Silver Spider by Lena Austin #LGBTQ+ #Romance @ChangelingPress

A Paranormal Murder Mystery Romance

Fantasy / Romance / LGBTQ+

Date Published: June 5, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

The secretive Duke of Aberystwyth has invited Madge Majesty to a murder mystery party, but he's the first victim!

Madge is a harpy, mystery writer, and amateur sleuth with a nose for murder. At her side is her faithful chauffeur, Hayden, who is a telekinetic ex-thief -- and a confirmed bachelor.

Now it's up to Madge to solve the whodunit. Her suspects are a motley assortment of inverts and very nervous heterosexuals, all of whom have more than just their sexual foibles to hide. Is it the cross-dressing vampire, the packless werewolf, the voyeuristic doctor, the gargoyle majordomo, or the promiscuous man who seems bent on getting everyone into his bed, including Hayden?

Excerpt

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2026 Lena Austin

"Madame?"

Madge Majesty looked up from her study of the papers spread on her lap and across the seat of her beloved 1912 Rolls Royce Silver Ghost Limousine. "Yes, Hayden?"

"Madame, Dunraven Castle is but perhaps half an hour away. You requested a warning." Hayden had lasted years longer than any of her other drivers, so he knew he was liked, but wasn't fool enough to take advantage of that knowledge. Harpies were not creatures to take lightly.

"Hmm. So I did." She gathered up her papers and stuffed them into her leather case. Wearily, she pulled on the gloves she'd laid to the side and put on the ridiculously large hat with an immense array of feathers decorating it. "There. I'm properly adorned." She huffed out an unladylike breath, as much as her corset would allow. "I'd give a great deal to be back in Greece where the fashions were sensible."

Hayden quirked a smile at her. "But not warm, Madame. Wales in winter is considerably chillier." As if to emphasize his point, the wind rattled the Rolls with no respect for the craftsmanship that went into it.

"I'm very sorry I agreed to be the Duke's hostess for this mystery party. Why didn't I refuse and stay in our lovely townhouse in London, where I could enjoy a party or write as I pleased?" Madge rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Ah, well, what's done is done. We'll make the best of the weekend and be toasting our toes in front of the home fires soon enough."

"I've never been to a mystery party, Madame. How does one throw a party for a mystery?"

"Very simple. It's all in this box." Madge patted the locked strongbox beside her. "There are clue cards and the basic plot for me to follow. This one is perfect for a winter game, called The Santa Clause. Who wouldn't love to murder a solicitor or two now and again?" She shrugged. "I certainly would, upon occasion."

Hayden retreated into silence and returned his attention to maneuvering her precious new car through the few treacherous roads that Wales bothered to have at all. The ex-thief was not fond of anyone who had anything to do with the law. He was officially rehabilitated, but a mere ten years of service as her driver didn't negate a lifetime of running from authority. An extremely careful and quiet man by nature, he was -- in Madge's opinion -- the perfect companion, much better than a twittering peahen of a lady's maid.

The car lurched and slid to one side on a patch of icy mud, throwing Madge against the door. She bore it in stoic silence. Hayden wouldn't understand how much they needed the money provided by this weekend of enforced merriment. Everyone was writing books in this day and age, and she wouldn't say the money she earned was paltry, but it certainly didn't allow for a lavish lifestyle. In fact, if the truth were known, Hayden was the only employee she could afford. Thus, while on their jaunts -- often paid by those who wished for a bit of fame and glamour to rub off on them -- Hayden served as chef, chauffeur, lady's maid, and man of all work.

Since it suited her to be knowledgeable about subjects many men hadn't even the stomach for, Madge pulled out of her case one of the few books where the great Sigmund Freud appeared to change his mind on the subject of anxiety and inhibitions. Madge grinned to herself. She did love humor, especially when humans meant to be serious. "Of course we all have inhibitions, moronic little man."

Her mumble caught Hayden's attention. "Why do you bother with that mumbo-jumbo, Madame? He thinks everything has to do with sexual congress!"

