Cole for Christmas by Treva Harte #Christmas #Romance

A Friends to Lovers BDSM Ménage

Christmas / Romance / Comedy

Date Published: December 23, 2025

Publisher: Changeling Press

Sarah has a secret -- she wants her best friend Cole. Cole wants Jeff. And Jeff? Surprise! He wants them both.

Cole is wild, funny, impulsive, and Sarah’s best friend. She doesn’t understand what he gets out of submission, but she’s not going to let Cole get hurt the way he has in the past. So when she discovers his new dom is Jeff, the jerk who helped kick her out of her undergraduate program, she knows she has to intervene.

But when she sees Jeff again, she’s confused. He says he wants Sarah to be Cole’s Christmas present, and she’s stunned. She and Cole are just friends, aren't they? Amazingly, Cole seems to want her as much as she secretly has wanted him. The even bigger surprise? She realizes she wants Jeff too.

Even if she could have them both, this is supposed to be temporary. It’s too bad she’s only allowed to have Cole for Christmas.

Excerpt

Copyright ©2025 Treva Harte

“What’s wrong with you, Cole?” Sarah stared at her friend over the flimsy coffee container. “You have to go pee pee? You’ve been twitchy ever since we got here.”

Cole laughed and gave her the finger. He opened his mouth as if to give a smart-ass answer but then bent over his latte instead. Not looking at her, he carefully blew on it and took a sip.

Sarah settled back. Cole was obviously dying to tell her something, and she knew from experience all she needed to do was sit. If he waited more than ten minutes before spilling everything, he’d probably keel over from the strain.

The clatter of students milling around the student union coffee shop made the silence less noticeable. They continued drinking.

Two minutes of just downing caffeine. Impressive. Cole was hanging tough.

He shifted again in his seat and shut his eyes, grimacing. Sarah frowned, suddenly a little concerned. Cole was a genius -- a real, measured-by-testing genius -- but that didn’t mean his emotional IQ always matched his intelligence. She was sure it was a challenge to be five to ten years younger than his academic peers, and Cole didn’t always meet that challenge. In fact, Cole could be kind of a pain in the ass. Right now he was acting like he had a literal pain there.

Oh. Ohhhh, boy. He might actually have one. Please God, no. She might have to venture into TMI territory to find out.

Cole had been more than forthcoming about his sex life in the two years they’d been in grad school together. That was a problem for him. Younger and smarter in some things had made him vulnerable in others, especially since he was open about his sexual preferences and desires. Gay at the university was one thing; gay and dedicated to BDSM was another.

“Has someone hurt you?” She hoped that question would get the job done. Sarah could be more direct, if need be, but she also probably didn’t want to know all the particulars.

“No.” His prompt answer was a relief. Of course, he had to add, “Not any more than I want to be.”

“Ooookay.” Sarah set down her cup. Sometimes a friend had a duty to ask more even if she’d so much rather not. “Have you met some new dom?”

“You know I have. I told you about him.” Cole didn’t look up from his latte, but he didn’t sound reluctant to answer.

“You mentioned you’d met someone new at a club a few weeks ago, but you didn’t say anything more.” That wasn’t like her Cole at all now that she thought about it. “Is that the guy?”

“Fuck yeah. I was incredibly lucky that night. He hardly ever goes to clubs. Says they’re too fake for his tastes.” Cole squirmed again. “He isn’t into scenes. Not public ones.”

“So you’ve been -- um -- doing things outside of clubs?” Sarah wasn’t sure which sounded more dangerous. Cole wouldn’t know danger if it bit him on the butt. Especially if it bit him on the butt.

“At his place. Sarah, it’s… intense. And really sexy.” Cole grinned at her. “That’s all I’ll say unless you want me to go on. I know how you get.”

“And I know how you get, so thanks for shutting up.” She grinned back at him, and Cole shifted his weight again. Sarah sighed. “All right, Cole. Why are you acting this way? Something is going on.”

Cole leaned over, then glanced around to make sure no one was listening. Oh God. He felt the need to keep something private. This was going to be a doozy.

“Because I have a butt plug in me. A big one. It’s driving me crazy. Especially because it’s pressing on my fucking prostate.”

Sarah made a faint protesting noise and covered her eyes. “I don’t want to know.”

“When I see Jeff after work, he’s going to take it out and replace it with --”

“Don’t want to know, don’t want to know. Don’t. Wanna. Know.” Sarah covered her ears instead.

Cole pushed down one of her hands and whispered, “Unless you want to pull it out for me. Jeff might get mad, but it would be worth it if your dainty, lily-white fingers would take care of things for me right now. It might even be fun.”

Sarah clenched her dainty, lily-white fingers and smacked him on the shoulder with her plastic spoon.

Cole leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. Stunned, Sarah dropped the spoon on the table. For such a demonstrative guy, Cole pretty much kept his hands and lips to himself. Well, at least around women. She’d seen guys pass him around like an appetizer at parties. Obviously that kind of touching was different for him.

Oh, shit. After remembering some of those party images, she felt a sudden pang of lust. She took a deep breath. Now she could see herself testing that butt plug, imagine what Cole’s tight ass looked like holding it. His gasp when it moved. Damn it, she didn’t need to have that thought in her head. Talk about waste of time! Cole was completely off-limits. He’d never be her appetizer. Friends. They were friends. She’d gotten over her stupid crush long ago. That didn’t mean she couldn’t admit to herself he was sexy. In an off-limits way. She didn’t need to start thinking he was available after working so hard to forget he was hot.

“I knew I’d make you do that, but you did ask.” Cole sounded a little too smug.

Sarah looked up. Oh Lord, how could he know about her completely inappropriate thoughts?

Cole rubbed his shoulder, grimacing as if she’d really hurt him. Then he stopped and winked.

Oh. Right. Very funny. She’d hit him. They had a standing joke about his smart mouth and his need for punishment.

“Actually, what I really wanted to ask was what you had planned for Christmas.” She didn’t care if it was an obvious change of subject. Cole could go on pushing her buttons for hours. Besides, she did want to ask.

