Tuesday, January 30, 2024

GRIMDARKE by AK Nevermore #Shifter #Romance @changelingpress

Maw of Mayhem MC, Book 1


Shifter Romance

Date to be Published: February 2, 2024

Publisher: Changeling Press


Out of options and on the run after her psychotic father’s released from prison, Kit Parson heads to the only place she might be safe from him, the Maw of Mayhem MC. The unexpected move buys her time, but also puts her at risk. Surrounded by shifters, her inner cat begs to be released, and after witnessing a brutal attack on her mother as a child, she refuses to let the monster out. Totally doable, provided no bodily fluids are ever exchanged.

That takes the MC’s hot-as-hell VP, Grimdarke James, officially off the table. Mourning the recent murder of the club’s alpha and struggling to control his inner cat, the tattooed Viking god is on thin ice. If he goes feral again, he’ll be put down. Which makes his cat’s insistence that Kit belongs to him problematic, upsetting the delicate balance of the MC’s internal politics, and the woman blackmailing Grim.

But when Kit’s father catches up with her, Grim has no choice but to trust his cat, and Kit can’t deny their chemistry. Can they hold on to each other when everything is trying to tear them apart? After a gruesome triple murder propels them deeper into the paranormal world, they find themselves with unlikely allies, even as their enemies threaten to destroy everything they hold dear.


Copyright ©2024 AK Nevermore


Upstate New York in the fall was beautiful, and it made Kit want to puke.

She gripped the steering wheel tighter, her sweaty palms slicking the leather, and glanced in her rearview, then at her phone’s GPS. No service -- again. Damn it. This was not where she wanted to be…

Wait. Signs for a trailhead were coming up. Thank you, sweet baby Jesus. She pulled onto the shoulder, staring blankly at the plexi-covered map tacked onto the tiny shelter in front of the car. Woodbine Swamp Trail. Shit. She’d missed the turn-off for the house. Ugh! How could everything in this shit town look the same and so frickin’ different all at once?!

Fifteen years will do that, genius.

Her forehead dropped to the steering wheel, bumping it thrice. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t --

Goddamnit, girl, grow a pair!

Enough. Wasn’t like she had a choice. She pushed back in her seat and slapped the car in reverse, hoping like hell there wasn’t anything behind her. Frickin’ hatchback was stuffed to the gills with the sad remains of her life, and she wasn’t up for losing any more of it.

Kit dashed away a tear. And whose fault was that?

She just had to blow shit up. Couldn’t duck her head and keep punching numbers, because lay low was too big of a fucking ask. Nope, fuck overtime at the accounting firm, had to go out there and twerk her ass at the club, knowing full well that milkshake wasn’t gonna bring anything but trouble to her yard.

Her mind leapt to that tall drink of golden Viking god pissing in a sink, covered in tattoos and oozing temptation. Yup. Case in point, and as much as it shocked the shit out of her, she’d been into him.

So fucking into him, like, wanted him into her.

Not happening.

She bit at a cuticle, trying to ignore the very real possibility she was about to deliver herself to his doorstep, and the fact that her panties had just soaked clean through.

Son of a -- Chanté would quip something about chickens coming home to roost, but they weren’t even Kit’s damned chickens. And why the fuck chickens? Woman was NYC born and raised, you’d think she’d have useless witticisms about pigeons.

Damn, though. He was fiiine…

Stop it.

You’d think she’d be more concerned about the shifter shadowing her for the past two weeks… the one whose face starred in her nightmares. Reaper hadn’t approached her, but his message was clear, and like a fucking cat, he’d been playing with her.

… Run, little mouse…

Kit’s teeth clenched at the memory of her father’s gravelly twang. She put the car in gear and kept driving in the wrong direction. Away from the house, toward the last damned place she wanted to go, and the only place she had left. Two weeks of couch surfing and shitty motels had made that abundantly clear, and her flat fucking broke.

Back to the scene of the crime, the one place she hoped like hell he didn’t have the balls to go back to.

Motorcycles rumbled in the distance and her gut threatened to rebel, cold sweat pebbling her skin. She licked the anxiety from her lips.

The rumble grew, and a moment later a stream of leather and exhaust whipped by her as a convoy of bikes sped past, heading back toward civilization. A manic giggle burbled from her throat, and she took a slow --

Shit! Gas pedal, girl, you gotta keep your shit together…

Focus. Drive to the damned compound. One more mile.

… And keep it together. Hah! Fat fucking chance. She blew out a breath, her temples thudding with the beginnings of a migraine. Goddamn. After all those years of praying to be out from under Claymore James’s thumb… this had not been part of the fantasy.

