Tales of the Quiet Kitty by Camille Anthony #SciFi #Romance #LGBTQ+

Sci-Fi Fantasy Romance, LGBTQ+

Date Published: May 15, 2026

These futuristic sci-fi tales are anything but quiet.

Board the Quiet Kitty Waveship and travel with Brant Sel, a Sh'Bahkyr Tygyr and his crew: Bevel-leveB, a Medusoid Jenari with a sentient cock, and Willa, a Sprite from the wounded planet Sparkle.

Brought together by fate, these three have common goals -- to rescue and gather their lost peoples so they can take down the corrupt, brutal Corporation, run by the most evil beings in the three Galaxies... Humans.

Publisher's Note: This box setcontains the previously released Quiet Kitty novellas Under the Cat's Paw, Dancing with the Devil, Holiday Dreams, Naked Secrets, and Cat Scratch Fever.

 

 

EXCERPT

 

Excerpt from Under the Cat's Paw

The door opened and the sensor controlled walkway winked out beneath her weighted feet. Almost sorry to reach her destination -- she so rarely had a chance to see daylight -- Willa plodded heavily into the interview room, her small ankles locked into a pair of slaver's cuffs. Head down, neck bowed, she flicked her eyes about in quick, furtive forays, taking in the room's sparse furnishings: a six foot long cushioned slab and a straight-backed, armless chair. Noting the absence of tweezers, whips, electronic probes and other sadistic devices with a thankful sigh and a renewed sense of hope, she dared to sneak a quick glance at the room's other occupant, determined to somehow influence him to take her with him. A harsh, swift breath lifted her full breasts and set her covering plumes to fluttering.

Before her stood a grey-skinned bi-pedal Being lounging at ease, his long slender hands resting on the upper horizontal bar of a tall-backed chair. He faced her, his nude body -- tall, slim and muscular -- displaying a total lack of self-consciousness. A thick mop of unruly platinum hair waved in the brush of an unseen -- and unfelt -- breeze, falling over his forehead to obscure his sightless silver eyes. His mouth hung open, allowing a nineteen-centimeter tongue, coated with cilia, to protrude slightly.

She identified the Being as a Jenari. A member of a race powerful enough to stand up to the Corporation, his kind usually did not travel in Corporate Space. Jenari rarely mingled with other races, remaining a mystery rarely seen among the Corporation's citizenry. Because of this much speculation abounded regarding their peculiar genetic makeup.

She had heard enough about the genetically blind, Medusoid race to know the Jenari's tongues served as their true "eyes." With their tongues, they "tasted" the air, able to sense their environment more accurately than could most sighted persons.

Currently, the naked alien appeared nonchalant and relaxed. His posture broadcast his sense of control, his power over her in this private chamber, obviously unaware how easily that privacy -- his privacy -- had been breached. The so-called secure interrogation cubicle was anything but, her master having ordered it wired for video and sound, rendering it accessible and easily monitored by him.

The Jenari cocked his head toward her now, giving the impression of eyeing her askance, locating her so accurately, she almost doubted his sightlessness.

"Sso... you are Willa. Your masster tellss me he hass had you trained ass a SSexengineer... capable of keeping a Dinyar-classs Wavesship and a medium number of crew in tip-top orgassmic condition."

The male's sibilant words slid from his lips. He framed his sentences oddly, their cadence broken and rendered choppy by the repeated extrusion of his tongue. The cilia laden appendage darted out between every several words, sipping the air in her direction.

"You look much too fragile for ssuch sstrenuous work. A female of your delicassy sshould be cossseted and cared for... your cunt well conditioned with frequent usse... your ssweet cream churned with a long thick sspoon..."

Willa felt the Jenari's thick voice, his dulcet tones, flowing over her, calming her jangling nerves. Her pussy, long denied any easing, dewed in response to the pictures his words painted. A strong compulsion beat at her, making her want nothing so much as to loll at his feet in adoration.

Strange, how clear his words are, given that he speaks using that crowded appendage... Oh, Drasarka -- not so strange when he is attempting to mind-thrall me!

"Sparkle!"

With a negating shake of her head and an inward surge of disgust at the endless power-games of males, she threw up her mind blocks, easily winning free of the subliminal influence. Angered beyond thinking, she verbally blasted the alien, incensed he would try such a trick on her. "Your mind speak will not work on me, Jenari."

She tossed her head, meeting his renewed mental challenge with a sneer. "I am a Sprite. I cannot be compelled by your voice, nor can your honeyed words thrall me."

The alien's wide mouth spread in a practised movement that aped a smile. "You are a fressh ssassy baggage! I can ssee why your masster ssayss you invite beatingss, sslave!" His lips closed in a thin line, concealing his tongue.

She cringed, damning her mouth and her loss of self-control. By Sparkle! When would she learn to keep her comments to herself? What would she do if her unruly anger lost her this chance of escape?