"Hmm, yes, well, he does have certain prejudices, doesn't he? I'm not aberrant because I enjoy sex, and I seriously doubt the way your mother changed your nappies has anything to do with your homosexuality. Do be forgiving, dear. He's hopelessly addicted to cocaine, and trapped in a repressed society."

Sadly, everything she said was true. "You'd know more about repressed societies than I, Madame. I'm only a poor human, after all." Hayden gave her one of his infamous Mona Lisa smiles -- a smile that showed no teeth but implied much more than mischief while keeping well into propriety. Bless him, he never stepped a toe out of line publicly, unless called upon to do so.

Madge, on the other hand, had no compunctions about showing her fangs, even when she covered her retractable dagger-like talons with silk gloves. The pointed ears peeking out of dark curls and her Grecian looks marked her as a foreigner in a land notable for its snobbery, but Madge saw no need to bother hiding herself. Well, all right, she hid the wings. Blasted things got in the way if she didn't, but that was for her convenience and not propriety. She was what she was -- an expatriate harpy who told a good story and occasionally found cause to use her bloodthirsty nature to solve a mystery.

The irony was, no one ever thought to accuse her of the murders because harpies weren't known for subtlety when it came to killing. Madge acknowledged the legend with twisted lips, and didn't bother to remind anyone that she was free and no longer the slave of the Furies.

Framed by snow clouds the color of a pigeon's breast, Dunraven Castle hove up from the surrounding hills like a fairytale. Beautifully situated and scrupulously maintained by a trust none of the Duke's wastrel ancestors could touch, it was a welcoming sight in the gathering gloom of dusk. Thanks to the road conditions, if you dared call the deeply rutted mud tracks by the same noble word the Romans used for their craftsmanship, they were hours late. They'd missed tea in their haste to make up time, and now her stomach rumbled audibly. "Have we time for a biscuit, Hayden?"

"Was that your stomach, Madame? Surely I thought we were about to have a storm." Hayden pretended to study the sky very seriously. At the same time, his hand reached back imploringly. "I'd love a bikky, thank you. No doubt I've missed the servant's dinner, and I've no mind to make do with a bit of cold chicken and some bread until morning."

Chuckling wickedly because he knew she always insisted he sit with her at table, forestalling any foolish matchmaking attempts, Madge handed him a large shortbread biscuit from her hamper, and they munched companionably. Finally, the car traversed the bridge atop the dry moat and passed through the portcullis into the courtyard of Dunraven.

"Just do me one small favor, Madame?" Hayden did not move from the seat to open her door.

"So serious! Very well, what is it?" She thought she knew, but made him ask.

"Let's try not to let this weekend become a real murder mystery?" His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, and she imagined under the proper driving gloves of his profession, his knuckles were white. Poor thing, he really had suffered at the last mysterious weekend, and had ended up incarcerated for three days until Madge had proven to everyone's satisfaction that another had committed the deed. For poor Hayden, it had been a truly miserable occasion.

Madge patted his shoulder. "Buck up, Hayden. I'm planning nothing more than a game all weekend. After all, what could happen in the Duke's presence?"

 

About the Author

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!"

Hey, why waste these stories on kids who won't listen anyway? Writing them down is a nice way to spend her retirement. What? You expected an ex-BDSM Mistress to take up crocheting or something?

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SHADOW by Anne Kane #MCromance @ChangelingPress

 

Riptide MC, Books 6

MC Romance

Date Published: June 6, 2026

Publisher: ChangelingPress

In my world, loyalty is everything and Wynter is mine. Mess with her, you answer to me.

Wynter -- Scary Guy lived up to his name, threatening to rape me and sell me as a whore. Not happening. I reached for the hidden blade at my ankle just as a tattooed biker wearing a Riptide MC cut stepped in to save me. The dude knew how to handle an asshole like Scary Guy without breaking a sweat. Gorgeous as he is, this biker isn’t just eye candy. I find myself kissing him in the middle of a crowd of nerds and superheroes. I have a thing for tough guys with tattoos. My head tells me to run, but I want more. I want him.

