Medically Necessary by Emily Carrington #LGBTQ #Romance #Fantasy

 

LGBTQ Romance, Dark Fantasy, Steamy

Date Published: October 10, 2025

Publisher: Changeling Press

The threat to all werewolves draws Amir and Oliver together, even as their wounds threaten to rip them apart.

Trust is Earned (Medically Necessary 1): Amir is a General Practitioner for magical creatures, particularly werewolves. When the leader of all werewolves comes to him with a problem that presents like psychosis, Amir needs help. Oliver’s nursing a grieving heart and a chip on his shoulder. Still, when Amir asks for his help, he jumps at the chance. The submissive wolf is beautiful.

Trust is Fraught (Medically Necessary 2): As the leader of the werewolves sinks further into insanity, Amir and Oliver fight prejudice and time to rescue their alpha. As Oliver and Amir are pulled deeper into the dangers of the psychic world, their love may be the only thing keeping them sane.

Trust is Sacred (Medically Necessary 3): Oliver’s terrible secret is eating him alive. Amir thinks purging and confession are medically necessary for spiritual and physical well-being, but Oliver will stop at almost nothing to hide his scars.

 

Can either of them learn to trust?

 

EXCERPT

 

Excerpt from Trust is Earned

He had tended to different members of the Tilthos and Merle werewolf packs over the years. Being positioned in southern Erie County, located in Upstate New York, had been the best thing he could do for his medical practice. Once he’d finally convinced Nicholas Black of the Merle pack in Buffalo, New York, to work with him as the werewolf equivalent of a midwife, his office was often full to bursting with pregnant female werewolves.

And it didn’t matter one bit that he spoke Werewelsh, the native language of most werewolves, with an accent or as only his fourth language. For Dr. Amir Othman, the prejudice he might have encountered because of his unusual parentage and his even more unique upbringing was all overshadowed by one truth. He was good at his job.

That didn’t make him less nervous to meet the alpha above all alphas. Tilthos Charles, alpha of his own pack and leader of the wolves of North and South America, was supposedly intimidating. All of which pointed to this truth: while Amir had healed every magical creature from djinns to kelpies, and even two dragons, he still worried about doing or saying the wrong thing in Tilthos Charles’s presence.

What bothered him even more was that he almost qualified as a lone wolf. A “packless loner,” in werewolf-speak, and that was not a compliment. He had a technical pack, run by Kreisha Alexander. When that particular alpha threw his weight around, everyone obeyed. Thankfully, that pack was in Washington, DC, nearly two hundred miles away. So, unless Alpha Alexander gave him an edict directly over the phone, as opposed to in an email or via snail mail, Amir could basically do as he chose.

Except, now the alpha above all alphas was coming to his office and would surely demand to know why he hadn’t switched his allegiance to a pack up here in New York. “It doesn’t have to be mine,” the most powerful werewolf on the planet would say, “but it can’t be you operating under your own aegis.”

So, when his assistant, Carly, sent him a message that Tilthos Charles was here, Amir’s pulse picked up. He responded to her message, saying he’d be in Exam Room Three in under five minutes. Then he did a deep breathing exercise, using the five senses trick he’d learned as a young wolf when he first realized he wanted to become a doctor and would be around blood and anxious magical creatures.

Five things he could see. His fidgety hands. By crossing his eyes, he could see his nose. His computer screen, which held everything his clinic had on the alpha above all alphas. Trying to look farther away in an attempt to slow his racing heart, he looked at the carpet in front of his desk. It was a boring brown that didn’t hold his attention. Finally, he looked at the door where he’d hung a poster of a Great Pyrenees, which was the closest breed to his family’s wolf forms, which were usually white.

Four things he could hear… The thudding of his heart. The rush of blood in his veins, which meant he was really keyed up still because even though he was a werewolf with acute hearing, he didn’t usually pay attention to the sounds of his own or others’ bodies. He struggled hard to refocus and heard the buzzing of the fluorescent light in the ceiling. He needed one more thing, so he made his chair creak. Oddly, the sound of something he could completely control helped him breathe a little easier.

Three things he could touch… The pen in his hand, which he’d been nervously twirling. He set it down. The feel of the chair under him, with his suit coat slung over the back. He could also feel his toes in his shoes. He breathed in more deeply than he’d managed so far and felt still a bit better.

Two things he could smell… He could no longer smell adrenaline. That was a good thing. He lifted his hand to his nose and smelled the soap he’d washed with maybe ten minutes ago.

And one thing he could taste, which was his cold lavender matcha latte.

Glancing at the clock icon on his computer, he saw it had been almost three minutes. Well, it was now or never. He doubted he’d be calmer if he sat here longer. So, he stood, straightened his white medical coat, and left the office. He listened to people talking quietly in the waiting room as he passed. He smiled at Carly, who mouthed, “Good luck.” Then he knocked on the door of Exam Room Three.

“Please come in.”

The voice that had responded was lightly accented, and he wondered why no one had ever told him Tilthos Charles was Hispanic. Then he was in the room, and he saw there were two people inside. The werewolf was certainly Tilthos Charles and the psychic vampire… Oh, yes. Tilthos Charles’s mate was a psychic vampire.

The alpha wolf sat on the exam table and his mate stood at his side. It was actually the psychic vampire who moved first, holding out his hand. “Dr. Othman, I’m Luis McLaughlin.”

Amir shook with him and then offered his hand to the burly werewolf. He saw the wolf’s eyes flicker quickly down to his hand and then away. Then his hand was taken and Tilthos Charles said, “Please to meet you, Dr. Othman.”

He sounded it too, but there was something bothering him. Well, and didn’t that make sense? Folks who were completely healthy rarely came to the doctor’s office.

“The pleasure is mine,” Amir returned, smiling at both of them. Then he retreated until he could sit on his stool. He watched Tilthos Charles’s eyes try to focus on him. “Forgive me, but while I have some information about your general health, I know very little about your visual impairment.”

He saw his guess had been right, that the alpha above all alphas indeed had something wrong with his vision.

“I told you he’d know,” said Luis as his mate brought out a folded white cane from behind his back.

“Forgive me the test, Dr. Othman,” said Charles, “but I’ve been seen by too many doctors who miss the obvious until I point it out to them.” He settled the cane on his leg, keeping one hand on it so it wouldn’t fall. “We’re here today, not because of my visual impairment, which has been unchanged since I was born, but because Luis is convinced there’s something…” He hesitated.

Luis said, “He’s distracted and agitated.”

Amir watched Charles’s nostrils flare and his pupils dilate. “I’m on edge because Agent Sowerby’s… Shit. I must be off-balance somehow if I’m about to spill state secrets.” He smiled ruefully at Amir. “Forgive me. Luis is right. I just can’t figure out how you’ll help me or if there is any help for the mess we’re about to be in.”

“May I examine you?”

Charles nodded.

