Tuesday, February 18, 2025

ARCHANGEL by Marteeka Karland #MCromance @changelingpress

 

(Black Reign MC 11)

A Bones MC Romance

 

Motorcycle Club Romance

Date Published: February 21, 2025

Publisher: Changeling Press


 

Archangel is always perfect. In complete control. Which makes him a challenge I can’t resist…


Sonya: Just because I put a blow-up doll in the neighbor’s holiday yard ornament, or send various embarrassing items up the flagpole occasionally, doesn’t mean I’m a bad person. But my father doesn’t see things that way. So he sends me to a man he thinks can help me “find my inner self.” Otherwise known as get some kind of job. Just my luck, the man he sends me to is the man I’ve had a crush on forever. Archangel is strong, soft-spoken, always in control, and the most perfectly made man I’d ever seen. He’s unflappable. I can’t resist, even knowing the price I’ll pay. I just hope I can slink the walk of shame back home before he knows I’m gone. That might be the only chance I have of protecting my heart.

Archangel: I don’t know what Thorn was thinking when he sent his daughter to me. Sonya has plagued my every filthy fantasy since the first time she came home from college to visit friends at my club. I’d known then I needed to stay away from her. Not only am I way too old for her, but her daddy is the president of their club. Which puts me and Black Reign MC in a delicate position. What I could never have predicted was Sonya taking matters into her own hands. Sonya running isn’t a surprising. Kinda expected that. What wasn’t on my Bingo card was my forgotten past catching up with me.


 

 

Excerpt

Copyright ©2025 Marteeka Karland

 

Two blocks down, I saw a big, black Harley heading our way. Even from this distance the roar of the pipes was distinctive. And I knew the sound well. A dense trail of smoke had covered the four lanes from where one of the residences was burning a small pile of brush. Just like in the movies, the big Harley I’d known was attached to that rumble parted the haze with smoke circling behind him like a jet trail. The man sitting on the bike was just as intimidating as the machine. All the scene needed was a slow-motion sequence and it would be perfect.

Archangel. He was the most unflappable man I’d ever met. There was an eerie calm surrounding him most of the time. Sure, he laughed and had a good time like anyone else, but he was the peacemaker. The person everyone called when they didn’t want El Diablo or El Segador to take up the cause. More than once, I’d heard Archangel make the statement you knew when you had a successful negotiation because neither party was completely satisfied. He didn’t play favorites, and he was always fair, but the man had a giant stick up his ass the size of a telephone pole.

He crossed across two lanes of traffic at the corner to pull into the parking lot of the courthouse, not even hesitating at the light as he did. Brazen, considering where he was, and that three deputies and two city cops were sitting close by. He parked the bike in front of Lawdawg’s truck before turning it off and putting down the kickstand. A long, thickly muscled leg was lifted over the seat as Archangel dismounted and walked toward the truck and Lawdawg.

I knew there was drool dripping from the corner of my mouth, but I didn’t fucking care. Archangel was the most perfectly built man I’d ever had the pleasure of viewing. No matter how many times I saw him, he was still awe-inspiring. If anyone saw me, all I had to do was point at the man and any red-blooded woman on the planet who looked would understand. He wore snug, black jeans. The material clung to his hips and thighs in all the right places. He didn’t have on a shirt, but his plain, leather vest covered most of his rippled torso. Which left his arms bare, and a sliver of chest and abdomen showing when he walked. Muscles and thick veins roped his arms. Tattoos peeked from his vest and crept up his arms. His salt-and-pepper hair was over his collar but artfully shaggy, and his beard was full and neatly trimmed. Mirrored aviator sunglasses rounded out his outfit. The man rocked it like the ultimate bad boy.

“Hoooooly shit. Are you seeing this?” Linnie sounded in awe and I glanced at her sharply.

“What the shit, Linnie, you whore!” I wasn’t really mad. This was how we communicated.

“What?” She didn’t take her gaze from Archangel and the question was more of a demand. “Tell me you weren’t eye fucking him too and I’ll be ashamed. Or something. OK. No, I won’t be ashamed, but look me in the eyes and tell me you weren’t eye fucking him. Besides, we always eye fuck him together.”

“I’d love to. But I’m too busy eye fucking him to look you in the eyes and tell you I’m not eye fucking him. Because I’m eye fucking him like crazy. Also, I’ve changed my mind. We can’t eye fuck him together anymore.”