Getting shit-faced, twerking on his grave, and then setting the MC’s compound on fire, yes. Pulling up to the chain-link gate and asking to see Mud Knuckle?

Nope. Can’t say that’d made the list, but here she was.

I mean really, Mud Knuckle? Kit sighed, rubbing a temple. If she needed any further confirmation her life had officially gone to shit: Ta-frickin’-da.

One of the dopey-looking prospects manning the gate eyed her, pursing his lips. The scraggly little pornstache he was rocking made his mouth look like a porcupine’s asshole.

Moron leaned in her window. “Ain’t no muddy knuckles here.” He snickered, shooting his zit-infested buddy a look.

Kit sighed. Great, they were gonna fuck with he

“Nah,” Zits said, ambling closer to leer. “But I ain’t opposed to rectifyin’ that situation.” He grinned, making a lewd gesture.

Whoo. Ten points for originality there, son. She rolled her eyes and unbuckled her seatbelt. It was showtime. The two high school rejects scrambled back, wide-eyed when she threw open the door and got out, leaving the hoodie she’d permanently borrowed from Chanté on the seat. Fuck, it was hypothermia cold.

“What? I thought we was ‘wreck-t-fyin’ that sits-e-ate-shon,’” she finger quoted, mimicking his dipshit twang and cocking a hip.

Pornstache’s throat bobbed, taking in her tight tee and yoga pants. God, men were pigs. Pathetic, predictable pigs. Flash them braless DDs, and their brains shorted out faster than a hairdryer in a bathtub. Add the fact that her nipples were hard enough to cut glass, and the poor boys didn’t stand a chance.

“Uh, yeah.” Pornstache tugged on his cut and cleared the squeak from his throat. Slack-jawed, Zits smacked his shoulder, earning himself a glare. “I mean, hell yeah. We’re down, baby.”

Kit arched her back, stretching. Damn, that felt good after five hours behind the wheel. Pornstache groaned like he was about to wreck-t-fy in his pants. She sauntered over and ran a finger down his sternum.

“Then how ‘bout you boys open the gate so I can move my car out of the way and get down to business.”

Zits moved so fast he just about face-planted rushing to unlatch the big chain-link section on wheels blocking the compound’s access road. He’d pulled it halfway across the pavement by the time Kit got back into her car. Pornstache shook his head like a dog, blinking as the door clunked shut, and he stumbled over to help his buddy.


Kit almost felt bad as she drove past, waggling her fingers.

Okay, no, she didn’t. She wriggled back into the hoodie, one hand on the wheel and shivering. Her stomach churned as she drove around the last bend to the chapter house, half expecting the entire club to be out there waiting for her. The woods opened up --

And the lot was empty.

Of frickin’ course it was empty. The funeral was today. Now. She could still make it. Wasn’t that why she’d blown out of the city so fast? To spit on Claymore’s grave like she’d told Chanté she was going to? Get some kind of fucked-up closure?

Yeah, has nothing to do with the fact you’re being stalked by a psycho.

Kit bit back a sob, coasting the last few hundred feet to a stop in front of the long, two-storied building. It was ugly. A dark, cinderblock gray, squatting against a barren hillside. She bit her lip, eyes flicking to the last window on the left, waiting for the shitty mini blinds to part.

They didn’t. Wouldn’t.

Dead. Everything looked fucking dead. Probably because it was.

Fuck this shit. She jerked up the emergency brake and killed the engine. Slammed the door open, then shut. Stomped across the half-frozen muddy lot, odd bits of gravel and glass crunching beneath her boots. Eyes fixed on the burnt-out jaws scored into the surface of the MC’s chapter house door, she approached the belly of the beast -- and stepped into the Maw of Mayhem.


About the Author

AK Nevermore enjoys operating heavy machinery, freebases coffee, and gives up sarcasm for Lent every year. A Jane-of-all-trades, she’s a certified chef, restores antiques, and dabbles in beekeeping when she’s not reading voraciously or running down the dream in her beat-up camo Chucks.

Unable to ignore the voices in her head, and unwilling to become medicated, she writes Science Fiction and Fantasy full time.

She pays the bills editing, wielding a wicked hot pink pen and writing a column on SFF. She also belongs to the Authors Guild, is a chapter treasurer for the RWA, teaches creative writing, and on the rare occasion, sleeps.


Contact Links

Author’s Website

Author on Facebook

Author on Instagram

Author on Twitter

Follow AK Nevermore at Goodreads

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

Pre-Order Today

RABT Book Tours & PR

Monday, January 29, 2024

Threads of a Needle by DG Zitting #SciFi #Thriller


A Mind-Bending Sci-Fi Journey through Dimensional Probabilities


Fiction, Sci-Fi/Adventure, Futuristic, Thriller

Date Published: January 30, 2024

Publisher: Elite Online Publishing



Immerse yourself in a near-future world on the brink of transformation in "Threads of a Needle." Follow Hope Valencia, a skilled PT-SOF agent for the League of Consciousness, as she embarks on a daring mission transcending the boundaries of time and space.