Amir went through all the basics, including sending the alpha werewolf out to give him a urine sample. When the door closed, he turned to Luis. “How long has he been on edge?” He could smell the wolf’s almost panic.

“About three weeks. “

“Did anything precipitate his anxiety?”

Luis sighed. “I’m not sure what’s really private. I assume you’re bound by medical confidentiality?”

“I am.” He could see the psychic vampire hesitating. “Please tell me everything you can. I cannot be effective while only possessing half the facts.”

“My mate holds the belief that the head of SearchLight is going to expose all magical creatures.”

Amir’s mouth went dry. “I know Tilthos Charles probably has the ear of SearchLight. Is he correct?”

“Absolutely not, but I can’t convince him of that.”

“Has he talked to…” He couldn’t remember the name of the new head of SearchLight, only that Agent Weinberg had stepped down.

“I’ve tried getting Jack Sowerby to talk to him. No dice. Not that Agent Sowerby wouldn’t, but Charlie didn’t believe him.”

Amir held up his hand. The bathroom door had creaked open. He turned his head toward the exam room’s entrance for good measure.

Tilthos Charles entered. “Your assistant took my sample.”

Amir said soothingly, “Please, Alpha, sit down.”

He saw his words had the opposite effect to what he’d intended. Instead of resting on the table again, Tilthos Charles drew himself up. He was taller than Amir by half a foot and intimidating as hell.

Sitting on his stool, making himself as nonthreatening as possible, Amir put his hands palms up on his thighs. “I mean you no harm.”

 

About the Author

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender women’s speculative fiction. Seeking a world made of equality, she created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires. And in the contemporary world she’s named “Sticks & Stones,” Emily has vowed to create small towns where prejudice is challenged by a passionate quest for equality. Find her on Facebook at Shapeshifter Central or on her website.

 

Author’s Website

Emily on Facebook

Emily on Twitter

 

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

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

 

Pre-Order Today

VENDETTA by Jamie Targaet #MCromance @ChangelingPress

 

Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense

Date Published: October 10, 2025

Publisher: Changeling Press

They betrayed me. They tried to sell my woman. But I’m the man they couldn’t kill. Now I’m the darkness coming for them.

Dylan -- I thought I could handle my uncle’s world. I thought if I kept my head down and stayed quiet, I could survive with the help of the mysterious man who’d slipped into my bed like a secret I didn’t want to question. But one night everything shattered. My uncle Eli handed me off to a trafficker like I was nothing, and the man I trusted turned out to be the ghost Eli thought he’d left hanging in the woods -- the man who would kill to keep me safe.

Vendetta -- I used to be Tank, proud to wear the Cottonmouth patch, until I spoke out against the rot our so-called leaders let poison our MC. They hung me for it. I crawled out of my grave and took a new name. Now I’m back to burn the criminal empire infecting Oak Grove, and the Cottonmouths that invited it in, to the ground.

Dylan was never supposed to be part of the plan. Hell, she’s the niece of the man who betrayed me. But I’ll die before I let him hurt her again. And when Eli and his men try to finish what they started, they’ll see I’m not the same man they tried to bury.

 

Warning: Vendetta is intended for readers 18+ due to explicit adult content, violence, and bad language. There’s no cliffhanger, no cheating, and a guaranteed HEA.

 

EXCERPT

 

Dylan

Ned’s Sundown Lounge looked rougher in the light of day than it ever did at night.

Dylan Crizer waited across the street with her keys clenched in her hand, taking it all in. The building looked old, dressed in faded black brick. The same flickering neon sign that barely spelled the word “Open” was still there. She remembered it from passing by that building as a child. The tinted windows smeared with fingerprints and smoke stains were new. While the building wasn’t falling apart just yet, it had clearly seen better days. Maybe better decades.

Yeah, it was as bad as her Uncle Eli had said it was. It blew her mind that he was now co-owner of the bar that had been there most of her life. Eli Crizer was a big bad biker, president of the Cottonmouths and all that, but he’d never been well-off before. How did a biker get that kind of money? Did he dip into his retirement account? Did he even have one of those?

Not long after she returned to Oak Grove, she found out her uncle had bought the place with a “business associate.” How did he get a business associate? The place had always fascinated her, so when she saw the ‘help wanted’ sign in the window, she marched herself in and applied right away. Not surprisingly, her uncle, who hadn’t made time to reach out to her so far, called her the same day about her application.

“It’s not the place for you, Dylan,” he said right off the bat. When she asked why, he countered with, “It’s gonna be full of drunks, ex-cons, and worse.”

She thought the fact that she’d been a waitress for years would guarantee her the job. She had bartender experience too, although she wasn’t the best at making drinks consistently good in a rough environment. Her uncle didn’t agree. “You’re a Crizer. You’re better than serving drinks to scummy people.”

But here she was anyway. Not just because she had something to prove. She now had something to rebuild. Her entire life basically. Maybe she wouldn’t be starting a new job today; Eli as a co-owner could cut her off. But she had to try.

Dylan spent five years with a man who couldn’t commit and didn’t want her to grow. Five years pretending she was happy in a dead-end relationship in Richmond. When she left him and the city, she made up her mind that she’d come back to Oak Grove and figure it out from the ground up. She’d start over. Hell, she was only twenty-five. She had time.

She was starting over right here at Ned’s Sundown Lounge.

Pushing through the front door, Dylan blinked as her eyes adjusted to the low light inside the bar. The entire place smelled of old leather, cheap whiskey, and stale beer. It appeared to be well stocked and mostly clean despite all the scuff marks and the sticky spots along the floor. The tables were roomy and spaced out well around its central dance floor. A narrow hallway led off in the direction of the restrooms and the back offices. Ned’s Sundown Lounge had its own unique charm. If you squinted.

“Good afternoon,” came a voice from behind the bar. A tall, older woman with a sharp jaw and leopard-print eyeglasses worked at polishing glasses, watching Dylan with a smile. “You must be Eli’s niece.”

“Dylan,” she said, stepping up to the bar. “Here for my first day.”

At least she hoped she was. If Eli told them she couldn’t work there, what would she do? She really needed the job and had already told him that.

“I’m Peggy,” the woman said in the way of introduction as she gave her a once-over and nodded like she approved of what she saw. “You got the job. Just stay aware and don’t take shit from anyone. Even the regulars. You’ll be fine.”

Dylan didn’t hesitate. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Come on.” Peggy put the last glass she polished on the bar and motioned for Dylan to follow her.

Down that narrow hallway and to the left was a line of really old lockers outside the business offices. All of them had huge padlocks, protecting the personal items the employees wanted to tuck away. Just one, at the far end, had a small key stuck in the bottom of its padlock. Peggy pointed to that one.

“There’s only one key,” Peggy warned. “If you lose it, you’re responsible for getting a new lock, okay?”

Dylan nodded, tucking her purse into the locker and securing it with the padlock before sliding its tiny silver key into the front pocket of her jeans.

