” he said in thickly accented
Spanish, “He said this is what happens when you try to escape,
Americana.” He grinned. “And a whore without legs is easier to
fuck.” He snorted a laugh. “I happen to agree. So, I’m
really hoping you try to escape too.”

I barely held back a sob of despair. I knew he was trying to elicit a
response from me, likely to give him a reason to hit me. There were some of
us who tried to fight back when they came for us, but we were always
overpowered. So far, all they’d done was beat me, but most of the
others had been brutally raped and I knew that’s what they were
building up to. This was a whorehouse of sorts. Only, the women didn’t
get paid. The men who “owned” us did. A place where we were all
used and trafficked.

The guy backhanded me when I didn’t respond to him. I fell back with
a cry, covering my head with my arms and whimpering.

“Don’t worry, bitch. You won’t suffer long. I doubt you
make it a month once we start breaking you in.” He gave a bark of
laughter before kicking me.

My head swam from both the blow to my face and the remaining drugs in my
system. More men crowded us in the tiny corridor only to shove us into
various rooms. There were five more women in the room I landed in. Three
filthy mattresses lay on the floor and a bucket sat in one corner for us to
relieve ourselves. That’s the way it had been since I’d been
here.

The next thing was the men coming to shoot us full of whatever drug they
were using. I suspected it was heroin. A couple of the girls screamed while
the other three complied easily. Probably because they were addicted or
figured it was better to endure whatever happened next while blissfully numb
than stone-cold sober. I understood. While I couldn’t put up much of a
fight this time, I wanted to. Desperately. I hadn’t given up hope of
getting out of here alive. Not really. Not yet. But I wasn’t too
ashamed to admit I was fucking close.

A man held my arm while another jabbed a needle into my arm at the bend of
my elbow and pressed the plunger. The pain of the dull needle sinking into
my arm was soon replaced by a sickening euphoria. My eyes glazed over and my
body went limp. I was still conscious, but… detached.

That was when one of the men shoved me onto a mattress and pulled at my
clothes. He was breathing heavily and talking in Spanish, but I got the gist
of what he was saying. He was going to fuck me. I caught the word
“Americana” and figured he was taking bragging rights by fucking
the American woman. They all looked at my blonde hair and blue eyes, going
so far as to pry my eyes open and touch my eyeball, like a child testing if
something was real. Maybe they thought I had contacts or something. Many of
them felt my hair, fisting it and mimicked wrapping it around their cocks. I
imagined far worse was going to happen shortly.

I whimpered but couldn’t even form words to tell the guy to stop. Not
that it would have done any good. I batted at him weakly, but he
didn’t seem to notice much less even acknowledge I was trying to fight
him off.

Once he had me naked from the waist down, the guy crawled on top of me,
pressing me into the filthy mattress. He reached between us and freed his
cock. I could feel the head of it touching me. I shuddered, gagging as I
pushed at him weakly.

“No!” I tried to shout the word at him, but it was a whisper at
best. Just as he was about to penetrate me, there was a huge bang and the
door splintered, throwing pieces of wood all around the room. I was sure
some were embedded in my skin, but I still couldn’t do more than try
to roll away from the man on top of me.

He shouted, pushing himself to his feet. Once his weight was off me, I
crawled as best I could to the corner of the room and tucked myself into a
ball. It was all I was capable of. I couldn’t even cry. Oh, tears
poured freely from my eyes, but I didn’t have the strength to sob out
my fear and frustration.

I thought there were screams all around me, not only in this room but in
others nearby, but it was hard to tell. The more I tried to move, the more
the room spun. Somewhere in the background of all that, and the ringing in
my ears, I knew a fight raged. Was it more men coming to chop off the legs
of someone else? Oh, God!

Then someone grabbed at my arms. I was helpless to stop them. I thought I
was even more groggy than I had been when I was about to be raped. Whatever
drug they’d given me had started to take hold. It was only the
adrenaline coursing through my veins that kept me conscious.

“Hold on, honey. We’re gettin’ you outta
here.”

 

 

About the Author

Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double life as an erotic romance author by evening and a semi-domesticated housewife by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes pleasure in spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited, vulnerable heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her writings are speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning delight entwined with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying conclusions that elicit a sigh from her readers.

Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts (which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with Marteeka’s latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her
website. Don’t forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you with a potpourri of Teeka’s beloved recipes, book suggestions, autograph events, and a plethora of interesting tidbits.