Last year Cole went with her to see her parents. Cole had way too many experiences with judgmental families like his own, and he’d been apprehensive about the whole thing, especially meeting her officer father. But Dad had been Dad, and Cole had been Cole, and everyone had a great time, just the way Sarah’d expected. This year Mom and Dad had shipped out to Japan, so neither she nor Cole would be seeing their families. She’d hoped they could hang out together for the two weeks while the grad dorms closed during winter break.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you! I’m planning on a trip to a ski lodge in Wyoming all during break.”

“You don’t ski.” Sarah skied but couldn’t afford a weekend, much less weeks at a resort. Life was so unfair.

“I like skiers. And cowboys. Jeff owns a place there.” Cole crumpled his cup and tossed it into the garbage.

“Oh. Jackson Hole?” Sarah snickered. “I could see you headed there just for the name.”

So now she knew this Jeff had money, was a skier, and maybe was a little pretentious. Two out of three wasn’t bad. Especially if he had a ski lodge.

“Grand Targhee. Jeff says it’s even better than Jackson Hole, although not as many people have heard of it.”

So unfair. Sarah had heard of it, and everything she’d heard agreed with what Cole -- who was obviously clueless -- had said. The place wasn’t even that pretentious. If Cole’s new man turned out to be perfect, she’d have to be happy Cole was going away with him on the kind of holiday break she’d want.

And that was so unfair double time. It also meant she had no one to share Christmas with. She didn’t need another reminder that she’d worked too hard, frozen too many people out, had no life. Cole, who bubbled over with curiosity and energy, always made even the bleakest times fun. She’d been counting on him to carry her through this first really big holiday without her parents.

Well, she’d have to get over it. A military brat got used to being around strangers. Maybe she could scrounge up enough money to take a little road trip by herself or get a fancier hotel than she’d planned. It didn’t sound like fun now, but she would work on it.

“You wanna come along?”

 

About the Author

Treva Harte has always been an overachiever. She also collects things. First it was degrees. First a B.A. in English, then she decided to go back for a Master's degree. Not content with that, she added a J.D. Since then she's added a husband, also an attorney, and two children to her collection. She's continuing her ways as an overachiever, writing her wonderfully offbeat tales of passion and possibilities -- in her spare time.

Visit her website at www.trevaharte.com.

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Son of the Moon Book One ~ Serendipity by Janelle Cressida #MM #Romance

Son of the Moon, Book One

MM Romance / Contemporary Fantasy

Date Published: June 13, 2025

"Don't come crying to me if he somehow manages to actually kill you!"

Twenty-one-year-old Jesse leads a pretty ordinary life until he encounters Jamie, who, covered in soot and ash, can't even remember where the blood on his hands came from.

Aware of the risk, Jesse offers him a place for the night, and what starts as simple act of kindness quickly deepens into a profound connection. Jamie explores the world anew, curious and with an endearing innocence, but things change rapidly when their first intimate moment nearly ends in tragedy. Even worse, Jamie begins to experience vivid nightmares; and discovering mysterious powers inside of him, the question of who he really is becomes all the more pressing. What did he do before he met Jesse? Is Jamie truly the harmless person he seems to be?

Son of the Moon Serendipity is the first in a series of seven books, where MM Romance collides with Contemporary Fantasy in a gripping tale for everyone who loves Hurt/Comfort and Found Family.

About the Author

Janelle Cressida loves to take her readers on highly emotional rollercoasters where every victory, however small, has its own price.

 

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All I Want For Christmas by Will Okati #Gay #ChristmasRomance

Gay Christmas Romance, 2nd Chances

Date Published: December 19, 2025

 

All James wants for Christmas is his roommate Cillian. And he might just be getting lucky this year.

 

Who doesn’t love the holidays? Sleigh bells racing down winding country roads. Chestnuts, open fires, Yule logs. Homemade fruitcake that’s soaked up a full bottle of brandy. James adores it all, but his long-concealed desire for his roommate Cillian runs deeper than a river of holiday booze and burns hotter than any crackling Christmas hearth. But since he’d rather not risk losing a dear friend by making any unwanted moves, he’s kept that to himself for years.

Until now. When a flight plan goes FUBAR and James doesn’t have a way home for the holidays, Cillian suggests they keep Christmas in their own way. Tree, lights, feasting, the works.

It’s tempting. Almost as tempting as Cillian himself. And when James starts to get a clue that his interest might just be reciprocated… well. That changes the entire game. Time to bring out the holly and the jolly and maybe he’ll get his man under the tree this year.

EXCERPT

 

James bowed his head and thumped it gently against the windowpane. At first, he thought the quiet rattle and bang was from the shitty, landlord special, glass rattling in its frame. The much louder swearing, first frustrated and then triumphant, told him Cillian was home.

His heart rate, already nice and high, spiked a jolt or two skyward.

Cillian. His roommate. Platonic, not permanently attached, but in high demand, with a new pretty boy or big bear on his arm at least twice a month. He rattled all the windows when he had company, and James had learned to take it with a grain of salt, a snorted chuckle, and a really good pair of noise-canceling headphones -- because honestly, Cillian was one of those guys you couldn’t help but love. Some men had a gift for that. Half Irish and leaning into it, using the accent he’d gotten from his Galway mother to its full advantage. Full head of wild red curls and a day or so’s worth of stubble. Surprisingly broad shoulders, built like a Viking bard, with a cute little pillow belly when he sat down.

“Your call is very important to us. Please hold…”

James missed the rest of the robot spiel, too busy watching Cillian wander into their living room, tossing his keys in the general direction of their coffee table and his own knitted cap toward the back of the couch. No company tonight, James noticed.

Cillian grinned broadly, his teeth white and even, and mimed “phone call?” before putting his finger to his lips and plunking cheerfully down onto their couch. Yep. There was the belly. During dry spells, which happened far more often than James would like, he itched to drop down beside Cillian and rest his head on that nice little cushion to see if it was as comfortable as it looked.

“Won’t say a word,” Cillian mouthed to James. Then almost immediately, out loud: “Problems? Weren’t you supposed to be on a plane tonight?”

“Supposed to be, sure.” James gestured at his phone. “Airline says otherwise.”

“You bought your ticket weeks ago.”

“Again, airline’s website says otherwise. Trying to get an actual human on the line to convince them of that.”

Cillian winced in kind sympathy and idly rested his hand on his stomach where his Aran sweater had ridden up an inch or two. “Sucks, my friend. Wish you good luck.”