Peggy jerked a thumb in the opposite direction. “The kitchen is that way. There’s not a lot of menu options to memorize. Burgers, fries, nachos. I think they have chili a couple of times a week. None of it is that great.”

Good to know. Pulling the hair tie from her wrist, she pulled her hair up into a ponytail as she followed the woman back through the bar, taking in every corner as she went. Dylan was many things but naive wasn’t one of them.

Her Uncle Eli had influence here and he led a shady biker club. And now he was a co-owner of this place. People didn’t just “run bars” these days. Bars were often covers for other things. More shady shit. She’d left a couple of bars after learning they were running drugs out of them. The second one had a full police raid one night and it took hours for it to be cleared up so everyone could go home. She never returned because drugs were dangerous and brought dangerous people. No job was worth putting herself in the line of fire.

But until she had proof that something wasn’t right here at her uncle’s bar, she was going to do the damn job. Unfortunately, she needed the money to get back on her feet.

Smile. Hustle. Listen. It had been her mantra since her first job in a bar.

Peggy looked to be somewhere in her forties. She had a no-nonsense attitude that had to come in handy in a place as rough as this. “House rules. Keep the regulars’ drinks full and staff are not allowed to talk politics. Or religion. People don’t want to think about religion when they’re drinking and partying, you know? The jukebox plays when it fucking wants to, so no beating it or kicking it. If Ned’s here and he sees you do it, he’ll lose his mind.”

“Who’s Ned?” Dylan asked.

“The other co-owner,” Peggy replied. “Try not to piss him off, even if you are Eli’s family.”

“Understood,” Dylan said.

“Now, if a fight breaks out and there’s usually one each fucking week,” Peggy explained, “don’t be a hero. Just try and get clear and wave down one of the bouncers. We usually have at least two of them scheduled each night. It’s not a bad idea to check the schedule. It’s on the whiteboard with the lockers. See who’s on duty each night so you know who you’re looking for.” She jerked her chin in the direction of the far end of the bar.

Dylan followed her gaze to the two huge guys leaning against the back wall near the hallway, perfectly still and silent. One of them was built like a refrigerator with tattoos creeping up both sides of his neck. The other looked mean even though he wasn’t actively trying to at that moment. He was leaner with an angular face and a body you could only get from hours each week in the gym. The gym rats were hit-or-miss as bouncers. Dylan would be willing to bet money that the fridge was the one to flag down in a fight.

“They don’t talk much, but they move fast, let me tell you. If some shit goes down, make eye contact, give a nod, and then get out of the way. Got it?”

“Got it,” Dylan said, scanning the room as Peggy handed her an apron and a notepad. “Is there a panic button or something? I’ve worked in other places that had them.”

Peggy snorted. “This ain’t Applebee’s, sweetheart. You see something coming, you move. Fast.”

It wasn’t the serious lack of formal safety protocols that raised Dylan’s eyebrows. It was the way Peggy said it, like fights weren’t just a possibility, they were expected. Like there was a rhythm to them and they were allowed. She nodded and kept listening, but something about that rubbed her wrong.

“Most of our business is on the weekends, of course, but the VIPs come in all during the week,” Peggy went on, already moving back to the bar to stock napkins in old-fashioned metal boxes. “You’ll know them when you see them. They don’t tip, but don’t piss them off. Eli likes to keep them happy.”

Dylan paused, notebook in hand. “VIPs?”

“Locals. Out-of-towners. Some are from his MC. Doesn’t matter,” Peggy said, without looking up. “You serve what they order and stay out of their conversations. That’s not me being rude. That’s me keeping you employed.”

The words hit her like a warning. Something about all of it, the emphasis, the look in Peggy’s eyes, the way she didn’t offer names made Dylan’s stomach tighten as she kept listening, wondering what else she was going to hear. Nodding, she filed it all away and forced a smile.

“Thanks for showing me the ropes,” Dylan said. “I appreciate it.”

Peggy finally looked at her, a long, assessing stare. Then she shrugged. “You’ve got the eyes for this place. You watch everything. That’s good. Just make sure you don’t watch too closely, yeah?”

Dylan didn’t answer. But she was definitely paying attention.

“One last thing.” Peggy spoke quietly. “You’re one of the owner’s family members which probably means you’d have to really fuck up to get fired. But just keep in mind, you’re still expendable.”

“I’ll do my best to remember that.”

The evening crowd was light, just as Peggy explained it would be. It was Thursday night, and Ned’s Sundown Lounge always did look better at night. The dim lighting and the fact that the sun had already set, covered the bar’s many imperfections better than paint ever could. The jukebox was working tonight, playing songs that were moody and lazy, and they filled the space without drawing attention.

The regulars were easy to spot, planted on barstools like fixtures, beers in front of them. Some of them talked to each other in low voices, some were there on their own. Dylan had just finished clearing one of her tables when the cool night air blew a newcomer through the front doors.

Dylan glanced up and paused.

The newest patron was tall and built. She didn’t think she’d seen him before. That didn’t necessarily mean anything. She was just back in town after having been gone several years.

The man who just walked in didn’t look like a local. Six-four, easy, with broad shoulders under a worn jean jacket and a dark hoodie that had definitely seen better days. His long dark hair was pulled back low at the neck, and a beat-up baseball cap shadowed most of his face. Not that it helped much. He was fine and pretty hard to miss.

Dark eyes scanned the room once, slow and deliberate. He didn’t come across as cocky, just aware. Like he was used to being in places where trouble could find him in a hurry. When his gaze finally landed on her, it lingered for half a second longer than it needed to. Not creepy or flirty. Maybe interested.

Dylan straightened and stepped behind the bar, already reaching for a clean glass. But the new guy didn’t sit at the bar like most of them. No, he picked out a booth near the back, one that gave him the best line of sight on both the bar’s exits.

Shit, they really must have fights often here.

Dylan clocked that and noticed how relaxed his movements were. Like someone trained not to draw attention but fully capable of handling it if he had to.

She walked over with a notepad in hand, smiling when his gaze met hers. “You look like a bourbon guy,” she said by way of greeting.

“It depends on who’s pouring,” he said, voice deep and gravel smooth.

 

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.

Author on Facebook

Author on Amazon

Author’s Website

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

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

Pre-Order Today

SPELLBOUND by Mychael Black #LGBTQ #Romance #Vampires @ChangelingPress

 

LGBTQ Romance, Vampires

Date Published: October 3, 2025

Publisher: Changeling Press

A ritual decades ago leads Beau to the one person he never expected to meet: his fated mate.

Detective Beau Kirkland has to work directly with the local vampire house to find a murderer, but that’s the easy part. The difficult part? His attraction to Garrett Dawson’s, one of House Saridan’s top hunters.

Garrett Dawson’s methods are brutal but very effective, even for a vampire. When a mortal detective begins working with House Saridan, Garrett finds himself unable to ignore the attraction between them.