 

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Cressida’s Agents by Mikala Ash #steampunk #comingsoon #excerpt #rabtbooktours @ash_mikala @RABTBookTours @ChangelingPress

Steampunk

Date to be Published: June 7, 2024

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

 

 

Replete with all the trappings of an alternate world — airships, steam powered aircraft, automatons, moon bases, and witches with psychic powers —
Cressida’s Agents is a steamy thrill-a-minute ride in a universe of what could have been.

Cressida Troy, after being mesmerised into betraying humanity, is now the wife of Mon Ilson, the alien leader, and is crowned Empress of Space. While pretending to be the love of his long-life, Cressida is desperately seeking a way to redeem herself, and somehow save human civilization from destruction at his hands. Then her former fiancé, Jacob, is captured and brought to the moon. Can she earn back his love, or has her seeming betrayal hurt him too much?

Meanwhile on Earth, Marjorie, in the guise of brothel madam and casino owner is acting as an agent of Mon Ilson. Her goal is to learn from him the secret of immortality, and for now she must do his bidding. A violent assassination attempt on her airship Fortuna brings her into the strong arms of handsome Squadron Leader, Sir Christopher “Kit” Colby. Her attempt to uncover the mastermind behind the plot leads them both into deadly danger.

 

 

Excerpt

 

Bauble-like, the Earth shone down on ash-hued desolation, embarrassing the
barren scene with exuberant fecundity. Patches of white lace speckled the
deep blue of the oceans and brushed the rich ochre of North Africa. Above
was Europe and, if I squinted my eyes, I fancied I could see my island home,
the lush green of England.

My breast ached with a fervent yearning.

My husband, Mon Ilson, the self-anointed Emperor of Space, drew me closer
and kissed my neck. “It will all be ours, my love.”

“When?”

“In due time, my darling.” He pulled me to him, and I snuggled
against his muscular chest. “Do you miss it so?”

I thought a moment and shook my head. “Not when I am with
you.”

His lips brushed my earlobe. “We will return soon. I promise. Our
plans advance by the day. Once again you will walk upon the green grass and
feel fresh air upon your cheeks.”

I turned my head and returned his kiss, deepening it, allowing the stirring
in my quim to mask the confusion of my thoughts. As homesick as I was, did I
really want to go back? Could I conquer my guilt? I feared that with the
first step the grass beneath my feet would turn to cinders as dead as the
lunar dust.

Much had happened to me in the year since I’d left the world of my
birth. I was no longer the same woman, the naive and selfish Cressida Troy
who’d been fooled into betraying humanity. That silly girl had become
Nil Ilson, Empress of Space, wife to Mon Ilson, and co-leader of the
Lunarians. I was no longer responsible only for myself. Thousands now
depended upon me, be they hideous goblins, or those who’d
“adopted” human bodies.

In the deepest recesses of my mind, where I was safe from mental probing, I
knew that I’d been possessed, mesmerised into being a traitor to
humanity, deceiving my fiancé, Jacob McLeary, and then killing the
two greatest threats to Mon Ilson’s plans, Fleur and Horatio
Cumberland.

The problem was only the agent of my apparent treachery knew that. The
spirit of a murdered girl, Marjorie Gilbert. She had taken over my mind and
had deluded me into believing I loved Mon Ilson, and deceived him into
believing it too. She’d also tricked him into giving her advanced
knowledge of witchcraft. My anger at her was tempered by the realisation she
had not done this to me out of maliciousness, but so she could regain her
body which had been stolen by Mon Ilson’s goblins. Because she loved
me, Marjorie had confessed this, and passed on all the magical powers and
knowledge Mon Ilson had given her, including the ability to hide my deepest
thoughts.

That was the past. I had committed myself to saving humanity from
enslavement at my husband’s hands. How I would accomplish this I did
not know. I was impatient. Biding my time waiting for an opportunity to
present itself was both frustrating and dangerous. Not only could I be
discovered, but I ran the greater risk of letting my growing love for Mon
Ilson blind me to the chance if it arose, and then could I bring myself to
exploit it? That I had come to love him no longer surprised me. Over the
last year I’d learned his dreams, ruled alongside him, and shared his
bed. I’d seen firsthand what an extraordinary and charismatic man he
was, and in other circumstances I would have unreservedly given him my heart
and soul. However, those benign conditions did not exist. The reality was
Mon Ilson was a murderer.

A moan escaped my lips as Mon Ilson caressed a hardening nipple. We were
lying on a couch in the top deck of the royal barge, he behind me, with one
leg draped over my hip. In the crease of my posterior his cock
stirred.

I wiggled against him. “Make love to me,” I murmured.

“That was my intention.”