It had taken too long to convince her master she truly wished to serve his plans by spying for him. She had spent the long, grueling years learning about ship propulsion units, drive flux capacitors and other diverse technical entities for just such a chance as this: escape. During that time, she'd swallowed her gorge and taken the physical abuse and so-called sexual cruelties Lord Avron had doled out, never letting on how his milder tortures ignited her carnal hungers. She'd only slipped up once, but that lapse had proven costly.

Avron had somehow learned she needed his release -- any partner's release -- inside her, needed the life-giving fluid of come washing the walls of her sex in order to flourish and grow a healthy set of pinions and fronds. Since that time, he'd kept her at the minimum edge of physical and psionic sexual starvation, taking pleasure in gauging what lengths she would go to, the degradations she would endure in order to receive a few drops of come.

Years of maneuvering, of posturing and subterfuge had paid off. Lately, unrest and political furor had escalated within the Corporation. Due to financial setbacks and personal miscalculations, Lord Avron had lost respect among his peers. The other Corporation Lords, like canker-phish -- more deadly than the great blalor-sharks of Trofu that devoured their own young -- hovered about, sniffing around his weakness, waiting for his failure. Her master had been forced to regroup, jettisoning some of his plans for advancement just to maintain his present lofty position among the powerful despots.

Unwilling to go outside his private power base to obtain help and whatever information he sought, it had been easy to convince him of her willingness to win the position as Sexengineer aboard the Quiet Kitty Waveship and garner information from its crew to transmit back to him. Why he had become obsessed with this vessel, she neither knew nor cared. All that concerned her lately was finding her scattered people. Sparkle called for her and its other children, its summons an imperative she could not ignore. Time was fast running out for her. If she messed this interview up, she knew Avron would kill her.

Belly roiling with resentment, she averted her face to hide her grimace and abased herself before the alien -- probably her last chance at freedom. "I offer apologies to you, Gentle-Being. I beg you to take no offence."

"Be at easse, Ssprite. I tesst all who sseek to sserve aboard my vesssel. No one sso eassily controlled iss welcomed aboard my Quiet Kitty. Let uss begin anew..."

One long arm extended palm up, in the manner of greeting peculiar to her slavers, the alien stepped from behind the chair, unerringly approaching Willa. "I am Bevel, masster of the Quiet Kitty Waveship."

She choked, eyes riveted in desperate immediate hunger to his newly revealed sex. Obviously, her information loop had seriously failed to include some pertinent data...

Standing before her, hands extended, awaiting her acknowledgement of his greeting, the alien was an impressive sight. Or rather, the impressive sight was his more than ten inch penis swaying lazily between his grey muscular thighs. A darker grey than the rest of his skin, the Medusoid cock undulated back and forth, its serpent-like moves hypnotic, compelling, drawing her fascinated gaze.

 

About the Author

A funny thing happened on the way to the grave... In 2006, Cammy was diagnosed with Pulmonary Sarcoidosis and given two weeks to live. She promptly discharged herself AMA -- Against Medical Advice -- since, as she stubbornly informed her doctors, she could die at home far more comfortably than at the hospital. But then... she got an idea for a new story. Then another, and another...

Fifteen years and dozens of fantastic tales later, Cammy passed quietly in her sleep, at home, as was her wish. We miss her. Her work lives on, and we hold her in our hearts. Cammy decided many years ago that upon her passing, she wished to donate her royalties to The Quiet Kitty fund, which helps authors with emergency medical expenses. We do, to keep her in our hearts and minds.

 

Find Camille’s other works at Changeling Press

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RIP by Marteeka Karland #MCromance @ChangelingPress

(Kiss of Death MC)

 

Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap

Date Published: May 15, 2026

She found her strength. I’ll makes sure no one takes it again.

 

Jade -- I ran from a man who broke me, only to land in the arms of a biker who could destroy what little I have left. Rip is an alpha protector with a dangerous edge I can’t seem to resist. He sees too much, wants too much, and makes me crave things I swore I’d never risk again. He gives me the courage to believe in myself. When my past refuses to let me go, I know I can surrender or stand and fight. If my ex thinks he can take everything from me again, he’s about to learn exactly how wrong he is.

Rip -- The first time I see Jade, she’s barely holding herself together, a trauma survivor trying to outrun a nightmare who won’t stay buried. She’s still fragile enough I know better than to push my way into her life, even when every instinct tells me to pull her close and never let her go. I don’t expect her to see me as anything more than a safe place. Whether I claim her or not, my MC brothers will lay down their lives for her. And when the smoke clears and the blood is washed away, Jade will know she was always meant to be mine. Forever.

 

EXCERPT

 

Jade

The soft, warm lighting in the small dining room did little to reassure me. I stared at my hands resting on the scarred wooden table, watching them tremble against my will. Three weeks at Haven, and my body still hadn’t gotten the message that I was safe now. Safe. What a strange word to apply to homelessness, to sitting in a communal room, surrounded by women who couldn’t meet my eyes because we all recognized the shame in each other’s faces.

