THE CALL TO AUTHORSHIP by Tim Lindsay #NonFiction #Writing #Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Tim W. Lindsay will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tours.

Embrace the call to authorship: 10 steps to leverage the power of a book!

Books help people—they inform, inspire, and engage. Books are also a powerful force for those who write them. Publishing a book builds your authority, sharpens your thinking, and opens doors to media exposure, speaking engagements, partnerships, and more.

Despite the greater accessibility of publishing than ever before, many would-be authors hesitate. They get stuck with self-doubt or believe producing a book is incompatible with a busy life. They may start writing but don't finish. Or they finish but don't publish or market their books.

The truth? With a little dedicated time, consistent effort, and the right guidance, anyone can publish a book that changes lives for the better. And they should.

Put down your phone. Take the leap from consumer to creator!

This step-by-step guide will show you how to:
- Use a one-page tool to clarify your goals, target audience and plan.
- Craft an outline that drives your manuscript forward.
- Overcome mental roadblocks and craft habits to finish your first draft in months, not years—even with a busy schedule.
- Select a publishing model, refine your manuscript, and make informed design and distribution decisions.
- Employ promotional strategies to achieve goals that transcend royalties.

Become more than you are. Have courage. Commit to growth by authoring a book, strengthening your ability to serve. Write with purpose. Publish for impact!

Bonus for book professionals: Special content for book coaches, editors, and ghostwriters—those helping ordinary people become extraordinary authors.

Read an Excerpt

We live in an age of swipes, scrolls and soundbites, where attention is fragmented and surface-level engagement is the norm. In such a world, choosing to sit down and write is bold indeed.

Writing a book is an act of meaning-making. It’s how we wrestle with ideas, make sense of experience, and speak into the noise with words that are considered and enduring. It takes courage to believe that your words matter. It takes character to see them through and shape them into a book.

That journey often begins with a spark. Maybe you’ve been through something, built something, learned something—and now you feel the quiet tug: This should be a book.

But with that tug often comes hesitation: Who am I to write this? Will anyone care? I’ve heard those doubts from countless aspiring authors through my work at Tellwell, where we’ve helped thousands turn that first spark into a finished book. And I’ve watched them write anyway. What followed was often extraordinary.

For Cindy Cherry, that moment came unexpectedly. For years she resisted writing a book about her father, Don Cherry, the outspoken hockey commentator who became a household name in Canada. She feared a memoir about her dad might seem biased, or worse, opportunistic. But everything changed when a Google Alert lit up her phone screen: a news organization was praising the Western Hockey League for cutting ties with Don following what she calls “Poppygate,” and for erasing his name from an organ-donation campaign he had helped champion, raising nearly half a million dollars. This cause was close to Cindy’s heart. As a teenager she had donated one of her kidneys to her younger brother.

She realized that the public narrative was being written in a way that dishonoured the man she knew and loved.

About the Author:

Tim Lindsay founded Tellwell in 2015. Since then, he and his team have guided some 5,000 authors including entrepreneurs, professional speakers, coaches, consultants, experts, course creators, community builders, religious and nonprofit leaders, Indigenous organizations, athletes, influencers, and everyday citizens.

Website: http://www.Tellwellpublishing.com
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/tellwellpublishing/
Tellwell - YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@tellwellpublishing
Amazon: https://amazon.com/dp/1834180422

HORSFALL by Jade Buchanan #Gay #Paranormal #Romance

Gay Paranormal Romance

Date Published: August 21, 2026

What started out as a regular job assignment quickly escalated into something more for Oliver Philip when he meets twin Shire horse shapeshifters Bayard and Marshall Stoddard.

 

Hired to perform a safety audit on Horsfall Ranch, Oliver never expected his life to be turned upside down, but he’s game for anything. Happily throwing himself into a relationship with both Bayard and Marshall, Oliver quickly discovers a world of intense pleasure, laughter and comfort.

Unfortunately, storm clouds are gathering on the horizon and Oliver must find the strength to fight for the two men he can’t live without.

 

EXCERPT

 

Excerpt from Tail of Two Brothers

Oliver Philip inhaled deeply, turning his head from side to side to capture as much of the scenery as he could. He couldn't imagine living out here. It was so crisp, so clean. And it was only about twenty minutes outside the city limits too. Hell, it took him longer than that to drive from one end of the city to the other.

