The Breaking of Time by J.J. Hebert #Metaphysical #Fiction

Chronicles of the Arvynth

Metaphysical Fiction

Date Published: November 25, 2025

Publisher: MindStir Media

USA Today bestselling author J. J. Hebert's brand-new urban fantasy series Chronicles of the Arvynth begins with The Breaking of Time, a novel about a devoted father whose desperate act to save his son fractures reality itself, awakening ancient magic and drawing him back into the path of an immortal order he once betrayed, where love, time, and silence collide in a race against eternity.

🏆 Mariel Hemingway's Book Club Selection (Best Urban Fantasy):

"This novel is heartfelt, gripping, and memorable in all the best ways." —Mariel Hemingway, Bestselling Author & Oscar-Nominated Actress ★★★★★

ONE FATHER'S DESPERATE CHOICE FRACTURES TIME AND REALITY ITSELF.

To everyone around him, Daniel Ward is a mild-mannered accountant, devoted husband and father in a quiet New England suburb. But when his ten-year-old son chases a runaway soccer ball into the street, straight into the path of a speeding truck, Daniel does the impossible. He freezes time.

That single act of defiance exposes the secret he's buried for decades. His magic awakens the ancient order he once betrayed, the Arvynth, a brotherhood of immortal sorcerers devoted to stillness and death, determined to silence the world.

As his carefully constructed life unravels, Daniel must protect his family while evading the brotherhood that hunts him. Every second he steals from time feeds the void that seeks to consume it, threatening not only the people he loves but reality itself.

Forced to choose between sacrifice and survival, Daniel discovers the truth: sometimes the loudest act of love is defiance.

The Breaking of Time is a race against eternity, a supernatural thriller that fuses urban fantasy and family drama in a story about the noise of life, the cost of power, and one father's desperate fight to keep the world from falling silent.

PRAISE FOR THE BREAKING OF TIME:

“Known for his cinematic writing, strong worldbuilding, and character development, Hebert’s The Breaking of Time is an exciting start to a new series… lays a solid foundation for a much larger story…” —USA TODAY contributor

"This work will grab readers’ attention early as Hebert combines a diverse array of genres—fantasy, thriller, family road novel, and others—into a fast-paced, character-driven adventure... An exciting, tightly written tale of magic... Our verdict: Get it.” —Kirkus Reviews

"The Breaking of Time is meticulously crafted to explore themes of love, loss, redemption, and the struggle to balance personal desires with greater responsibilities." —BookLife/Publishers Weekly (EDITOR'S PICK)

"The Breaking of Time: Chronicles of the Arvynth delivers cinematic urban fantasy that bridges generations, echoing the mythic gravity and moral weight of J.R.R. Tolkien while unfolding within a sleek, contemporary world... This is prestige fantasy..." —Jesse Metcalfe, Award-Winning Actor ★★★★★

"An immersive paranormal thriller that balances the rich worldbuilding and in-depth lore characteristic of fantasy fiction with the all-too-human dramas of identity, family, and the consequences of secrecy." —Independent Book Review (STARRED review)

“If you like magic that feels tactile and real, or if you enjoy emotional stakes wrapped inside supernatural danger, this book will hit the spot.” —Literary Titan★★★★★ (Gold Winner, Literary Titan Book Award: Fiction 2026)

“A smartly plotted supernatural thriller with a strong, charismatic protagonist to root for.” —The Wishing Shelf ★★★★★

"A winning blend of the supernatural and family adventure that crackles with heart and imagination." —BestThrillers ★★★★★

 

About the Author

 

 J. J. Hebert is the #1 Amazon, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of nine books, including his acclaimed debut Unconventional and The Backwards K, which, according to Newsweek, is currently in development for film adaptation. His latest #1 bestsellers, both published in 2025, are The Breaking of Time: Chronicles of the Arvynth and The Hands-On Author: Taking Control of Your Book Marketing Journey. A lifelong New England resident, Hebert frequently weaves the region’s landscapes and atmosphere into his storytelling. He is also the award-winning CEO and Founder of MindStir Media, a leading hybrid book publisher.