Shadow -- I noticed her the second she slipped in front of us, alert and watchful like she expected trouble just for existing. When some ape starts pawing her, I step in. Nobody manhandles a woman in front of me. I pretend she belongs to me, and she plays right along. I’m willing to do more than just talk tough if the bastard won’t back off. When he proves how stupid he is, attacking her in the parking lot, I’ve got the excuse I needed to beat some sense into him. Wynter’s mine, whether she knows it or not. Trouble’s not finished with her, and neither am I.

Excerpt

Copyright ©2026 Anne Kane

Wynter

I glanced over my shoulder. He was still there.

I’d dubbed him Scary Guy.

I tried to convince myself I was just being paranoid and the guy just happened to be headed in the same direction as me. I’d never seen him before; I was sure of that. You didn’t forget a face like his with a jagged scar down the side of his cheek and a spider web with a skull in the center tattooed on his neck. There was no reason for him to be fixated on me.

I certainly wasn’t the kind of woman men liked to fantasize over. I was short, wiry, and dressed as a Browncoat, one of the characters out of my favorite sci-fi series. I didn’t have a spectacular rack or an hourglass figure and my hair hung in a single braid down my back, the only way I’d found to keep it from exploding into a messy tangle.

I assessed him out of the corner of my eye. He was big and solid, although at this distance it was hard to tell if that bulk was muscles or a beer belly. He had on some kind of dark costume with a black cape that fell to mid-thigh. This was a comic book convention, so his outfit wasn’t all that strange. I had no idea who he thought he looked like. I swear ninety percent of the people here wore capes of some type. It could be anybody or nobody.

He looked dangerous, though, the kind of guy you avoid being caught alone with. Unfortunately, I was well acquainted with the type. I grew up in the projects, daughter of a junkie too deep into her addictions to care about me. Self-preservation meant I’d developed a sixth sense when it came to creeps like this a long time ago.

I gave my head a mental shake. This may not be Dragon Con in Atlanta, but there were still several thousand people here. He couldn’t just drag me off to a dark room, even if he wanted to, so why did his stare send shivers of apprehension down my spine?

As if he could sense my attention, the asshole grinned at me and licked his lips. Yikes! If I had any doubt that he was focused on me, it fled right then and there.

“Excuse me.” I shouldered my way between a young woman dressed as Batwoman and a couple dressed as Shrek and his bride. Zigzagging back and forth, I headed for the doorway. Maybe I could lose the creep in the crowd.

“Hey, watch it!” A Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle glared up at me when I accidentally stood on her foot. This section of the event was crowded, waiting for some promised celebrities to appear. I mumbled an apology and continued to wade my way through the crowd, trying to recall the map they’d handed me when I got here. The place was a warren of smaller rooms radiating off a central hall. I should be able to find a spot to hide.

A quick glance behind me showed Scary Guy was following me. My heart rate increased as adrenaline flooded my system. I had too much at stake right now to be caught in an altercation with anyone.

The crowd parted in front of the jerk with no effort from him. I got it. One glare from that face and no one wanted the kind of trouble it promised. I still didn’t understand why he’d singled me out. Just my bad luck? I felt like a rabbit being stalked by a coyote, looking for a hole to vanish into. I just needed to get out of his line of sight long enough to dart into one of those smaller side rooms and disappear.

It seemed like forever before I finally reached the doorway and plunged out into the main hall. The crowds were thinner here, and I took advantage of the opportunity to dash across to the far side and slide into the Marvel Comics section.

Not surprisingly, the room was crowded, people packed in shoulder to shoulder. For once my lack of height played to my advantage. Anyone scanning the area from the entranceway would have a hard time seeing me when most of the gathering towered over top of me. Making my way to the center of the room, I turned to scan the area behind me.

Nothing.