 

EXCERPT

Garrett

There were few things I truly loved in this world, and one was currently in my hand as I took the elevator up to the fifteenth floor of Saridan Tower. No one else shared my addiction to the most amazingly sweet coffee concoction currently sending copious amounts of caffeine through my system. I stepped off the elevator on the top floor and headed down the hall to the usual conference room. I didn’t get any farther than the doorway, though. I simply froze, body alternating between hot and cold.

Normally, these meetings were just the three of us lead Venari and Deacon.

Not today, apparently.

Beau Kirkland looked up at me, eyes wide for a moment. No one said a word -- not even Deacon. Somehow, I got my feet to move and sat opposite the omega cop. It took more effort than I really had this morning to focus on work and not the stupidly hot human across from me.

I didn’t go for twinks like the others. I liked my men older, more experienced. Beau fit that requirement with ease. His short brown hair bore a little bit of gray here and there, and his dark chocolate-colored eyes studied me whenever I glanced at his face. He was a few inches shorter than my own six-three, and unlike most omegas, he was a bit muscular due to his job. Dressed in his dark navy uniform, he presented the most fucking delectable package on the planet. I cursed silently and tore my gaze from his when all blood began rushing south.

Deacon cleared his throat and looked at each of us. “I’m sure you all know one another, but for protocol’s sake, I’d like to introduce Officer Beau Kirkland. He’s our liaison within the police department. He’s also the one handling this latest case on their end. Officer Kirkland, these are my head Venari: Nikolai Hart, Victor Pace, and Garrett Dawson.”

Beau nodded. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

We exchanged the usual pleasantries before Deacon continued. “I’m stepping back for now,” he said, glancing at me briefly, “but I’m here if needed. To that end, the table’s yours, Officer Kirkland.”

“Thank you,” Beau said. He handed each of us several folders. “Eight victims so far, all completely drained. Eyewitnesses have seen the perp in passing, but no one can agree on a description.”

“Could be a Lupyn,” Vic said as he flipped through the contents of one of the folders.

“That was my assumption, but you all know far better than we do if that’s the case.”

I went through the first folder in front of me. Crime scene photos, pics of the victims post-mortem, notes, and statements. I scanned over everything and couldn’t disagree with the shapeshifter idea. It would make sense.

“What do you need from us?” Nik asked Beau. “We’re more than happy to work with you and your folks.”

I’m not sure I would’ve gone that far, but we did need to get this monster off the streets. I might not have been particularly nuts about humans, but that didn’t mean I wished them dead. My methods were saved for my own kind.

Beau passed out papers to us. “These are the last few places he was sighted. He’s a vampire, so we humans are outgunned here. We can help corner him, but capture is a different story altogether.”

Nik nodded. “Agreed. Well, we’re here and ready to go hunting.”

I didn’t miss the slight grimace on Beau’s face before he managed to school it into something more neutral. Apparently, neither did Deacon, but the man just remained silent.

“Thank you,” Beau said. “Please keep me updated on everything. In the meantime, I’ll be at the station downtown, trying to narrow our possible location leads.”

“Thank you for coming to us,” Deacon said. “I guarantee we will be in touch. These guys are my best hunters, and I have no doubt they’ll find this son of a bitch.”

Despite the situation, Beau smiled. “Thank you very much.”

The others left the room, though Beau shot me a cryptic look before stepping out the door. I stayed seated, knowing Deacon had something to say. Sure enough, as soon as we were alone, he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

“Is this going to be an issue?”

I could’ve played dumb, but he already knew everything. There wasn’t any point. “No. I’m fully capable of working with him.”

Deacon raised one eyebrow. “Really? Because pheromones say otherwise.”

I managed to avoid scowling at him. Lupyns were more sensitive to things like that than Venari. “Unlike Nik, I’m perfectly capable of keeping my dick in my pants, Deacon.”

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds. He was far older than us, and being under his scrutiny made even me feel like a scolded kid sometimes. “Don’t let it get the best of you, Garrett. His job involves danger, and you can’t protect him from that unless you’re mated and bonded completely.”

“Who said I was --” I snapped my mouth shut at his glare.

“I’m old, not an idiot.” Deacon leaned forward and put his arms on the table. “Either fight this until the perp is in custody or fucking claim Beau. I can’t have you out there distracted. Understood?”

“Yes,” I replied, biting back a growl.

“Good. Dismissed.”

I stood abruptly, grabbed the folders and paper, and left the conference room. I made it halfway down the hall before Nik and Vic both cornered me. Fuck.

“That didn’t go well, did it?” Vic asked.

“No,” I snarled.

I continued walking, and they followed me to the elevator. I stabbed the DOWN button and had to unclench my fist before I gave into the urge to hit something. In the door’s reflection, I saw Nik and Vic exchange cautious glances.

We all stepped into the elevator and took it to the lobby. Without another word said, it was a given where we’d wind up. Colby’s was the city’s best diner with the most amazing coffee blends. Maybe the combination of carbs, sugar, and caffeine would calm me down because just the thought of claiming Beau sure as fuck wasn’t doing it.

Quite the opposite, actually.

I was hard as a fucking rock.

 

About the Author

Mychael Black has been writing professionally since 2005. He writes gay romance and erotica, but also het romance as Carys Seraphine and queer fantasy as Katherine Cook.

He's an avid PC gamer with a love for RPGs, a horror fanatic, and a fantasy nut. He also has a weakness for anything relating to skulls, dogs, and Spongebob Squarepants.

Mychael lives on the Eastern Shore of the US with his family. He loves to hear from readers, be it via email or Facebook.

Author on Facebook

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

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

 

Pre-Order Today

Taken by the Sorcerer by Megan Slayer #Paranormal #UrbanFantasy @ChangelingPress

 

Paranormal Women’s Fiction, Urban Fantasy

Date Published: October 3, 2025

Publisher: Changeling Press

She’s never been taken seriously. He’s seen as a geek. Together, they could be unstoppable.

Skylar Graves is a synth -- she can shift into anything. She’s also known all around the world as a billionaire playgirl fool. Parties? She’s had them. Money? Bucketloads. Brains… Well, there’s the rub. No one’s ever believed she had the brains to make the money. No one’s ever believed in her at all.

Enter Brody and a reason to use those brains.

Brody isn’t the best sorcerer. He knows his spells and how to create them, but he’s still learning to control his magic. When he finds his perfect mate, he’ll be set. But is she out there? The trouble is, he’s been tasked with helping other paras find Eerie and he can’t do that alone.

The mome he meets Skylar, he knows he’s found his match, but the problem lies in convincing her she’s more than she ever believed.

Not impossible… right?

EXCERPT

“I am getting into this party.” Brody Teague drove up the winding road to the gravel area at the base of the Skylar Graves property. The music blared and vibrated the ground, even this far out. He hated loud noise and didn’t really want to be here, but he needed to speak to Skylar.

