Tuesday, December 19, 2023

BLADES (Devil's Fury MC) by Harley Wylde #MCromance @changelingpress


(Devil’s Fury MC)

Motorcycle Club Romance, Age Gap, Suspense

Date Published: Dec 29 2023



China -- I came to the US to further my education. I never counted on falling for a gruff biker who was so much older than me. But Blades never hesitated when I told him I was pregnant. He was the best man I’d ever met… until he went to prison. All our lives unraveled after that. My daughter was taken from me, and I was sold. I thought I’d never escape the hell of being exploited and abused, until he walked through the doors again, looking like a wrathful angel. He may have saved me, but do I really deserve his love?

Blades -- Being falsely accused of murder was bad enough. Finding out someone stole my woman and daughter was another. Our precious little Meiling found herself a good man, and she’s safe. Now I need to save her mother. My China. I’m going to gut everyone who dared to touch her and send them all straight to hell… then I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to her she’s safe with me, and that I’ve never stopped loving her. China and Meiling are my entire world, and I’m going to protect them -- this time.


WARNING: Guaranteed happily ever after, no cliffhanger, no cheating. Recommended for readers 18+ due to adult situations, language, and violence.




Copyright ©2023 Harley Wylde


I eyed the man in front of me. It had been a long ass time since I’d seen the Devil’s Fury cut. “So, one of you finally came to see me. No one’s ever brought a pretty woman with them, though.”

The name Dingo wasn’t one I was familiar with. Then again, he looked young. Probably started prospecting after I’d been locked up. He put his hand on the woman’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“You’re Robert Young?” she asked.

“Don’t go by that name anymore. I’m Blades. Who’s looking for Young?”

She took a breath and seemed to be steeling herself. I should have been the one preparing. Her next words would have knocked me on my ass if I’d been standing.

“I’m Meiling Shan Young. Your daughter, if my birth certificate is correct.”

I fell back against the metal chair. My daughter? “Fucking hell.”

“So you do know who I am?” she asked.

“Yeah. Told your mother not to bring you here. Why did she let you come now?” In all this time, China had stayed away just as I’d demanded. Had something happened to bring my daughter here after all these years?

“She didn’t. I don’t even remember her,” Meiling said.

My gaze shot to Dingo. Who the hell was he? Why had he brought her here? “Are you responsible for her being here? How she’d get mixed up with the club? I told Xi-wang to keep away from the Devil’s Fury.”

“We don’t know yet what happened to Xi-wang. Shortly after you were locked up, your daughter went into foster care and her mother vanished without a trace,” Dingo said. “As to why she’s with me… she’s my wife.”

I shot to my feet. “Like fuck she is!”

After everything I’d been through to keep them safe, this had to happen? I didn’t know how she’d met this bastard, but I’d see to it he was buried six feet under. How dare he touch my precious child?

“Sit down, old man,” Dingo said. “She’s been accepted by the club as my ol’ lady, and we’re legally married. Besides, she could be carrying your grandchild.”

I felt my blood pressure rising and wanted nothing more than to wring his neck. Slowly, I took my seat. Going after him right now wouldn’t do me any good. If my daughter liked him, then it would only hurt my relationship with her -- assuming I ever had the chance to have one.

“Why the fuck are you here?” I asked, focusing on Dingo.

“We need some answers. Mei doesn’t remember her mother, and never knew about you. In fact, her birth certificate was buried and a false one put in its place. You tried to keep her a secret, but it’s time to talk.”

I didn’t like it, but they weren’t the only ones who needed answers. They said my daughter couldn’t remember her mother. Where the hell was China? If I found out someone had hurt her, I was going to slaughter everyone responsible. “Fine. I’ll tell you what I know, then you explain what’s really going on.”

I told them how I met Meiling’s mother, about us falling in love, and me keeping the two of them a secret from the club. Everything up until I went to prison. After that, I lost track of China. I’d thought she was only listening to me and keeping away as I’d told her to do. I should have found a way to check up on her.

Meiling slumped in her seat. “So you don’t know what happened to her, or how I ended up in foster care?”

“Nope. I never even heard she was missing. No one ever came to ask me about you, but you were mine legally. If someone finds out what happened, I sure the fuck want to know,” I said.

“Outlaw is working on it,” Dingo said. “He’s a hacker for the club. Only thing we know for sure is the foster family who had Meiling…” Dingo stopped mid-sentence.

I wanted to ask what the hell a hacker was, but more importantly, what was it he didn’t want to tell me? If it had to do with my daughter, then I deserved to know. He might be married to her, but she was my baby first and foremost.

Meiling met my gaze. I knew whatever they were hiding would gut me. “He doesn’t want to tell you.”

“Did they hurt you?” I asked.

“They made her into a whore by the age of fourteen,” Dingo said. Even I could hear the pain in his voice.

I slammed my fists into the table, and everything went red. I roared out my rage, standing so fast the chair fell over. I ripped the chain free of the table and continued to pound the metal surface, denting it. Guards rushed in, and I knew they were going to put me in solitary if I didn’t calm down, but I couldn’t. I wanted to make them all suffer. Every last person who’d harmed my baby needed to die, and I wanted to be the one to do it.

Dingo held up a hand, cautioning them to stay back. “Give him a minute. We gave him bad news.”

Bad news? I nearly laughed. That was putting it mildly. Finding out my favorite motorcycle had turned to rust would be bad news. Discovering my China had moved on and found someone else would be bad news. Hearing someone turned my daughter into a prostitute while she was still a kid made me want to set the entire world ablaze.

“No. Fuck that shit.” I looked from my daughter to Dingo. “I didn’t fucking kill those people. You find out who did, get me out of here, and I’ll handle the men who hurt my daughter.”

“I didn’t hear that,” one of the guards muttered. “Did. Not. Fucking. Hear. It.” He walked out, dragging the other one with him. At least they had some sense.

“Are you trying to say you’re innocent?” Meiling asked.