Advanced neurological technologies, now under the control of a dominant media conglomerate, manipulate humanity's belief systems, deviating from their original intent to advance human progress. At the heart of this narrative are Hope's parents, Dr. Gabriel Valencia, neurotechnologist, and Ella Valencia, whose monumental discovery of Trans-Dimensional Probability Threads unites consciousness with the physical realm, revealing a vast expanse of probable realities. This groundbreaking revelation paves the way for the Quantum Thought Dynamics-AI Protocol (QTD-AI), a technology that enables the digitization and manipulation of human thought processes.

Embark on a journey with Hope that challenges traditional understanding, unravels the very fabric of reality, and unveils hidden truths. "Threads of a Needle" not only narrates an enthralling tale but also invites you to reflect on the malleability of reality and the influential power of your beliefs, thoughts, and emotions in shaping the world around you.   


About the Author

DG Zitting is a seasoned entrepreneur with a career spanning over three decades in real estate finance and financial technology. He has successfully led national business firms to significant achievements.

Beyond his thriving professional journey, Zitting's insatiable curiosity spans various domains, including science, technology, philosophy, psychology, and non-denominational spirituality. This lifelong quest for knowledge has unveiled profound insights into the greater reality of the world and universe.

What sets Zitting apart is his ability to translate this wisdom into both his personal life and business ventures, yielding resounding success. As a co-founder and leader of firms employing over two thousand individuals and achieving billions in sales volume objectives, Zitting attributes his accomplishments to transformative insights gained along his remarkable journey.

By infusing his knowledge into every facet of life, including business, family, friendships, hobbies, and passions, Zitting has created a distinct advantage in navigating life's intricate game. He has also established the BE+T=R Life Strategy (BETR), recognizing the pivotal role of beliefsconscious and subconsciousin shaping reality. This philosophy is elegantly summarized in his symbolic equation, BE+T=R, where Beliefs, Emotions, and Thoughts align to shape the probable thread of Reality, empowering others to choose the reality they wish to experience.


Contact Links



RABT Book Tours & PR

Friday, January 26, 2024

Release Blitz: One Icy Night by W.A. Pepper #Thriller

30th Anniversary of the 1994 Delta Ice Storm Edition


Date Published: January 26, 2024



"Gritting, unexpected, and hard to put down." - Midwest Book Review


Rook’s on the run in the most dangerous storm in decades. When a brush with the law goes from bad to worse, can she escape druggies, crazies, and killers?


Abandoned by her now-ex-boyfriend at a dive bar in the middle of nowhere, the last thing resilient Rook Kellum needs is the local sheriff confiscating her I.D. when one phone call could expose her true identity and the reason she is on the run from the law. So when she’s trapped by a deadly ice storm that destroys the Mississippi Delta, the twenty-year-old fugitive has a plan: get everyone drunk, steal back her license (and a madman’s car), and get the hell out of town.

It is only when Rook escapes to a secluded cabin does she discover she isn’t the only one in need of rescue. As she fights her way out of one disaster just to get pounded with another, will Rook live to see the light of day?


One Icy Night is Taylor Adam's No Exit meets Rachel Hawkins’s The Wife Upstairs.

About the Author

W. A. Pepper writes suspenseful thrillers. You Will Know Vengeance was his award-winning debut novel. He is a USA Today, Wall Street Journal, and Amazon Bestselling Author for his contribution to the business anthology Habits of Success. Under different names, (and his real one of Will Pepper) he has published in multiple academic journals, interactive e-books, anthologies, and online. During the COVID-19 pandemic, he and his wife Taddy (plus their dog Danger), started the publishing house Hustle Valley Press, LLC. Through it, they published four e-books that have amassed over one hundred five-star reviews. Further, the husband-and-wife team donated the first six months of revenue from the sale of each of those books to charity; this resulted in thousands of dollars raised for the reader-selected charities that support racial equality, COVID-19 relief, veteran affairs, and St. Jude Children’s Hospital. He has a PhD in Management Information Systems or, as he calls it, Business Computing, from The University of Mississippi. He enjoys coffee, bourbon, snow skiing, Star Wars, comic books, and reading and watching thrillers. Finally, he, his wife Taddy, and their dog Danger split their time between Mississippi and Colorado.