He slowed his car, counting the kilometers as they clicked by. "Ten point five, ten point six, ten point seven, and there's the turn off. Exactly where he said it'd be."

Turning into the narrow paved lane, he left the gravel road behind. His client had given him exact directions to the ranch, directions Oliver had needed. It was a little too easy to get lost on the township roads out here. It didn't help that the damn signs were so small. He was used to driving out in the country, but still, this wasn't like trying to find some gas plant. It was kinda hard to miss those.

Horsfall Ranch might be close to the city, but it wasn't exactly easy to get to. Thick brush lined the lane he was practically crawling down, set at the base of tall trees that were obscuring his view to either side. At least the lane was in excellent condition, although he couldn't see anything in front of him but more trees.

He drove around a curve in the road, and suddenly the whole thing opened up. He had to stop the car just to take it all in.

Horsfall sat smack dab in front of him, down a slight incline. The rolling foothills were a picturesque backdrop, with the Rocky Mountains as a steady line marching across the back end in the distance. He could make out the white tops on the mountains; there were only a few wisps of cloud breaking up the blue sky. Great day to be out of the office.

"Damn, I love my job."

Pressing his foot down on the gas pedal, Oliver pulled up to the black wrought iron gate barring his path. Pressing the intercom beside his window, he waited, nervously tapping his fingers on the wheel.

"Hello?" a male voice responded.

"Hi. This is Oliver Philip. I'm here to meet with Bayard Stoddard."

"Sure thing. He's down at the main complex. I'll let him know you're here. Just keep on the road, and you can't miss him."

"Thanks."

The gate opened up slowly, and he made his way through. A small farmhouse sat to the left of the gate, with a big black dog lying on the front porch. He sleepily raised his head, watching Oliver drive past. Oliver chuckled, seriously tempted to stop the car and get out. He absolutely loved animals.

A second house sat back further from the road, a little bigger than the first. He wondered how many people actually lived here. Truth be told, he didn't know much about ranching life. He'd done a bit of research on the company before coming down here, like he always did before accepting a new job, but a website didn't give you much information about the day-to-day workings of a place. Besides, the Horsfall website talked more about their horses than anything else, and most of that information had gone right over his head.

Speaking of which, who knew there would be so many buildings? A large rectangular building stood in front of him, with several smaller ones set around. An empty paddock sat to the right, and he could make out an open barn with machinery just behind the main building. Several gas tanks stood beside the open barn. At least he knew what those were. He felt a little out of his element coming here.

A man stepped out of the large building in front of him. Spying the trucks parked to the right, Oliver pulled his little blue car between two dusty pickups. He opened the door, grabbing his briefcase from the passenger seat. The man had come around to meet him and was now standing at Oliver's back bumper.

Jesus, he'd like to have this man do more than just stand at his back bumper. He was tall, towering over Oliver by at least half a foot. Tanned and devastatingly handsome. Oliver just about swallowed his tongue looking at him. This was what Oliver fantasized about late at night when he was all alone. Fuck, the man was fulfilling almost every one of his dreams physically.

He had a black cowboy hat slanted low on his forehead, and his muscular frame was encased in dusty blue jeans and a worn blue plaid shirt. For a minute Oliver was certain the big man was going to pop the seams on that shirt. It strained across a colossal chest that just begged to be explored.

The cowboy held out one tanned hand. "Mr. Philip, I'm Bayard Stoddard. We spoke on the phone. Thanks for coming out here."

 

About the Author

Jade's writing is as eclectic as her reading tastes. She's also been known to accept writing challenges from friends and family just to see their reactions. She's a firm believer that love and romance are universal concepts, no matter a person's gender identity or sexual orientation.

 

Author’s Website

 

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

 

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JAZZ BANG BOOM by Will Okati #Gay #Cyberpunk @ChangelingPress

Gay Cyberpunk Adventure Romance

Date Published: August 14, 2026

Riot’s attempt to teach his pretty lover to behave himself doesn’t… quite… go as planned.

Jazz loves pretty things and things that go BOOM. Tyger, AKA Riot, is a man on a mission, searching for the bits and pieces that’ll repair his damaged, bio-constructed DNA. It only makes sense for the happily mismatched lovers to turn airship pirates and sneak, snatch or con what they need, right?