I gave a bark of laughter. Innocent? Me? Not hardly. “No, daughter. I’m far from innocent, but I didn’t commit the murders I was accused of. If Outlaw can find out what happened with your situation, then maybe he can help with mine. When I got locked up, there wasn’t anyone capable of digging up that kind of dirt, not within the club, and certainly no one who gave a shit about me. You get me out of here, and I’ll make sure they all fucking pay.”

“On one condition,” Dingo said.

He had some nerve adding a stipulation. Was he trying to keep me away from my daughter?

“What’s that, boy?” I asked.

“You give your blessing for me and Mei to be together.” He cleared his throat. “I love her, and I will love and protect any children we have together. If we’re ever blessed with any.”

“You’re an idiot,” Mei told him, but I saw the affection in her gaze. “But I love you too.”

The way he smiled at the words told me enough. The bastard was head over heels for my little girl, and since they were already married, I might as well learn to live with it.

“Fine. You have my blessing, as long as you make her happy. Fuck up, and I’ll Goddamn bury you where they’ll never find your body,” I said.

The look he gave me assured me we were on the same page. I hoped like fuck the club was a better place than it had been when I got locked up. If it wasn’t, I’d need to find a way to get Meiling away from there. It didn’t matter if she was married to this little shit or not. I’d do whatever it took to keep her safe. I’d failed her until now. Never again.

“I know I’m a stranger to you, girl, but I’m your dad. I get out of here, and I’ll make things right for you. I don’t expect you to call me anything other than Blades, until I’ve earned the right to be called anything else.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree,” Meiling said. “Daddy.”

I felt my throat grow tight and my eyes stung. I flashed her a smile, hoping she knew how much it meant for me to hear her call me Daddy. I’d missed out on everything. Her first steps. First words. And because I hadn’t been there to keep them safe, someone had tried to destroy my family. Once I was free of this place, I’d seek retribution. I only hoped it didn’t take them too long.

My daughter came closer and put her arms around me. I knew we weren’t supposed to touch but fuck all of them. I hugged her tight, wanting to remember this moment forever.

“Love you, Meiling. Always have,” I said, my voice a littler gruffer than usual. “Even if I can’t get out of here, remember that. You were wanted, and you were loved. Never doubt it for a moment.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

* * *

I hadn’t realized they would have me freed within twenty-four hours. I’d spent eighteen years in prison for something I didn’t do. All this time, I’d thought my woman was safe. Off living her life, providing for our child. How could I have been so wrong? I knew about the evil in the world. Faced it every fucking day, even before I’d gotten locked up. It never once crossed my mind that darkness would touch my two girls, especially since I’d made sure to keep them away from the club.

It had taken a month to handle all the people who’d hurt my daughter and to find my precious China. She’d been dumped in a brothel not too far over the state line. From what the hackers had found, it looked like she was still there. If she wasn’t, I’d beat the hell out of everyone until I got some answers. One way or another, I was bringing her home.

Pulling into the parking lot of the Silk Purse, my heart hammered in my chest. It would be my first time seeing her in so damn long. Did she even remember me? Had they completely broken her?

I got off the bike and headed inside. The moment I saw her my fucking heart broke. My beautiful girl was just as stunning now as she’d been before, even with the scars clearly visible on her face and arms, and a few silver threads in her hair. She gave me a slight bow as I drew closer, but her eyes never met mine.

“Welcome to the Silk Purse. What will be your pleasure tonight?” she asked, her voice still holding the accent I’d so loved all those years ago.

“My pleasure?” I asked. She still didn’t look up. “I came to take my woman home. Our daughter needs her.”

She went still, completely frozen. Slowly, she lifted her head and her gaze locked with mine. The Xi-wang I’d known was there, but just barely. I could see her, but I could also see the road of pain she’d traveled while we’d been apart.


“Robert?” she asked softly. “You went to prison for murder.”

“Didn’t do it.” I reached for her, tugging her against me. “But I did kill a few people since then. They all deserved it.”

I stroked her cheek and wished I could turn back the clock. She’d had my heart the moment we locked eyes that first time.



About the Author

Harley Wylde is an accomplished author known for her captivating MC Romances. With an unwavering commitment to sensual storytelling, Wylde immerses her readers in an exciting world of fierce men and irresistible women. Her works exude passion, danger, and gritty realism, while still managing to end on a satisfying note each time.

When not crafting her tales, Wylde spends her time brainstorming new plotlines, indulging in a hot cup of Starbucks, or delving into a good book. She has a particular affinity for supernatural horror literature and movies. Visit Wylde's website to learn more about her works and upcoming events, and don't forget to sign up for her newsletter to receive exclusive discounts and other exciting perks.


Author on Facebook, Instagram, & TikTok: @harleywylde


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


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Friday, December 15, 2023

Cressida's Moon by Mikala Ash #Steampunk #ChristmasAdventure @changelingpress

A Steam and Spells Steampunk Christmas Adventure


Empire of the Sky, Book 1


Steampunk Murder Mystery Romance

Date Published: December 22, 2023

Publisher: Changeling Press


History got it wrong. The first live human made it to the moon just before Christmas, 1865. Her name was Cressida Troy.

An assignation in a moonlit graveyard begins a perilous and sensual journey for plucky Cressida as she and her lovers track down an alien plot to conquer Earth.

Rocket ships to the moon, body snatchers, ghosts, aliens, romance, and illicit erotic congress -- Cressida’s Moon has it all.


Copyright ©2023 Mikala Ash


I was a bluestocking, eight and twenty years of age, and teaching at Mrs. Nolan’s School for the Poor in a small village in Shropshire when I met Jacob. I had been orphaned before ever knowing my parents. A typhoid outbreak in the year of our Queen’s ascension to the throne took them both away. I was raised by my childless uncle and aunt, he an infirm veteran of the Peninsular Wars, and she a charwoman. We lived in a small cottage just five minutes away from Mrs. Nolan. Though poor, I couldn’t have wished for a better upbringing. Aunt Jenny cleaned for the school, and it was through this stroke of luck that I had a place to learn, and then somewhere to work.