James’ fingers twitched. Their windows didn’t keep all the cold out, but Cillian ran warm. He’d be toasty as a fireplace to cuddle up with. James could rest his head or roll over to face him while they talked about a little of everything and a lot of nothing. And while he was there, possibly nose into the warm skin. Press a light kiss to Cillian’s navel. Or flip completely onto his stomach, braced on his arms, all the better to take care of the zipper on Cillian’s jeans and --

Okay, so he didn’t think about that kind of goings-on only during dry spells. More like all the time, actually.

All I want for Christmas is youuuuuu…

Click. “Your call has been disconnected. Please hang up and try again.”

James clapped a hand to his forehead and growled through gritted teeth, wondering if Androids could actually accordion up and break across the middle if you squeezed them hard enough. Either way, he was about to find out, either from travel-induced rage or sexual frustration.

“Ah, now. I know that look.”

James had closed his eyes, but he heard Cillian lever himself off the couch and clatter over before thumping a companionable hand to his back. “It’s a few days till Christmas still. You’re not going to get a human on the line during rush hour.”

“True so far.” James opened his eyes. “Suggestions?”

“Sure, easy. Call back tomorrow morning and yell at them then. Or not, because they’re humans and they’re probably at least twice as pissed at the system as you are, so be a kind fellow and go easy on the poor bastards. Figure it all out with a cool head then.”

Cillian grinned at him from inches away. He smelled of bayberries and fir and wool. “And in the meantime, I happen to know the perfect cure for a raging temper fit.”

Despite himself, a matching smile tugged at James’ lips. Cillian was just magic that way. “Don’t say drinks.”

“Drinks!” Cillian thumped him harder, then tossed an arm around James’ shoulders. “Best idea I’ve heard today. Let’s go.”

With a choice between that and listening to bubblegum caroling for another hour -- well, it wasn’t really a choice at all.

All I want for Christmas is you. He tapped Cillian’s fist with his own. “You’re on. Let’s go.”

 

About the Author

Willa Okati (AKA Will) is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray cat hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for winter weather, a little more coffee, a whole lot of flowering plants and a lifelong love of storytelling. Will's definitely one of the quiet ones you have to watch out for, though he -- not she anymore -- is a lot less quiet these days.

 

Author Contact Links

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TINY by Marteeka Karland #MCromance @ChangelingPress

Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap

Date Published: December 19, 2025

 

 

A giant of a man with a shattered soul. A mother running on fear and fury. Love isn’t even an afterthought.

 

Tiny -- Christmas meant nothing to me. Just cold nights and bad memories. Then she arrived at Haven. Penny. A woman who’s already fought her share of battles. She and her girls light up this place like the most beautiful of Christmas lights. I never thought I’d crave my own family. But watching them hang ornaments and laugh? Feels like coming home.

Penny -- I don’t believe in miracles. Not anymore. Not until I meet a man who looks like sin and loves like salvation. Tiny’s scarred, quiet, and so gentle with my girls it breaks my heart. This Christmas, we’re not running. We’re starting over. All of us. Including Tiny. One kiss, one breath, one strand of lights at a time, I will build my girls a future to look forward to. And maybe, just maybe, my own Christmas miracle can withstand the storm about to crash down on us.

 

Tiny (Kiss of Death MC 9) is a gritty, emotional, and deeply romantic story of survival, redemption, and a protective alpha hero who would burn the world down to keep his family dafe. Can be read as a standalone in the Kiss of Death MC series.

 

WARNING: Depictions of domestic abuse, violence, and strong language may be triggers for some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

 

EXCERPT

 

Tiny

I ducked my head and turned slightly sideways as I stepped through the door of the large warehouse, a habit born from years of door frames too small for my frame. The club had renovated the structure several months ago because the club’s old ladies demanded the place be secured for their new project. The shelter only accepted horribly abused women deemed high risk for retaliatory violence from their abusers. We’d started calling the shelter Haven. The girls all did their best to make it a haven. It also meant men with my size weren’t exactly welcome.

I smelled fresh coffee when I stepped inside, a stark contrast to the leather and exhaust fumes that clung to my clothes. Inside, the few conversations stuttered to silence as heads turned my way. The newer people stared at me with wide eyes and a touch of fear. I was used to it. Nearly seven feet tall, shoulders wide as a doorway, with a mohawk and a beard you could lose a small animal in, I never entered a room without changing its atmosphere.

Violet spotted me from across the common area and waved me over with an enthusiastic smile. I moved carefully, each step measured, making myself as predictable as possible. Prison taught me how to move without threatening, how to exist in a space where sudden movements could get you shanked. Also taught me how to use my size to every advantage I could. Here, those same skills served a different purpose.

“Tiny, I’m glad you could make it,” Violet said, her voice warm but pitched just loud enough that others nearby could hear. Deliberate. Showing them I was expected and approved of. Safe.

“Knight asked me to check the security systems,” I replied, keeping my voice soft. When you’re my size, everything about you can intimidate, even your voice. Especially when there were young children around. It’s why I played Santa at Christmas. It helped the kids associate me with Santa so when they saw me out and about, they remembered. At least, that was my theory. It had worked pretty well last year, but the very nature of this place meant the kids didn’t stick around long. Though, I was pretty sure the old ladies had invited every mother and child who’d come through this place in the last year to the Christmas party.

As I headed to the back of the big room where the security office sat nestled off to itself, I noticed three new faces huddled on the worn sofa near the window. A woman in her mid to late twenties with light brown hair and hazel eyes sat in the corner with a book while the girls played quietly on the floor with LEGOs. All three glanced up as I neared the office door.

The girls, though they appeared to be twins, had very different stances. One with fists clenched, shoulders squared, stood to put herself slightly in front of her sister. The other girl reached for a threadbare stuffed rabbit with one missing eye, clutching it to her tightly.

I recognized the signs as clearly as if they’d been written in neon. The way the woman’s eyes darted to the exits, how she stood slowly, not making any sudden moves, to put herself between me and her daughters.

“This is Penny and her daughters, Zelda and Kira,” Violet said, gesturing toward them. “They arrived a few days ago. Penny, this is Tiny. He’s with the same club Riot’s with. They provide security for us here.”

I nodded once, not approaching. “Ma’am.”