He just knew she was a para and could help him. He knew it.

Still, he couldn’t hide his irritation. How did one woman have so much ridiculous wealth? This wasn’t just opulence, but obnoxious opulence. He’d bet the people attending this party spent more on one pair of shoes than he did on his rent for the month.

Right now, he needed to speak to her. What would she say if she knew she was meeting a true sorcerer who wanted her help? She’d probably laugh. If she helped him, he could develop his potion to allow paras to move in regular society, and also concoct the signal to help paras who didn’t even know they were para to find refuge in Eerie. He knew there were more people out there who could come to the town and find a place to exist and understand their abilities, if they had the signal to get there.

He left his car and trudged the last few hundred yards up the road to the main gate. The number of cars parked every which way in his path amazed him. How were these people going to leave? They’d need choreography or a cop to help them.

Didn’t matter to him. He wasn’t going to be there when they left. He’d get in, give his pitch, hope for the best, and get the hell out of there. He walked up to the gate and admired the wrought iron. The doors swung loose, allowing him onto the property. He’d bet this gate was locked up tight any other time. He touched the iron and the chill settled in his bones. The gate was spooky, really. It looked like a cartoony alien in the middle.

Aliens… He knew they existed, but they didn’t look like the Roswellian versions. They were much more like humans than the actual humans believed. But aliens were good at morphing and shifting to fit their environment.

As he walked among the people having conversations and dancing, he realized he shouldn’t be there. He wasn’t dressed for the occasion. He’d never seen so much purple in his life. People danced by the pool, swaying and gyrating. The men tended to be dressed in suits and tuxedos. The women wore evening gowns. The plethora of sequins caught the light. Glasses clinked and laughter rang out. The music blared even louder and the water seemed to thrum with the beat.

Would anyone notice him? Somehow, he doubted it.

He spied the buffet of food. Every fruit and veggie possible for a tray were spread out on the table, along with a chocolate fountain and a stack of glasses, no doubt filled with champagne. He’d bet it was the most expensive bubbly, at that.

There were people at the side table with powder that might or might not be drugs. He forced himself away from that area. He’d never had a problem with drugs or wanted to try them but didn’t judge anyone who did.

He fought the urge to cover his ears. The noise bothered him. He was a scientist and sorcerer. He needed to concentrate. This place didn’t allow him to do that. He could barely focus.

He scanned the various people at the party and shook his head. She wasn’t there. He’d know Skylar in a heartbeat. Then again, she was about the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Silky blonde hair, willowy and tall, a few curves, and kissable lips. He wanted to look into her brown eyes and get lost.

He balled his hand and gritted his teeth. Damn it. He wasn’t there to drool over her. He was there to ask a question.

Brody focused on the money spent to not only throw the party, but to have this house and lifestyle. The paintings weren’t photos or pictures printed on canvas, but actual works of art. Was that a Picasso? Nah. He tipped his head. Well, maybe. She had the money to buy whatever she wanted, so it was plausible.

He couldn’t imagine having that much cash. He’d barely scraped by all his life. But by being poor, he’d learned how to use what he had and make it stretch to work for his needs. It taught him to be humble, too.

A woman in a blood red body-hugging gown grabbed him. “Look at you. Are you one of the dancers?” She yanked him close and kissed him right on the mouth. “You sure taste good.”

He wriggled in her grasp. “I’m not a dancer.” He had two left feet. “Sorry.”

“Then stay with me.” She tugged him across the expanse of lawn toward the pool. “She brought a few newbs. This one’s right off the farm.”

He managed to disengage himself from her and darted back to the safety of the bigger crowd on the veranda. Why anyone thought they had the right to force themselves on someone else was beyond him. She’d touched him without his permission. Gross.

He didn’t know that woman and was sure she wasn’t a para. Hell, she’d probably slash his ass if she found out he was one. Would they turn on Skylar when they found out she was one? If she was one…

He rested his hands on his hips and surveyed the crowd again. If she’d used some of her money to help paras and not buy another sports car, she’d be a folk hero. There were plenty of paras who needed a hand in getting to Eerie and more who could use help in figuring out what their magic might be.

But she’d chosen to be decadent.

He moved through the people again, looking for her. Nope, she wasn’t there. He’d never forget her hair or smile.

A woman with bright red hair bumped into him, but he doubted she knew he was there.

“I hear she’s a para,” the woman said. “I don’t know how. She’s so normal.”

What a reductive thing to say. He kept his back to her but continued to listen.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” the woman with her said. “She’s a freak. I mean, how else could she have this kind of money and do absolutely nothing? It’s supposed to be her father’s money, but has anyone ever seen him? No. He doesn’t exist. I bet she stole it or it’s created money.”

Judgmental much? He rolled his eyes, then resumed looking through the crowd.

“Think she really is manufacturing the money?” the first woman said.

“Nah,” the other woman replied. “It’s just a way for her to get attention. She’s probably got a dead husband or ex that she bled dry financially.”

“She is an attention-grabber.”

He hated that these people who’d been invited to the party -- or maybe they’d crashed it like he had -- so openly dismissed her. Like she didn’t have feelings or didn’t matter and wasn’t a person. So rude.

Still, he wasn’t so thrilled with Skylar. He wished she’d donate her money or time back to Eerie to help the para community. Paras were dying from harm coming to them via the human and outside world. Vampires were staked for being different. Faeries slaughtered for making magic. Trolls and gnomes killed for being perceived as ugly. It wasn’t right.

A golden eagle soared into the space and flew right past him. The bird seemed to keep circling him.

“Go,” he muttered. “I’m not dinner. Shoo.” Why was this eagle focusing on him? He wobbled. Shit. Was it trained to find the crashers? Could be. He wanted to use a spell to get the fuck out of there, but he’d have to return to get his car. Goddamn it.

The bird flew around him again, then soared across the expanse and landed on the upright next to the DJ stand.

The DJ stopped the music. “And there is Skylar Graves’ famous pet eagle. Who else but Skylar would have an eagle as a pet? So majestic and graceful. But watch out. She has a nasty bite! Let’s give it up for Audra, her eagle!”

The crowd cheered and the eagle soared out of the way, behind the second floor of the mansion.

He groaned. What a ridiculous show of extravagance. It displayed her wealth, sure, but it was a waste of money. The bird should be in the wild or a zoo, where it could be appreciated and admired. Not stuck in a damn mansion with a woman who had more money than brains.

He snorted to himself. Good God, he was being harsh and judgmental.

“Is she here?” someone asked.

“She’s having a party and doesn’t care to show up,” another said. “She’s probably out of the country. She’s never here.”

“I bet we could rob this place blind and she’d never know,” a third person said.

“Except she’s got the best security system. This place is protected better than government vaults,” another voice said. “Don’t try it. This joint will scream and lock down in seconds.”

Brody gritted his teeth again. She had to be there. He had no choice. People were discussing robbing her and belittling her… just like he had. Damn it.