My aunt took in lodgers to augment her meagre wages. There was a succession of spinsters and widows, before Jacob McLeary, a fellow teacher at the school, came to stay. Jacob was a tall handsome man, sandy-haired, with bright azure eyes, and a fine blond moustache over his sensuous lips. When he smiled, which was often, the hint of dimples appeared in his cheeks at the ends of that moustache, and when he laughed, rarer but more affecting to the observer, the intimations were confirmed, and magnetically caught and held the gaze. He was eight years my senior, but his easy manner, quick sense of the ridiculous, and high intelligence captured my lonely heart the moment he was introduced. Though I had all but given up on the thought of love, I was besotted, and my innocent, but strangely feverish dreams were all of him.

Alas, he was a recent widower, and in deep mourning. His wife had been consumptive and had lingered in a nursing home on the south coast to where the majority of Jacob’s money had gone to maintain her in some comfort. I would occasionally catch him gazing at her image in the gold locket he kept in his waistcoat pocket, his eyes glistening with incipient tears. Once a month, if his finances allowed, he would leave us for a weekend to visit her grave and was always very quiet and reflective upon his return. My heart broke for him.

When my uncle followed his dear wife to the grave, I inherited the tiny cottage, and despite the misgivings of Mrs. Nolan, that two of her unmarried staff shared the same roof with no chaperone, Jacob continued to rent the upstairs room next to mine. While we shared a bed at night, we maintained separate bedrooms so as not to arouse the suspicions of the charwoman. Every morning he’d swap the pillows and disarrange the blankets and sheets of his narrow cot.

What Mrs. Nolan didn’t know was that by then Jacob and I were secret lovers. I won’t go over the hesitant and protracted beginnings of our affair, except to say it was I who initiated and progressed it. Jacob was the reluctant party. Betraying his wife’s memory did not come easily.

That I had no similar scruples should bother me, I suppose. My moral judgement was impaired, obviously. I was raw, selfish, and madly in love. Now I am ashamed, I must admit, of the strategies I employed to lead him into his sometimes-crippling self-imposed dishonour. Subtle flirting in the beginning, followed by overt sweet-talking, then the staging of intimate scenarios that I blush to recall.

Our first kiss was everything I dreamed of. The soft warmth of his lips, the hesitant pressure, his surge of passion surprising me when his tongue forced my lips apart to explore my mouth in a most urgent fashion that hinted at long suppressed desire. His soft caresses set my flesh aflame, and inside I felt a sultry heat that echoed my feverish dreams, and his first touch of that sensitive little nub between my secret lips committed me to the roiling flames of passion. I can still remember in exquisite detail the explosion of stars in my head, and wave after wave of prickly heat that flowed through my entire body, leaving me shaking at the knees, and clutching him so tightly lest I fall.

Jacob taught me some of the crude names given to male and female genitalia, and I must admit to becoming somewhat flagrant in using those slang terms instead of the boring old vagina and penis of the medical publications. My private place, as my aunt had referred to my cunny, had a variety of bemusing names: tulip, quimmy, quimbo, horse-collar, poke-hole, nursery, love-trap and cock-trap, pleasure pit, flaps, clam, buttonhole, and Cupid’s furrow, as well as the more familiar curses: cunt, and twat. We had many a laugh over these, as well as those for the male member: dick, doodle, ploughshare, trouser serpent, poker, broomstick, sword, Adam’s dagger, and the buttonhole worker, among countless others. Jacob had garnered these from certain salacious publications he’d purchased to assist him in his loneliness.

Aunt and Uncle were still alive then, and we took to making long walks in the twilight. Those twisted amblings would eventually take us to the old cemetery where privacy was assured beneath the yews. We’d kiss, and he’d lay his coat on the ground between the ancient headstones, and there we would make love.

Oh, how glorious those times were. I learned so much about the breadth of sensations my body could experience. He played my body as if it were a musical instrument, extracting so many types of sighs, building into a spectrum of moans, groans, and high-pitched cries of release, culminating in whimpers of breathless dissolution.

Jacob taught me how responsive my nipples were to the gentlest touch, and how they ached for the next stroke, lick, and suck. How his breath on my neck and throat made my innermost walls throb and moisten. Soft kisses from my breasts to my pelvis sent quivers of expectation along every nerve and cell.

He was always considerate of my comfort and pleasure, and ensured I would experience a breathtaking release before he asserted his own desire with careful penetration. He never spent his lust inside me, fearing to worsen my dishonour with a child. Instead, after I had reached the pinnacle of pleasure and found release, he would withdraw, and his marvellous rod of steel would pulse and jump, firing pearly drops across my quaking belly.

Habits are difficult to break. While we were free to make love at home, we also enjoyed our walks in the parkland surrounding the church, and it was on one such tryst that under a full moon we sat on a crumbling stone burial vault sacred to the memory of Ebenezer Boyse and his devoted wife Maryanne, who had both departed this life in 1722:

“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.”

Jacob’s head was hidden beneath my skirts, his face between my spread thighs, his agile tongue alternating between licking the labial flaps, spearing deep inside my quim, or teasing my clitoris. I was leaning back on my hands, lost in sensation, staring blankly at the silver orb hanging in the sky. My rising excitement inevitably led to a hysterical paroxysm, as the medical books termed it, and I moaned like a madwoman, and shuddered in convulsions of ecstasy.

About the Author

Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on Twitter.


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Tuesday, December 12, 2023

SNOW by Jamie Targaet @changelingpress #MCromance


(Hounds of Hell MC 2): A Hounds of Hell MC Romance

Motorcycle Club Romance

Date Published: 12/15/2023

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC


Emily -- Most wonderful time of the year? Yeah, right. Business isn't booming at my bakery this Christmas and I'm behind on my business loan. And if that weren't enough, my SUV's transmission is dying, my ex is in town for the holidays, and our regular Santa broke his leg and can't make it for the annual children's Christmas party. Somehow, we've ended up with a biker playing Santa Claus this year and I think he's the wrong man for the job. Santa shouldn't have all those muscles and tattoos. And I shouldn't be daydreaming about sitting in Santa's lap.