My husband deftly lifted the hem of my robe and pressed the swollen head of
his cock against my quim. He gently nudged apart the moist lips and
effortlessly slid inside. With a slight adjustment of his hips the tip of
his cock touched that especially sensitive flesh on the roof of my cunny.
Pure pleasure flooded my system.

Mon Ilson was over a thousand years old, and with countless sexual liaisons
behind him he had developed techniques that ensured a woman’s complete
satisfaction, and men too. He used sexual magic to bond his people to him
after he transferred their spirits from their goblin bodies into the vacant
husks of murdered humans, a process they termed Adoption.

When Marjorie had occupied my mind she would stimulate my senses from the
inside, maximising my pleasure, and bonding me even more tightly to Mon
Ilson’s influence, and made him even more convinced of his devotion to
me. He had been trapped in Marjorie’s web of deceit just as tightly as
I had. His hold over his people was not just through sexual magic, but the
promise of eternal life. Only he could give them that. Only he could
transfer their goblin souls into human bodies. That was why Marjorie stayed
his servant, hoping to learn the trick. Though she had possessed me, she
didn’t know how. That was the one secret Mon Ilson did not share with
her. Marjorie wanted so much to live, over and over again, that she would do
anything for him.

Now that she was gone from my mind, my physical reactions to his lovemaking
were under my control. To overcome my natural aversion to him — a murdering
megalomaniac goblin in a human body — I used magic to bury my repugnance,
project lustful thoughts, and intensify my physical reactions.

“Fuck me harder,” I encouraged him.

His technique, with my magic, quickly filled my body with the pulsating
energy that took me to the precipice of climax, a cliff edge from which I
gladly launched myself, and was lifted like a skyrocket to an explosive
culmination.

My response caused him to reach his own conclusion, and he filled me with
his copious essence. He wanted children, and my tardiness to provide the
gift was, from his perspective, the only negative aspect in our
relationship. Not that he put any pressure on me — he loved me too much,
but I’d felt his need. The reality was that any unnecessary delay
would need to be explained and defended. I knew of no reason to defer the
inevitable any longer. Though I had control of my fertility, when and by
whom I became pregnant, it was not something I expected to enjoy despite my
intention to use magic to remove the more onerous aspects that plague many
women. At most it would be awkward. Being with child might give me the
leverage I needed to control Mon Ilson’s ambitions and hopefully
mitigate the worst excesses of the invasion, if not avoid it
completely.

My husband’s kisses became more fervent, and he resumed his lusty
thrusts. He used his own magic to remain hard, and he fucked me to another
shattering climax. Another glut of his seed filled me to overflowing, and
those fireworks exploded in my head once more. We lay in each other’s
arms, his cock still rigid, while our ragged breathing slowly returned to
normal.

“My Lord,” Gloria said diffidently. While we recovered, she had
waited by the bed, head bowed, her hands clasped before her shaven quim.
Gloria had befriended me after I’d been first kidnapped. She was
blonde, with caramel eyes, and a deliciously curved mouth. Like all Lunarian
women who’d adopted a human body, Gloria was not only beautiful with a
spectacular bosom and narrow waist, but she was also obsessed with sex. I
gave her a smile, and she nodded acknowledgement. “Nil Ilson, I am so
sorry to interrupt. The humans have sent a vessel beyond the
atmosphere.”

Mon Ilson sat up. “Have they really?”

 

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.

 

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Kit-Kat by AK Nevermore #preorder #paranormal #motorcycleclubromance #excerpt #comingsoon #rabtbooktours @changelingpress @RABTBookTours

(Maw of Mayhem MC)

Paranormal, Motorcycle Club Romance

Date Published: May 31, 2024

 

 

Grimdarke James’ problems have gone from bad to worse. Ousted from his MC and on the run, all he wants is to keep Kit safe while he sets things
right. But calling in a favor drops more than trouble into his lap.

As he tries to salvage what’s left of the Maw of Mayhem, forces close in on them and tensions rise. New allies are found and old loyalties are put to the test. So is Grim’s relationship with Kit when someone from his past tries to come between them.

Kit doesn’t share and the threat to her position as Grim’s mate raises her hackles. With her heat triggered, she’s running on instinct and battle lines are drawn. Can Grim win back his MC, and prove he’s the man for her, or will he lose it all?

 

 

EXCERPT

Grim stalked out of the break room, riffling his hair. How the fuck had
everything gone to shit so fast? He blew the messy locks from his face and
frowned, glancing around the garage —

And did a double take at the trio of bikes by the bay door. Brick and
Wrench’s hogs, and Grim’s Bobber. How had that made it out of
the city? Holy — He stumbled over to them, not quite believing his bike was
really there. One of the crew must’ve ridden it out of the garage
before the club blew, which meant Stitch had left his down there.