The woman, Penny, gave me a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was the smile of someone who’d learned to hide her true emotions.

“Tiny helps maintain our security system,” Violet continued, her voice still carrying that deliberate lightness. “And he sometimes escorts our residents when they need to go to appointments or court dates. Tiny is an amazing friend to have in those kinds of situations.”

“Yes,” Penny whispered. “I imagine he is.”

I thought Violet would move with me to the office where we could talk. Instead, she sat on the other end of the couch from Penny. There were two more couches in the area arranged in the shape of a U. Normally, I’d take a seat as far away from the women as I could, but I’d still be at a distinct height advantage even sitting down. So, I sank to the floor, sitting cross-legged with my back against the couch.

The change was immediate. I watched Penny’s shoulders relax. The girl unclenched her hands, giving me a curious look. From my position on the floor, I was still eye level with most people standing, but the psychological difference mattered.

“Knight and I updated the cameras last week,” I said to Violet, keeping the conversation normal, mundane. “But he thought one on the east side might have a small blind spot.”

Violet nodded, following my lead. “That’s the one near the service entrance, right? I noticed it seemed off when I checked the monitors yesterday.”

As we talked, I kept my peripheral vision on the small family. Though Zelda had relaxed somewhat, she still kept a wary gaze on me. Kira watched me with cautious curiosity now. She clutched her rabbit tighter, its worn fabric testament to years of comfort sought.

Then it happened. The rabbit slipped from her grasp, falling to the floor and bouncing once before settling a few feet from where I sat. The girl froze, eyes wide with alarm.

I didn’t move immediately. Instead, I telegraphed my intentions clearly. “Would you like me to get your friend for you, Kira?” My voice was soft as I addressed her directly.

The girl looked to her mother, who gave a barely perceptible nod. Only then did I slowly unfold one long arm, reaching for the toy. I kept my movements smooth and deliberate, picking it up with the gentlest grip I could manage.

I didn’t extend it toward her -- that would force her to come to me. Instead, I leaned over, stretching as far as I could, and placed the rabbit gently on the floor halfway between us, then returned to my original position.

“Thank you,” the woman, Penny, said when her daughter didn’t speak.

The moment crashed into me like a wave, dragging me back fifteen years. My sister Julie, sixteen and broken, flinching from every raised voice after what that bastard did to her. The way she’d curl into herself when men came near. The stuffed horse she’d kept since childhood that she clutched at night when she thought no one would see.

The same stuffed horse that had been torn to pieces the day I came home and found her hurt and half dead.

I blinked away the memory. That had been the worst night of my life. I think it hurt just as bad as when she died a few days later.

“Tiny’s road captain for the club. He also helps with security both here and at the clubhouse.” Violet spoke to Penny and her voice pulled me back to the present. “He’s been instrumental in setting up our security systems here.”

I shifted uncomfortably at the praise, my vest creaking again with the movement. I understood why Violet was doing it. These women needed to know I wasn’t a threat, but praise had never sat well with me. Not before prison, and certainly not after. “Just trying to help,” I mumbled, examining the tattoo on my forearm to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Tiny volunteers for most of the escort duties when our residents need to go to court,” Violet continued. “He’s been a huge help to many of the women who’ve passed through here.”

I glanced up to find Penny studying me with a careful gaze. Not fearful anymore, but assessing. I recognized that look too. She was recalculating, reshuffling whatever assumptions she’d made when I first walked in. No doubt because she knew Violet had a point. I was a big fucker. The intimidation factor alone was generally enough to keep unwanted people at a distance.

“Good to know.” Penny spoke softly, almost timidly. I got it and wasn’t insulted. I didn’t know their story, but to be here in the first place, there had to be some pretty horrific details.

The smaller girl had reclaimed her rabbit by now, holding it against her chest as she whispered something into its tattered ear. For just a moment, our eyes met, and I saw something there that squeezed my chest tight. Not fear, not anymore. Something closer to recognition.

I knew that feeling. The paradox of finding safety with someone who looked like they could crush you with one hand. I’d seen it in the eyes of younger inmates who gravitated toward me in Terre Haute, seeking protection in my shadow. It was a burden I carried willingly, both inside those walls and now here, in this shelter with its mismatched furniture and reinforced doors. I wasn’t an overly religious person, but I’d always felt God put me on this earth with my size and strength to be a protector. It had started with my sister. Now I did my best to continue as much as I could. It took a while, but I could usually prove that sometimes safety came in unexpected packages. Like a giant with a mohawk and prison tattoos, sitting cross-legged on the floor to avoid scaring a little girl and her stuffed rabbit.

That’s when I noticed the small movement at the edge of my vision. Kira, the girl I’d handed back her stuffie, had moved in my direction. The stuffed rabbit dangled from her hand as she took one cautious step in my direction, then another. Penny was distracted, talking with one of the shelter staff, but her sister had noticed. Zelda’s eyes narrowed and I could almost see the fierce protective instinct that sometimes rode me, too, envelop her. She stood but didn’t immediately hurry our way.

I remained perfectly still, not wanting to spook either of them. The girl’s approach reminded me of how stray cats would sometimes appear at the prison fences, wary and ready to bolt at the slightest provocation, but driven by some need stronger than fear. She stopped several feet away, her small fingers working nervously at the rabbit’s worn fabric. Up close, I could see the careful stitches where someone had repaired a seam, the worn spot where fur had been loved away. A well-tended comfort object. Someone cared enough to keep fixing it.

“His name is Mr. Hoppers,” she said, voice barely audible. The first words she’d spoken in my presence.

I nodded solemnly, giving the introduction the gravity it deserved. “Good name.”

She studied me with an intensity that belied her age. Not the fearful assessment I was used to, but something different. Searching. Her eyes tracked from my hands to my face, then back to my hands again.

“You have big hands,” she observed.

“Yes.”

“But you were careful with Mr. Hoppers.”

I understood then what she was doing. Testing a theory. “I try to be careful with things and people smaller than me.” I shook my head slowly. “I don’t like hurting people.”

Her head tilted slightly. “My dad has big hands too. But he breaks things.”

The simple statement hit me like a punch to the gut. I kept my expression even, though something hot and angry flared in my chest. “Some men don’t know how to be careful.”