Snow -- I'm not a man with a sweet tooth -- at least I wasn't until now. If I'd known about the gorgeous little baker, I'd have snatched her up years ago. The little lady has a lot of problems this holiday season. For her, I'll play Santa Claus for the kids, and her ex will wish he got a lump of coal in his stocking when I'm done with him. Emily will have a good Christmas. I guaran-damn-tee it.





“Wait. What?” Emily Frost couldn’t have heard that right. The annual Christmas event they held in Mercy each year for the town’s children was two weeks away. “What do you mean Andy isn’t going to be able to play Santa Claus this year?”

While she listened to the elderly man’s wife explain why he wouldn’t be able to be Santa this year, Emily was fighting off hysteria. She understood that he’d taken a nasty fall and told his wife she was very sorry he’d broken his leg. Automatically, she asked if there was anything she could do. She did care. But she really wasn’t listening for a response.

What was she going to do?

Emily carried on the rest of the conversation as best she could, taking a deep breath when she ended the call.

“Fuck!” Her yell echoed through the quiet bakery.

Could things get any worse? She was blinking back tears as she finished counting the register and got all the goodies that hadn’t sold today boxed up. And there was a lot that hadn’t sold today.

The planning committee for the Christmas event was meeting tomorrow. Each member of that committee had jobs to do to make the event happen each year. Liza Austin and her husband owned a greenhouse in town. Each year they provided a beautiful wreath for the door. A live potted Christmas tree for the event was displayed in her bakery shop’s window throughout the holidays. Liza had a key to the shop to take care of the tree so it could be replanted later.

Myra Michaels handled the guest list, answering questions from parents and guardians about the event. She also handled donations that came in. Mina Dock had passed away this summer, but her granddaughter had moved back to town and was taking her place on the committee. Jade Dock and Emery Phillips oversaw setup, using folding chairs and tables Emery used at his bar, Sackett’s, for special events. They got out the decorations they used each year. Most had been donated by Jade’s grandmother Mina.

Emily had been a part of the committee since its first year, five years ago. Her job was supplying all the baked goods for the event and, with help, filling stockings with candy and treats for the kids to take home.

And she’d been the one who found their Santa Claus, Andy Wilder. Each year the elderly gentleman arrived as Santa and was just the best part of the entire event in her opinion. His warmth and sincerity made him a perfect choice. Plus, he could handle anything from kids scared of Santa, to those who were acting up and rowdy.

But he wasn’t coming this year. That was just the latest calamity this week and it was just Thursday night.

Where were they going to get another Santa Claus with two weeks to go?

Locking the door on her way out, she carried the box of goodies out to her SUV and got in. Emily crossed her fingers that the damn thing would start because it hadn’t been running right for the last several weeks. She knew her transmission was failing. What she didn’t know, since things had been so slow at the shop, was where she was getting the money to fix it.

In five minutes, she reached Mercy’s homeless shelter, delivering what she didn’t sell as she did every day the bakery was open. Heading for the back door, Emily rounded the corner and almost collided with someone.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered glancing up into gray eyes.

There were two men, both tall and wearing leather vests with their biker gang name on them, carrying a bed frame into the shelter. The one closest to the door was blond and nice-looking. The one she almost ran into? He was just as tall and muscular with a dark beard and mustache and almost entirely white locks of hair were in disarray on his head. She did a double take because hair that color didn’t usually go with a younger face. His eyes were pale gray and stunning.

The Hounds of Hell had long been a part of Mercy according to Liza, and she spoke of them fondly. Emily didn’t know much about motorcycle gangs and none of them ever came to her bakery. She really wanted to keep it that way. They were a little scary for her.

That gray-eyed gaze moved over her until the blond lost patience. “Snow, we still moving this frame?”

Snow returned his attention to the task, and someone else walked over to her.

“Emily, how are you?” Jade Dock asked. “Making your deliveries?”

Emily smiled. “I am. How are you?”

“Donating some things,” Jade said, watching the men carry the bed frame carefully through the shelter door. “At least I have some strong help to move them.”

Jade walked with her into the shelter. As she always did, Emily placed the box of treats on the receptionist’s desk just inside.

“Who’s your friend?” a deep voice behind her asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Guys, this is Emily,” Jade said, motioning to the two bikers who were apparently with her. To Emily, she said, “This is Hero and Snow.”

Emily shook hands with both, noticing the one she called Snow wasn’t too quick to release her hand. By the time he did, she noticed the blond had his arm around Jade’s waist. So they were a couple?

“I’d better get going,” Emily said. “It’s nice meeting you.”

“I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow?” Jade called as she walked back to the SUV.

When I get to tell the committee we need another Santa Claus, and we just have two weeks to find one? Yes, wouldn’t miss it.

“I’ll see you there,” Emily said over her shoulder as she reached the door. And as she headed back to her SUV, she just hoped the damn thing would start and not embarrass her in front of the bikers.

* * *


August Crowe, Snow to his MC, watched the petite blonde rush back to her SUV, the long braid of her hair dancing behind her. She looked so perky in her soft sweater and form-hugging slacks. He’d never seen an ass like that on such an uppity girl.

“Who’s that?” Snow asked Jade as he helped Hero get the old box spring out of the truck bed.

Jade watched her drive away in her SUV before turning back to Snow. “That’s Emily Frost. She owns Whisk and Whimsy in town. It’s a bakery.”

Frost, huh? That had Snow grinning. They sounded like a matched pair.

“Say that five times really fast,” Hero said from the other side of the furniture they were moving.

Figures. She looked like someone you’d find in a bakery, making treats. If he thought she’d give him the time of day, Snow would become a bakery patron real fucking fast. But from the look she cut him, he probably wouldn’t have a lot of luck.