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ASHLIGHT DOMINION by J. Trevino Kelley #ScienceFiction #Dystopian

Post-Apocalyptic Science Fiction, Dystopian

Date Published: February 3, 2026

In a world where poisoned air has stolen breath itself, survival is no longer a solitary act, it is a covenant. From the ashes of collapse rises New Umoja, a fragile but unbroken community bound together by the Mesh, a living network of memory and thought. At its heart is a struggle: who gets to breathe, who belongs, and how hope endures when systems are built to suffocate. Ashlight Dominion follows those who refuse to vanish, weaving stories of resilience, betrayal, and rebirth into a tapestry of survival. This debut novel by J. Trevino Kelley is both mythic and immediate, exploring how history, power, and identity shape the fight to endure and remain true. With prose that burns and breathes, it asks: What does it mean to rise from ash, not untouched, but unbroken?

 

 

About the Author

 

 J. Trevino Kelley is a writer and strategist with a lifelong interest in systems, power, and human behavior. A husband and father of four, raised by a single mother as one of seven children, he draws from lived experience, leadership work, and a deep curiosity about how societies respond to disruption. His speculative fiction explores survival, identity, and the consequences of rebuilding the world after collapse. Ashlight Dominion is his debut novel.

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Impulse Caught by Emily Carrington #MM #Romance @ChangelingPress

A Sticks & Stones Romance

Marisburg Chronicles 9

M/M Romance Suspense

Date Published: March 6, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Riku takes charge in bed, but will he have any control over the day-to-day decisions of a marriage?

Money and status differences challenge Riku and Theo to find a middle ground. Their passion is white-hot, but their ideas of living comfortably are at odds. As their wedding nears, driven forward by Theo’s parents’ sense of guilt, Riku feels the old urge to run.

Riku refuses to give into this impulse at first, but as the comparison between his emotional scars and the mountains of Theo’s familial expectations grow, Riku fears running will be the only less-than-honorable course left to him.

Theo isn’t blind to Riku’s struggles but he doesn’t understand what’s wrong. Each time he reaches out, Riku reaches back, yet they never quite connect. Will their need for each other overcome their differences, or will their passion be subsumed by a wave of conflicting desires?

Excerpt

It was the day after the children had left for the summer. There would be ESY, of course, extended school year, but Riku hadn’t been asked to participate. He’d only been a teacher at the Colton school for the deaf since January, so it made sense he wouldn’t be first pick for ESY. He would have normally chewed over that until he was ill, but since Theo had gone back to work in February, they were living relatively comfortably. Riku’s student loans still put a squeeze on him, but he could manage without panicking.

He was sorting through papers posted on the walls. Most of them had gone home with their makers yesterday, but there were a few that hadn’t been collected. These he grouped into a folder he marked “leftover assignments” and stored for early September.

He glanced toward where Theo was wiping down desks, and Riku had to catch his breath. His fiancé was dressed in casual clothes, but he looked like a Greek statue come to life. Attired in a green T-shirt and jeans shorts, he looked younger than he was because of the cutoffs, but not like jailbait. He was thirty-two, having gained another year in mid-April. Unfortunately, Riku had also aged a year, so they were still a decade apart.

The brush of Theo’s medium brown hair on his green-clad shoulders made Riku think of a book he’d read in high school. It had been about a man who could sing magic into the world. His hair had been red as his Irish heritage, but the physical differences didn’t matter. Theo could definitely have sung magic into Riku’s heart, or anywhere else he chose. His broad shoulders stretched the T-shirt over his pectorals and his shorts showed off his long, muscular legs.

If they weren’t at school, Riku would have suggested they quit working and go goof off instead. Unfortunately, they weren’t in their rented room in Marisburg.