“You sure know how to pick ‘em, Sonya. If you change your mind and decide he’s too much work, let me know. I’ll give it a shot.”

“Like hell.” I turned and hissed at my friend. “Mine.”

“You know he’s so much older than you as to not be believed, right? The man is practically ancient!”

“Red and Rosana have more of an age gap than me and Archangel.”

“Right. Use their successful age gap relationship to justify your own. I’m sure it will go over with your dad as well as it would with my own father.” She had a point.

“Why’s he here, I wonder?”

“Don’t know, Sonya, but if the look on his face is any indication, the reason can’t be good.”

Whatever was being said between Archangel and Lawdawg seemed to have gotten under Archangel’s skin. He snatched his glasses from his face and leaned into Lawdawg’s space. His lips moved, but I couldn’t tell what he was saying. Mainly because Archangel had his teeth clenched. Lawdawg shrugged and jerked his head toward the truck where we sat and watched them from the back seat.

Archangel turned his head to look at the truck and us. Lawdawg spoke, gesturing with his hands a couple of times while Archangel continued to stare.

Finally, he nodded, and stepped away from Lawdawg, moving toward the truck. Archangel came to my side and opened the door. “Come on. Out with ya.” When I hesitated, he added. “Or I’ll haul you out over my shoulder. Choice is yours.” Though his eyes looked like he was furious, his face was relaxed and his voice was calm.

“What crawled up your ass?” The only person in the world I loved pushing more than Lawdawg was Archangel. Probably because both men were so naturally uptight yet unflappable. Anyone who followed the rules so close to the edge should feel anxious at least some of the time. Neither of these men were. Both of them stayed true to their consciences, but when the shit hit the fan, they were the calm, driving force behind fixing the fan and cleaning up the shit.

“When I’m called an hour and a half away to take a young woman in hand who’s acting like a spoiled teenager, it tends to eat away at my social niceties.”

“Look, you don’t want my company, I’ll happily catch a ride back with Linnie and Talia. I’m not sure why anyone called you to begin with. I don’t belong to your club.”

“No. You don’t, thank God, but your daddy thinks you need a come-to-Jesus meeting about what you’re gonna do with your life. I owe him one, so I got drafted.”

I blinked. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Afraid not, Sonya. Now, come with me. We’ve got a long ride ahead. You can rest tonight, but tomorrow we’re going to sit down and figure out your next steps in life.”

“Oh really.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “What if I don’t want to talk with you about my future? I happen to like my life the way it is.”

“And that’d be great. Except for stunts like this.” When I would have continued to argue with him, Archangel snagged my upper arm and pulled me with him to his bike. His hold wasn’t painful, but it was clear he wouldn’t tolerate me trying to get away from him.


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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Thursday, February 13, 2025

The Orchestrators by Donald Hricik #ScienceFiction @rabtbooktours

 

Pre-Apocalyptic Science Fiction

Date Published: January 15, 2025

Publisher: Manhattan Book Group


 

The year is 2360. A select group of a half million humans, the only survivors of global warming and the "Race Wars", are living a Spartan lifestyle and exhibiting loss of memory and emotions resulting from mind-altering drugs created by world leaders known as the Orchestrators. The drugs markedly slowed metabolism and aging, making them ideal for prolonging the lives of humans requiring long periods of travel in space. Henry Shannon is being groomed as the next Orchestrator who will lead a mission to Jupiter, hoping to find an inhabitable moon that can accommodate the humans remaining on Earth. After discovering that the moons of Jupiter are uninhabitable, Henry reluctantly agrees to return to Earth, ultimately bolstered by news that global warming somehow has given way to global cooling. During the return trip home, his wife is killed when an asteroid collides with their spaceship. Depressed and increasingly concerned about survival of the human race, Henry presses on and successfully lands his group back on Earth, which bears little resemblance to the planet they remembered. The returning passengers encounter strange new animal species and are stunned to find that Earth has been repopulated by a group of humans previously known as Tunnel People because of their subterranean lifestyle. Their Supreme Leader, Lillian Goodman, a long-time opponent of the Orchestrators, somehow alters the Tunnel People who now have advanced technologies, an above-ground life of opulence, and apparent immortality. As Henry unravels the nefarious means employed by the Supreme Leader to create this Utopian state, he discovers why these new humans remain desperately dependent on his passengers for maintaining their immortal status, and must decide whether to cooperate or resist and face his own mortality.