“What meeting is tomorrow?” Hero asked Jade, holding one end of the box spring and guiding Snow who carried the other.

“Planning committee for the annual kids’ Christmas party,” Jade explained. “It’s only two weeks away.”

Jade had mentioned it recently. Doing an event for the poor kids in Mercy sounded like a good plan to him. If Miss Uppity was in on it, she had a good heart.

“If you need help with that, let me know,” Snow said. It earned him a look from both Jade and Hero, but he meant it. There had been a few times when he’d been a kid that he and his family wouldn’t have had food if not for the kindness of others. He liked the idea of paying it forward.

“Thank you, Snow,” Jade told him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Hero shook his head as they reached the shelter door.

“What?” Snow asked. “Something wrong with wanting to help kids? Razor did say we should do some community outreach.”

“Not that,” Hero said. “The blonde. I’d forget that if I were you.”

“Why?” Jade asked. “Emily’s nice.”

“Maybe so,” Hero said. “But I’d be willing to bet someone in an MC isn’t exactly her type.”

“I might have said the same thing once,” Jade didn’t look convinced. “You can’t assume things like that.”

She had a point.

“So the party is for any kid in Mercy?” Snow asked as they maneuvered the box spring through the shelter door.

Jade followed them. “Technically. We have to leave it open for anyone to avoid singling people out, you know? The ones who really need help.”

“Good approach,” Snow said.

“I’m told each year we have a tree and decorations. There’s an older man who comes to play Santa Claus. There are treats for everyone and everyone gets a gift from Santa. We identify the kids who really need help and they get different gifts than the ones we give the other kids that show up.”

“Makes sense,” Snow said. “What do the poor kids get?”

“The smaller ones get a toy, some candy, and a gift card this year,” Jade explained. “The older kids get candy and a bigger gift card. Santa tells them they can’t open their presents until Christmas Eve. Liza said most of the time that works.”

It was thoughtful.

They set the box spring down, heading back out for the mattress.

“Offer stands,” Snow said to Jade. “Let me know if I can help. Even if it’s just setup.”

About the Author

Jamie Targaet is the author of the Hounds of Hell MC. She's anxious to introduce you to this club of gorgeous, dominant men and the lucky women who surrender to them. The ride is going to get wild at times, not going to lie. But there's thrilling action, scorching hot sex scenes, and all the feels. 

Jamie writes erotic romance for Changeling Press, a little fanfiction on the side, and she's an aspiring horror writer in another life. She enjoys time with her family (including the fur babies). She likes good horror movies and shows, emo metal and classic rock, and time spent in other worlds writing and reading. She loves hearing from readers and is looking forward to hearing from you.


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


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Monday, December 11, 2023

The Jig is Up by M K Scott #CosyMystery #99c #Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. M K Scott will be awarding a $50 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

I looked forward to sipping tea and exploring Mark’s ancestral roots in Ireland, but oh, what a twist of fate!

My life as owner of The Painted Lady Inn hardly prepared me for this. With my detective husband by my side, we embark on a journey filled with mayhem, murder, and mischief.

As I savor every bite of Irish stew and soak in the breathtaking scenery, little do I know that our vacation will turn into a whirlwind of sleuthing.

Who could have imagined the secrets hidden behind Mark’s family tree? And what dark secrets lurk in this picturesque village, threatening to shatter the tranquility?

The jig is up, and it’s up to us to untangle the web of intrigue.

Read an Excerpt

The car rental rep was definitely not a warm-and-fuzzy gal, but Donna put her money on Mark. He could be charming when he needed to be.

His lips curved up into a smile. “Surely, you have at least one vehicle. I’m not picky.”

What a fib! It looked like the rep bought it. The woman leaned over the counter and pointed to an open garage area. “Go inside there and ask for Liam. Tell him you want the emergency special. It’s a car we save for people who fail to make reservations and yet still need a car.”

Donna prided herself on reading people and knew there wouldn’t be the expected happy ending to their dilemma. Her husband, on the other hand, effusively thanked the woman and slipped her a colorful bill in gratitude. Not being familiar with euros, it could have been anything from a fifty to a dollar.

As for Liam, he must have gone on break because they toured the garage for a good twenty minutes. They commented on car models not seen in the US and speculated if they’d get the convertible, Land Rover, or the Volkswagen Golf. After asking several employees in coveralls, they finally located Liam, which was a relief since one of the wheels on her suitcase had just seized up. She couldn’t mention the issue since her husband would point out they had perfectly good, non-tie-dyed suitcases at home with wheels that worked.

Liam, a man of few words, listened as Mark repeated his story, including the bit about searching for his ancestors. Instead of commenting on how great it was that Mark could have some Irish ancestry, Liam responded with, “She said the emergency special?”

“She did,” Mark replied with a nod.

“Aye.” Liam grimaced, then yelled something to a younger employee about getting the car.

She heard the emphasis on the even if Mark didn’t. A few minutes later a bright yellow car just a little bigger than a bicycle pulled up in front of Liam. “Here ya go. She’s small. You’ll only have her for a wee bit. She’s easy to park, too.”

All in all, it was a cute car—and very different from Mark’s usual sedan. Her husband remained speechless, while Donna handled practicalities. “Do you think our luggage will fit in it?”

“No problem.” He motioned to his young helper. “Pull out the back seat.”

“It has a backseat?” She couldn’t imagine anything fitting into the back.

“In theory. With the seat gone, it makes the trunk a bit roomier.” Liam sunk his hands in his pockets and made a slow circuit around their luggage. “We should be able to cram that inside. Don’t buy anything until you move to a larger vehicle.”

Both Liam and his helper speculated on how to pack the car, while Mark finally shook off his stupor. “I never knew they made cars this small. Can it possibly be safe?”

“We’re not going that far. Isn’t their town just ten miles or so out of Dublin?”

“There about.”