He bowed his head. He had to think about her as a person and para, not a source of money. That’s how they all saw her -- a reflection of her disposable income. She lived her life like nothing mattered. It was all a big party. She didn’t command respect.

Then again, he didn’t exactly command it, either. He did better behind the scenes. Let him stay in his lab with his medicines and potions. There he was fine. All he wanted to do was help his fellow paras.

“Excuse me.” A woman tugged his arm and yanked him out of the main space and behind a curtain.

“What the?” He stared at her. He’d never seen anyone with golden brown eyes. They were transfixing. But she’d grabbed him. “What do you want?”

“You.”

He couldn’t look away from her. Most of her face was concealed behind a black, feathery mask. He could swear he knew her, but he couldn’t place her.

“I need to speak to you.” She held onto him. “Do you know Skylar?”

 

About the Author

Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and white hot themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been nominated at the LRC for Best Author, Best Contemporary, Best Ménage, Best BDSM and Best Anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on various e-tailer sites.

When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library.

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

Author on Instagram

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

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

Pre-Order Today

Giant Steps by Patrick H. Moore #Thriller

Thriller

Date Published: September 29, 2025

One last mission…

One final stand...

The fate of freedom hangs in the balance…

Get ready for a heart-pounding ride through the dark underbelly of America in Patrick H. Moore’s latest Nick Crane thriller, Giant Steps.

As the third and final installment in Moore’s gripping Nick Crane versus The Principals trilogy, Giant Steps finds veteran LA PI Nick Crane locked in a life-or-death struggle with the ruthless Marguerite Ferguson and her cabal of aristocratic “super patriots.”

Nine years after he and his team liquidated Frank Constantine, a murderous military shrink and close personal friend of Marguerite Ferguson and The Principals, Nick Crane is hiding out on the edge of the Mojave Desert. He has been fighting for his life for a year now, barely escaping Marguerite’s vendetta at every turn. Now, he and FBI Special Agent Carrie North decide the time has come to turns the tables. They decide infiltrate to the very heart of Marguerite’s evil empire. Crane summons his crew of crackerjack operatives and together they devise a diabolically clever sting operation designed to bring Marguerite to her knees once and for all.

Set largely in current-day Southern California, Crane and his team of freedom fighters represent all common, decent Americans who truly believe in “liberty and justice for all.” Blessed with dry wit and unimpeachable courage, Crane and his crew embark on a relentless quest for truth in the face of corruption and betrayal, even as they fight for their life and freedom in a landscape where only the brave dare to challenge the powers striving to destroy America.

Packed with engaging characters, relentless action, and razor-sharp dialogue, Giant Steps is a scintillating sequel that builds on the momentum of its predecessors, Rogues & Patriots and 27 Days.

 

Are you ready to join the fight? Get your copy today and step into the shadows, face the danger, and take Giant Steps with Nick Crane.

 

Critical Acclaim for Giant Steps:

“In this third installment of the series, Nick Crane and his freedom fighters continue their battle against a group of so-called ‘super patriots’ known as The Principals. A story for our times, the book resonates in today’s political climate. Moore entertains with his clever prose, while giving us something to think about. A great addition to an excellent set of thrillers.” —Joel W. Barrows, bestselling author of the Deep Cover series

“L.A. PI Nick Crane is back, along with his partner, FBI Special Agent Carrie North, in Giant Steps, the final installment of their three-volume battle against the forces of evil, personified by the despicable Marguerite Ferguson and her lethal band of ‘super patriots’. Patrick H. Moore’s prose is electric, pulsing with rat-a-tat jack-hammer energy, that spits out words like bullets. Warning: hang on tight for the ride of your life!” —Charles Salzberg, Shamus Award nominated author of Canary in the Coal Mine and Second Story Man

“Giant Steps is the finale of Patrick H. Moore’s Nick-Crane-versus-The-Principals trilogy. Everything readers have anticipated about the dramatic final battle between Nick and Marguerite Ferguson—with long-suffering FBI SA Carrie North caught in the middle—comes to a thrilling head. Moore delivers, serving up a landscape where only Nick Crane dares challenge the powers intent on destroying America.” —Ken Funsten, CFA; Director, Sisters-in-Crime, L.A. and author of What’s Really Unforgettable

“Spilling over with investigative authority, in Giant Steps Patrick H. Moore weaves a modern PI thriller where freedom fighters and fake patriots wreak havoc across the dark landscape of a desolate yet familiar America. Moore writes with the addictive panache of Lee Child and Vince Flynn.” —John Nardizzi, Shamus award finalist and author of Telegraph Hill and The Burden of Innocence

 

The Full Nick Crane Thriller Series

 

27 Days

A Nick Crane Thriller, Book 1

 

Rogues & Patriots

A Nick Crane Thriller, Book 2

 

Giant Steps

A Nick Crane Thriller, Book 3

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BTR1WLMS

 

 

About the Author

 

PATRICK H. MOORE writes thrillers and crime novels. He is a retired Los Angeles based investigator and sentencing mitigation specialist. Between 2003 and 2024, Patrick worked on over five hundred drug trafficking, sex crime, violent crime, and white-collar fraud cases.

Patrick studied English Literature and Creative Writing at San Francisco State University.

Patrick was one of the founders of All Things Crime Blog, which, in its heyday (2014 to 2017), was one of the most popular crime blogs in America.

In 2014, his first PI thriller, Cicero’s Dead, was indie published by US iNdIe Books. In February of 2023, Down & Out Books published Patrick's PI political thriller, 27 Days, and followed that up with the publication of Rogues and Patriots in April of 2024. Both Rogues & Patriots and 27 Days were finalists in the General Thriller category of the American Fiction Awards, and Rogues & Patriots was recently named a Judges' Top Pick in the Thriller category in this year's Killer Nashville Silver Falchion awards.

Down & Out will be publishing Giant Steps, the third book in the three-volume series in which LA PI Nick Crane fights The Principals, a violent cabal of right-wing extremists, in September of 2025. Down & Out also published Patrick's recent novella Setting the Record Straight.

 

Contact Links

Website

Facebook Author's Page

X --- PatrickHMoore1

Instagram --- patrickhmoore1

TikTok ---- @patrickhmoore

BookBuzz

 

Purchase Link

Amazon

Campus of Shadows by Jo Loveday #Psychological #Horror #Thriller

A Psychic Battle for the Soul

 

Psychological Horror Thriller

Date Published: September 23, 2025

 

College is rough, but being possessed by a vengeful spirit who wants you to murder your old boss? That’s next-level.

Freshman year was supposed to be a fresh start. But between his party-animal roommate, mounting anxiety, and a creepy black vulture that keeps showing up at the worst possible times, he’s barely keeping it together.

Then the nightmares begin. The voices. The blackouts. And soon, he’s not sure if the darkness closing in is stress… or something else entirely. Something old. Something angry. Something that wants revenge and has chosen him to deliver it.