She nodded as if I’d confirmed something important. Then, with deliberate care, she extended her arms, offering me the rabbit. The trust in that gesture staggered me. I held perfectly still, afraid that any movement might shatter this fragile moment. Then, with the same care I’d use handling a newborn, I accepted the offering, cradling the worn toy in palms that could crush a man’s skull.

“He likes you,” she said with the conviction of absolute certainty.

“I’m honored,” I replied, meaning it more than she could know.

That’s when I saw it, the recognition in her eyes. Not of me specifically, but of something in me that felt safe despite appearances. I’d seen the look often but this was the first time I could say someone making that judgment had the right of it. I could be deceptively calm. Until I wasn’t. But not with this girl. Or anyone here seeking shelter.

The moment stretched between us like a bridge, this strange connection forged in the quietest of gestures. I gently returned Mr. Hoppers to her waiting hands, and she clutched him close again, a half-smile ghosting across her face.

Then the spell broke when the very kind of man this little girl had been running from just walked into the Goddamned foyer.

“Let me in, you little bitches! I know she’s in there!” The male voice exploded from outside the main area but still inside the warehouse, followed by the sound of something hitting the front door hard enough to rattle the windows. I wasn’t certain how he’d gotten in but I knew at least two of the brothers wouldn’t be far behind 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.

 

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

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Her Name Was Chas by SK Holt #LGBTQ Fiction

 

Contemporary LGBTQ Fiction, Lesbian Romance

Date Published: November 13,2025

The last place Chas Montgomery wants to be is in the damp basement of an old church undergoing conversion therapy. But when her mother catches her kissing her best friend Jess, that's exactly where she ends up.

Years later, “Chastity” is a model of the life her family always wanted for her: married to a man and devoted to her faith. She’s done everything “right” and put her old life behind her for good. Until she meets Alex.

Alex is confident, compassionate, and everything Chas never knew she needed. As their connection deepens, Chas begins to question the beliefs she was forced to live by. For the first time, she chooses herself—and a new life filled with authenticity, freedom, and love.

But when an unexpected pregnancy from her marriage threatens to unravel everything, Chas must confront her past to protect her future. Can she hold on to the life she’s building with Alex, or will fear, guilt, and unrelenting pressure pull her back into the shadows?

About the Author

 

 SK Holt writes compelling contemporary gay romance that delves into the heart of modern relationships and identity. Her debut novel, Her Name Was Chas, is a tender and unforgettable story of finding love and self-discovery. A native of South Carolina, SK lives with her wife, their children, and a demanding trio of French bulldogs. When she isn't working, she can be found unwinding with her family by the ocean, her favorite spot for inspiration.

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PLAYER by Jamie Targaet #MCromance

Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Christmas Romance

Date Published: December 12, 2025

I’ve played every game there is. But this time, it’s for keeps.

 

Heather -- Brick promised me a good paying job. I just didn’t know he was working for a cartel. When their money went missing, I was hunted along with him, used and finally left with the Hounds of Hell MC in Mercy to answer for his crimes. If not for Player, I would have wound up dead or worse. He claimed me as his old lady to keep me from being turned over to the cartel. He shielded me, fought for me. And somehow, I started to believe I mattered again. The cartel is still gunning for me, but Player’s not backing down. He says I’m his, and I want to be. If we can survive this.

Player -- I’m called Player for a reason. My life’s been a string of one-night stands and bad decisions. Until Heather. She’s scared and in over her head, but there’s something about her I can’t shake. When Brick left her in Mercy, running from the cartel he stole from, I made a choice. I don’t care what she’s done or what they think she knows. Heather is under my protection now. And if anyone wants her, they’ll have to go through me -- and every single brother I’ve got.

 

Warning: Player contains adult language, explicit sex, violence, threats of torture, stalking, and references to past emotional abuse. It also features a dirty-talking alpha biker who will cross every line to protect the woman he claims as his own.

EXCERPT

 

Player

The Hounds of Hell clubhouse sat at the far end of Main Street, past the reach of the twinkling lights and holiday carolers who’d turned Mercy’s annual tree lighting into a full-blown event last night. Normally, the Hounds didn’t bother with Christmas decorations because they were too much trouble, too much cheer. But this year was different.

Deva, Razor’s old lady, made it clear even if the club wasn’t going to feel like home, the place could at least look the part for the holidays. No one was going to tell the president’s lady no. So now mismatched strands of blinking lights clung to the porch like a half-hearted apology, and the scent of pine fought to cut through layers of leather, smoke, and liquor. Inside, the mood was anything but festive.

Since Player had lost a bet, one he still claimed was rigged, he’d earned the honor of decorating the Christmas tree Deva had dropped off at the clubhouse the night before. The tree was still boxed in Razor’s office, fake pine branches and all, along with a tub of lights, ornaments, and exactly one glitter-covered star Snow refused to touch.

Player had his hand on the doorknob, figuring he’d grab the box and let Razor know he was making good on his punishment. But then he paused, hearing Razor and Snow talking in low and clipped voices, the kind of conversation you didn’t interrupt unless invited. Whatever was going down in there, it wasn’t about garland or tinsel.

He heard the rumble of a bike pulling in out front. Curiosity made him let go of the doorknob and head for the front of the clubhouse to see who’d come calling.

The bike now parked out front belonged to Brick, a patch from the Mississippi chapter in Biloxi. From what he remembered, the guy was all swagger and no spine. Player didn’t like him, but Brick had never been dumb enough to test anyone here directly. He’d visited Mercy a couple of times in the past, but he always had the good sense to fly under the radar.

A second rider dismounted, swinging one long leg over the back of the bike. A woman. No, not just a woman. A vision.

Her dark jeans clung to her like old sin, her boots dusted with grit from the road. A leather jack hung too heavy on her slender frame. When she pulled off the helmet, she shook loose long, glossy dark spirals of hair. She turned her head enough for Player to catch a flash of wide green eyes and a full mouth. A woman who looked like that should be all sass and fire, but there was a wariness about her. Her gaze moved over the front of the clubhouse as though being there filled her with dread. She expected trouble.

Was she with Brick? How had he gotten a woman who looked that good? Brick looked like he’d crawled out from under a busted oil pan and hadn’t changed his shirt since. He had a thick neck, and a gut stretching the bottom of his cut. He wore his hair slicked back, as if he thought he still had a full head of it. The man’s nose was twisted from too many fights he probably hadn’t won, and a mouth that curved like he was about to lie.