About the Author

Donald Hricik is a physician who was born in Ohio, currently living in the Cleveland area. He is Emeritus Professor of Medicine at Case Western Reserve University and the former Chief of the Division of Nephrology and Hypertension at University Hospitals Cleveland Medical Center. He has authored or edited over two hundred medical manuscripts or medical text books. He has published six novels: Racing to Pittsburgh (2010), Nothing to Confess (2013), and Escape from Cleveland (2016), Our Great Escape; Part 1: Dumbers and Part 2: Return to the Tunnel People (2017, 2018), Toxic Affairs on Hidden Lane (2021), a memoir about his wife - Lynne's Last Christmas: A Battle with Dementia (2021). All of his books have medical themes. Aside from writing, Dr. Hricik is a painter (mostly acrylics and oil) and enjoys cycling, gardening, and occasional attempts at deep sea fishing

 

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Tuesday, February 11, 2025

The Treasure of Loon Lake by Rachelle Paige Campbell #Romance

 

Wholesome Romance

Publication Date: 02/11/2025

Publisher: Harbor Lane Books, LLC


 

 In a few hours, MOLLY MAGUIRE’s life implodes. After her apartment burns down, a lawyer shows up at her office informing her that a distant relative left her a home in Loon Lake, Wisconsin. Then she’s fired. With nothing holding her back, and nowhere else to go, she heads to the small town.

Young retiree, GRANT REEM sold his tech start-up and was contacted by the owner of his family’s favorite vacation spot with an interesting next act: buy a tour boat company in Loon Lake. With nothing stopping him, and always putting his trust in the universe, Grant buys the business and moves across the country. When he bumps into the one who got away, his college girlfriend Molly, he’s thrilled, but she’s not the same go-getter who dumped him.

Molly’s new home floods the first night, and she escapes to the Inn with a few dry belongings. She bumps into Grant and learns of the local legend about her family’s curse. When she uncovers a treasure map, she decides to take a chance with Grant’s encouragement. As they search for the treasure, however, they met unexpected opposition, learn about local superstitions, and have to decide if fate—or some other force—wants them to win or lose.



About the Author

Rachelle Paige Campbell writes bestselling contemporary romances filled with heart and hope. She believes love and laughter can change lives. No matter the location—big city, small town, or European kingdom—her feel-good stories always end with a happily ever after. She’s grateful for the support of her family, her robot floor cleaner, and her reluctant writing partner (her dog).

 

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Tuesday, February 4, 2025

RAZOR by Jamie Targaet #MCromance @changelingpress


Hounds of Hell MC (#6)


MC Romance

Date Published: 2/7/2025

Publisher: Changeling Press


 

She’s a spark I never saw coming, in a fight I can’t afford to lose.

 

Deva -- No Mercy Ink is my sanctuary, the shop I built with my brother Jackson. But after a string of attacks leaves him in the hospital, I’m left to defend everything we’ve worked for. That’s when Razor storms into my life -- intimidating, loyal, and maddeningly protective. He’s everything I’ve avoided in a man, yet I can’t deny the pull between us. But as danger closes in, it’s clear Victor Grayson and his crew will stop at nothing to destroy us. Razor swears he’ll keep me safe, but how can I trust him with my heart when my survival demands I protect myself?

Razor -- Leading the Hounds of Hell means protecting my family at any cost. When Deva’s world collides with mine, she’s more than just a mission -- she’s a fire I can’t extinguish. Fierce, stubborn, and utterly captivating, she’s determined to fight for her shop, even if it puts her in Grayson’s crosshairs. But this isn’t just about the club or Mercy anymore -- it’s about her. The deeper I fall, the higher the stakes. To win this war, I’ll have to face my past, defend my future, and prove to Deva that she’s not just worth fighting for -- she’s worth everything.

 

 

Excerpt

Copyright ©2025 Jamie Targaet

 

Deva

Zipping the front of her coat against the bitter cold wind of January, Deva Crane climbed out of her SUV. After slinging her backpack over one shoulder, she walked from where she parked behind the building. She and her brother Jackson had been lucky to have rented a space in the strip mall when they did. Theirs was a corner shop in a gritty, historic part of Mercy. Dark, graffiti-style art covered the outer wall of the building, perfect for their vibe. Decades of imagery and symbols decorated that wall conveying rebellion, strength, and transformation.