Christ, he’d abandoned his own bike to snag the Bobber? A lump gummed
up Grim’s throat. You only did that kind of shit for your alpha.

He swallowed, gritting his teeth and hating himself. How much of this
clusterfuck could he have avoided if he’d just sucked it the fuck up
and owned the position after Clay’s murder?

Guess he’d never know.

Grim blinked, his eyes hot. Fingers trailing down the leather seat.
Listening to the click and ping of the engine cooling. Avoiding the rest of
the crew packing up. He frowned, guilt eating at him, his stomach a fucking
mess. Staring at the bathroom door, willing it to open.

For Kit to come out on two legs.

Come on, baby… Hands down, she was his priority, but Jesus fuck, the
rest of the crew depended on him, too, and they all needed to get gone.
Clay’s refusal to take a mate abruptly made more sense than Grim
wanted it to. Some part of that equation was gonna get fucked, and
he’d be damned if it was gonna be Kit unless she was squarely on his
dick.

Kat say anything else to you? he asked his cat.

— no. fighting with Kit —

Grim grunted, the angst of having to choose between his mate and his club
landing a gut punch of shame. Christ, he knew what that was like. Being at
odds with your beast. The terror of feeling trapped inside yourself, of
sinking down so fucking deep you didn’t know if you could come
back.

[CHAGRIN]

— different —

Same, Grim snapped. Shit was close enough, less the cuffs. He rubbed at the
scars on his wrists, the lines of ink blurred and broken. The memory of the
snick of silver setting his teeth on edge. That creeping, seeping burn
infecting his veins with its poison.

He wiped the sweat from his brow. Yeah, he knew how it felt, and granted,
he wasn’t keeping her there, but he’d sent Kit on that downward
spiral by pushing her to change. Jesus, he was a piece of shit. A sad laugh
slid from his lips.

But fuck, that’s what everyone thought anyway, wasn’t it? The
media, the rest of Mayhem… Mama Roe sure as hell did, and he was
about to go kiss her fucking —

Grim’s breath caught as the bathroom door swung open and Kit strode
out, looking classy as fuck and like the last person he should be with.
Triss dropped the crap she was packing into the cage’s trunk and ran
over to hug her.

Christ, he wanted to do the same… but, damn. Grim wet his lips. Kit
wasn’t… Damn. She was wearing that soft sweater he’d
snagged from the vamp queen’s trophy closet. Shit was fucking sinful
the way it hung off her shoulders and clung to her tits. The jeans
she’d been so crazy about did the same to her hips, a sliver of her
flat stomach flashing as she raised her arms to hug the girl back. And when
Triss skipped away, and Kit turned toward the cages?

Woman was a fucking goddess.

Grim bit back a groan at the way her long black hair dusted her ass as she
bent to put her bag in the trunk. She looked like a million fucking bucks,
which was easily nine hundred ninety-nine thousand and change above his pay
grade.

— ours —

The pang in Grim’s chest echoed the truth of that statement. Maybe he
didn’t deserve her now, but he’d fucking bust his ass until he
did. If she still wants us. His throat bobbed at the possibility she
wouldn’t after what he’d done to her.

— asked to shift —

Yeah, but the idea of being a shifter versus the reality of it were two
very different things, and Grim’d only known Kit for a hot fucking
minute. When they’d met, she’d been so damned adamant she
didn’t want to change.

— Reaper decided for her —

Grim’s knuckles whitened. And he’s gonna die for it. Darke
chuffed in agreement.

A growl welled up in Grim’s throat, his eyes narrowing.

Asorav had ended his call and wrapped his hand around Kit’s arm,
pulling her off to the side. He spoke to her adamantly in hushed tones in
the next bay.

— listen? —

Yeah. Grim stepped back into the shadows, his hearing sharpening.

Kit was smiling up at the vamp like he’d caught her at something. She
was trying to play it off as he was talking. “…understand the
temptation to eavesdrop on one’s elders, but strongly suggest you
resist the urge.” Asorav looped her arm through his, and a muscle in
Grim’s jaw twitched at the asshole’s familiarity with her.

— known her longer —

Don’t remind me, Grim muttered. He still couldn’t believe Kit
had been the Darkling’s dog walker.

“There are those that do not take kindly to such invasions of
privacy,” the vamp scolded.

Kit’s eyes widened, her pupils waffling —

Grim did a double take. Shit, did I really see that? Aside from the mirror,
he’d never seen anyone else’s flip between theirs and their
beast’s.

— did. Kat’s scared. Won’t talk —

He bit back a growl. Was that fucking right?