Turning his attention back to his chosen task, he went to the bookshelf and started organizing the books. Ninety percent of the books were in print, but the remaining ones were in print and braille, for his students who, like Theo, had Usher Syndrome or other hearing/vision challenges. He wasn’t the braille teacher, could barely feel the dots under his fingers, truth be told. Still, he liked the idea of providing all kinds of different access to literature. Probably that was part of what made him an effective English teacher.

With his back to Theo as he organized the books, he reflected that today most likely wouldn’t see the two of them making love.

Half a year ago, Theo’s parents, courtesy of his father’s quick tongue, had alienated themselves from their son. Mr. Billings had told Theo that if he could prove himself self-sufficient for six months, he would be welcomed back into the familial fold. Theo’s father had apologized, all but falling over his words in an attempt to retreat from the ultimatum but Theo had taken up the challenge.

Now it was the end of that six months. Theo hadn’t been out of communication with his parents, but certain topics, like his relationship with Riku, had been off-limits. As had his access to the family fortunes.

Theo had been, for the past six months, surviving on his own brilliant mind and on his ability to work from anywhere. Today, though, Theo would be reopening full communication with his parents.

Riku wasn’t sure if he should be dreading that time as much as he was.

It wasn’t that Theo hadn’t been talking to his parents. He just hadn’t accepted any monetary handouts from them, and he’d refused to discuss his relationship with Riku. It was easy to trust him, to believe he had suspended those ties temporarily. Theo was prideful and wouldn’t bend. Besides, the two of them had engaged in actual arguments about money, like any other couple.

Riku found himself smiling. Those fights had always ended in makeup sex, almost like they were a new kind of foreplay. He hadn’t always won the arguments, like the one they’d had about moving out of his ex’s house and into a rented room.

To save on money, he’d wanted to stay “just a little longer” despite the fact that they’d been sleeping on an air mattress in his ex’s living room. The word “uncomfortable” didn’t begin to define that situation but it had felt safe because Riku had been able to pay bills without worrying where he would rest at night.

Theo had ultimately been the hero of that fight because he’d shown Riku how selfish he was being. His lover had managed it without making Riku feel bad, which was almost a miracle.

So, why was he so tangled up about bringing the Billings parents back into the picture? They’d apologized for calling him Theo’s Asian fetish, which was apparently the worst offense in their eyes. Shouldn’t he forgive them?

No, he thought. There’s an essential disconnect between how I view the world and how they do. We can’t resolve that.

Hands closed on his shoulders, and he realized he’d been standing still instead of cleaning. He relaxed into the familiar touch of Theo’s skilled fingers as Theo began massaging his shoulders and that spot where he carried ninety percent of his tension, which was at the base of his skull. He must have been unmoving for quite a while because Theo, partially deaf and visually impaired as well, sometimes missed things that happened around him. He’d noticed today, though.

Riku turned and Theo dropped one hand into Riku’s palm. He signed, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m borrowing trouble,” he said and signed. He caught the light playing over Theo’s hair and reached up to touch a lock that had fallen in front of Theo’s eyes. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

“Thank you.” He laughed. “I do know, but I also am aware that you’re avoiding talking about whatever’s bothering you. What’s wrong?”

Riku shook his head, remembered Theo might not be able to see that, and answered, “I don’t want to talk about it here.”

“Maybe we should go home, and we should resume this cleaning tomorrow?”

He didn’t want to go back to the rented room and face Theo’s parents. “I’d better finish up here or it’s going to drag on all summer.”

“By yourself?”

“You can go back if you want,” Riku offered.

“Why don’t I stay with you, keep you out of your head?”

Riku hugged him, feeling the warmth of Theo’s skin on his forehead as he leaned against him. “I love you. Thank you for understanding how much I need you to be with me right now.”

Theo kissed him, angling his head so their noses didn’t bump. “I love you.” He smacked Riku’s hip lightly. “Now. Let’s get cleaning. I don’t just love you.” He signed into Riku’s hand. “I crave your touch.”

“And my mouth, I hope,” Riku signed back. “I’ve wanted to taste you for days.”