Contact Links

Author Website




Purchase Link


RABT Book Tours & PR

Thursday, January 25, 2024

Cowboy Kind of Hooked by Becca Turner #contemporary #western


Only An Okie Will Do, Book 8


Contemporary Western

Date Published: 01-16-2024



The moment Chance Nash bumps into a sassy blonde at the local bar, he knows she's The One. She might play hard to get, but he gradually wears her down and even learns her name on their first date.

Isla Michaels has come to Oklahoma under false pretenses. Sort of. Although she grew up with privilege, her family life lacked warmth. She recently learned she has a half-brother she never knew about. In order to meet him, she pretends to be interested in one of his horses. Maybe if it goes well, she'll tell him who she is. What she doesn't expect is to be charmed by Chance. He's cute, he's caring, and he immediately breaks through the walls she's erected to keep her heart safe.

But pressure to return home is mounting and Isla's still not sure she wants to spill the truth about her family history. Her deepening feelings for Chance complicate everything she planned for her future. And even though he promises to follow her anywhere, she knows it's wrong to take him away from his family legacy. Isla's decisions will either lead her away from the cowboy she's hooked on or back home to the austere life she built before Chance.


About the Author

"The West isn't won until a cowboy claims your heart."

Becca Turner was raised in Missouri except for a couple of formative years in SW Oklahoma that left her with an Okie accent. One day she was reading cowboy romance novels and wondered why they're all set in Texas. Then she set out to do something about it.

She lives in Missouri with her husband and two dogs.


Contact Links








Purchase Links


Barnes and Noble




Google Play



a Rafflecopter giveaway 

RABT Book Tours & PR

Tuesday, January 23, 2024

PYTHON by Harley Wylde #MC #Romance @changelingpress


(Dixie Reapers MC)

Motorcycle Club Romance, Age Gap, Suspense

Date Published: January 26, 2024


Galina – All my life I’ve been taught to obey men without question, but when I find out my father has offered my hand in marriage to Dima, a man who’s already killed two women, I know I’ve had enough. The Vor offers me a chance to run, and I take it. Living with the Dixie Reapers MC was supposed to be temporary. When I see one of the club girls harassing Python, I step in. Maybe I shouldn’t have. I never thought something so simple would become a complicated situation.

Python – All I wanted was to enjoy the single life forever. Didn’t matter if the pretty little Russian caught my eye. I wasn’t the type to settle down. Then she went and claimed me in front of a club girl. The officers in my club are having far too much fun with this. I’d planned to keep her at arm’s length -- until I found out she was in danger. With trouble breathing down her neck, I don’t have a choice. I’ll make her mine in every way that matters. Anyone dares to touch her, even the Bratva, and I’ll bury them.

WARNING: Python is intended for readers 18+ due to adult situations, language, and violence.




I didn’t know what the hell the club officers were thinking. Yeah, I knew the club had agreed to work with the Bratva when it came to helping women in distress. I got it. They had my support one hundred percent. But I’d thought we’d give them money, a new identity, and move them along. So, why was this girl still here? In the past year, none of the women had stayed longer than a night or two.

“What crawled up your ass?” Sticks asked.

We’d both patched in at the same time and had started prospecting together as well. It had taken both of us a week or two to stop using our real names around each other. There were times I still thought of him as Will.

I pointed to the Russian girl. “Why is she still here?”

“You’d have to ask Grimm, or more accurately, his wife. Oksana took a liking to Galina. It’s why she’s over there so much.”

“Isn’t this just asking for trouble? It’s no secret Oksana is here, or that we know where her mother and sister are located. What if someone in the Bratva comes nosing around? Oksana might be protected, but Galina isn’t.”

Sticks smacked me on the back. “Well, unless you’re volunteering…”

Hell no. The last thing I needed was a woman. My gaze strayed to her again. I had to admit she was pretty. Not gorgeous or even what I would call beautiful. For some reason, there was still an innocence to her. How the hell she’d grown up around the Bratva and not come out the other side jaded was beyond me.

“Don’t let Wire and Lavender see you eying her like that,” Sticks said. “You know what happens when they even get a whiff of interest from one of us.”

I nearly shuddered. Yeah, that was the last thing I wanted to happen. I tore my gaze away from Galina and went into the clubhouse. A cold beer was exactly what I needed.

In the past year or two, a lot of changes had occurred not only here, but with other clubs we called family or friends. Most had done away with the club whores or set up a separate building for family events since so many brothers were settling down. It made sense. If I did have a wife and kid, I wouldn’t want them in the same space those dumb bitches spread their legs.

As for the Dixie Reapers, this building was the one place you could still find a woman. At least, after Wire and Lavender vetted them. Anyone wanting to hang with us went through a background check these days. Too many little ones running around to risk letting the wrong sort of person in. It had happened too often already.