Right. One problem. Occasionally Jazz gets a little too fond of explosives, and Tyger gets a tad too focused on his quest. When that happens, they need to vent a little steam. So to speak.

 

EXCERPT

T-minus sixty seconds. Really, it was bad manners to blow up a tea party, but some society dames were just asking for it. Jazz landed in the ornamental rose bushes outside his hostess's parlor window, gathered his heavy silk skirts around his knees, and ran like hell.

Not that he was worried. Jazz knew his explosives like he knew his way around the three-dimensional differential equations of a projected illusory field.

And wine. And perfume. What? Jazz prided himself on having layers.

He ticked off the seconds in his head, listening to an internal countdown. Right about now the aforementioned queens of "polite" society (and those who knew Jazz knew far better than to push a particular argument on behavior becoming to a lady and the mind-boggling double-standards that -- oh, anyway).

Jazz did enjoy traveling to different worlds and sampling the finest wines, velvets, songs and yes, incendiary devices from the thousands of cultures that flourished around the galaxies, but the next time his honey, Riot, wanted to spend time where good manners were forbidden in favor of good times? No thanks.

Where had he been? Oh, right. Crap! Cue the fine ladies screeching, coughing and sneezing, the last of a harmless fog floating out the window he'd helpfully, er, opened by jumping through, and they might have regained enough composure after the flash and bang that went with the smoke to have started complaining and oh, right.

Five, four, three, two --

Jazz managed to free himself of the pannier hoops just in time to dive under the cover of a cluster of almost-certainly-sacred ancient oak trees, before -- BOOM.

If a thing was worth doing, it was worth doing properly. "Proper." See what I did there?

This time, however, the dainty device of detonation had not been hidden in Jazz's decolletage (quite convincing cleavage, if he did say so himself). He'd set the charges long before smiling politely and pretending to enjoy a coin-sized cress sandwich in the ladies' salon.

BOOM.

There, that was the ticket! One for distraction, two to cause confusion to his enemies, e.g. the people in possession of A Thing Jazz Wanted, and a third to blow the ever-living fuck out of irritatingly secure locks that otherwise prevented his honey from wholesale liberation of a few deliciously prized goods.

POOF.

Oops. He'd forgotten the fourth bomb in the salon. Well, that one had been a bit spur of the moment. And a leetle more powerful. Enough to, say, jar loose some ripe pickings of his own, if he were lucky. All he needed to do was circle back around, and --

The discreet two-way comms device concealed in the cunning shape of a rosebud earring spoke to him. "Overkill, Jazz. Overkill."

"Spoilsport," Jazz said, and sneezed. "Let he who has never enjoyed the smell of C4 in the morning cast the first stone in a glass house."

"Excuse me?" The voice on the comms sounded amused. "You're high on adrenaline again, aren't you?"

"Pish, tosh, nonsense, and absolutely, yes. Perhaps that was overkill. Others could say I was in the wrong, but I can't blame me."

"You are a ridiculous man," the speaker said fondly.

"I know." Jazz preened. He sneezed again. "Tch. Plastique is one thing. Debris coated in dust is quite another. What about you, tick-tock man? Did you get what you came here for?"

"Stop calling me that," Riot said, quite clear -- even over the comms -- that he didn't mind in the least, and even had a soft spot in his heart for the nickname. "Yeah, I got what I needed. And then some. Wasn't easy to find and I had to pay a price, but it was worth it."

Jazz enjoyed a ripple's worth of goosebumps. He anticipated all sorts of good things once back on board the Sarah-Jessica-No-Parking. A triumphant Riot made for a feisty Riot with his blood running hot and his body all-systems-go. He employed the same affectionate tone when he replied, "Tell that to the watercress and unspiced kimchi I had to eat to make nice with my hostess."

"The one you just blew up?"

"Unspiced kimchi," Jazz repeated.

"The trials and tragedies you face, darlin'."

"Darn right. This piece of the puzzle you went after -- tell me about it," he coaxed.

"Later. For the moment --"

"Yes, yes. Run and keep running until you swoop in to save the day, and clear out of here before the smoke does?"

"You read my mind," Riot said, very dryly indeed but pleased. Almost purring.

Consider Jazz's curiosity piqued.

"I'm on my way." Such a tragedy, but the skirts had to go. Almost a full bolt of silk! Still, a man had to do what a man had to do, even when he'd tricked himself out in the finest of ladies' clothing.