With his mind slipping, his only hope is a friend who refuses to give up on him… even when the person she’s fighting to save might already be gone.

 

About the Author 

Jo Loveday is the award-winning author of gripping psychological thrillers and chilling horror novels that will keep you up way past your bedtime with just enough romance to make your heart race for more than one reason. Her stories delve into the shadowy edges of the human psyche, exploring morality, madness, and the eerie unknown that lurks beneath the surface of everyday life.

With a background as a registered nurse, Jo brings both compassion and clinical insight to her work, offering an authentic and unsettling look into the human condition. Whether it's a slow descent into madness, a supernatural presence worming its way in, or a moral dilemma that haunts the characters long after the story ends, Jo’s writing grips you by the soul and stays with you long after you’ve turned the last page.

Born in the frosty tundra of Winnipeg, Canada, Jo eventually escaped the cold when a job offer in Florida lured her south. Now a dual citizen of Canada and the U.S., she divides her time between Florida, Georgia, and frequent pilgrimages to Winnipeg. You can find her lurking online at JoLoveday.com.

Contact Links

Website

Instagram

Facebook

TikTok

Pinterest

"X"

Linkedin

Goodreads

Amazon Author Page

BookBub

Book Buzz

Purchase Links

Amazon

B&N

IndiGo

Libro

Books2Read

Earth's Last Encore by Logan Peterson #ScienceFiction

Science Fiction

Date Published : 07-24-2025

Saddled with a dying sun, humanity has no time to catch its breath after barely fighting off alien invaders. A defective yet determined super-soldier, Lieutenant ‘Duck’ Diaz shoulders the task of proving humanity’s worth to the Stellarans, an advanced alien species offering salvation.

Haunted by his failures and mistrusted by those he fights to save, Duck finds an unexpected ally in Hannily, the Stellaran princess who believes in the potential for unity. Together, they must bridge the divide between two fractured worlds, confronting betrayal, cultural rifts, and their own doubts to give humanity a second chance at survival—or risk losing everything to the void.

 

About the Author

I am a working new father and served in the US Army where I drew inspiration for Earth’s Last Encore. I am a nerd at heart for Anime, Kpop, TCG’s, you name it. When I’m not writing overly introspective work I’m playing with my Corgi and new son. I currently reside in the Minnesota Twin Cities.

Contact Links

Website

Twitter

Blog

Purchase Links

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

VIKING by Harley Wylde #MCromance @ChangelingPress

Dixie Reapers MC (#24) Bad Boys (#2)

MC Romance

Date Published: September 26, 2025

She brought a child and a secret. He promised protection—and delivered passion.

Karoline: My world crumbled when I found out my brother was killed in action. But the shock deepened when a social worker showed up with Athena—a niece I never knew existed. With my brother’s last wish urging me to seek out his best friend, Viking, I found myself at the gates of the Dixie Reapers MC. What I didn’t expect? The dangerous, inked biker who once teased me as a kid now makes my heart race… and my body ache.

Viking: I never thought I’d see Karoline again, let alone with a kid in tow. The moment I laid eyes on her—all grown up and looking like sin—I knew I was in trouble. But with threats from her brother’s past closing in, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Karoline and her niece safe—even if it means risking my heart and breaking every club rule. But secrets don’t stay buried, and neither does desire.

If you love protective, possessive bikers, secret baby/child tropes, and off-the-charts chemistry, Viking brings you a ride-or-die romance with heat, heart, and a hero who falls hard and fast.

 

Excerpt

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2025 Harley Wylde

Karoline

Athena fell asleep on the couch after lunch, curled into a tight ball with Hopper the rabbit clutched against her chest. I covered her with a soft blanket, watching the steady rise and fall of her breathing, the way her copper curls spilled across the cushion. She hadn’t spoken a single word since arriving -- not to me, not to the social worker. Not even a whisper. Three hours into guardianship, and I was already wondering if I’d made a terrible mistake thinking I could do this. She was so small, so vulnerable, and so completely shut down that I had no idea how to reach her.

Lunch had been an awkward affair -- me chattering nervously about nothing while she stared at the peanut butter sandwich I’d made, taking tiny mouse bites only after I’d demonstrated that it was safe to eat. She’d followed me around the house like a silent shadow, those watchful eyes taking in everything but giving nothing away. When I’d suggested a rest on the couch, she’d climbed up without protest and simply curled into herself, as if trying to take up as little space as possible.

My heart ached thinking about what might have happened to make her this way. Kris would never have neglected her -- of that I was certain. Had the woman who’d been caring for her done something? The thought made my gut clench in protest. I’d never understand people who could harm sweet innocent children.

I glanced at the small pink suitcase the social worker had brought in, sitting untouched by the front door. Maybe there were answers there. At the very least, I needed to know what she had, what she might need.

Moving quietly so as not to wake her, I carried the suitcase to the kitchen table and unzipped it. The contents were pitiful -- a few sets of clothes, most looking worn and slightly too small. A pair of pajamas with faded unicorns. A toothbrush in a plastic case. A small stuffed dog that had seen better days. I had a hard time picturing my brother neglecting his daughter to this extent, which made me think it had been the caregiver’s fault. And at the bottom, a plastic bag containing an envelope. My breath caught when I saw my name written on the front -- Kris’s handwriting, the familiar slant of his letters making my eyes sting with fresh tears.

“Oh, Kris,” I whispered, running my fingers over the ink. It was real, tangible proof that he had existed, that he had thought of me. That he had trusted me with the most precious thing in his life.

With trembling hands, I opened the envelope and pulled out several sheets of paper. The first was a formal-looking document -- legal paperwork naming me as Athena’s guardian and requesting that I adopt her in the event of his death. It was dated just three months ago, as if he’d somehow known his time was running short. Of course, I’d already handled paperwork like this from the social worker, but seeing a copy my brother personally sent to me hit me hard.

Behind this was a handwritten letter on lined paper, folded in thirds. I took a deep breath and unfolded it.

Lina,

If you’re reading this, then I’m gone, and I’m so damn sorry for that. I’m sorry for a lot of things, especially for not telling you about Athena sooner. I wanted to. Every time we talked, every time I saw you, I wanted to tell you about this amazing little person who has my stubborn chin and your fiery hair. But I couldn’t risk it -- not until I was sure it was safe.

Athena is my daughter. Her mother was someone I met during a mission four years ago. It wasn’t serious between us, but when she told me she was pregnant, I stepped up. When Athena was born, her mother decided she couldn’t handle parenthood and signed over full custody to me. I’ve been raising her with help from friends when I’m deployed.

Here’s the part that’s going to be hard to believe, but I need you to trust me. If I died during a mission -- and if you’re reading this, that’s what happened -- then there’s a chance you and Athena could be in danger. The work I was doing was classified, and there are people who might think I told my family things I shouldn’t have. They might think Athena knows something, or that I left information with her or her caregivers.