I grabbed a cold bottle of my favorite beer from behind the bar and sat at a nearby table. Only two women were here at the moment, and I didn’t want anything to do with either of them. Anna was the least clingy of the two. Once I’d told her I wasn’t interested, she’d mostly left me alone. Unless she thought I was drunk enough to give her a shot. The other… Penny was a menace. The woman always latched on and wouldn’t let go.

I’d no sooner thought her name than she spotted me and headed over. If I wasn’t trying to keep away from Galina outside, I’d have left the building like my ass was on fire. Anything to avoid the bitch who wanted a property cut. And yeah, we all knew what her end game was, even if she denied it. We could see it in her eyes.

“Did you come here to see me?” she asked, leaning toward me. The woman practically shoved her tits in my face, and I barely dodged.

“Nope. Wanted a beer.”

She batted her eyes. “You could have had one of those at home. You know you don’t have to be shy. I’ll give you anything you want.”

I’d bet she would, and probably something else I most certainly didn’t want or need right now. A baby in her belly. Bitch was crazy as fuck, and I wouldn’t put it past her to get pregnant on purpose. I finished my beer and got up to use the bathroom, hoping she’d be gone when I got back. No such luck. She’d not only made herself comfortable, but she’d gotten two beers. The way she licked at one of them told me it was hers. And if it hadn’t been, it was now.

I stared at the open bottles. We always cautioned women not to accept open containers. Someone at the Hades Abyss had learned not too long ago men needed to be wary too. Cotton had gotten screwed over and still hadn’t recovered from what happened.

“I didn’t spit in it,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Wasn’t my concern.”

She huffed and took the bottle. After swallowing a mouthful, she handed it back to me. “Not poisoned either.”

Fine. I might very well regret this later, but I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Slayer and Royal were both across the room. Last thing I needed was them calling me a little bitch or some shit. I drank the beer quickly, then stood.

“I’m afraid I’m not good company today.” I made my way to the front door. Partway there, the room started to tilt and spin. What the fuck?

I stumbled out onto the porch and down the steps. The entire world looked like I’d entered a funhouse tunnel. Shaking my head, I tried to make sense of where I was. The line of bikes blurred and I couldn’t tell one from another.

A small hand gripped mine and I started to shake it off, until I heard the soft Russian accent.

“Let me help you.”

Galina. I let her lead me away, but we didn’t make it far before I heard Penny yelling out my name.

“Wait for me, Python!”

Galina put her lips near my ear and spoke in a low voice. “Do you want to wait for her?”


She gave a nod and helped me walk a little farther. I hadn’t realized it before, but the car the club had given her sat at the end of the row of bikes. I didn’t know why she’d parked there, but right now I was grateful.

“Hey, bitch! Where are you taking my man?” Penny screamed.

Galina stopped and I felt her turn. She didn’t release me. Only switched to her other hand, as if she worried I might fall. She wasn’t wrong. At any moment I could land on my ass. Although, I didn’t think the pint-size woman was going to be able to hold me up.

“Your man?” she asked. She spit out a string of Russian that sounded like she was cussing the woman out and I couldn’t hold back my smile. Even though I felt like shit, I had to admit I liked seeing this side of Galina. “He’s not yours. He’ll never be yours.”

Penny sputtered, and it sounded like she was coming closer. Galina managed to get me to her car and into the passenger seat. She slammed the door about the time Penny stopped beside her. I couldn’t hear what Galina was saying, but I could tell from the tone she was pissed. She lit into Penny, and if I hadn’t thought I might pass out or throw up, I’d have found it hysterical. She’d done the one thing I hadn’t been able to. Mostly because I’d have felt like shit. Although, now that I was certain the bitch had drugged me, I wouldn’t hold back. In fact, once this passed, I was going to talk to the Pres and get that woman booted permanently.

Galina got into the car and backed up. Penny ran around to put herself in front, and Galina revved the engine. I heard the tires spin right before the car shot forward. My eyes felt so heavy they slid shut, and I missed the look on Penny’s face. Galina didn’t slow for a few minutes. My house was toward the back of the compound, and the moment she came to a stop, I knew she’d brought me home.

She shut off the car and I heard her get out. She opened my door and placed her hand on my arm.

“Can you stand?” she asked. “Should I get help?”

Oh fuck no. “My brothers will laugh if they know about this.”

Shit. That’s right. If I told the Pres, then… I’d have to think about it tomorrow. Right now, I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d stay coherent, or able to stand. Galina helped me from the car, and we walked up to my door. I couldn’t seem to get my keys out of my pocket.