 

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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Bedtime Stories #Romance #Boxset @ChangelingPress

Bedtime Stories (#1)

Romance Box Set -- brought to you by Bedtime Stories Publishing

Date Published: February 27, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

This story’s about how Sam saved Troll’s Blog by coming up with one of the coolest ideas ever. Bedtime Stories Publishing…

Shelby Morgen -- Troll’s Blog: Perfect skin, dusted a light powder blue. Bright burgundy Mohawk. 6’4”. Dark blue uniform. Big shiny gun. Yeah. I’m the Troll under the bridge. But if you’re reading my blog, you know that. That’s why I call it Troll’s Blog. Duh. But I digress. This story isn’t about me. Not exactly. It’s about my blog. And Sam. And another one of Sam’s great ideas. You’re gonna love it. Really.

Lena Austin -- Ugly Duckling: Jean-Paul, incubus editor for Bedtime Stories Press has been assigned a new author. Dominick may be a fantastic author, but when he gets aroused, the situation gets ugly. Literally. Jean-Paul is sure he can handle Dom. Maybe…

Anne Kane -- Pixie’s Playmates: “While the story had an engaging quality, I feel that the flavor of the sex was too vanilla for Bedtime Stories Press.” When Bedtime Stories Press review coordinator Pixie calls the reviewer into the office she finds out “B.J. Smith” is really two very drool-worthy males who want to demonstrate their toys. What’s a pixie to do?

Marteeka Karland -- Shut Up! As official kitty of the Bar and Grille for the Bedtime Stories readers and authors, Callie has the last say in everything she does and with everyone in her vicinity. Then Troll makes a proclamation that could very well get someone killed. Anyone who can get the last word in on Callie gets to have his way with her in bed. It’s a proposition Eli can’t refuse. Callie’s about to get all the loving from Eli she can stand. If she can just shut up.

Note: Bedtime Stories in no way represents any actual publishing company. Any resemblance to the staff and authors of Changeling Press is purely coincidental.

That’s our story and we’re sticking to it.

Excerpt from Troll's Blog

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2026

 

I was so wrapped up watching the '50s vintage Harley coming toward me I didn't even notice he wasn't registering on my screen. As in 1950s. Well over a hundred years old, and still on the road. That machine was really flying. Well, no. Not really flying. That's an old euphemism for moving. Speeding.

God knows what he'd put in the tank. Probably running on moonshine. Nothing legal'd have it cranking like that. The sound of that motor purring down the road toward me had my blood heating up. I closed my eyes for a moment, ready to breathe in the scent of ancient exhaust.

Then it hit me. Sigh. No. Not literally hit me. My brain engaged -- enough to see the century-old motorcycle was not registering on my vid panel. Nothing. Flying completely under the radar. And he wasn't slowing down. In fact, the closer he got, the farther he laid himself out along that tank. Rider and cycle shot past me in one long black blur that had my mouth watering -- and my hand on my gun. He might be sexy as hell, all black leather stretched out long and lean over that tank, but nobody -- and I mean nobody -- runs the gate on my watch.

Alarms and sirens went off, and lights flashed down the next mile of bi-way, warning the felon that he'd best slow down and pull over before the Toll Collector caught up with him.

Not that he slowed in the least. In fact, I'd have bet a month's salary he gunned it about then.

Fine. If that's the way he wanted to play it, the chase was on.

Damn, but that view looked even better from behind.

I shook my head as I jumped into my patrol pod, a three-wheeled Flitter that was airborne at a safe hover of a half-meter or so by the time I got my Mohawk crammed into the cockpit and the door slammed shut. What the fuck was he thinking, trying to outrun a Toll Collector?

The bridge itself is a long, straight shot of highway with equally long approaches, spanning just under two kilometers of unquiet waters. This isn't just any bridge they've entrusted to me. No. It's the Golden Gate, linking Old San Francisco to Marin Co., California. One of the longest bridges in the world. One of the few still in constant operation. Sure, a lot of people use Flitters these days, rather than ground vehicles, but Flitters aren't exactly safe hovering over rough water, and the bay's never calm. So unless you've got a full pilot's license, and something jet propelled, if you're going south, you've got to pass over my bridge.