Scary Guy was nowhere in sight. I let out a ragged breath and put a hand up to my chest. I could feel my heart racing beneath my fingertips. So much for being a brave member of the Resistance. All it took was one creepy guy to send me scurrying for cover. He hadn’t even been that close to me, let alone within touching distance.

I inhaled deeply, trying to remember the meditation class I’d once attended. I needed to calm down. It’s not like this was the first time I found myself running from the hint of danger. As a kid, my life had been chaotic at best. My mother might have been a junkie who cared more about her next fix than me, but in order to stay out of the foster care system, I’d had to make sure she stayed alive.

Sometimes that meant doing things that could get me thrown into juvie, like pick-pocketing for rent money. It was more luck than skill that I never got caught. I became an expert at shoplifting and begging long before I hit double digits. I had a plan, and I clung to it like a drowning man clinging to a life raft. All I had to do was make it to sixteen without drawing the attention of Child Protective Services, and I could split. Free from the threat of foster care, I could do anything I wanted.

A simple plan, but a workable one.

Then my mom got pregnant again.

I have no idea who Star’s father is, and I doubt Mom did either. She was at that point in her addiction where she would sleep with anyone for a fix so there were lots of candidates to choose from, and none of them had names.

My little sister was born on a hot July day, in the back of a dealer’s van, and I was instantly smitten. Somehow Child Protective Services didn’t get wind of the birth, or they were too overworked to care about one more kid who wouldn’t amount to much. Mom brought the baby home, and I took over, making sure Star was fed and clothed and stayed alive.

I already knew how her life would go if I didn’t stick around, so it’s not like I had a choice. Star blinked up at me with those big blue eyes, and my heart melted. I promised myself then and there that I’d look after her.

Star wasn’t exactly a normal name, but then neither was Wynter. Mom had a thing for weird names. Maybe it came from having such a boring name herself, or maybe she thought naming my little sister Star would give her a chance in life. In her own way, when the need for a fix wasn’t consuming her, I liked to think Mom cared about us.

My attention snapped back to the present. Something was happening in the front of the room. A buzz of excitement swept through the crowd. I stretched up on tiptoe to see, but there were three big guys in front of me blocking my view. They laughed and joked with one another, oblivious to me or anyone else in the crowd.

Gritting my teeth, I squeezed between them.

No wonder the crowd was so excited. From a partially hidden door up front, four of the Marvel Avengers stalked into the room. Iron Man, Captain America, and the Hulk all took their seats at the signing table while the Black Widow stood up and swept the room with a piercing gaze. With a theatrical flourish, she picked up the microphone from the table in front of her. Laughter and excitement rippled through the crowd as she introduced herself and her companions as if everyone present wasn’t very aware of who they were. Showing off her agility with an impressive back flip, she landed in her seat and indicated the signing was now open.

The crowd surged forward, carrying me along with it. I had no intention of paying to have someone sign a comic for me, no matter how famous or agile they were, but the crowd’s excitement was contagious. It didn’t cost anything to watch, and if I got close enough, I might even be able to get a picture of one of the fabled Avengers on my phone. Star would love that. She was eight and loved comic books the way I loved to draw. I fished my phone out of my pocket and let out a sigh of relief when I saw I’d actually remembered to fully charge it the night before. Now I just needed to get close enough to that table to snap a picture or two.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and I glanced behind me, expecting to see Scary Guy. Instead, my gaze landed on the three big guys I’d seen earlier, still laughing and joking with each other. I’d noticed that they all wore leather cuts with some kind of logo on the back, and I’d spent enough time on the streets to know what that meant.

It showed their motorcycle club affiliation, and not the granddaddy going for a Sunday ride kind of club. That alone should have twigged my survival instinct, but for some reason it didn’t. They certainly looked the part of outlaw gang members. Tough, tattooed, leather-clad guys with muscles to spare, they had that aura about them that spelled danger. Not a bunch you’d want to mess with, especially if you were trying to convince the courts you were a responsible, law-abiding citizen.