Probably more so at such times. Hmm. He'd have to think about that more later. In the meantime, business. Beautiful, sparkly, gloriously shiny business! Jazz retrieved the pouches of more easily liftable and valuable trinketry from the panniers and pushed them into his reticule.

"Jazz? When I said run, that wasn't a suggestion."

Oh! Right. "And what'll you be doing while I skedaddle? How will I know if I'm being rescued by the right man?"

"I'll be the one dangling out of an airship with a rope and a half-cocked plan."

"Easily recognizable," Jazz said happily. Wait. "How long a rope? How high do the airships go?" Wouldn't exactly Be Done to whip off the 3-D fooler facade, and on this steampunk aficionado's wet dream of a world the airships he'd seen before had to go quite high indeed --"Riot? How high?"

"High enough I'll make it worth your while to man up and climb. And," Riot purred, "when I say 'worth your while' I mean, 'I plan to punish you, then fuck you three-quarters of the way through the nearest flat surface.'"

"I am so on my way now."

"Fast?"

"Darling, you have no idea." Jazz kicked off his heels. Not the shoes, mind, those gorgeous soft-supple open-calf boots of fawn-soft suede. Just the heels and pattens. "After all, who do you think you're talking to?"

Oh dear. Jazz heard a set of mastiffs on their way. Here I go again. Skirts, knees, running feet, check. Go time.

Fast.

 

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.

 

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

 

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The Duke's Runaway Omega by Autumn Montague #LGBTQ+ #HistoricalRomance @ChangelingPress

LGBTQ+ Historical Romance, MPreg, Mystery & Suspense

Date Published: August 14, 2026

 

Phillip’s on the run, with not just one but two alphas on his trail.

 

Raised as an alpha, Phillip’s unexpected manifestation as an omega turns his life upside down. His father demands a handfasting, insisting Phillip be mated to whichever alpha wins the day with their pheromones. But when the triumphant alpha turns out to be his school friend Everett, Phillip realizes they are fated mates. However, as a diminished omega, his chances of bearing Ev’s children are slim. Heartbroken, Phillip flees to London.

Everett never expected to be Duke of Harriford. His title brings a slew of distasteful marriage and handfasting offers. The latest invitation for his old friend Phillip shocks Ev into accepting. Phillip is everything he remembers and more, and Ev soon finds himself responding to the potent scent of Phillip’s pheromones. When his mate runs, Ev questions whether their feelings are true, or merely the bond of alpha and omega. Despite his fears, he’s determined to find Phillip and bring him home.

As Ev searches London, Phillip questions the wisdom of his choices. His plans have begun to unravel rather spectacularly. To start with, he’s pregnant, the one thing he thought he’d never be. Worse, there’s an alpha hunting him -- and it’s not Ev.

 

EXCERPT

 

Yorkshire, 1811

Lord Phillip Tyerman stared through the barred windows of his tower room at the parade of men and women summoned by his father. All of them were well-heeled and every one of them was looking to make a prestigious match with the earl’s eldest son. The earl’s omega son, who was unable to inherit either lands or title. The earl’s useless son, who wasn’t even a full-fledged omega. Just a not-quite-beta whose first presentation had caused no scandal, lured no lusty alphas, and could have been passed off as little more than being in his second puberty. Not even the beta servants of the household had realized anything was amiss. Only his youngest sister had noticed. It had been Philomena, who was now heir to their father’s estate at fifteen, thanks to her unexpected and early manifestation as a dominant alpha. Lovely Phil, whose patrician nose had wrinkled as though a bad odor had just filled the air.

“What a dreadful stink! Have the oranges gone over?”

Phillip could hear it even now, a full year hence, and it still rankled to the point where he’d taken to wearing a strong sandalwood fragrance to avoid smelling like rotted fruit. His father’s shocked look had likewise never left his mind. The forbidding expression on the earl’s face had been bad enough, but Phillip’s subsequent banishment to the tower room from the heir-presumptive suite had cut even deeper. He had been nearly twenty-two at the time, grown tall and strong. He was the spitting image of his father. Everyone, even his omega mother, had assumed he’d manifest soon as an alpha, and his delicate sister as an omega.