Brick turned and spoke to her. She nodded and followed him. There was a subtle shift in her posture. Her shoulders were tight. She was bracing for a fight.

Player wasn’t buying those two as a couple. She didn’t belonged on the back of Brick’s bike or in his bed unless money was involved. Staying in the shadows near the main entrance, he folded his arms and watched as Brick swaggered toward the clubhouse.

The main door opened, and Brick walked in with the woman, just in time to see Razor and Snow walk back to the front of the house.

“Brick,” Razor said, voice flat. “Didn’t expect to see you.”

Brick gave Razor a lazy grin. “I’m calling in that favor, brother. Need a place to crash for a while. Lay low.”

Favor, huh? Player stepped toward the front door. Razor didn’t do favors. Anyone who knew the man knew that. But Player had a pretty good idea what favor Brick was talking about.

Back when Sadie had first showed up in Mercy, before becoming Axel’s old lady, they’d found a tracker on her car, put there by the abusive Mafia boyfriend she’d been running from. To throw him off, Ryder, Axel’s twin, had driven the vehicle all the way to Mississippi. The Biloxi Hounds had been the ones to help him make the tracker disappear without a trace.

If that was the “favor” Brick meant, it wasn’t much of one. Ryder wouldn’t have needed a lot of help to lose the tracker. If Brick was desperate enough to stretch the truth about something like that, there was a lot more to why he’d shown up here with a woman on the back of his bike.

Razor’s stare was ice cold. Apparently their president didn’t like Brick any more than Player did. Player leaned against the wall, letting his presence be known. Brick’s gaze moved toward him and back. Player smiled.

Razor looked Brick over like he was already sorting out the lie. “Funny,” he said. “I don’t remember owing you shit.”

Brick tipped his chin up. “You don’t, huh? What about when Ryder came down to Mississippi with that tracker you needed gone? Who do you think helped him ditch it in the bayou, so no one found it?”

Razor’s gaze didn’t so much as flicker. “I remember Biloxi helping him out. Didn’t know that meant you specifically.”

Brick gave a shrug meant to look casual. “I was there. Helped ditch the thing myself. Figured that kind of help might buy me a place to breathe for a few days.”

“You think you’re in the right place for that?” Razor’s voice was low, dangerous.

Snow shifted beside him, arms crossed. Player watched the way Brick’s gaze bounced between them, like he couldn’t decide who’d swing first.

“You want a roof? I want answers,” Razor went on. “Why you’re here. What kind of heat’s chasing you.” Razor’s hazel-eyed gaze shifted to the woman standing behind him. “And her? She yours?”

Brick gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Yeah. She rides with me.”

“Didn’t ask if she rode in with you. I asked if she’s yours.”

“Heather’s with me,” Brick said, a little more force in his voice now. “You don’t need to worry about her.”

“If she’s under this roof, she’s my business,” Razor told him. “You want her here, then I need to know she’s not a problem.”

Brick chuckled without humor. “She won’t be. She knows how to stay quiet.”

Snow’s jaw muscle moved. Their VP didn’t like men who talked about women as if they were property. Not in his clubhouse. Not since he met his little blonde baker, Emily.

Snow remained silent, his gaze locked on Brick like he was already considering the consequences of dragging the fucker out by his dirty collar. Player felt the same way, and not only because Brick was an asshole. They’d all seen worse. What bothered him was the way the young woman with him stood behind him. She was keeping quiet, and she didn’t look down or even move. Seemed like she didn’t want to draw attention. Was she afraid of something? The only thing he knew for sure about her was she didn’t belong with a man like Brick. Player couldn’t decide if that made her more interesting or more dangerous.

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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Fur, Fangs & Mistletoe by Jessica Coulter Smith #Christmas #Romance @ChangelingPress

 

Christmas Romance, Shifters, Small Town

Date Published: December 12, 2025

Escape to Christmas Cove, a cozy small town where magic, shifters, and holiday romance collide.

After a painful breakup, Riley is ready for a fresh start in Christmas Cove. All she wants is a peaceful life for herself and her two-year-old daughter, Sabrina. Love isn’t on her holiday wish list. When she’s stuck in a blizzard, help arrives in the form of Alex Conors -- a protective, brooding werewolf.

Snowed in with a grumpy shifter and a crackling fire, Riley begins to see the gentle heart behind Alex’s fierce exterior… and Alex finds himself falling for the brave single mom who awakens something he thought he lost long ago.

Hot cocoa and toddler giggles turn strangers into something more. But when Riley’s past resurfaces and threatens the safety she’s found, Alex will have to prove that loyalty, love -- and pack -- are forever.

A warm, emotional holiday romance filled with shifter charm, second chances, and the magic of Christmas. Ideal for fans of protective alphas, found family, and heartfelt happily-ever-afters.

 

EXCERPT

 

The sedan’s engine rattled -- a sound Riley had learned to distinguish from its other mechanical complaints over the past three states. This particular rattle meant she’d make it another fifty miles, maybe more if she kept her speed steady. Her knuckles had gone white on the steering wheel somewhere around the state line, and she couldn’t remember now how to relax them. The GPS showed their arrival in Christmas Cove, and Riley’s shoulders tensed further, an automatic response to any declaration of reaching a destination.

Dusk had settled over the town. Main Street stretched before her, lined with Victorian storefronts that belonged in a Thomas Kincade painting. White lights twisted around lampposts, and wreaths hung at precise intervals, each decorated with the same combination of pinecones and red ribbon. Fresh snow dusted the sidewalks in a way that seemed too perfect, too deliberate. Riley checked her rearview mirror again -- the same compulsive glance she’d made every thirty seconds for the past six hours. Empty road. No one following. No one cared where she went.

She drove slowly past the Sugar Moon Café, noting its warm glow and the silhouettes of people inside. Past a bookstore with a display of holiday romances in the window. Past a hardware store already closed for the evening, its owner probably home with family, sitting down to dinner, living a normal life. The thought made something twist in Riley’s chest, but she pushed it down. Normal was a luxury she couldn’t afford to want.