Deva and her brother, called Outcast by his biker brothers, had opened the shop three years ago. She was damned proud of what they’d built. The shop’s bold neon sign read “No Mercy Ink” in fiery red and cool white. She liked the way the sign caught people’s eyes on gray, rainy days, and the ominous light cast on the street outside at night. It had been her brother’s idea to tint the windows, and it was a good one. The lighting made the intricate tattoo designs they displayed there stand out, giving passersby a taste of the artistry within while maintaining privacy. A small wrought-iron bench sat out front under the old metal awning with a bucket that served as an ashtray, finishing the exterior -- an invitation to rest, get lost in thought, smoke a cigarette…

Deva unlocked the shop to get started with her day. As she flipped on the light, she smiled. Inside the shop was a weird mix of her style and her brother’s, like an odd cross between an art gallery and an old biker bar. The walls were painted in dark, muted tones of indigo and slate gray. There were metal accents and hints of exposed brick lending an authentically rough vibe to their studio. Framed tattoo flash, custom designs, and photos of some of their best works hung on the walls.

The waiting area in the front had metal stools and a weathered leather sofa bought from thrift stores. She placed their high-end aftercare products and branded merch in a glass display case there. No Mercy Ink was stamped on everything from leather jackets to T-shirts and trucker hats.

Their tattoo stations were further in, separated by worn steel dividers, offering their clients a little more privacy. There were three stations. One was hers, one was Jackson’s, and a third that she hoped to fill one day with another hired artist. They just needed to get their profit margin a little higher to finally pull that off. Each station had a tattoo chair, a tool cabinet, and an adjustable lighting rig. The workstations were well organized with tattoo machines, bottles of ink, and sterilized needles. The presentation was important to her because it showed their pride in their craft. Jackson usually kept his area bare bones, all except for a photo of a phoenix tattoo that he kept there. It was odd because she was pretty sure it wasn’t his work. Her station had warmer lighting and a few plants, reflecting her creative style.

Her goal had been to work on paying bills this morning, since she had no appointments scheduled today. Business off the street didn’t pick up until lunchtime or after. But suddenly the door sensor triggered the low rumbling sound of a chopper engine that Jackson assured her would be so cool. At first, she’d begrudgingly tolerated it. Over time, she came to love the rumble of the sensor. Still, Deva had to wonder who was there.

It was a familiar-looking young woman Deva couldn’t quite place, with long, red curls and big eyes who stood in the waiting area, looking more unnerved than excited. Her dark winter coat reached her knees and had a faux fur-lined hood that she eased back. A tattoo virgin? Deva smiled when the woman’s gaze found her.

“Hi, there,” Deva said. “Can I help you?”

A flush of color brightened the young woman’s face -- no one blushed quite like a natural redhead -- and she nodded. “Yes, I was hoping to make an appointment to speak with Deva.”

“That’s me. And I’ve got a few minutes. We just opened. Come on back.” Deva motioned for the woman to follow her, heading for her own station. Motioning to the tattoo chair, she said, “Have a seat.”

The woman’s green-eyed gaze took in everything before she sat down, perching on the edge of the chair. The visitor’s emotions were palpable, her posture hesitant. Deva waited patiently, giving her the time and space to speak when she was ready. Whatever it was the young woman was dealing with, it was obviously still haunting her.

“My boyfriend recommended you,” she explained. “Axel?”

That got Deva’s attention. Axel was one of the twin enforcers of Mercy’s chapter of the Hounds of Hell. The same MC her brother belonged to.

“I know him,” Deva said. “My brother is Outcast. We co-own this shop and we’re both artists here.”

A little of the tension in her pretty face eased at that. “Outcast is… very nice.”

Deva laughed. “No, he’s not. He’s a quiet, broody asshole, but I love him.”

The redhead smiled. “He is quiet and…” Shaking her head, she held out a hand. “I’m Sadie Downing.”

“Sadie. Well, I’m honored that Axel sent you to me,” Deva said. “What can I help you with?”