While their luggage was wrestled inside the mini vehicle, Donna strolled to the front. Eyelashes decorated the round, front headlights. “How cute. The car has eyelashes.”

Mark rolled his eyes and muttered something about how he tipped for this. While her husband acted surprised, Donna wasn’t. She had summed up the counter rep as possibly in the wrong profession and not to be trusted. Not the car they wanted, but it would serve.

About the Author
M. K. Scott is the Morgan and Scott cozy mystery writing team of The Painted Lady Inn Mysteries, The Talking Dog Detective Agency, The Way Over the Hill Gang, Cupid’s Catering Company, and The Tenacious Librarian series. Morgan pens the tales, while Scott serves as first editor and webmaster. Daughter Sarah handles the social media and Jane the Lab supervises digging in the garden.

Amazon Author Page: https://smile.amazon.com/M-K-Scott/e/B01M4JGK1A
Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/m-k-scott
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorMorganKWyatt/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2863959.M_K_Scott
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/morgankwyatt/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorMKScott
Website: http://www.morgankwyatt.com/

The book is on sale for only $0.99.

Amazon: Amazon. a Rafflecopter giveaway

Thursday, December 7, 2023

Out Now! Love & Limitations by J. Scott Coatsworth #LGBTQ #romance #Collection

Love & Limitations

J. Scott Coatsworth has a new MM romance/LGBTQ short story collection out: Love & Limitations.

Love & Limitations is Scott's fourth short story collection and his first one featuring his contemporary MM and LGBTQ+ stories:

  • I Only Want to Be With You: Derrek likes Ryan. Ryan likes Alex. Alex treats Ryan like trash. So why can't he see who really loves him?
  • The Boy in the Band: It's hard for a trans kid in high school, just like it was for a gay kid two decades before. Can Ryan and Justin find common ground in time?
  • Translation: Dominic has a thing for Italian guys, especially his boss, Dante. His roommate Enrico has a thing for him. No matter how this ends, someone is going to get hurt.
  • Slow Thaw: As the Antarctic warms, so does the chilly relationship between scientist Javier Fernandez and new arrival—and trans man—Col Steele as they contend with a disaster on the ice.
  • Ten: After the death of his husband, Chris faces a gay mid-life crisis—at thirty-five—as he jumps back into the dating scene for ten dates in ten days.

This is the first time these stories have been collected in one place, and the first publication of “The Boy in the Band.”

Warnings: Bullying, suicidal ideation and attempt, past physical abuse, deadnaming

Publisher | Amazon | iBooks | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | QueeRomance Ink | Smashwords | Universal Buy Link | Goodreads


Love & Limitations Meme

From "Ten"

Sundays were the worst.

Those lazy, quiet mornings, sitting in the big bay window seat across from Ari with our legs entwined.

That happy time was long gone.

Instead, I was waiting out on the sidewalk, leaning up against the railing of the MARRS Building boardwalk. The wind blew chill, going right through my windbreaker, and the sky was slate gray. It never snowed in Sacramento, but it sure seemed to be trying.

I stuffed my hands into my jacket pockets, wishing I had a pair of mittens. As an Arizona boy, I wasn’t used to the cold, even Sacramento cold.

I stood at the corner of 20th and K in the heart of gay Sacramento, waiting for a guy named Bryan. Spelled with a “Y”, of course. We gays are nothing if not predictable.

Christmas music played from speakers in the eaves of the building behind me.

My husband Ari had passed away on New Year’s Eve the previous year. He’d been hit by a street-racing Mercedes when we were crossing J Street, and it had been twelve agonizing days in the hospital before he took his last breath.

Three seconds. That’s how far behind him I was, checking something on Facebook. I didn’t even remember what it was.

Three goddamned seconds.

After a year of being alone, of beating myself up for those three seconds, I’d finally decided that it was time to start dating again. Ari was gone, and nothing would bring him back. He would want me to go on.

Still, my heart wasn’t in it.

My mother was sick with worry. Every day I got a call or a text or an email asking if I was okay.

Ari would want me to have someone again.

I was thirty-five, and all alone.

I’d challenged myself to go on ten dates in ten days—maybe I’d find someone new. If not, at least I’d have a reason to be alone.

And so, Bryan.

He was twenty-five, hung, and had no head, at least if his Grindr profile was to be believed.

What was it about gay guys and their abs?

Then again, I’d swiped right when I saw that gorgeous chest, so I guess I’m part of the problem.

Grindr photos never lie, right?

Bryan arrived on time — a point in his favor — and he was young and beautiful. Blond, blue eyed, and yes, all of twenty-five. I laughed under my breath. I had underwear older than he was.

I’m no slouch at 5’11”, but he was taller than me.

Ari had been just my height, with black hair and dark brown eyes. Medium, dark, and handsome.

Bryan and I hugged and headed down to Pizzeria Urbano. We grabbed a couple slices and took them outside to the patio. Lavender Heights was quiet today—the cold weather, most likely—and the people-watching was practically non-existent.

“You look just like your photo,” Bryan said between bites, flashing me a big white perfectly aligned smile. No one had natural teeth that straight, or that white. “What are you, like forty?”

Little shit. “Um, thirty-five,” I replied. “And you have a head.”

“What? Oh yeah, the Grindr thing.” He grinned again, and I had to shield my eyes. “I don’t want my parents finding me on there.”

That surprised me. “You’re in the closet? I thought your generation was past all of that.”

“Nah, I just don’t want them in my business. It’s bad enough I have to follow all the ‘house rules.’ But hey, I like dating older guys.”

Ouch again. And he lived at home.

But damn, he was cute.

I tried to get us back on track. “So what do you do?”

“I’m a personal trainer.” He eyed his pizza. “I hardly ever eat this shit.”

Of course you are. “Yeah? Where?”

“At Lord’s Gym in South Sac.” He poked me in my less than perfectly flat stomach. “Hey, I can get you back in shape—you eat pizza and carbs like this all the time, right? Come in some time and I’ll hook you up.” He finished his slice, licking his fingers.