The tall and strong young man had become the omega, and the petite, delicate, and winsome girl had become the alpha. God most certainly had a peculiar sense of humor, at least insofar as the Tyerman family was concerned.

With a snort of irritation at the memory, Phillip turned his attention back to the courtyard below, where the last equipage had rolled up to the front steps. The livery on the carriage door proclaimed the occupant to be a member of the Harrifords. Intrigued despite himself, Phillip opened the windowpanes and peered through the bars, hoping for a glimpse of whomever it was that had come from that prestigious family to gawk at the sale of the Tyermans’ awkward omega son. Of course, even if the occupant proved to be Ev Harriford, Phillip fully intended to be well away from this house long before arrangements could be made to pursue a match with any of these honored guests.

He sighed and turned away from the window, leaving it ajar to bring in fresh air to a room that was stuffy even in the dead of winter. He had no fear of his scent drawing unwelcome attention from all those alphas despite being near his heat. His pheromones were practically indiscernible, as even in heat they never carried much beyond his immediate person. The doors to the tower stair were securely locked, and only his mother and his beta valet carried the keys. He felt no qualms about allowing the room to air out while he dressed for this ridiculous charade.

Well, said charade would come to an abrupt and hopefully embarrassing end for his father. Phillip had a small bag packed with the most minimal necessities safely stowed in the bottom of the wardrobe. He’d return to his rooms to “refresh himself” when the alphas retired for brandy and banter, and he’d make his escape then, while his father negotiated with them for Phillip’s eventual marriage to the highest bidder.

The tiniest tremor ran along his spine. It seemed his estrus had chosen to come in a timely manner. At least he would not have to spend several days in isolation waiting for it to arrive so the festivities could begin in earnest. The mere thought of said festivities sent another shiver through him, this one of disgust.

A brisk tap sounded on the door, followed by the sound of keys in the lock and his mother’s quiet entrance. She gave him a mildly disapproving glance upon seeing him still in his ordinary daywear. “You should always lock the inner door, Phillip,” she chided him. “You ought to be in your tails by now. You have a scant half hour before dinner. Your father wishes you to meet the guests tonight prior to the formal ceremony on Saturday.”

“Ceremony!” Phillip winced as the word came out in shocked tones. “What ceremony?! I thought this was the usual idiotic dinner party series so he can twist the arms of his alpha friends and convince one of them to marry me to their offspring --”

“No, dear,” his mother interrupted with false serenity. She smiled at him, the attempt obviously meant to soothe, yet the smile did not reach her eyes. “The earl has decided to make this a formal handfasting ceremony, to ensure the chosen candidate does not hand you the mitten after. So only the most acceptable and honorable suitors were invited. If you don’t find anyone particularly to your liking, the earl will decide who wins the right to bond with you.”

The earl will decide. His mother’s use of his father’s title told Phillip that Lady Winifred Tyerman did not support this extraordinary decision. It also told Phillip that his father had chosen not to leave the critical matter of his awkward son to chance or romantic feelings. His thrice-damned sire would pick the person who would control Phillip for the rest of his life. Then the true significance of his mother’s words penetrated the fog engendered by the word “ceremony.”

“A handfasting? What on earth are you on about?” Phillip cursed himself for the shake in his voice.

Handfasting was an ancient custom, very much out of use, as it used a bonding bite to ensure the omega couldn’t flee with another alpha or beta. But to do so in this day? The handfasting ceremony included a public bite, binding the omega to the alpha forever, socially and physically, even if the alpha chose to marry someone else. While the ceremony wasn’t precisely outlawed, it was frowned upon as outré and generally reserved only for omegas of wealthy families perilously close to the end of their breeding years.

And this was to be his fate? He’d be damned first.

 

 

About the Author

Autumn grew up loving history, mythology, and all things Japanese, not necessarily in that order. This eclectic love affair has bled over into her writing, and her stories are always well spiced with the taste of Japan, strange mythological beasties, or the lords and ladies of the ton. Sometimes all three, leading to dark desires and forbidden loves.

And after all, dangerous passions should lead to uninhibited love.

 

Author’s Website

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

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EGYPTIAN LOVERS by Isabella Jordan #DarkParanormal #Romance

Dark Paranormal Romance

Date Published: July 31, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

In the desert sands of Egypt, three lovers battle a maniacal curse. Only their love can save them.