“Which is why you’re only getting a warning.” The vamp
patted her hand like some kind of benevolent fucking uncle. Grim’s lip
curled, knowing that grift all too well. He was gonna beat the shit outta
—

“Vampires really can read minds?” Kit squeaked. “I
thought –”

Wait, what? Grim froze.

“Yes and no,” Asorav said. “Your compatriots’
thoughts are closed to me, but it seems you and I share an affinity.”
The asshole chuckled. “Yes, it surprised me as well. However, after
Cecelia –”

“I want to know what you meant when you said she was
elsewhere.”

Asorav sighed, and Grim had to smirk at Kit’s indignation over the
MIA Pomeranian. “I don’t totally understand it,” the vamp
said, “but I believe she’s trapped somewhere between.
It’s… the place one goes to get from here to there. I’m
afraid I can’t explain it any better than that. She wasn’t
strong enough to anchor my form at this end, and when I pulled, she was
sucked in.”

Well, that sounded like total bullshit, but Grim supposed the prick
couldn’t admit to killing the thing. In either case, Kit sounded like
she bought it.

“Because she was your heart. Aryanna told me you were a
day-walker.”

“Did she now.”

Grim scratched his stubble, wondering how much of an issue that was gonna
be. Vampires were enough of a pain in the ass at night. One lurking around
24/7 didn’t exactly give him the warm fuzzies, but then again, this
conversation didn’t either.

“… mentioned you couldn’t be, um, de-animated, without
your heart.” Kit said, rubbing her arms like she was cold.
“Don’t worry, she’s not around anymore to note it in the
queen’s memoir.”

Asorav laughed, and Grim wanted to smash his fist through the vamp’s
fangs. “How delightful. I never could understand how Aryanna abided
that vitriolic shrew. I’m only sorry I wasn’t there to see it,
but suppose that’s neither here nor there, and you, my dear, most
certainly are. She told you, then, of my Maker’s triumph?”

Kit nodded like she was humoring him. Grim rolled his eyes. Fucking vamps
had sticks shoved up their asses almost as far as the witches. Christ, they
were pretentious fucks.

“It’s a metaphor, you know,” Asorav said. “She
wasn’t my heart; she had my heart. The spell transformed the physical
organ and created a bridge, tying our life forces to those we held dearest.
It was genius, really. Love is such a fickle thing, and given a
vampire’s lifespan, in most cases, transfers quite organically before
the object of our affection dies… or is lost, in this
case.”

He pulled a wide, platinum bracelet from his pocket, studded with what Grim
was positive were diamonds, and closed Kit’s fingers around it. The
fuck? “And it seems once again, my heart has been captured by another.
I assure you, I am aware this is most inconvenient, but, as I said, the
heart wants what the heart wants, now, doesn’t it?”

Grim bared his teeth, knuckles white as he clenched his fists. Had that
motherfucker just given Kit a fucking king’s ransom in jewelry and
told her he loved her?

— no, his heart —

I don’t give a fuck, she’s MINE.

 

About the Author

AK Nevermore enjoys operating heavy machinery, freebases coffee, and gives up sarcasm for Lent every year. A Jane-of-all-trades, she’s a certified chef, restores antiques, and dabbles in beekeeping when she’s not reading voraciously or running down the dream in her beat-up
camo Chucks. Unable to ignore the voices in her head, and unwilling to become medicated, she writes Science Fiction and Fantasy full time. AK pays the bills writing a copious amount of copy, along with a column on SFF. She belongs to the Authors Guild, is an RWA chapter board member, volunteers for far too many committees, teaches creative writing, and on the rare occasion, sleeps.

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Shifters’ Sea by Kate Hill #paranormal #pnr #comingsoon #excerpt #rabtbooktours @katehillromance @RABTBookTours

Romantic Moments, Book 5

 

Paranormal Romance

Date Published: 06-01-2024

 

 

Kai – Once upon a time, my kind were protectors, but the modern world doesn’t believe in legends, so I cruise the oceans, happily single with no responsibility. During a storm at sea, I rescue an irresistible woman and get dragged into a battle with a crazy cousin who has developed a
taste for selkies.

Ivy – When I left home to escape an arranged marriage to the leader of our selkie harem, I didn’t expect to be caught in a storm and hauled aboard an old tub by a gorgeous guy. Kai is everything I want, but when I return home to tie up loose ends, I find a killer hunting my people. We selkies learn fast that to kill a shark, it takes a shark.

 

Excerpt

The seal fights its way closer to the boat. I’m about to dive in
after it when it reaches the edge. Grabbing a coil of rope, I toss it
overboard. The seal shifts to a blond woman. She clings to my line.