And pay my toll. Which this asshole had elected not to do.

I'm not exactly an inexperienced pilot. I know my bridge like she was my baby. She's 2.7 kilometers, from abutment to abutment, laid out straight and true as an arrow shot from a master's bow. We crossed her in just under one minute, and if I hadn't been so pissed off, I'd have been scared shitless.

Yeah, even a Troll can experience fear. Doesn't happen often, I'll admit, but chasing that leather-clad backside across that bridge through sheering winds high above some of the roughest, coldest water this side of hell at 200 KPH is more of a thrill than even a Troll is used to.

I could tell, too, from the way he hugged that tank, that he was really getting off on the chase. Every time the wind hit him he'd roll his shoulders, leaning back into it like he was riding a lover. He glanced back at me once, facemask lifted enough for me to see him grin. I'd bet my pension he had a boner the size of his ego. When I caught this idiot of a Human he was going to get a piece of a little more than my mind. I might even resort to police brutality -- before I friggin' killed him.

No Human scares a Troll and gets away with it.

About the Authors

Anne Kane: Anne Kane lives in the beautiful Okanagan Valley with a bouncy little rescue dog whose breed defies description and an Aussie Shepherd who’s too smart for her own good. Anne likes to write spicy stories with sassy heroines and protective, sexy male heroes who love those women. Her stories all have one thing in common: a happily ever after ending.

Lena Austin: Someone cursed Lena Austin with "may you have a life so full you'll have many tales to tell your grandchildren." Lena's a "fallen" society wench with a checkered past. She's been a licensed minister, hairdresser, Realtor, radio DJ, exotic dancer, telephone service tech, live-steel medievalist swordswoman, BDSM Mistress, and investment property manager. Not necessarily in that order. She never finished that degree in marine archaeology, but did learn to scuba -- she's got a lifetime of "Research material!"

Marteeka Karland: International bestselling author Marteeka Karland leads a double life as an action romance writer 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 heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful ending.

Shelby Morgen: Shelby Morgen loves writing offbeat tales that defy as many rules as possible.

She likes chocolate with her peanut butter, suspense with her romance, and kink with her sex, and she’s always had a hard time keeping murder, motorcycles, science fiction, fantasy and paranormal from mixing with her kink.

 

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Enemies With Benefits by Wanda VioletO. #BDSM #Erotica

 

Sanctum Black (#1)

A Razor’s Edge Enemies to Lovers BDSM Erotica Short

BDSM Erotica

Date Published: February 27, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Power made them enemies. Desire makes them reckless. One surrender changes everything.

Mira: Elias Hartmann is a billionaire power player and my biggest professional obstacle. Six months of brutal negotiations turned into six months of tension I refuse to name. Every meeting is a battle. Every look feels like a challenge I shouldn’t want to accept. Then I receive an invitation to Sanctum Black. A private sex club where power, and desire collide. When Elias appears, I should leave. Instead, I let him show me exactly how thin the line is between control and surrender. Outside, we’re enemies fighting for the upper hand. Inside, I give him everything I pretend I don’t crave.

Elias: Mira Calder doesn’t bend. She dismantles. Brilliant, relentless, and impossible to ignore. I wanted her from the first meeting. Not romance. Not dates. I wanted to break her composure and earn her surrender. Sanctum Black gives us rules, boundaries, and privacy with no consequences. Just heat, power, and obsession in a safe, anonymous environment. She’s my equal in the boardroom. In the dark, she’s mine to challenge and claim. Enemies to lovers. High-stakes power play. One mistake neither of us can afford to walk away from untouched.

Excerpt

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2026 Wanda Violet O.

Mira

The moment I crossed the threshold of my apartment, I kicked off my heels, not caring where they landed. My feet throbbed with the special kind of pain reserved for women who spent twelve hours in Italian leather torture devices, all for the sake of standing eye-to-eye with men who confused height with authority. The negotiation with Elias Hartmann had dragged on until sunset, both of us refusing to yield on key points until our respective teams were practically falling asleep at the table. I’d won this round, but victory felt hollow when measured against the ache behind my eyes.