I felt her hand slide in and grasp the keyring, but it wasn’t all she touched. Groaning as my cock went rock-hard, I wondered if I’d just been dumped straight into hell. She froze and I could feel her staring at me, even if I couldn’t manage to open my eyes.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

She pulled out my keys and got the door open. I tripped over the threshold and barely stayed upright. Her small hand grasped mine tightly as she led the way through my home. It was almost as if she knew exactly where she was going. When we reached my bedroom, I sank onto the side of the bed, and she kneeled at my feet. Fuck if that didn’t screw with my drug-addled brain.

She set my boots beside the nightstand, then helped me get my cut off. I tried to watch her, but the world was spinning too much. Closing my eyes, I fell back on the mattress. My legs still hung off the side, but I didn’t care.

“Python, what happened? Should I get someone?”

“Drugged.” At least, I tried to say it. Not sure how it sounded to her. I could tell my words slurred and my tongue felt heavy. What the hell had Penny planned to accomplish with me in this state? Then again, I’d gotten hard when Galina brushed against my cock. It seemed that part of me worked, even if the rest didn’t.

She did her best to get me all the way onto the bed, and I heard her panting for breath when she’d finished. I didn’t know what Penny had dosed me with, so I had no clue how long this would last. The thought of lying here alone, unable to even get up if I needed to puke or take a piss, bothered me. That bitch was going to pay when I got through this.

“Stay,” I said, or tried to. Galina seemed to understand. I felt the bed dip as she sat beside me.

My movements were clumsy, but I managed to pull her down beside me. I attempted to wrap my arm around her, to hold her closer, but failed miserably. She sighed and inched closer.

“When I thought of my first time in bed with a man, this wasn’t what I had in mind,” she said.

My head felt too foggy for her words to really sink in. First time? Wait. “Virgin?”

She buried her face against my side. “Stop. Don’t make fun of me.”

Before I could say anything else, the darkness started to pull me under.



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

Pre-Order Today

RABT Book Tours & PR

Monday, January 22, 2024



This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Merrin Slade will award a $50 Kobo gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

In a world where perfection is demanded of its citizens, one imperfect woman may be the only person who can save humanity.

One thousand years in the future, humans have developed the ability to alter their genes to create a perfect version of themselves, but not all are so fortunate. Cerys Skye is a Wild Type, genetically unaltered and forced to live in the Refuge—a place for Wild Types and the unlucky citizens whose genetic modifications society has deemed as imperfect.

All the fiery tempered young woman knows is how to fight. Using her wits and skills, Cerys must compete in brutal prize fights if she is to bring food to the table for her younger sister. But, she is always aware that the next fight could her last—she must find a way out of this life.

Leaving behind all that she knows, the last place the tempestuous Cerys expects to find herself is joining the United Planet's Space Force Academy, where she battles prejudice and intolerance in a world run by genetically modified humans.

As the new recruit discovers, not all is as it seems at the Academy with a shadowy cyber-evil seeking to threaten humanity. But, when loyalties are tested and the stakes are high, can Cerys rely on newfound allies and her unshakeable courage to stop the impending catastrophe?

Contains mature themes.

Read an Excerpt

“You’ve got the wrong Wild Type—sir.” Cerys stood straighter.

“There is no mistake.” His eyes narrowed.

“I haven’t done anything, and I’m already late for training.”

“I have my orders to ship you out. We’ve spent a lot of time finding you, Cerys Skye.” The secofficer glanced into the sky, searching for something.

“Let me explain.” Her pulse throbbed in her temple. “I’ve done nothing illegal. If this is about the protests, I’m not involved and I’m not with Rebels. You’ve got the wrong person.” She gritted her teeth. “You can’t send me to jail if I haven’t done anything, sir.”

“Jail?” His brows shot up. “Oh, no. Not jail. You’re going to the Space Force Academy.”

Cerys’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“Space Force?” she finally stuttered. “That test was over a year ago. In the border settlements… We never heard...” She had buried the dark day of the exam; remembering brought back humiliation and failure. She didn’t want to think about what happened ever again.

“You never answered our messages. You’ve been impossible to find, Skye.”

“You were trying to find me? This dump is a technical wasteland—messaging is impossible.” Cerys’s mind spun. When she lived with her father, the space academy in Annapol had been her dream, but the chance of getting a scholarship was almost impossible because GMs were doing their best to keep Wild Types out.

“You’re lucky we finally located you.” The secofficer tapped his foot. “A random biometric scan of the fighters in the arena yesterday picked you up. Orders from the top were to bring you in immediately.”

“Space Force?” This could be a chance to make a better life for her and Starla. Her heart pounded.

“Well, are you coming or not?”