Grunting, I haul her up, fighting wind and water, until she lands, naked
and panting on my deck.

“Hey are you okay?” I kneel beside her. Still breathing hard, she
lifts her gaze to mine and nods. I’m momentarily stunned. She has the most
amazing green eyes I’ve ever seen, not to mention a gorgeous body. Muscles,
generous curves, long legs. If we weren’t in the middle of a storm, I’d be
slack-jawed, but right now my main concern is to keep us afloat. Not that I
couldn’t survive in the open sea, even in a storm, but I’ve gotten attached
to this boat and I’d rather not lose it.

“Come on. I have clothes you can put on.”

We stand and the ship lurches. I reach out to steady her, but her sea legs
are just as good as mine. Not shocking, considering what she is.

I glance off to the side. Another giant wave rises and in it, I glimpse a
big, dark silhouette with glowing amber eyes. It’s gone in seconds.

“What’s wrong?” asks my unexpected guest.

“I thought I saw something, that’s all.”

About the Author

Kate Hill is a vegetarian New Englander who loves writing romantic fantasies. When she’s not working on her books, Kate enjoys reading, working out, watching horror movies, and researching vampires and Viking history. She runs the Compelling Beasts Blog that is dedicated to antagonists, antiheroes, and paranormal creatures. Kate also writes as Saloni Quinby.

 

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Uncertain Foundations by Emily Carrington #lgbtq #paranormal #mmbooks #excerpt #comingsoon #rabtbooktours @CarringtonEmily @ChangelingPress @RABTBookTours

LGBTQ, Paranormal Women’s Fiction

Date Published: May 17, 2024

 

 

They’ve been there for each other through death and life, through pain and joy. Their love life has held them together through all external dangers. But what happens when the threat seems to come from within?

Charlie, half werewolf, has never felt so uncertain. Everything he’s trusted in — his eyesight, his psychic ability, his confidence in making decisions — is under attack. Even his mate, his Life dancer, Luis, seems untrustworthy.

Luis, a psychic vampire, is consumed by terror and paranoia. Unable to tell fact from fiction, and feeling Charlie pulling away, he lashes out.

These two lovers who have stood the test of time find themselves on unsteady ground. Can their love prevail despite the terror working its way through the pack?

 

EXCERPT

Luis stood his back to a wall. He gazed across the crowded room to his Life
Dancer, who was shaking hands with Princess Angelina Oakland. Scanning the
princess’s living room quickly, Luis noted the approaching dawn
lightening the sky in the east and the Pakistani land dragon speaking
quietly with Claudette, the water dragon from Western New York. He felt like
a stalker, watching all these people in their final moments of conversation
and leave-taking, but he wouldn’t let Charlie, his Life Dancer, be
alone. Too much had happened during this last delegate gathering.

“Go downstairs,” Charlie said, turning his head away from the
princess to meet Miguel’s gaze. The blood-dependent vampire, slave to
the darkness of night, was swaying on his feet.

“You are leaving,” Miguel said.

“This morning,” Charlie agreed.

“I wanted to say thank you.” He nodded to Princess Angelina.
“To you as well, Your Highness. I have lived without hope for many
years. To have it again is a marvelous blessing. And it wouldn’t have
been possible, Tilthos Charles, without your assistance.”

“You’re welcome, but if you thank me again, I’m going to
have to demand payment.” Charlie sounded more concerned than flippant
despite his words. “Go. Down. Stairs. We’ll meet
again.”

Miguel shook hands with both of them and headed from the room.

He passed close to Luis and said softly, “Your lover is a beacon of
hope.” Then he was gone.

Luis watched Charlie making the rounds of the other magical creatures in
the room. All of these others were ignoring Luis, as if he was just a
bodyguard. That suited Luis just fine. Charlie didn’t really need his
protection, not in this room, and not usually in the world at large. The
leader of all the werewolves on this and the southern continent was only
half werewolf, and visually impaired also, but he’d held his position
without others defending him for over half a decade. He was confident. He
was strong.

And sexy as hell.

Luis firmly turned his thoughts from that particular channel because some
of the magical creatures gathered here had great senses of smell.
They’d know he was aroused if he allowed himself the luxury of
thinking of his Life Dancer without clothes on.

Charlie’s thoughts drifted through Luis’s mind, his psychic
tone lightly teasing. I think it’s too late for you to hide
anything.

Luis smirked and thought back, Good.

Gradually, the heads of this or that species left, taking their chauffeured
rides to private airplanes. Agent Jack Sowerby would be meeting some of them
at Baltimore-Washington International Airport, but some wouldn’t allow
the new head of SearchLight to see them off. Claudette, the water dragon,
was one of these, preferring to keep her exact departure a secret.