The biker in the center looked directly at me, and a slow grin spread across his face. He lifted one brow as if questioning my attention. Damn, he was mouthwatering, although maybe that wasn’t quite the word. Appealing? Sexy? Tempting? Definitely not hard on the eyes. I could picture myself licking my way down his…

I blushed, but I didn’t look away. He looked like the kind of guy who wouldn’t be shocked by my home life or my mom’s abdication of her parental responsibilities. Maybe a carnal distraction might help settle my nerves before the court date.

A commotion erupted in the entranceway, pulling me out of my daydream. Scary Guy and his buddies were pushing their way into the room, knocking other attendees out of their way like might made right or some other stupid macho shit. Abandoning my silent exchange with Sexy Biker, I pivoted to face the front of the room. Hopefully Scary Guy wouldn’t be able to pick me out of the crowd if he couldn’t see my face. Not like we were old buddies or anything.

The Marvel characters were hamming it up, signing, and occasionally posing for photos. A couple of conference workers dressed in shirts with the Marvel logo on them were collecting money from the fans as they handed over comics to sign or the fee for having their picture taken with one of the celebrities. When the characters stood to pose with the fans, I managed to snap some shots with my phone, although I wasn’t close enough for details. I could tweak the pictures when I got back home, editing out the fans. With any luck, I’d have a few usable pictures for Star to gush over.

I jumped as an enormous hand clamped down painfully on my shoulder. “Thought you could get away, did you?”

Shit.

Scary Guy.

I couldn’t afford to just knee the asshole in the balls, tempting as that was. The courts would definitely frown on that. Plastering a calm expression on my face, I twisted around and drew my brows down in a puzzled frown. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

His grin was pure evil. “Not yet, but I plan to fix that. You’re coming with me to a place where we can get to know each other real well.” Keeping his hand on my shoulder, he swept my body with a glance that left me feeling dirty. “Real, real well.”

I shook my head, trying to resist the temptation to pull my knife out of its hidden ankle sheath. “Sorry, but I don’t think my boyfriend would like that.” I tried to shrug his hand off my shoulder. “He’s a bit old-fashioned when it comes to things like that.”

Scary Guy dismissed my imaginary boyfriend with a flick of his hand. “Where is he? My boys can take care of him.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m flattered you think I’m worth that much trouble, but I’m going to pass. I have things to do today.” I shrugged out from under his hand and took a step toward the back of the room. The people around us were too wrapped up in the excitement of the Avengers to pay any attention to my discomfort and shifted to let me through.

Scary Guy reached out to stop me, hooking one meaty hand into the belt at my waist. I twisted in his grip, and anger mottled his expression. “I don’t think you understand, bitch. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.”

So much for playing the model citizen.

I reached for my knife.

* * *

 

About the Author

Anne Kane lives in the beautiful Okanagan Valley with a bouncy little rescue dog whose breed defies description, a cantankerous Himalayan cat, and too many fish to count. She spent many years trying to fit in and act normal, but finally gave up the effort. She started writing romance in 2008, and her fate was sealed when she won a publishing contract with Red Sage Publishing and just a month later Changeling Press accepted her first submission. Since then she has published more than thirty stories in a variety of sub-genres, all with a happily ever after.

She has two handsome sons and six adorable grandchildren and enjoys spending time with them whenever she can. Her hobbies, when she’s not playing with the characters in her head, include kayaking, hiking, swimming, playing guitar, singing and of course, reading.

 

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Across and Down in the Desert by M.J. Coss #CozyMystery

A Phyllis Doran Cozy Mystery

Cozy Mystery

Date Published: May 1, 2026

A crossword puzzle. A vanished archaeologist. A desert that refuses to forget.

Retired archaeologist Phyllis Doran is enjoying the quiet beauty of the Arizona desert, until a mysterious crossword puzzle leads her to a trail of hidden clues. As curiosity pulls her deeper into the puzzle, Phyllis discovers that some secrets are buried for a reason… and solving this one may take all her wit and courage.