“It’s just…” She would have to leave Starla, and how would her sister survive on her own? Cerys shuffled, not knowing what to do.

“You are rejecting your place at the academy?” he scoffed. “Wild Types are such a waste of time.” He waved his hand. “Step aside, then.”

She dug her nails into her palms. If she stayed, death in the arena was certain. If not tomorrow, it would be soon. No future for her, no future for Starla. If she went, she could send Starla money and save the rest to make a new life for them.

“I accept.”

About the Author: Merrin Slade is a science fiction writer who transports readers to alternate futures and faraway universes.

Connect with Merrin Slade:

TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@merrinslade
Website: https://merrinslade.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/merrinslade
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/merrinslade

The book is discounted for a limited time in NZ, Australia and the UK. https://www.kobo.com/au/en/ebook/cerys-valkyrie-earth

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Tuesday, January 16, 2024

Toran Unbound by Rebecca York #Paranormal #Fiction @changelingpress


A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novella

(Unbound, Book 7)


Paranormal Women's Fiction

Publication Date: January 19, 2024

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC



Toran Bladewielder’s life was upended when a battle injury forced him to leave his order -- the Holy Defenders of the Gods. It is upended again when he catches a thief pilfering food from the warehouse he is guarding. Although the miscreant turns out to be a beautiful woman, his duty is to hand her over to the authorities.

But when he discovers she is a slave who escaped from a ship in the harbor, his sense of right and wrong urges him to hide her.

Desperate to maintain her freedom, Farah will do anything escape the clutches of her cruel master -- even seduce a man whose sexual innocence and moral decency are clear to her.

But as she angles to keep Toran on her side, their relationship heats up. Neither expected to ever find love, yet the intensity between them builds -- until Lord Camari’s men find Farah and drag her back to him for punishment. Can Toran rescue her, and is there any way for these unlikely lovers can forge a lasting relationship?



Toran Unbound

Rebecca York

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2024 Rebecca York


Toran Bladewielder lurked in the darkness of the warehouse, determined to catch the thief who had been stealing foodstuffs from recent shipments. Repressing a wince of pain, he leaned back against the building’s rough stone wall to ease the ache in his leg. Six months ago, he had been a Holy Defender -- a member of the religious order which preserved the authority of the gods. Then in a battle far from home, he had been struck down by a blow from an infidel.

The injury to his leg had made him unfit for military service, and he had been unceremoniously shipped back to his home monastery. There he had been given a choice -- accept the menial jobs of tending the garden and preparing food for his brothers -- or leave the order. After the exhilaration of battle, he was unable to envision a life of such work. With a heavy heart, he had chosen to renounce his vows.

For months he had felt like a brigantine without a rudder, adrift on an unknown sea, until his old schoolmate Gareth Lamb had offered him a guard’s job in one of the Glencarn warehouses that he and Prince Gawain owned. It was a far cry from his former holy mission, but at least it was work that could utilize some of his fighting skills.

When he wasn’t at his post, he was working to strengthen his ruined leg. The combination kept him from tipping over the edge into the black despair that had threatened to swallow him whole.

It had been a routine job -- until the last few days. Now he had a real puzzle to solve. No one had been able to catch the sneak thief helping himself to a recent shipment of foodstuffs from far off Amorn, although the evidence of his work was as plain as an open box of dates or an unsealed amphora. But the knave was well-nigh invisible.

Invisible? Toran snorted. That was mere fantasy, but the lout always seemed to know when it was safe to strike -- leaving only the evidence of his thievery.

Not tonight. Toran had worked out a plan to capture the culprit. He made his preparations during the day, then stationed himself in one of the smaller side rooms of the dockside building.

But the plan had its own disadvantages. After hours of waiting in the shadows, his bad leg had begun to throb. Soon he would have to shift his positions, and that would give him away. He clenched his fists, his jaw set in a hard line as he fought down the pain.

He was about to give up when the sound of soft, stealthy footsteps put him on alert. Someone had come into the room where Toran had stacked crates of the cargo that the thief had been plundering. He stayed where he was, determined to win the upper hand this time. He could not see into the room where the bait was stacked, but when his keen ears detected the squeak of a nail being eased from a crate lid, he readied himself to pull on the cord in his right hand.

To his surprise, he heard a sudden flailing as though his quarry had somehow realized what was about to happen. But it was already too late.

The rope released a net that fell from the ceiling over the boxes -- and over the brigand who stood beside them.

The man let out a high-pitched scream, then scrabbled as he tried desperately to disentangle himself from the web, but the edges were weighted, making it hard to lift.