I pulled down my sleeve to cover the faint, yellowing bruise on my wrist. My ribs still throbbed with a dull persistent ache that no amount of ibuprofen could completely relieve. The pain was almost comforting -- a reminder that I hadn’t imagined it all, that I wasn’t crazy. My fingers brushed against my cheekbone, the swelling finally gone but the discoloration still visible beneath the concealer I’d carefully applied that morning.

A little boy, maybe five or six, darted past me chasing after his sister, both of them laughing. Their mother called after them in a hushed voice. All the women here spoke quietly most of the time, as if normal volume might shatter whatever fragile peace we’d found. Or too afraid our respite would end in violence once again. I watched them without trying to seem like I was watching. Their mother had dark circles under her eyes, but she smiled when she caught them, tickled them until they squealed.

I looked away. There was an intimacy to their bond that felt invasive to witness, like I was trespassing on something precious. I didn’t belong here, among these women who’d fled with children, with purpose. What did I have? A business degree I’d never used, a dried-up marketing career, and a suitcase only half full of clothes I’d grabbed while Eric was at work. No kids. No friends left. Just bruises and tremors and the growing realization that I had nowhere else to go.

“Jade? Do you have a moment?”

I looked up to see Ada approaching, a clipboard tucked under her arm and a sympathetic smile on her face. Since I’d come here, I’d learned that every woman from that club Mia’s new man belonged to volunteered at this place. The men guarded Haven but never made the residents feel smothered. In fact, I only saw them occasionally. Everyone here cared. Probably too much sometimes. I saw the few people who came through here. Everyone had a sob story and most of them were horrific. By comparison, I had it pretty easy.

“Of course,” I said, straightening my posture automatically.

Ada slid into the chair opposite me and placed the clipboard on the table between us. “Your thirty-day evaluation period ends this weekend,” she said, her voice soft. “I have your extension paperwork here. I hate that we have to do shit like this, but it gets us money for supplies.” She smiled.

My heart stuttered. I hadn’t realized how terrified I was of her saying anything else until the relief flooded through me. “Yes,” I said too quickly, then bit my lip. “I mean, if that’s OK. I’m still working on… figuring things out.” I had to force myself not to wring my hands. I didn’t used to be like this. I didn’t want to be like this now.

Ada pushed the clipboard toward me. “That’s what we’re here for. I just need your signature.”

I picked up the pen, my fingers trembling. I gripped it tighter, trying to control the shake as I signed my name. Ada watched without commenting on my obvious anxiety. She was good at that -- giving people dignity even when they were falling apart.

“Thank you,” she said, taking back the clipboard. “The extension is for another sixty days. After that, we’ll reassess.”

I tried to smile but couldn’t quite commit. I knew how pathetic I looked by not getting back in the game of life, but the thought of trying to explain the abrupt departure from my previous job, of interviewing with visible bruises, of having to be around strange men who might remind me of Eric, could send me into a panic attack.

“Jade, honey? You OK?”

I glanced up at Ada when she spoke. Short answer? No. I wasn’t OK. Better answer? “Fine,” I said. “Just tired.”

Her eyes softened with understanding that made me want to crawl under the table. “There’s a resume workshop on Thursday. No pressure, but it might help to interact with others. And group therapy tomorrow at four is open to everyone.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “There’s no rush, you know. I’m checking boxes because it’s required. You take as much time as you need. We call this place Haven for a reason.”

When she left, I let my shoulders slump, exhausted by the brief interaction. Across the room, a woman about my age was showing her daughter how to braid string into a friendship bracelet. Another was helping her son with what looked like math homework. I’d wanted that once. A family. To be all domesticated and stuff.

Eric had told me he had the same dream. Turned out, his dream had been more about building himself up by keeping someone under his foot. It had been me since before college. Then he wanted Mia but wanted his fucking mind games with me too.

I picked at a dangling hangnail until it bled, sucking the small wound. I’d come to Haven because the nice lady who’d brought me said this place would keep Eric away from me. No questions asked. I stayed in Haven because I was officially homeless and had nowhere else to go. The sad truth was, I hated the thought of leaving this place because I’d never stayed anywhere I felt safer than I did at Haven.

What came next? The question circled in my head like a vulture. I couldn’t stay here forever, but I couldn’t imagine a life outside these walls either. Not when Eric was still out there.

I wrapped my arms around myself, pressing against the bruises on my ribs until the physical pain drowned out everything else.

The crash shattered the afternoon quiet like a gunshot. I didn’t see what happened. First, the ball bouncing across the linoleum, then a little boy chasing after it. One or both of them hit the table where a ceramic vase sat just a little too close to the edge. I only registered the sound as it exploded against the floor, blue and white shards spraying outward like shrapnel. My body reacted before my mind could catch up. Flinch. Gasp. Arms over face. Heart instantly hammering against my ribs as if trying to punch its way out of my chest.