“Fuck it,” I muttered to no one, dropping my briefcase on the entryway bench. My apartment greeted me with familiar silence, the kind I usually found comforting after days filled with strategic verbal combat. Tonight, though, it felt like just another empty space.

I shrugged off my blazer and hung it with more care than I’d shown my shoes. Six hundred dollars of tailored wool deserved better, even if I couldn’t muster the energy to pick up my heels, which were now scattered across my polished hardwood floor. My blouse came next, the top three buttons already undone during the elevator ride up. Freedom, in small increments.

The wine rack in my kitchen called to me like a beacon. I selected a Cabernet I’d been saving, though I couldn’t remember why. Some mythical special occasion that never materialized. The cork came free with a satisfying pop that echoed in my silent kitchen.

I didn’t bother with a glass at first, taking a generous swig straight from the bottle. Only after that initial hit did I pour properly, the dark liquid swirling as I carried it to my living room. The tension in my neck had transformed into something solid, a concrete weight pressing down on my spine. I rolled my head, feeling vertebrae pop in protest.

Elias fucking Hartmann. The man was infuriating. Brilliant, undoubtedly, but maddening in a way that made me want to either slap him or…

I cut that thought off, unwilling to follow where it led. Six months of negotiations over this acquisition, and the progress we’d made could be measured in millimeters. Every concession was a battle, every clause scrutinized with microscopic closeness.

I raised my wine glass to take a healthy pull. I couldn’t deny the grudging respect I’d developed for my opponent. He had a mind like a steel trap and eyes that missed nothing. Including, I suspected, the way my breath sometimes caught when he leaned too close across the conference table.

I massaged my temples, pressing hard enough to make little starbursts appear behind my closed eyelids. Professional attraction was a complication I didn’t need. Especially not with someone whose corporate ambitions directly opposed my client’s interests.

Something caught my eye as I passed entryway table. A black envelope, sleek and heavy, with a minimalist gold emblem stamped in the corner. I froze, wine glass halfway to my lips. It definitely hadn’t been there this morning.

Setting down my glass, I approached the envelope cautiously, as though it might bite. My building had excellent security, a key consideration when I’d purchased the apartment. Someone placing this here meant either my security had been compromised, or…

I picked it up, feeling the substantial weight of the cardstock. Expensive. The gold emblem caught the light, an ornate “SB” intertwined in a design that managed to suggest both elegance and something darker. No postage, no address. Just my name in metallic ink that gleamed under my fingertips.

I slid my finger under the flap, breaking the wax seal that I hadn’t initially noticed. Inside was a single card of the same heavyweight black stock, text printed in the same gold ink.

To: Ms. Mira Calder

You are cordially invited to Sanctum Black, where discretion meets pleasure without judgment. Your reputation for excellence has been noted by our selection committee. Should you choose to accept, present this invitation at 1158 Blackwood Avenue at 10 PM this evening.

Boundaries respected. Desires fulfilled.

Sanctum Black

Your privacy is our sacred covenant

HW George

Concierge

I turned the card over, looking for more information, but found only the same emblem from the envelope. Sanctum Black. I’d heard whispers about it in certain circles. Sanctum Black was an exclusive club where the elite could shed their public personas. Not exactly a sex club, but definitely not a simple social club either. The kind of place where people went when they wanted experiences they couldn’t get elsewhere, with the absolute certainty that what happened there would never leave its walls.

My analytical mind immediately began dissecting how my name had reached their “selection committee.” Who had recommended me? What did they know about me that made them think I’d be interested? And more importantly, who else might I encounter there?

 

About the Author

Welcome to Wanda Violet O.'s world of bedtime fantasy, where you'll find a variety of sexy creatures ready to drink their fill. Wanda specializes in extreme kink. Monsters, BDSM role play... she's got it all. Come take a look for yourself!

 

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