Toran sprang from his hiding place and moved across the stone floor as quickly as he could. But he had been standing in place for too long. His bad leg gave out, and he ended up going down in a heap. Luckily, the netting trap gave him the time to crawl forward and come down on top of the struggling prisoner.

They lay entangled on the cold floor, both breathing hard, the miscreant trying desperately to get away, and Toran just as determined to hold onto his captive. As the man thrashed about, Toran felt spindly arms and legs, a slender back, and a mass of soft hair. An unusual combination, he thought as he pulled the webbing tight, gathering it around the prisoner as though he were securing a wild animal in a net.

“Stop struggling or you will hurt yourself,” he advised.

The words were met with a stout kick to his bad leg that might have hurt if the netting hadn’t truncated the blow.

It was too dark in the warehouse to see the struggling form. Ignoring his throbbing knee, Toran gathered up net and captive and dragged them across the floor and through the cargo door onto the riverside wharf where he had left a lantern burning on a hook.

At this hour of the night, there was no one else about. As he dragged his bundle, he added to his impressions of the thief. This was no full-grown man. It must be a youth -- mayhap a desperate street urchin who was using the shipments as a source of food. Still, stealing was stealing, and it must stop.

Angry that the exertion had him breathing hard, Toran grabbed the prisoner by the hair and turned him to his back so that he was suddenly looking down into frightened green eyes. They were the first thing he saw, but he quickly took in more details. Wild dark hair framing a delicate face. A small nose, a slender neck. His gaze traveled farther downward, seeing ragged clothing of a cut he did not recognize. Not pants below the dirty shirt, but skirts. As a former holy brother, he had little experience with skirts or anything else to do with the female sex. Quickly his gaze traveled upward again, seeing twin mounds pushing up at the chest. This was no slender lad. It was a girl.

“Blood of the gods,” he croaked. “Who are you?”

She looked away. “Nobody.” Her voice was soft and strangely accented.

“A thief,” he answered his own question. “Look at me.”

Slowly she turned her face back toward his, and he saw the look of devastation in her eyes.

“Let me go and you will never see me again,” she whispered.

“I cannot. You have stolen from a royal warehouse, and I must turn you over to the prince’s guards.”

He saw her lips tremble. “I did it to keep myself alive.”

“Who are you?” he asked again.


About the Author

New York Times and USA Today Best-Selling Author Rebecca York began her career as a journalist writing articles for newspapers and magazines, but after several years decided to try writing fiction. She's a highly successful author of over 50 romantic suspense and paranormal novels and is the head of the Columbia Writers Workshop. Her many awards include two Rita finalist books. She has two Career Achievement awards from Romantic Times: for Series Romantic Suspense and for Series Romantic Mystery. Her Peregrine Connection series won a Lifetime Achievement Award for Romantic Suspense Series. She collects rocks, and enjoys cooking, walking, reading, gardening, travel, and Mozart operas.


Author Contact Links

Author’s Website

Author on Twitter


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


Pre-Order Today

RABT Book Tours & PR

Audiobook Tour: The Human Trial by Audrey Gale #Medical #Thriller


Medical Thriller / Historical Mystery

Date Published: Sept. 21, 2023

Publisher: Books Fluent

Narrator: Scott Graff

Run Time: 9 hours, 8 minutes


Dr. Randall Archer is a misfit....

....in the brutal blue-collar home where he grew up.

....as a 16-year-old escaping to college, then medical school, on a full scholarship to Harvard.

....in the highest echelons of Boston society, where the woman he marries and the blueblood research partner with whom he shares his laboratory belong.

Even Archer’s brilliance as a pathologist catapults him into direct and dangerous conflict with the medical establishment he fought so hard to join.

As the Great Depression presses down around him, Archer teeters at the edge of a precipice. He must choose between his hard-won career and the sacred oaths he took as a doctor and scientist—before all his choices are lost forever.

About the Author

Audrey Gale long dreamed of being a writer, but never anticipated the circuitous road she’d take to get there. After twenty-plus years in the banking industry, she grew tired of corporate gamesmanship and pursued her master’s in fiction writing at the University of Southern California. Her first novel, a legal thriller entitled The Sausage Maker's Daughters, was published under the name A.G.S. Johnson. Her second, The Human Trial, is the first book in a medical thriller trilogy inspired by Gale’s own experiences with the gap between traditional medicine and approaches based on the findings of the great physicists of the 20th Century. Both The Sausage Maker’s Daughters and The Human Trial incorporate Gale’s fascination with historical and scientific research, and always with women finding their places. Gale lives in Los Angeles with her husband and dogs where she is found hiking the Santa Monica Mountains every chance she gets.

Contact Links







Purchase Links


Barnes and Noble


RABT Book Tours & PR