The rational part of my brain knew it was just a broken vase. Just a child’s accident. But my body was already in full survival mode, dumping adrenaline into my bloodstream. My ears rang. My vision tunneled. My muscles coiled tight, ready to do anything I could to avoid what usually came after a crash.

I sucked in a sharp breath that hurt my throat. Held it. Forgot how to release it. The common room had gone still. Through the gaps between my fingers, I saw women frozen in various postures of interrupted activity. Some exchanged knowing glances and looks of sympathy, a language survivors recognized as a trigger response. Others deliberately turned away, giving me privacy in my panic, or maybe protecting themselves from the mirror I’d become.

“I’m so sorry,” the little boy’s mother murmured, already on her knees, gathering ceramic pieces into her cupped palm. “Tyler, go put your ball away, please.” Her voice was tight but controlled. Tyler looked terrified, his lower lip trembling as he clutched the rubber ball to his chest and scurried away.

“It’s fine,” someone said. “Just an accident. Our fault for having something not kid-proof in here.”

“I’ve got a dustpan,” another woman offered, heading toward the supply closet.

I forced my arms down, away from my face. Attempted a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but I couldn’t just sit there like a broken doll while everyone else handled the situation. I slid from my chair and knelt beside the boy’s mother.

“Let me help,” I said, reaching for a larger piece of ceramic.

She glanced up at me, her expression a careful blank. “Thanks.”

My fingers trembled so badly I couldn’t pick up the shard. I tried again. Failed again. The third time I managed to grasp it, but my hand shook so hard that I dropped it almost immediately. It clattered against the floor, breaking into smaller pieces.

“Sorry,” I whispered, mortified.

“We’re all a hot mess,” she said with a watery smile. “How about we do the best we can and understand we’re all ghosts.”

The woman with the dustpan and a hand vacuum arrived, sweeping carefully to get the larger pieces before using the vacuum. I tried again to help but my breath came in shallow gasps that weren’t bringing in enough oxygen. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision. I was going to pass out and make an even bigger scene.

I stumbled to my feet and backed away, scanning for somewhere to retreat. The bathrooms were too far. The dormitory area was up a flight of stairs. My legs couldn’t even manage to make it to the elevator much less make it up a flight of stairs. Luckily, I found an empty corner by the bookshelves, partially screened by a large potted plant. I made my way there on wobbly legs, pressing my back against the wall and sliding down until I sat on the floor, knees pulled tight to my chest.

I used to be good at talking myself down from the ledge. Back when the panic attacks were just garden variety anxiety and not the souvenirs of systematic abuse. I tried now, struggling to find the rhythm of controlled breathing that had once been second nature.

I pressed my forehead against my knees, trying to make myself smaller. A tear leaked from the corner of my eye, sliding hot down my cheek. Then another. I wiped them away furiously with the heel of my hand. I was not going to cry in this fucking corner like a child because someone broke a vase. I was not going to be this broken thing Eric created.

But the tears kept coming, silent but unstoppable. They weren’t really about the vase or even about the flashback. They were tears of pure frustration at my body’s betrayal and my mind’s inability to distinguish past from present. And for how pathetic I’d been for so long. Now I had nothing.

* * *

I’d come to an agreement with Hannah. I help out with housekeeping, cooking, and anything else needed in Haven, and I could stay longer. At least, that was the agreement I proposed. She’d smiled and told me that of course I could stay. That there were no conditions and I could stay as long as I wanted. As safe as I felt here, I knew it would be a long while before I “wanted” to leave. And also, I didn’t really believe they’d let me stay here much longer. It was past time I left. I just couldn’t make myself go.

Now, I pushed the supply caddy, which seemed to weigh a ton, its wheels squeaking as I pushed it down the hallway. Hannah had asked me to deliver fresh towels and toiletries to the linen closet where everyone got what they needed. A simple task, but it got me away from the sympathetic glances after my meltdown in the common room. The building designated for Haven had been a former warehouse. But someone had converted the place into a very comfortable, very soothing atmosphere inside.

I passed the small office and approached the security station that controlled access to the entire building. The security here was insane and every security guard working here took their job very seriously. No one got inside Haven who didn’t belong. The door was ajar, and I slowed as I heard Hannah’s voice from inside, clearer and more authoritative than her usual soft-spoken manner.

“-- have to adjust the rotations since Noose’s funeral. We can’t leave any gaps in coverage, especially at night. The restraining orders don’t mean shit if --”

I hesitated outside the door, not wanting to interrupt but also curious about the changes happening around us. Noose had been killed just before I came here. He’d died in the same fire that had nearly claimed the lives of Mia and Oktober, as well as Pain and Inferno. The Kiss of Death MC had been providing security for Haven since its founding, a fact that had initially terrified me until I realized they were the only thing standing between the women here and the men who might come looking for them. More than once, I’d been ashamed of the way Eric had called these men criminals. I’d learned that, while most of them had killed, they’d all had good reasons for what they’d done and had taken their punishment.