The residential streets branched off from downtown. Riley followed the GPS directions, checking the crumpled paper in her cup holder against the street signs and the directions from the GPS. One too many times, it had taken her the wrong way. Oak Street. Maple Avenue. Someone had named these roads with an almost nauseating wholesomeness, as if determined to prove the town’s charm. She turned onto Pine Ridge Road, where the houses grew sparser and the forest pressed closer to the road.

A small sound from the backseat made Riley’s gaze dart to the mirror. Sabrina stirred in her car seat, her head rolling to the side as she woke from the nap that had mercifully consumed the last hour of driving. Riley watched her daughter’s eyes flutter open, adjusting to the darkness and the strange lights outside.

“Mama?” Sabrina’s voice carried that quality of toddler confusion. Not quite upset, but teetering on the edge of it.

“We’re here, sweetie.” Riley forced warmth into her voice, though her jaw ached from clenching. “Look at all the pretty lights.”

Sabrina pressed her mittened hands against the window, leaving tiny smudges on the glass. “Lights!” She bounced in her seat as much as the straps would allow. “Pretty, Mama! Pretty!”

“Very pretty.” Riley’s smile felt tight on her face. She wanted to share her daughter’s uncomplicated joy, but she kept scanning the streets, cataloging escape routes, noting which houses had lights on and which sat dark. Old habits. Necessary habits.

The GPS announced their final turn, and Riley’s breath caught. The cottage stood at the end of a short gravel drive, a small structure someone’s grandfather had most likely built and barely maintained enough to keep standing. A single porch light illuminated the front door, and beyond it, the forest loomed.

Riley pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. The sudden silence felt heavy, broken only by Sabrina’s humming as she kicked her feet against her car seat. Riley sat motionless, her hands still gripping the wheel, and studied their new home.

The cottage was smaller than the photos had suggested. Single-story, with a chimney that leaned slightly to the left. The windows were dark, revealing nothing of the interior. Snow had drifted against the front steps, undisturbed except for what looked like animal tracks, probably a deer or raccoon. The porch railing needed paint, and one shutter hung at an angle.

But for now the house was theirs. For six months, at least, with the first month paid in advance with money Riley had saved from extra shifts and skipped meals. Six months to figure out what came next. After that, she’d have to either renew the lease or move on to another town.

“Out, Mama!” Sabrina had moved past patient and into demanding. “Out now!”

“Just a minute, baby.”

Riley scanned the neighboring properties. The nearest house sat quite a distance down the road, its windows dark. On the other side, nothing but forest. The isolation should have comforted her. Fewer people meant fewer questions, fewer chances of being found. But instead, it made her hyperaware of how alone they were. No witnesses if something went wrong. No one to hear them scream.

She shook her head, dislodging the thought. Nothing was going to go wrong. This was a fresh start in a quiet town where nobody knew her name or her history. Where Sabrina could grow up without her mother constantly looking over her shoulder.

Riley checked the mirrors one more time, then opened her door. The cold hit her immediately, sharper than she’d expected. Mountain air, clean and biting. She pulled her jacket tighter and circled to Sabrina’s door, her boots crunching in the gravel.

“Cold!” Sabrina announced as Riley unbuckled her.

“Very cold. That’s why we’re going to get inside quick, okay?”

She lifted her daughter out, settling Sabrina on her hip with the ease of long practice. Sabrina immediately buried her face in Riley’s neck, seeking warmth. Riley grabbed the diaper bag and her purse from the front seat. The car’s trunk held everything they owned -- three suitcases, two boxes, and a garbage bag of toys. After struggling to pay the bills and stay one step ahead of her ex, she didn’t have a lot left over for extras.

Riley approached the cottage slowly, her eyes adjusting to the darkness beyond the porch light’s reach. The forest was quiet -- too quiet, maybe, but she didn’t know enough about forests to judge what was normal. She’d grown up in the suburbs and spent the last two years in a city apartment. Trees and wildlife were outside her experience.

The lockbox hung on the doorknob as promised. Riley shifted Sabrina’s weight and worked the combination with icy fingers. The key fell into her palm, small and ordinary. She fitted it into the lock and felt the deadbolt slide open with a solid click.

“New house, Mama?” Sabrina lifted her head, looking at the door with wide eyes.

“New house,” Riley confirmed. “Our house.”

The words felt like a promise and a lie at once. This wasn’t really theirs, just borrowed space, a temporary shelter. But Sabrina didn’t need to know that. Sabrina needed to believe in stability, in permanence, even if Riley couldn’t.

She turned the knob and pushed the door open, reaching inside to find the light switch. Yellow light flooded a small living room, revealing worn furniture and walls badly in need of fresh paint. Still, the space felt clean. Warm air drifted out from inside, proof someone had turned on the heat before their arrival.

Riley stepped over the threshold, carrying her daughter into their new life, and tried not to think about all the ways this could go wrong.

 

 

About the Author

Jessica Coulter Smith is an acclaimed romance writer with a passion for storytelling. Her works showcase the power of love and its ability to transcend boundaries, capturing the hearts of audiences worldwide. With a unique writing style and perspective, Jessica continues to inspire and entertain readers from all walks of life.

 

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Holiday Fatigue by Emily Carrington #Gay #Christmas #Romance

Gay Christmas Romance, Medical, Interracial

Date Published: December 5, 2025

For husbands Peter and Abe, Christmas is a time for miracles -- and unexpected party crashers.

 

Peter is all set to make this Christmas season the best for his husband. That is, until a cat is all but thrown into his lap and an unexpected and unwanted man crashes at their house for the holidays. Worse than the lack of privacy is the curtailing of their light BDSM play.

Abe can’t say no when an old flame begs for a place to stay. Temporarily. This man has fallen on hard times and needs a little kindness. However, there’s something more he wants than a roof over his head. As Abe struggles against seasonal depression, a couple of cats come to enliven the home he shares with Peter.

Between grief, jealousy, and a prying houseguest, can Abe and Peter kindle their spirits toward lovemaking and the holidays?

 

WARNING: Holiday Fatigue includes references to cutting behavior and thoughts of suicide that may be triggers for some readers, as well as mention of animal cruelty.

EXCERPT

 

Peter didn’t love the end of the semester, no matter that it meant a day off from teaching. He would much rather be filling his students’ heads with math facts than plugging in grades. Of course, if he hadn’t left so many assignments till the last minute, having graded them but not bothered to put them in the computer… He threw up his hands in exasperation and then signed, to no one in particular, “Why do I always do this to myself?”