“Suuuuure.” I mentally added a new Grindr rule—from now on, any swipe-rights had to have a head.

Bryan was totally wrong for me. Too young, too athletic, not too bright, and he had all the manners of an untrained puppy.

“Wanna go back to my place?” he said, panting.

Oh my God, that tongue.

Ari wouldn’t mind.

What the fuck are you waiting for? Ari whispered in my ear. He’s hot.

I laughed. Of course it wasn’t him. But it’s exactly what he would have said, given the current situation, and if Ari wanted me to … “Sure.”

Bryan took my hand and led me back to his place, just a couple blocks away.

The next day, I started an Evernote to keep track and rate my dates. I don’t usually sleep and tell, but I gave Bryan a four and a half for date-ability, and a ten in bed.

Author Bio

J. Scott Coatsworth

Scott lives with his husband Mark in a yellow bungalow in Sacramento. He was indoctrinated into fantasy and sci fi by his mother at the tender age of nine. He devoured her library, but as he grew up, he wondered where all the people like him were.

He decided that if there weren’t queer characters in his favorite genres, he would remake them to his own ends.

A Rainbow Award winning author, he runs Queer Sci Fi, QueeRomance Ink, and Other Worlds Ink with Mark, sites that celebrate fiction reflecting queer reality, and is the committee chair for the Indie Authors Committee at the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA).

Author Website: https://www.jscottcoatsworth.com

Author Facebook (Personal): https://www.facebook.com/jscottcoatsworth

Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/jscottcoatsworthauthor/

Author Mastodon: https://mastodon.otherworldsink.com/@jscottcoatsworth

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jscottcoatsworth/

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8392709.J_Scott_Coatsworth

Author Liminal Fiction (LimFic.com): https://www.limfic.com/mbm-book-author/j-scott-coatsworth/

Author QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/j-scott-coatsworth/

Author Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/J.-Scott-Coatsworth/e/B011AFO4OQ

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Tuesday, December 5, 2023

Method to Madness by Thomas Grant Bruso #Mystery #LGBT #Giveaway




Five years ago, Jack Ballinger was a police officer.

He has since moved from the small upstate New York town of Black Falls for greener pastures and a peaceful life alone in the Green Mountain State. Time has changed Jack -- he is no longer the man he used to be. A significant challenge for him has been the heartbreaking loss of his boyfriend, companion, and one true love, Steve.

Now alone, Jack has yet to deal rationally with the immediate changes of his new life. After losing his partner, Jack drank heavily to numb the pain and forget his life-changing loss. Now, he must find a way to move forward without Steve and the life he built for himself. Joining an Alcoholics Anonymous group helps quiet the voices that still keep him awake at night. But something much darker has followed him to his life in the quiet corners of Vermont.

When Jack thinks he has buried the scars of his past, a new nightmare emerges. How far will Jack go to end the imminent evil in his life and kill it for good?

Trigger warning: this story addresses suicide and suicidal ideation.




My work boots clipped across the newly polished floor, squeaking with each determined step toward the security guard’s office in the back of the mall. I didn’t usually get frightened, but after the week’s events of Jacob Adler’s murder and my recurring hallucinations, I was on guard twenty-four-seven. The wall I’d built after Steve died sent me into a tailspin. I lost my self-confidence to “live on -- move on,” as Steve had put it. Getting out of bed was the most challenging part of the day, getting started. But not as difficult as being a suspect in somebody else’s murder.

I locked up in the office, hung my jacket on the wall peg along with my badge, fastened my uniform hat on top of my coat, and secured the building. I walked around the side of the shopping center to get to my truck, which was parked near the auto shop garage in the adjacent lot. My keys clanged against the side of my uniform work belt.

There was a crispness to the air as it gusted across my face.

When I reached my truck, I stopped and glanced at the imposing three-floor structure of the Rushford Shopping Mall. It had been a game-changer, I told myself. When my life was at its lowest, the job as mall security had saved me. Moving from upstate New York to Vermont and being hired at a stone’s throw distance from where everything had bottomed out of my life, life could not be better. I had to keep reminding myself that I was lucky. This was meant to be.

I was living. No – I was surviving the best way I knew how. The sharp gust of wind filled my eyes with a deep sadness.

I slipped my key into the driver’s side door. I jumped inside, cranking the station to a country song I knew Steve would roll his eyes at, but his enthusiastic expression brightened my mood. I sat in the quiet interior of my truck, my head falling against the headrest, my eyes closing to the welcoming solitude. I drummed my hands on the bottom of the steering wheel.

Then screeching tires peeled around the sharp curve of the parking lot where the lot met the edge of the road, and a song about lost love faded from memory. I opened my eyes and raised my head to tires squealing. In the rearview mirror, I glimpsed a vehicle idling behind me. I didn’t notice it at first, but the car blocked me. I adjusted my seat and stared out the rear windshield at the obscure figure behind the wheel. I couldn’t see their face, but the figure looked reedy and reached an arm out the open window, pointing at me.


AUTHOR Bio and Links:


Thomas Grant Bruso knew he wanted to be a writer at an early age. He has been a voracious reader of genre fiction since childhood.

His literary inspirations are Ray Bradbury, Dean Koontz, Stephen King, Jim Grimsley, Karin Fossum, and Joyce Carol Oates.

Bruso loves animals, reading books, and writing fiction, and prefers Sudoku to crossword puzzles.

In another life, he was a freelance writer and wrote for magazines and newspapers. In college, he won the Hermon H. Doh Sonnet Competition. Now, he writes and publishes fiction and reviews books for his hometown newspaper, The Press-Republican.

He lives in upstate New York.