“I’d like to get a tattoo. To, um, cover something up. It’s…” Sadie paused, drawing in a deep breath, then rose from the chair instead, her movements deliberate. Shrugging off her heavy coat, she draped it over the divider and swept her long red curls over her left shoulder. With hesitant hands, she tugged her shirt off one shoulder, revealing just enough for Deva to glimpse the markings. What little she could see was enough to make her stomach twist.

With Sadie glancing over her shoulder, Deva asked, “May I?”

At Sadie’s nod, Deva gently shifted the shirt and bra strap to reveal the full extent of the damage. The words “Bobby’s Bitch” were crudely carved into her skin, a brutal mark of ownership. The sight infuriated Deva. The jagged, uneven lines spoke volumes -- rage, entitlement, and pain. It was a violation, both physical and emotional, leaving scars that went far deeper than the skin. Just the thought of the agony Sadie must have endured made Deva’s stomach churn.

Deva adjusted Sadie’s strap and blouse back into place with care. Sinking into the chair, Sadie swiped at the tears spilling down her cheeks. Deva reached for the box of tissues on the counter, handing her one. It took every ounce of control Deva had not to cry alongside her.

“I’m… sorry,” Sadie said, her voice trembling as she dabbed at her eyes with the tissue. “Axel thought maybe there was a way to cover it up. It’s not that he’s bothered by it -- he’s actually been so kind. It’s just…” Her voice trailed off, unable to finish, the weight of her pain and vulnerability hanging heavy in the air.

“You want to reclaim that part of you,” Deva said simply.

“Yes.” Sadie nodded. “I’m sure that’s so bad that there’s probably not a lot you can do but…”

“There’s plenty we can do to cover that,” Deva assured her. “I get a lot of requests to cover old wounds and scars these days. It’s a specialty of mine.”

Sadie’s eyes widened, flashing hope. “You can?”

Deva nodded and reached beneath the counter to retrieve a photo album. She flipped it open to a specific section, her fingers brushing over the pages with care. Positioning the album on her lap, she turned it so Sadie could see the images through the protective clear plastic sheets.

“Most of these are cover-ups for cutting scars.” Deva gestured to the first two pages, which showcased intricately tattooed inner forearms. The designs were bold yet delicate, turning painful memories into something personal, meaningful. “But not all,” Deva added, flipping through the rest of the pages. The other photos featured stunning tattoos covering hips, thighs, and backs -- art meant to reclaim and transform.

 

About the Author

Jamie Targaet is the author of the Hounds of Hell MC. She's anxious to introduce you to this club of gorgeous, dominant men and the lucky women who surrender to them. The ride is going to get wild at times, not going to lie. But there's thrilling action, scorching hot sex scenes, and all the feels. 

Jamie writes erotic romance for Changeling Press, a little fanfiction on the side, and she's an aspiring horror writer in another life. She enjoys time with her family (including the fur babies). She likes good horror movies and shows, emo metal and classic rock, and time spent in other worlds writing and reading. She loves hearing from readers and is looking forward to hearing from you.


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Ivory Bones - The Lewis Chessmen Murders by Sara Winokur #HistoricalMystery #Giveaway



The Lewis Chessmen Murders


Historical Mystery

Date Published: February 4, 2025

Publisher: Briarstone Press (sarawinokur.com)


 

Ancient chess pieces. A centuries-old diary. And a modern killer closing in.

 

When Icelandic forensic geneticist Brynja Pálsdóttir, haunted by her family’s dark legacy, is drawn into the search for the missing Lewis Chessmen, she becomes a pawn in an assassin’s deadly game.

A centuries-old diary, written by a woman abducted during the brutal Barbary pirate raid on Iceland in 1627, lands on her desk. Brynja soon realizes the woman’s story may hold the key to finding the priceless medieval artifacts.

As Brynja digs deeper, she becomes the target, surrounded by deception and unsure of whom she can trust: the NYPD colleague hiding her own motives, the sculptor whose family lays claim to the chessmen, the lover she has spurned, even her own assistant.

As the past and present collide, betrayal, loss, and survival transcend time and place.

Ivory Bones: The Lewis Chessmen Murders is a gripping blend of Nordic noir, historical intrigue, and murder mystery, where ancient secrets and modern dangers force Brynja to face a dark, inner truth before the assassin makes their final move.


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