I knocked lightly on the doorframe, the caddy parked beside me. “Sorry to interrupt. I have supplies for --”

The words died in my throat as I stepped into the doorway and saw who Hannah was talking to. A large man filled the small security office with his presence across from Hannah. The Kiss of Death leather cut stretched across shoulders that could have belonged to a linebacker. His dark hair was buzzed short on the sides but longer on top, and a shadow of stubble darkened his jaw. But it was his hands that held my attention. They were large and weathered with scars across the knuckles. I didn’t know this man, but he obviously belonged to the club.

I froze, instinctively. I didn’t like strange men. Most of the women here had issues with strange men. I gaped at the guy, feeling like prey caught in a predator’s trap.

“Jade, perfect timing,” Hannah said, seemingly oblivious to my reaction. “This is Rip. He’s taking over Noose’s security detail.” She turned to the man. “Rip, this is Jade. She’s been with us about three weeks now and has been helping with a few chores. She’s been a lifesaver in so many ways.” Hannah gave me a smile before reaching out to take my hand and tug me farther inside the office. “If you can’t find something, find Jade. She’ll either know where it is or if we have whatever it is you need.”

I managed a tight nod, my throat too dry for words. This man was here to protect us, not harm us. I knew he wouldn’t be here if he were a bad person, but my body didn’t get the memo.

“Rip’s going to be handling the night shift security,” Hannah explained, filling the quiet.

I nodded again, stealing a glance at the man from beneath my lashes. I found it difficult to read the guy. His gaze was direct and penetrating, taking in everything around him. When they met mine, I felt a jolt of emotion. Not fear, exactly, but I knew he could see straight through to the very core of me and saw the wreckage hidden underneath the surface. His eyes were intense but kind.

The longer he looked at me, the more his gaze narrowed. He looked almost startled. He turned his head slightly toward me and rubbed the center of his chest absently as though it ached.

I dropped my gaze immediately, studying the scuffed toes of my shoes. My chest tightened with the familiar anxiety that men triggered in me. This man saw things I didn’t want him to see. I knew it like I knew my own name.

“Good to meet you,” I managed to say. I backed toward the door, eager to escape the intensity of his gaze. “I should let you get back to it.”

Rip nodded once. He still hadn’t spoken, but somehow his silence wasn’t threatening. It felt considerate. As if he understood that his voice might be too much for me right now.

I slipped out of the doorway and leaned against the wall in the corridor, breathing deeply to slow my racing heart. Through the partially open door, I could hear Hannah resuming their conversation as if they hadn’t been interrupted.

I pushed away from the wall and headed back toward the common area, my mind replaying those few moments of eye contact. There had been something oddly comforting about the weight of his gaze. Rip hadn’t given me the predatory assessment I’d grown accustomed to from Eric but simply waited. Watchful in the way a guardian surveys their charge.

Strangely, for the first time since arriving at Haven, I felt truly seen. Not as a victim or someone who’d betrayed her best friend, but as a person worth protecting.

 

 

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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TAKEN BY THE ALIEN by Megan Slayer #Paranormal @ChangelingPress

(Taken, Book 13)

A Paranormal Women’s Fiction Novel

Date Published: May 8, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

She’s got magic she’s never tapped into. He’s from another galaxy. Together, they’re just right.

Lindsey Knepper-Lare just wants to belong. As far back as she can remember, she’s felt different. She’s convinced she’ll always been damaged goods. Then she’s abducted by an alien and spirited to a planet with a name she can’t even pronounce. Then Ronan walks into her life. He’s everything she wants, but has never had the courage to go after. Too bad he’ll never pay her any mind.

Ronan Miir wasn’t planning on visiting the diner on ERAEMA, but the second he spots Lindsey, he knows he has to save her. The metallic aliens on the planet want nothing good for to her. Not Ronan. He wants to kiss, touch, and protect her. Good thing he knows a thing or two about aliens, rescue, and getting back to Eerie. He’s ready to make their pairing into a forever romance… if she’ll give him a chance.

 

Excerpt

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2026 Megan Slayer

She blinked back tears and her stomach lurched again. She’d been taken from her home against her will, was being used for something she never wanted to take part in, and had been dumped in a place she didn’t even know to work for a being who claimed to own her. And she had no idea how to get home.

Lovely.

“Oh, and if you try to rip the comm off your body, it will alert P482 and he’ll destroy you.” T181 threw a rag in her direction. “Get to cleaning. These tables won’t sanitize themselves.”