 

Half vampire, half sphinx, Kahma roams the deserts of Egypt, praying for death -- until his lost love returns, reincarnated as archeologist Emma Bonham. But to fulfill the passion Kahma offers, Emma must part with her life.

Fascinated by the tale of Emma Bonham’s disappearance some eighty years ago, Carson Bonham comes to Egypt to unravel the mystery. But the bloody carnage of Karnak’s history has a way of repeating itself. The struggle to keep Carson alive will be a death defying act for the powerful vampire Sopdet.

Alexis Peters has no intention of returning to Egypt, until a mysterious dream lover promises endless pleasure if she will just return to him. Little does Alexis know she’s bound to her Egyptian savior, the legendary sphinx, Amenhotep…

 

Publisher's Note: Egyptian Lovers Box Set contains the previously released novellas Kahma, Sopdet, and Ardeth & Amenhotep.

 

Excerpt from Kahma

Abydos, Egypt
November 1926

Emma Bonham moaned and writhed with Corey Dunham's head between her thighs and his strong hands holding her against his busy mouth. His tongue speared deep into her moist opening, thrusting like a cock and she moaned again, but more for his benefit than from the pleasure she couldn't focus on. Slurping, wet noises filled Emma's small tent as she played along, trying to relax into a good fuck.

She just couldn't.

Emma closed her eyes and sighed blissfully at what she hoped were believable intervals as Corey's tongue fucked her. It was so hard to focus. Her mind had been spinning since they'd finally reached Abydos that evening, the most sacred site in all of Egypt.

Abydos. Emma had spent much of her life longing to see the ancient necropolis and the famous tombs there. Tombs of ancient kings, temples of ancient gods.

Her hips left the ground as Corey's fingers played with her half-swollen clit. Corey did have nice hands and fingers and he knew just what to do with them. He'd been her lover for several months now. They'd met when he'd joined the expedition that her Aunt Elspeth coordinated back in London. Corey had been on a few expeditions to Egypt before, though his experience wasn't vast. He had more than enough experience in bed for Emma, who'd had no experiences before Corey. Emma had been as curious about sex as everything else, perpetual student that she was and Corey more than satisfied her curiosity on a number of carnal acts. She was attracted to him, trusted him.

Emma wasn't in love with Corey by any means. She liked him immensely. Corey was an attentive, considerate lover and Emma enjoyed their lovemaking.

Normally.

"You taste so damn good, Emma." Corey slid a finger into her pussy to replace his darting tongue. "I want you to come for me."

The heavy canvas of the tent rippled as the strong winds whipped around it in the desert beyond. It was just one more thing to break Emma's concentration. She began to wonder if a sandstorm was coming. Emma also wondered if she'd ever see a sandstorm. Emma could play along and fake it but she didn't want to do that to Corey. Sighing, Emma pulled herself up, surprising Corey enough that he pulled his fingers from her sheath. Before she could say anything, a desperate cry ripped open the tranquility of the night.

"Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

The frantic male cry had Corey, who was mostly dressed, on his feet and Emma scrambling to find her discarded robe. Pulling it on as fast as she could, Emma stayed right on Corey's heels as he sped out of the tent. Naked beneath the robe she held tightly to herself and with her hair flying wildly about her, Emma struggled to keep up with him as he raced toward the tent of Alan Burns, the expedition leader and her friend. The rest of their group had already gathered there.

Peering over the shoulder of Alice Henderson, one of the artists in their expedition, Emma spotted the group's writer kneeling over Alan's unmoving body in the sand. Frantically, Daniel Woods pressed his fingers to Alan's throat, searching for signs of life.

"He's dead," Daniel announced, his face stricken.

A bolt of shock and fear shot through Emma. Alan was dead? How could that be? Emma was as fond of the kind older gentleman as her Aunt Elspeth. If not for him, Emma's aunt would never have allowed her to go on the expedition. Her aunt's confidence in Alan Burns and his vast knowledge of Egypt and all its sites had won out in the end. That and the man's solemn promise to her aunt that he'd watch over Emma and keep her safe.

Tears stung the back of Emma's eyes. This is horrible.

Alice started to sob quietly in front of Emma while Corey pushed his way past the others and into the tent. Emma watched as Corey joined Daniel in searching the fallen man's body for any clues as to what had killed him. The wind ripped at Emma's robe and hair from where she stood just outside the tent as tears slid down her face. Holding her breath just like the others, she waited.