Luis knew she was flying out of Dulles, the airport south of here in
Virginia, but he was a tracker. It was his job to know the comings and
goings of those who might be a threat to SearchLight. Or to his Life
Dancer.

As the room emptied, he wondered if the princess would let him and Charlie
have one last fling in the bedroom she’d set aside for them. Although,
even if she did, Charlie might not want to hang around. He was anxious to
get back to their displaced pack.

“Tilthos Charles, do you need to rest before starting on your drive
home?” Princess Angelina asked as if she’d read Luis’s
mind. He didn’t think she had telepathy, and his shields were mostly
up anyway.

“That would be a better question for Luis, since I can’t
drive,” Charlie said, sounding amused. He tapped the end of his white
cane on the parquet floor. “Thank you, but I think we should get
going.”

Luis thought, keeping it hidden from his Life Dancer, Damn. And I was
hoping to be driving without blue balls.

Still, he had to admit he wanted to get home. And not just so that the
Tilthos Pack could return from where they’d been scattered to when all
the dominant protectors were occupied here in DC and Maryland. Luis had
concerns about those pack members here: Jeremy, Ethan, and Charlie.

Jeremy and Ethan would be driving back at some point soon, but first, Ethan
needed to regain his human shape. He’d taken to sticking close to
Jeremy and their son, Will, but in his werewolf guise. It was as if he
thought being in four-footed would somehow protect him from further
pain.

Luis had absolutely no doubt Jeremy would take care of his mate. The Night
Wanderer was protective anyway, and since Ethan had been forced to —

“Luis?”

He blinked, startled out of his thoughts by his Life Dancer calling his
name. Charlie stood about ten feet away, his gaze unfocused, as it always
was when he wasn’t trying to read some large print or looking at a
picture eight-year-old Will had drawn.

Luis crossed to him and touched his shoulder. “What is it?” he
asked gently.

“I guess you missed the change in plans.”

Luis smiled guiltily. “I was lost in my own world.”

“I realized –” Charlie said, lowering his voice and bending so
he could put his mouth next to Luis’s ear. “I need you before we
head out.”

Luis’s cock raised its head and he felt his asshole constrict in
anticipation. “Not here,” he ventured.

“Well, in this house, but, no, not in the living room. If we stained
any of her pillows or cushions, I’m sure Angelina would throw us out
and bill us through the nose.” He took Luis’s hand, pressing the
shaft of the white cane between their palms. “Will you guide
me?”

Luis knew Charlie didn’t mean that literally. He was independent to a
fault, was Tilthos Charles McLaughlin, alpha above all alphas. But having
Charlie make the request made Luis harder still. He kissed Charlie’s
palm and then encouraged him to take his arm.

Swinging his cane out before his feet, Charlie “followed” Luis
up the stairs and down the hall. The warmth of his hand, firm on the back of
Luis’s arm, was ambrosia to the anxiety Luis had been feeling for the
last week or so. Charlie trusted him. He glanced back and saw
Charlie’s eyes were closed and his cane no longer touched the floor.
He was letting Luis guide him completely.

Luis’s heart rose and he swallowed against sudden, stupid tears.
“Te amo, Charlie,” he whispered.

A mischievous smile lit Charlie’s dark and handsome features.
“Of course, you do.”

Luis snorted. But before he could retort, Charlie stopped walking and
pulled Luis into a tight embrace. Luis inhaled, loving the scent of his
lover’s aftershave.

“I love you too. Now, come on. I need you.”

 

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.

Contact Links

Author’s Website

Emily on Facebook

Emily on Twitter

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

 

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Obedience by Isabella Jordan #preorder #comingsoon #paranormalromance #pnr @ChangelingPress @RABTBookTours

Paranormal Women’s Fiction, Romantic Comedy

Date Published: May 10, 2024

A princess with a problem…

Meela must marry a prince from another planet in order to ensure the security of her people. Trouble is Meela’s known to be a bit feisty, and sometimes that gets her into trouble. It’s bad enough she has no say in who she’ll marry. Worse still, the queen places an obedience curse on Meela to thwart her errant ways.

As a result of the curse, Meela finds herself in plenty of predicaments not exactly fit for a princess. But what’s a princess to do when two gorgeous hunks come along and place sensual demands on her Meela’s not sure she can — or even wants to — deny?

 

 

 

EXCERPT

 

Meela stared into the flowing red river before kneeling on the grassy bank
to sulk. The red colored water rushing by her looked like blood. There were
so many red rivers on the planet that they’d looked like veins on its
surface to Meela when the star cruiser she’d traveled in approached it
earlier.