I didn’t. I never brought my work home. But these people don’t take chances. So I need you to do something that’s going to sound crazy. I need you to take Athena and go to Lief Hansen -- Viking, as he’s called now. He’s with the Dixie Reapers MC in southern Alabama. He’ll know what to do. He’ll keep you both safe.

I know I’m asking a lot. I know you probably haven’t seen Lief in years. But he’s family to me, and he’ll protect what’s mine. And Lina -- you and Athena are mine. My sister. My daughter. The two people I love most in this world.

Just go to Viking as soon as you can. He’ll explain everything.

I love you, Christmas girl. Take care of my little one.

Kris

I stared at the letter, reading it again, and then a third time, trying to make sense of the words. Danger? People coming after Athena? It sounded like something from a spy movie, not real life. Not my life.

But Kris was dead. That part was all too real.

I glanced back at the couch where Athena slept, peaceful for the first time since I’d met her. Could someone really want to hurt this innocent child? Or me? It seemed impossible, paranoid even. Yet Kris had never been the paranoid type. If he thought there was danger, there must be some basis for it.

And Viking… Lief Hansen. The name sent a complicated flutter through my chest. In my mind, he was still the golden giant who’d called me “Little Kringle” and made my teenage heart race. But he wouldn’t be that person anymore. According to Kris’s letter, he was part of a motorcycle club now -- the Dixie Reapers. I’d never heard of them, but the name alone conjured images of rough men in leather, doing God knows what.

Could I really just show up there with a traumatized three-year-old? What would I even say? Hey, remember me, your old friend’s little sister? The one who used to follow you around like a lovesick puppy? Well, my brother’s dead, this is his secret daughter, and apparently, we might be in danger from mysterious unnamed enemies. Can we crash with you?

It was absurd. All of it.

And yet…

I looked at the letter again, at Kris’s familiar handwriting. I need you to trust me, he’d written. And I did. Always had. From teaching me to ride a bike to helping me through my first heartbreak, Kris had never steered me wrong. If he thought Viking was our best option, then that’s what we would do.

I folded the letter carefully and slipped it into my pocket. Then I walked back to the couch and knelt beside it, studying Athena’s sleeping face. Her long eyelashes cast faint shadows on her freckled cheeks. Her tiny hand clutched Hopper’s ear, keeping him close even in sleep.

“I’ll keep you safe,” I whispered, gently brushing a curl from her forehead. “I promise.”

I had no idea how to protect us from whatever danger Kris thought might be coming. But I knew who might. And no matter how awkward, how difficult it might be to face Lief Hansen after all these years, I would do it. For Athena. For Kris.

Tomorrow, we would find the Dixie Reapers.

 

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

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

Pre-Order Today

 

Date Night With Death by Avery Arujo #Paranormal #Mystery #Romance

Welcome to Moonridge, Book 2

Paranormal Mystery/Romance

Date Published: September 23, 2025

Welcome to Moonridge, where the ghosts have come out to play and Death just checked into the local B&B.

Running a B&B in a town cursed by magical drama wasn’t Mina Cartwright’s dream job, but it’s home. After all of the werewolf debacle over the summer, business has flatlined, and she’s barely holding on financially. Her last hope? A surprise booking from the cast of The Real Vampire Wives of Obsidian Hills, who are bringing their reality-show chaos (and impeccable fashion) to Moonridge just in time for the Halloween festival.

But the real trouble begins when Dex Grimm, a mysterious, breathtakingly aloof man with a cane and a suspiciously deathly aura, checks into Room Ten. He says he’s a writer. Mina suspects he’s hiding something … like the fact that he might actually be the Grim Reaper.

As ghostly activity spikes, magical boundaries fray, and her guests (living and otherwise) cause mounting mayhem, Mina finds herself caught between a brewing supernatural crisis and a man known primarily as Death who somehow makes her feel more alive than she has in years.

Add in a reality TV crew, rampaging ghosts, and the underlying danger of an ancient evil reawakening in Moonridge, and Mina’s fall season is about to be to die for.

 

About the Author

Avery Arujo is the pen name of a socially anxious, awkward, and proudly introverted author of the paranormal mystery/romance series Welcome to Moonridge. Avery lives in the northern U.S., where the scenery is beautiful, the weather perfect, and the food divine. When not writing, you’ll find Avery watching a horror movie or trashy reality TV or reading under a blanket with a cup of coffee, and the world’s sweetest dog trying to prove that they are more interesting than any old book.

For more information about the Welcome to Moonridge series, or to sign up for the newsletter, visit welcometomoonridge.com.

Contact Links

Website

Instagram

BookBuzz

 

Purchase Links

Amazon

Author Site

The Fear Driver ~ Dragon Soul Press #Horror

Horror (various subgenres)

Date Published: September 23, 2025

 

 Bite-sized horror stories are brought to you by twenty-five authors. From creepy crawlies to the seemingly normal pets. From hideous monsters lurking in the dark to charismatic people showing their true colors.

Each tale is precisely 100 words and leaves a long-lasting chilling effect. Some will make you question the security of the world around you, and what's more terrifying than that?

Featuring drabbles by the following authors: Bernardo Villela, K.J. Watson, David J. Vowell, Joshua Ginsberg, A.L. Smith, Petina Strohmer, Zari Hunt, Paul Burgess, Diana Parrilla, Angel Zapata, Vanessa Bane, Marc Sorondo, Jacek Wilkos, Arvee Fantilagan, Jodie Francis, Alex Azar, Andreas Flögel, Jade Kalb, Andrew Buckner, Ken Whitson, Jãnis Bogužs, Andrea Tillmanns, C.L. Hart, S.F.J. Painter, Monica Wenzel, Dragan Ivanović, and J.E. Feldman.

Excerpt

One Moonlit Night

Copyright 2025 by C. L. Hart

As fourteen-year-old Nevil Teodoro climbed down the trellis near his bedroom window, a blood-curdling scream pierced the darkness, startling him so badly that he nearly fell. Juan Soto, the head groundskeeper, ran up from the gardens, his clothes covered in mud and his face pale as the moon.

“What’s goin’ on, Ese?” Nevil asked as he finished his descent. “You look like you seen a ghost!”

“Get back in the house, Chico, and call Mama Cecilia.”

“You trippin’, Juan Solo? You want me to call una bruja vieja and not la policia?”

“Ain’t no policia can stop a moon vampire!”

 

About the Author

C. L. Hart is an editor who writes or a writer who edits. She primarily pens dark fantasy (often Lovecraftian) and sweet romance. She resides in a tiny town on the Northeastern Colorado plains with her adult son, her cat daughter, and her cat grandson. When not editing, writing, or rehabilitating eldritch horrors, she enjoys coloring, crafts, and cooking things that she hopes will be palatable to someone besides the eldritch horrors.

Visit C. L. Hart

Preorder Today