She held onto the rag, then wondered what she was supposed to clean with the rag. Instead of asking questions, she moved to the first table and wiped it down. Tears blurred her vision, but she refused to cry. If she’d been able to be strong so far, she could keep doing it. She had no choice.

She wasn’t about to let anyone see her crack. She’d dissociate from herself and pretend she wasn’t here. Again. She wasn’t anyone’s slave. She didn’t have to act like she was happy in her surroundings.

“A few rules. Don’t talk to the clients. You’re here to clean, not flirt. They won’t take you out of here, so don’t ask. Understood?” T181 asked. “If they want food, they’ll let you know, but you simply deliver. You clean, you keep your mouth shut, and you give in to P482 if you want freedom from here.”

A man walked into the diner and said something she couldn’t quite hear to T181. Lindsey moved to the second table and watched the man. So far, she’d only seen beings that resembled satellites, like T181 and P482. This was the first being she’d encountered, even at a glance, who sort of resembled a human.

She watched him and her heart ached. Not only because she missed her home, but because she missed being held. Missed being touched. Missed other humans. Hell, she wasn’t even sure anyone would want to look for her. No one probably missed her.

Still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t drool over this being. She swept her gaze over him. Dark hair, a bit wavy and just long enough to need a little product. Icy blue eyes that seemed to pierce through her the longer she looked at him. He had a slight dimple when he smiled and dazzling white teeth. He even had nice hands. The suit fit tight to his body, like it was tailored precisely for him. He oozed sex. No, not just sex, but power and confidence as well.

Not that this man would ever look her way. Good gracious. She was like Cinderella, but on a whole different planet. Even back on Earth men like him didn’t pay her any mind. She faded into the background -- just like she would here.

T181 moved between her and the man. “He’s mine. He’s got money, he’s free to move about the planet, and won’t bed you.”

She almost asked, “Bed him?” She hadn’t even thought of that. “Sure.”

She glanced over at him while she cleaned the third table. He had nice lips. Just full enough for a good kiss. She’d bet he was skilled at kissing, too. Not that she’d ever know. She was stuck.

She’d been taken to breed and given a bullshit answer for how to get home. A lie. Her heart hurt. This was so silly. Impossible, really. This man, no matter how sexy he was, probably had obscene amounts of money or credits or whatever. She wasn’t even sure how he’d been able to come to the planet. Was he a prisoner, too?

 

About the Author

Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and white hot themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been nominated at the LRC for Best Author, Best Contemporary, Best Ménage, Best BDSM and Best Anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on various e-tailer sites.

When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library.

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CLAIMED by Ashlynn Monroe #SciFi #Romance @ChangelingPress

(Claimed 3)

An Off World Sci-Fi Action Romance

Date Published: May 8, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Lexa never really knew what it meant to live until she was condemned to die.

Framed for a crime she’d never even contemplated, Lexa Mercer’s doing thirty days or death on the Intergalactic Broadcasting Channel’s hit reality show Nariasma. She owes her life to one of the show’s hottest contestants -- and a ghost of a man no one is supposed to know exists.

Roan of the Northlands is a man made famous by enduring his sentence on the space station Nariasma. Lexa has seen the rugged hunk on television, but she never imagined he’d be rescuing her from hunters who’ve paid to kill criminals.

Roan’s strange companion Jenner is convinced Lexa is the key to their freedom. Surviving and keeping her alive is just part of the challenge. Now Roan has more to lose than his future. He’s made the mistake of falling in love with Lexa, and that makes him the one thing he’s never been on Nariasma -- vulnerable.

Roan and Jenner will give all they’ve got to protect Lexa. Jenner’s convinced she’s the only one who can save them. But does she have the strength to change their reality?

 

Excerpt

Copyright ©2026 Ashlynn Monroe

 

Lexa's mouth felt dry. She tasted a bitter metallic tang on her tongue. For a few seconds she lay, hurting, with her eyes closed. Her head ached as she sat up. She didn't remember much at first, but then the horror of Dom's death and her sham of a trial came rushing back in a torrent.

She groaned and opened her eyes. The room was small. Bright light shone down from a single fixture in the ceiling. She was dressed in a dark brown leather corset and matching -- too tight -- leather pants. She ran her hands over her backside. The horrible pants weren't ass-less, and she was glad of that, at least. There was a black nylon utility vest over her shoulders. A row of silver and gold sequins sparkled on the hem of the vest. The combination of style and material was strange. Glam survivalist?

She closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose in an attempt to clear her foggy mind. Her stomach rolled. Someone had seen her naked when she'd been at her most vulnerable. Shivering, she forced herself to stop thinking about how dirty having been stripped made her feel. Pushing herself up, using the wall, she managed to get to her feet.

The door slid open with a whoosh. Whoever designed the room had hidden the door so well she'd never even noticed it until it opened. A tall woman watched her mutely.

Lexa flinched under the scrutiny. "Why are you here? What's happening to me?" Lexa screamed the questions at the woman as her hysteria rose.