Now that she was here, she wished that someone had told her to throw
herself in the river. Her nurse had only told her to take a walk to calm her
mind. It was a rare freedom for Meela. Probably her last.

Today was the day Meela had been preparing for her whole life. Later today
she would be presented to the queen of this planet along with two other
princesses from neighboring planets. The queen would then allow her sons to
each choose the girl he wanted for his bride beginning with her oldest son,
her heir.

It wasn’t that Meela minded the arranged marriage. She was a princess after
all and her duty was to her people. Her marriage to a Prince of Nelot, the
strongest planet with the most powerful army in the system, would ensure the
protection of her people. She’d been promised in marriage since her birth
and all of her teachings were in preparation for fulfilling this
obligation.

Meela accepted that.

But when she was sixteen, the Queen of Nelot, a sorceress she was to find
out, paid a visit to Meela and her family on their home planet, Bano. She
wanted to meet Meela, considering one day she would be the bride of one of
her sons.

The queen was pleased with Meela. A little too pleased in fact. She
explained to Meela’s parents that their daughter was indeed beautiful,
cultured and intelligent — befitting a Princess of Nelot. But she felt
those very virtues put Meela in danger from others and from herself until
the wedding, so she placed an enchantment upon Meela. From that day forward,
Meela would be obedient, would do whatever she was told, until her future
husband arranged her release from the spell.

Her life had been misery ever since.

At first, Meela and her family didn’t realize just what curse had been
bestowed upon her. A few nights later Meela became angry at her father for
not allowing her some privilege. She sat complaining in her rooms while her
nurse brushed her hair. Finally her frustrated nurse told her to hold her
tongue.

It had taken several hours for the entire family to discover that someone
had to tell Meela to let go of her tongue before she could pry her fingers
away.

It got worse. While her parents enjoyed their new power over Meela, the
power to make her work at her studies longer and attend royal functions in
their places, soon they learned there was a danger to the curse. Once, one
of Meela’s friends at court had dared her to kiss the handsome visiting
ambassador from the planet Dalu. Unable to stop herself, she’d walked right
up to the man and kissed him full on the mouth.

Her parents had been so alarmed by the turn of events that she was placed
under the strictest watch until the time of her wedding. No more fun outings
with her friends. No more boring royal functions even. Meela was only
allowed to attend the most important celebrations on her planet, and then
only for a short time with at least a dozen people watching her every
movement. They might as well have locked her away in a prison.

Perhaps that is what the Queen of Nelot had intended when she’d placed the
enchantment on her.

Years passed while the Princes of Nelot fought off one legion of intruders
to their system after another, the stories of their glorious victories
painting them as great warriors. By the time the Queen of Nelot sent for
Meela for the bridal selection and subsequent wedding, she was twenty-seven,
going out of her mind with boredom, and had taken to finding creative ways
of watching the private activities of guests to the palace. It was as close
as she had ever come to having sex after all.

And now that she was here on Nelot, ready to be selected by one of the
queen’s sons and do her duty for her parents and her people, she was pretty
damned unhappy. Wasn’t it enough of a sacrifice to have the person she’d
spend her life with, share a bed with and have children for, chosen for her?
Then to have the hateful curse of obedience placed on her, robbing her of
her last years of freedom?

Meela no longer wanted to marry any son of the woman who had done this to
her. Meela didn’t even want to meet the princes.

“It’s not fair,” Meela grumbled at her reflection far below in
the red water.

“What’s not fair?”

That deep male voice alerted her to the fact that she was no longer alone.
With as much composure as she could muster, Meela turned her head slowly.
She was unescorted, without any of her attendants who understood her
enchantment, for the first time since she had kissed the ambassador at
court. The pace of her heartbeat grew along with her anxiety.

“That I can’t stay and enjoy this beautiful view,” Meela said in
her best royal voice with her practiced princess smile.

Yet she forgot all about how she was to speak or smile as she gazed at the
two men standing before her, their dress indicating that they were common
soldiers of the planet. They looked very much alike, both tall men with
bodies of steel, the snug black uniforms they wore revealing that they were
all hard, firm muscles.

 

About the Author

Isabella Jordan is the alter ego of an otherwise stressed out web designer, programmer, and internet junkie. When she’s not trying to perfect her own personal caffeine IV drip, she enjoys spending time with her family, doing volunteer work, and writing. She loves creating new stories of all kinds and chatting with readers and friends.

Isabella would love to hear from her readers!

 

Author Website

 

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

 

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