Corey's features turned hard and he pointed to the older man's ankle.

"What is it?" Emma called out to Corey.

Corey seemed not to hear her at first. He started searching the sand around him, his eyes round and filled with alarm.

"A snake bite." Corey's green eyes met Emma's. "It looks like an asp bite. What an asp is doing out here, I don't know. They usually stick to the shrubs and hillsides. They are not desert dwellers."

"Perhaps it got into Alan's bags in Cairo," Daniel suggested.

Corey nodded. "It's possible."

"Dear God in Heaven." Alice, with her stout little body, took a step back and bumped into Emma. "It could still be here."

All eyes flew to the ground, searching the sand in the dim light provided by the fires that burned inside the circle of their tents.

"Watch your step." Corey's voice took on a more authoritative tone as he met the eyes of each of the remaining members of the group in turn. "Be mindful of this. Check your blankets before you go to sleep and check your clothing before you put it on. Reach into your bags with caution."

Dashing out of the tent and to her side, Corey gently took Emma's arm. "I'll see you to your tent."

With Alan gone, Corey had to take charge now. Emma easily read the tension in the hard set of his face, felt it in the hand that lightly gripped her arm. Corey was older than her, but still young, only in his late twenties. He'd never led an expedition before. He'd told her that he'd never been to Abydos before either. All that considered, he still had more experience in exploring Egypt than anyone else in the group.

Corey gently turned her to face him when they reached her tent. With gentle fingers, he brushed at the tears on her face.

"I am sorry about Alan." Corey pulled her into his arms, holding her against his hard, warm body. "I wish I could stay here with you, but I can't. I, at least, want to know where you are and that you're safe. Emma, be careful and try to get some rest."

Emma was vaguely aware of his hands smoothing her hair, the warm kisses he dropped on her head. She didn't even care that he was holding her in such a familiar way in plain sight of the others. Surely, they had to know Corey was her lover by now.

Yet, so many emotions gripped her heart with a tightly closed fist. She'd just lost a dear friend. If that weren't bad enough, they'd also lost the one person in the expedition who'd been to Abydos before and knew how to get back. How to survive here...

What will become of us now?

Corey pulled back to gaze down into her face, his expression grave. "Go to your tent now, Emma. Try to rest."

Emma nodded, not envying Corey the position in which he now found himself. Now he was responsible for the remaining six expedition members: three artists, a writer, an organizer and Emma.

�"What will we do now?" Emma gently brushed a lock of his brown hair from his creased forehead.

"First we have to take care of Alan," Corey explained. "We'll talk about the rest in the morning."

Brushing her lips with the lightest of kisses, Corey turned and headed back to the dead man's tent. Emma watched him, her heart heavy in her chest.

An image of Alan Burns' gentle smile flashed in her mind. When he smiled he had always reminded her of her father who'd died when she was just a child. He had taken on the role of father figure to Emma as she'd gotten to know him over the years. She was going to miss Alan, and Aunt Elspeth would be devastated when she learned of his death.

Little chance she'd get any rest this night.

A strong wind blew Emma off balance before she could enter her tent, stinging her skin lightly with grains of sand. She stumbled but didn't fall as the air whistled around her body in the strangest way.

Being a native of London, Emma was used to cold winds that chilled a person to their bones and made them shiver for hours. This was something else entirely. This wind was hot and moved across her skin like a lover's hand, touching her. That was the only way to describe it. A warm rush of wind penetrated the thin fabric of her robe and blew between her thighs, causing her own intimate scent to rise up and fill the air around her. Emma gasped at the unexpected way her body responded as the wind moved all about her, the way her clit began to throb. Emma's nipples beaded hard and her skin tingled all over her body.

Then Emma heard a gentle voice on the wind as the air swirled around the sensitive flesh of her throat, blew through her hair. A deep male voice.

Senin.

As quickly as the wind had risen it was gone, leaving Emma standing there shaken and lost just outside of her tent. Had she just imagined that? Was her mind playing tricks on her in her grief?

Or had the wind really coveted her body like a lover?

Pulling the thin robe tightly about herself, Emma climbed into her tent and willed her limbs to stop shaking.

 

 

About the Author

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

Isabella would love to hear from her readers!

 

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