He glanced around, seeing he was still alone in the classroom he shared with another co-teacher. He would normally not worry about others seeing him sign. Most people were hearing folks and didn’t know more than the alphabet, if they even knew that much, in ASL. He worked, though, at a school for the deaf, and the chances of someone knowing he was frustrated were high.

Probably some of the other teachers were in the same boat, having pushed off putting grades in the computer until this, the last day of the quarter before winter break. That was of no comfort when his co-teacher, Laura, was done with her grades and was hanging out somewhere in the building until three o’clock.

He darted a glance at his watch, saw he only had an hour and a half to finish inputting grades, and signed a little F-bomb.

An hour later found him sweating and swearing in his head, trying to work so fast that his fingers kept tripping over each other.

Someone touched his shoulder. He jumped a foot. Turning in his chair, he saw Laura gazing at him with a look of concern on her face. Then that expression passed and she wrinkled her nose at him before signing, “Are you still working?”

He nodded, wanting to return to his work but not wanting to put his back to her. That was rude.

“Give me your login and the list of remaining grades. We’ll divide and conquer.”

He hesitated, but only for an instant. Laura wasn’t the type to make offers like this every day. “Thank you,” he signed. “Why are you --”

“Consider it the gift from your Secret Santa.” She smirked. “You forgot we were exchanging gifts in the teacher’s lounge at 2:30, didn’t you?”

“Guilty,” he responded.

“Give me your login and I’ll help. Then you need to give your gift before your person leaves.”

“Too late,” Peter signed back before handing her a stack of graded papers. Hands free again, he signed, “Brent’s already left for the day. His kid got an ear infection on the last day of school.”

“Sucks,” she signed, her face sympathetic.

He jotted down his computer info and walked it over to her as she booted up her machine. “Thank you, Laura. Really.”

“I forgot to get you a gift,” she admitted.

“This is better than some ten-dollar token,” he assured her.

At exactly 2:58, he shut down his computer. Laura, who was a faster typist than he was, had finished her stack about five minutes earlier.

“Go home,” she signed. “Just don’t count on me saving your ass in the spring.”

He got out as soon as he could, his thoughts turning from gratitude to dreams of his husband. Abe, named for the poet and playwright Kobo Abe, wasn’t a fan of this particular holiday. Peter had been slowly changing that for his lover over the years, but each year it was a struggle to find out what would help Abe forget his pain.

He waved at another teacher as he headed for the main doors. This was a relatively new guy and for a moment, Peter couldn’t remember his name.

“Hi, Peter,” the unnamed man signed. “Have a good break.”

Peter frowned, realized he probably looked like the proverbial grouch, and held up a hand for the new teacher to stop. “What’s your name?” he signed.

“Estaban.” He grinned. “Spanish as the day is long and a gift from my immigrant parents that I don’t always appreciate.”

Yes, Peter remembered now. He hadn’t interacted with the new Spanish teacher since he’d arrived here two months ago because he was on another floor and that might as well be in another kingdom. “Sorry,” he apologized. “My brain is…” He shrugged.

“Already on break?” Estaban suggested.

Well, in a way, Peter thought as he excused himself and went outside. He walked to the sidewalk that paralleled the street. He could order a shared ride from the front of the school, but he felt restless. It was two hours before Abe would even be thinking about coming home. All day, Peter had been thinking, not of the grades or his lackadaisical way of letting them pile up, but of his husband and Christmas. Now, as he turned down Forrest Street in Colton, which was the college town closest to their home in Marisburg, he considered his unusual agitation. Abe had been acting steady as the day was long for a while now. There was no reason to expect he’d sink into depression. Even if he did, it wasn’t as if depression was his choice.

Peter looked up when he saw a flash of color out of the corner of his eye and had to smile. Every single tree had lights in their branches. Most of the lights were the beautiful, if common, white ones. The tree he was currently looking at had been decorated in tiny, colorful orbs. He smiled up at the tree that stood out. He touched the bark of the tree and grinned in appreciation. He would bring Abe down to see this tree. They’d call it the “Christmas Pride” tree.

Having a plan for this Thursday night at last, even if it was only to view a tree that stood out among its fellows, Peter took out his phone to order his shared ride. Before he could drop his gaze to the screen, he was caught off guard by another swash of color, this time moving fast. Self-preservation made him look up as a car, slowing abruptly, seemed to coast in front of him. With the colorfully decorated tree in the way, he couldn’t see everything clearly, but something was hurled out of the passenger window before the car sped off again.

People were such slobs. He wasn’t a trash collector by nature, but something about the white and black thing thrown out of the car’s window caught his attention. It was the right size to be any number of things, but the way it had twisted in midair… He went to the snowdrift where the careless people had aimed… and when he peered into the hole made by the object, he saw yellowish eyes looking back at him.

He gaped even as he tore off his winter coat and stooped to scoop up the little animal. It was a kitten, he realized, or a very small cat if it was full-grown. Mostly white with black splotches, it hissed at him as he bundled it into his coat.

The little critter wriggled hard and managed to get a paw free. The cat lashed out with razor-sharp claws and if not for Peter’s gloves, he would have taken quite the injury. As it was, one tiny cat nail caught in the leather of his right glove and the cat opened its mouth wide, surely making quite a fuss.

Peter carefully freed the little demon’s claw and reworked the bundling so the cat wouldn’t hurt him. If he’d been tossed out of a moving car, he’d be pissed too.

As he trekked back to the school, thinking of having the nurse check out the little feline monster before he took them home, the cat’s name flashed in his mind, and he grinned even as he cautioned himself that surely he and Abe couldn’t keep this little fighter. He’d try to impress upon whoever ended up with the cat that his or her name was Catankerous.

As he walked, goose bumps popped out on his arms, which were covered only by a short-sleeved polo because the school tended to run hot. He thought about nuzzling Catankerous, but the wicked gleam in their eyes made him reconsider. He wished he could speak to them, let them know help was coming.

Maybe two dozen steps from the front doors of the school, the cat settled down and quit struggling. Then, through the coat where he’d pressed it against his chest, Peter felt the attack cat begin to purr.

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.

 

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