 

 

About the Author

 

 M. J. Coss is the author of the Phyllis Doran Mystery series, beginning with Across and Down in the Desert. Blending puzzle-driven storytelling with richly detailed settings, his work explores the intersection of history, language, and human resilience.

Set against the striking backdrop of the American Southwest, his mysteries follow retired field archaeologist Phyllis Doran as she uncovers buried secrets that refuse to stay hidden. With a love of wordplay and layered clues, Coss crafts stories where every answer leads to a deeper question, and every puzzle carries real consequences.

He is also the author of the Grady the Groundhog’s Maplewood Tales series for young readers (also available on Amazon), written under the name C.A. Coss.

Coss lives in Northeast Ohio with his family, where he continues to write stories that celebrate curiosity, perseverance, and the thrill of discovery.

 

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The Algorithm of Us by Anh Sphabmixay #RomCom

Contemporary Romance, Rom-Com, Women’s Fiction

Date Published: April 29, 2026

Maya Lin never wanted to become the headline.

As the architect behind HeartSpark’s revolutionary dating algorithm, she built her career on one belief: love could be understood through data, patterns, and predictability. But after a viral breakup puts both her reputation and her company under public scrutiny, Maya finds herself forced into the spotlight she spent years avoiding.

Enter Eli Torres — sharp-tongued podcast host, relentless skeptic, and one of HeartSpark’s loudest critics.

When public backlash pushes them into an uneasy collaboration, their clashing beliefs ignite a tension neither of them can explain away. Maya trusts logic. Eli believes love is chaos. But the more time they spend challenging each other, the harder it becomes to ignore the connection growing between them.

Now Maya must decide whether love is something that can truly be calculated… or something that has to be felt.

About the Author

Anh Sphabmixay is a Colorado-based author who writes heartfelt stories centered on connection, kindness, and the beauty found in everyday moments. Inspired by her loving family—including her imaginative daughter and beloved Yorkie, Abbie—Anh creates stories that celebrate emotion, wonder, and human connection.

As a devoted wife and mother, she believes storytelling has the power to bring people together and leave a lasting impact on readers of all ages. When she’s not writing, Anh enjoys experimenting in the kitchen, capturing memories with her daughter and dog, and finding inspiration in life’s simple joys.

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DAN TESSON a thriller by Sean O'Leary #Dystopian #SciFi

Dystopian Thriller, Psychological Thriller, Science Fiction Thriller, Supernatural Thriller

They tried to erase this book. That’s why you should read it.

Stamped BANNED — DECREE 2039, wrapped in warnings that say DO NOT READ. DO NOT BELIEVE, Dan Tesson: A Thriller refuses to stay buried.

Written two decades ago and now resurfacing, this dystopian psychological thriller feels less like fiction—and more like a message that arrived early.

In a world shaped by control, perception, and quiet manipulation, Dan Tesson is forced to confront something far more dangerous than power: truth. As reality fractures and the rules governing society begin to reveal their cracks, he’s pulled into a system designed not just to influence behavior—but to redefine belief itself.

What happens when authority decides what is real?

What happens when questioning becomes a crime?

What happens when truth is labeled dangerous?

Blending dystopian fiction, science fiction, supernatural elements, and psychological tension, this novel explores uncomfortable territory—where control isn’t always visible, and freedom may be an illusion people willingly accept.

 

This is not a safe story.

It is not designed to reassure.

It asks questions many would rather avoid.

 

And that may be exactly why it was banned in their time.

 

If you’re drawn to provocative, thought-driven thrillers that challenge perception and push beyond the expected, Dan Tesson will not let you look away.

 

You were told not to read it.

 

Read to believe.

About the Author

Sean O'Leary is a local Utah author whose work moves between dystopian thrillers, science fiction and fantasy, children's stories, photo essays, literary collaborations, and reader-focused projects built around libraries, curiosity, and story.

 

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