"You'll have a ten second head start. Go right to avoid the desert. Get to the trees, and you'll have a better chance. Here is your pack. It's all any of the contestants start out with. Inside you'll find a utility knife, canteen and matches. Millions of fans will be watching you. Take solace in knowing you won't die alone." The woman spoke without any hint of emotion or remorse.

"I don't plan to die at all," Lexa said. She hated how this woman had written her off. She wasn't doomed. She wasn't going to give up. Just because wealthy men had paid for a license to hunt her didn't mean she was automatically condemned. "I'm going to serve my time and return home."

Sympathy flickered across the woman's features, but she quickly covered the expression with a scowl. "Few have lived long enough to serve their time. No woman has left this place alive. Many find it easier just to walk out and wait for the end."

"I've never been good at taking the easy way out. I'll take my chances with the woods. Why are you giving me advice?"

"It's been a long time since we've had a woman as young as you on the show. I'd like to make the most of your time." The tall stranger's words held the ring of truth.

Lexa shrugged. "I'll do my best to outlast my sentence. I'd hate it if Interplanetary Broadcasting lost ratings due to my untimely demise. How bad can a month be?" Lexa spoke as sarcastically as possible. She didn't know if the cameras were already watching her, but she had a feeling they might be. Hatred for the mindless people watching her injustice boiled in her core. Until now, she'd been just like them.

The reality of how meaningless human life was hit her with shocking force.

The woman's eyes darkened. "May the enlightenment of justice guide your path."

Her sentence had begun. The cameras were watching. The woman's use of words made that clear. "Um, thanks, I'll make my own light. I've had a taste of justice, and it wasn't for me." Her new reality was a terrifying example of how deep a lie could burrow to masquerade as truth. She glared at the woman. No matter how afraid she felt she refused to let her fear show.

The emotionless expression taking over the woman's face made her shiver. "What happens now?" Lexa asked.

"Now you survive, or not. Either way, it'll be good TV."

Lexa's eyes widened as the woman shoved her out the door.

She ended up on an elevator and not in a hallway as she'd expected. As her brain kicked in, she realized it was now or never. With shaking hands, she took the items from the pack and shoved them in the few pockets her thin vest offered. She'd seen this show a few times -- enough to know the bright orange backpack was a good way to die.

Now she wished she'd watched more often. Her mother hated the show and always said it was low class and not what her daughter should watch.

Just as she put the last item into a secure place and dropped the bright bag, the elevator stopped. Her heart raced. Her heavy breathing was the only sound she could hear.

The doors opened and bright sunlight flooded the dark space to blind her. She took a shaky step and saw trees in the distance. She took the woman's advice and ran toward them.

In her mind, she started to count. One... two... three... The ten seconds would be over long before she reached the trees. She didn't look back, afraid of what she'd see. They'd be waiting. Men had paid for the privilege of killing her for the entertainment of bored television viewers back home.

A breeze ruffled her hair. Everything felt so real here, but it wasn't a planet. It was a space station. Terror hit her in the stomach so hard she stumbled. Horrified, she watched the ground coming at her face as she fell forward. She was giving her life to those bastards too easily. Her eager executioners would be upon her in seconds.

Eight... nine... ouch. She landed as her ten seconds ended. Rolling to her back, she sat up only to see three well-armed men wearing body armor aiming old-fashioned high-powered automatic rifles at her.

Death. She wasn't ready. Hands grabbed her roughly. The brutality of their grip caused her shock to turn into terror. She didn't scream or struggle. The raw panic kept her still. She was standing because those large hands hand pulled her to her feet.

"Run!"

She spun around and her breath hitched in her throat. He was glorious.

Roan of the Northlands, one of the sexiest men on TV, was rescuing her. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward just as the first shot rang out. Dirt erupted next to her foot. "Go!"

 

 

About the Author

Ashlynn Monroe is a busy working mom. She loves her kids and family. Her greatest joy is creating stories to entertain others, and she hopes they bring a little more romance into the world. She's been writing since her teens for her own enjoyment but decided in her thirties to share her imagination with readers. Ashlynn enjoys biking, camping, reading, video games, and filling her home and life with love. If she's not working or chasing children, you can find her daydreaming up her next tale of romance.

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Nightflower of COMANCHE MOUND by Katlyn Bates #Suspense

Mystery, Suspense

Date Published: 06-17-2024

Publisher: Adventure & Quest, LLC

Her sixteenth birthday looming, Seattle urbanite Charley Kensey recklessly invites herself to her Pap’s West Texas sheep ranch—a man she’s never met, a man her mother has always distanced her from. If her dad were still around, he could’ve stopped her. Her mom can’t.