Twitter: https://twitter.com/thomgrantbruso?ref_src=twsrc%5Egoogle%7Ctwcamp%5Eserp%7Ctwgr%5Eauthor

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/thomasgrantbrusoauthor/?hl=en

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8591689.Thomas_Grant_Bruso

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/thomasgrantbruso/

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Method-Madness-Thomas-Grant-Bruso-ebook/dp/B0CLKJD64Y?ref_=ast_author_dp



Thomas Grant Bruso will be awarding $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Sunday, December 3, 2023

OUT NOW—Never Plan a Billionaire’s Wedding (Whatever It Takes, Maine, Book 1) by Julia Kent (@jkentauthor)


Release Date: November 28, 2023

Genre: Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Romance

Cover Designer:  Staci Hart

Audiobook Narrators:  COMING SOON

Tropes/Themes:  Billionaire, Forbidden Romance/Breaking Contract, Mistaken Identity, Wedding, Engagement, Reunion Romance, Second Chance Romance, Romantic Comedy,



Rule #1: Don’t fall in love with the groom

Stalker exes. Momzillas. Drunk uncles. Hurricanes. Jealous siblings. Paparazzi.

You name it, Kari Whitevelt has seen it all.

And that’s why brides and grooms hire her.

Because she makes it all go away.

Wedding Protectors, Inc., is here to make sure that special day stays special.

Whatever it takes.

 No matter what.

But when her newest client turns out to be her own long-lost high school sweetheart, rising tech star billionaire Caleb Mikelmas, suddenly Kari’s not sure whether she’s protecting the wedding couple —


Or her own heart.


Tech billionaire Caleb never thought he had a chance, much less a second chance with his first love and high school sweetheart, Kari. When a case of mistaken identity turns their reunion into one big misunderstanding, unraveling his feelings about the one who got away while supporting his brother’s nuptials means facing old demons.

And kissing Kari.

He likes kissing Kari far more than that whole demon thing.

But if kisses were enough, Kari would already be his wife.

Maybe it’s time to revisit the past and right some wrongs.

One vow at a time.

Welcome to the Whatever It Takes series:

Every bride needs something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue -

But you know what brides don't need?


Welcome to Wedding Protectors, Inc. Have a spritzer or a latte or some lovely Zen tea and sink into a comfortable chair in our sunlit offices as we listen to your wedding problem – and form the perfect solution to every possible contingency.

We plan for everything.

Except our own love lives.

But that's not your problem. ;)

Buy Links: 

Amazon US:  https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0CKB6KHD3

Amazon UK:  https://www.amazon.co.uk/Never-Billionaires-Wedding-Whatever-Takes-ebook/dp/B0CKB6KHD3/

Amazon AU:  https://www.amazon.com.au/Never-Billionaires-Wedding-Whatever-Takes-ebook/dp/B0CKB6KHD3/

Amazon CA:  https://www.amazon.ca/Never-Billionaires-Wedding-Whatever-Takes-ebook/dp/B0CKB6KHD3/

Apple Books:  https://books.apple.com/us/book/never-plan-a-billionaires-wedding/id6468538482

Kobo:  https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/never-plan-a-billionaire-s-wedding

Nook:  https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/never-plan-a-billionaires-wedding-julia-kent/1144157018?ean=2940186153108

Google Play:  https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=Vn7aEAAAQBAJ

Print:  https://www.amazon.com/Never-Billionaires-Wedding-Whatever-Takes/dp/1638801975/

Website:  https://jkentauthor.com/books/whatever-it-takes/never-plan/

BookBub:  https://www.bookbub.com/books/never-plan-a-billionaire-s-wedding-whatever-it-takes-book-1-by-julia-kent

Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/199278585-never-plan-a-billionaire-s-wedding


Amazon Audio:  COMING SOON


 Author Bio:

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. Since 2013, she has sold more than 2 million books, with 4 New York Times bestsellers and more than 21 appearances on the USA Today bestseller list. Her books have been translated into French, German, and Italian, with more titles releasing in the future.

From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men's room toilet (and he isn't a billionaire she met in a romantic comedy).

She lives in New England with her husband and three children where she is the only person in the household with the gene required to change empty toilet paper rolls.

She loves to hear from her readers by email at julia@jkentauthor.com, on Twitter @jkentauthor, on Facebook at @jkentauthor, and on Instagram @jkentauthor. Visit her at http://jkentauthor.com


Social Media Links:

Website:  http://jkentauthor.com/

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/jkentauthor/

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/jkentauthor

Newsletter:  http://bit.ly/2PIBi9n

Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/jkentauthor/

BookBub:  https://www.bookbub.com/authors/julia-kent

Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3238619.Julia_Kent

Amazon Author Page:  https://www.amazon.com/Julia-Kent/e/B00A99V268/




Carolina was introducing him to his former fiancée.

Fine. Near fiancée. It had been a promise ring, not an engagement diamond, but still.

The run he'd just finished was apparently unnecessary from a cardio standpoint, since his heart was now racing, crashing into his ribs as if it were fleeing a crime scene. Not that he was the bad guy. But still.

Kari. No way.

It was his Kari. And okay, maybe she was never formally his fiancée, but until college and distance broke them up, they always planned on it. He’d given her a promise ring in high school, so that was close enough.

When Carolina had mentioned she was meeting two wedding professionals named Katie and Carrie, he'd heard it as the more familiar spelling. She'd never spelled it out, and she hadn't bothered to tell him Kari's last name.

“Caleb, have you swallowed your tongue along with your manners? Shake the poor woman's hand, for goodness sake!” Carolina crooned, giving him side-eye while managing a puzzled smile at Kari as the two stood awkwardly in front of each other, gaping.

Kari had changed in some ways, for sure, but it was her, alright. Her brown hair was a darker shade but still thick and shiny, framed in soft layers around her face, brushing the edges of straight, strong shoulders. He recognized those whiskey brown eyes, deceptively sleepy unless you knew her, knew that behind them, her brain was working constantly at warp speed.

She was taller now–or anyway, she didn’t wear four-inch heels back then–so instead of having to bend to kiss her lips, he could just dip his head.

If he wanted to kiss her.

If wanting to kiss her wasn’t the only thing he could think about.

Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.