Pap is a hard and difficult man, and the Llano Estacado—the Texas Staked Plains—is every bit as hostile. Charley would turn right around and go home except for the mysterious horse that shows up on the ranch. Things quickly spiral out of control when Pap vows to shoot the blind animal she believes came to the ranch to be hers. Now she can’t leave—who’s going to stand in the way of Pap’s bullet?

Against his orders, Charley turns to local veterinarian Dr. Ben for information about the horse, but his harmless reminiscing over her mom dismantles everything Charley thought she knew of her family when he portrays a mother she doesn’t even recognize, and innocently exposes the secret that split her family apart. Charley is the only clueless party: “Everybody in this little town of Quitaque knows your mother’s business,” affirms veterinarian summer assistant, cowboy-crush Brett Littleton. Except for Brett, the summer would be lost.

When Pap’s savage anger turns violent, Charley and her horse bolt for the open plains and flee for the very place she’s been warned not to go.

 

Nightflower of Comanche Mound is a contemporary action-adventure thriller steeped in conflict, tension, and family dysfunction between three generations.

 

2025 Western Writers of America Spur Finalist – Young Adult Novel

2022 Writers League of Texas Manuscript Finalist – Young Adult Action-Adventure Thriller

 

Excerpt

The plane touched down in Lubbock a little after three in the afternoon. Jet engines shut down immediately so I felt the scorching afternoon heat before I ever stepped onto the Staked Plains. The passengers had all filed off, but I sat rigid in the upright seat, a cynical thought sweeping over me, not for the first time: I’d made a colossal mistake.

The flight attendant was eye-balling me. I checked my hair in a mirror, dotted on faint-pink lipstick Mom had warned me against bringing. Drawing a deep breath, I held it in, thinking it would help settle my jitters. Time to get this show on the road. Pap will be waiting. Or he won’t. Either way, I had nobody to blame but myself.

* * *

I spotted him through the glass barrier, hands clasped casually over an ample belly. We locked eyes as I rolled through the revolving door. Did he have a picture of me? My grip tightened on the cheap ten-dollar flute Mom had given me to practice; she was proud I took an interest in music, and wanted me to keep my lips stuck to a version of flute that was less to lose. It suddenly felt more a lifeline than a companion.

It’s not true that all people shrink when they get old. Pap stood straight and tall under a light-colored, broad-brimmed hat that rested low on his forehead just above white, bushy brows. Deep grooves ran around his mouth and down a chin he hadn’t bothered to shave.

I didn’t exactly expect a warm snuggle from him—Mom had prepared me for that. Still, deep down I couldn’t help thinking she might be wrong. I had imagined I would run and throw my arms around him and all my doubts would fly away when he pulled me into a tight squeeze.

Instead, we squared off and studied one another, eyes never wavering.

I stuck out my hand. “I’m Charley.”

Weight lifted from my shoulder as he took hold of my backpack. “Heck of a name for a girl.” With a quick nod to the long cement aisle, he said, “Go that way.”

I’d like to think he held out hope that he’d passed inspection, as did I.

 

About the Author

Katlyn Bates writes contemporary fiction for young adults. Her debut novel, Nightflower of Comanche Mound was named a 2025 Spur Finalist by Western Writers of America (WWA) in the Juvenile-Young Adult Fiction category. The recognition, along with multiple 5-Star book reviews from Readers’ Favorite, encouraged her to dust off old stuff she wrote just for fun, and look at them with fresh eyes.

Drawn to action and adventure that is grounded in real life, Katlyn finds inspiration in the wildness of the world around us. “Nature doesn’t care what we think. It’s wild and ferocious and unpredictable—a good reminder not to take ourselves too seriously. The downright ridiculous seems to call for a twist of humor. What I can’t see, I can imagine.”

Juggling family, work, and life, over the years Katlyn grasped whatever time she had available for a writing class when she could—poetry, creative, a bit of journalism. What she discovered was that stories come from deep within us…a moment. A memory. An experience or impression or dream. Only when they surface, can you add texture and color.

A late-bloomer by her own description, Katlyn’s writing kicked off when she joined Society of Children’s Book Writers & Illustrators (SCBWI), a community of like-minded people who selflessly share, uplift, and guide, one meeting at a time. “There’s so much to learn, just for the listening. Other writers energize me, challenge me to ‘say it better’. Everyone has a natural style, and it always amazes me how many ways there are to tell a story. From SCBWI to the Writers’ League of Texas (WLT)—where Nightflower of Comanche Mound was a 2022 Thriller/Action-Adventure Finalist in the Manuscript Contest—on to Western Writers of America and Women Writing the West (WWW), Katlyn has found that it’s networks of writers that encourage her “No matter what stage of writing skill, anyone, at any age, with a yearning to write should seek out others who love what you love. Don’t wait.”

A native Texan, Katlyn Bates lives near Dallas, TX, outside a small town that—like so many inter-connected communities, is quickly becoming absorbed by the sprawl. “As for me, it’s open skies and nature and landscape that frame a plot, and lend power to a story.”

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