BEING BROKEN by Geoffrey R. Jonas #memoir #giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Geoffrey R. Jonas will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

A young woman dies alone in a hotel room, her fentanyl-poisoned cocaine still on the desk. She had been missing for nearly 2 weeks. Social Services had been trying to find a place for her to live with her 3-year-old son, whom she had left with her parents. Six months later her father fights for his life in intensive care, but succumbs to his illness because of a lifelong use of alcohol and tobacco. A month after his death her mother is assessed by doctors to be unable to care for herself because of her Alzheimer's and mental health issues brought on by benzodiazepine and alcohol addiction.

The son, brother, stepson is the only one left to pick up the pieces. He begins a journey of the self and finds out the truth of his family. After going over letters, notes, emails, videos, and text messages, he uncovers a disturbing picture of the abuse his sister suffered at the hands of their parents. He also begins to better understand his own struggles with mental health and substance addiction because of the trauma and abuse he also suffered from their parents.

Follow the son as he looks through his family history to discover the generational abuse that trickled down through the years. Learn about how parents who suffer from narcissistic personality disorder emotionally abuse and manipulate their children. See how the abuse and trauma becomes mental illness in the abused, and how they fall into vicious traps of addiction, eating disorders, self-harm, and complex post-traumatic stress disorder. Witness the transformational change of the son as he works on the recovery of his inner child and tries to become the man he was meant to be.

Read an Excerpt

Part 1 - In the beginning…
What Came Before... – Part 1 Maternal Family History

My mother had a difficult upbringing. My mother’s mother was continually pregnant for 16 years, producing 4 boys (Robert, Edward, Charles, Shane) and 3 girls (R – my mother, Lorraine, Claire)2. She would later die of cancer while the children were young. My mother’s father led a jazz orchestra, resembling the ones in movies from the early 20th century that didn’t fit neatly into the category of a symphony or a standard band. He had even played for the queen.

However, the Alcohol Use Disorder (AUD) of my grandfather became overwhelming, and the authorities of that time deemed him unfit to care for the children. They split the children up and put them into foster care. The foster care system back then did not have the safety systems we have in place to protect the children today, and I would not be surprised if some of the children were further emotionally or physically abused in foster care.

About the Author: Geoffrey is a first-time author. He lives peacefully by a lake, spending his time writing, painting, gardening, and woodworking. His recovery is ongoing, and he enjoys his privacy and seclusion.

Website: https://geoffreyrjonas.ca
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/55118142.Geoffrey_R_Jonas
Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/livingwithcptsd.bsky.social
Amazon: https://a.co/d/eJTO4wq

KNUCKLES by Marteeka Karland #MCromance @changelingpress

(Kiss of Death MC)

Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap

Date Published: April 18, 2025

 

 

Hannah’s stubborn, abrasive, and vicious. She’s also mine.

Hannah: My life as I knew it ended the night my boyfriend tried to rape me. I killed the swine, and I’m not sorry. After that night, it became my mission to rid the world of as many predators as I could. If that meant I got slapped around a little, I’d sacrifice for the cause. What I didn’t count on was my brother’s best friend coming to my rescue. That dangerous vibe he’s giving off is making me feel things I never expected. Knuckles fought for me. Protected me. Now he’s using words like “claim” and “old lady,” but I’m not sure I want to be anyone’s property. Not unless it means he’s my property too.

Knuckles: I came to Afternoon Delytes to get the information I needed to destroy a woman who’d betrayed me. I never expected to see my best friend’s sister take a backhand to the face. She has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met. She’s also vicious. And mine.

 

EXCERPT

Knuckles

“You tell that bitch I’m comin’ for her. She has a week at most to make her peace.” I’d never meant a statement more in my fucking life.

“I’m just puttin’ you in touch with her, Knuckles. Ain’t your errand boy. You want to negotiate, you go through her people.”

“Nothin’ to negotiate. When you confirm your job’s done, you tell her the only thing I want from her is her fuckin’ head on a pike.”

“You’re not gettin’ your daughter back until you talk with her, man. She made that very clear.”

“Too bad for her I already have my daughter.”

Finally, I got a reaction out of Wild Bill. Only a raised eyebrow but way more than the man normally showed. He wasn’t a man I trusted exactly, but he held to a code and I respected that. “OK… That’s news.”

“Is it.” I didn’t phrase my words as a question.

“How long have you had her?”

“Since before they managed to sell Pippa,” I snapped. “I know Beth wants my supplier, and I know she worked for several months to undercut me, so I was prepared for somethin’. It never occurred to me she’d sell her own daughter for a drug deal, but it should have. I knew years ago there was somethin’ not right with Beth. Even before she brought Pippa to see me. I knew there was another shoe to drop but wasn’t expectin’ her to actually sell our daughter to get even with me.”

“Look. I got in touch with you as a favor to her. I can see I made an error in judgment.” Yeah, Wild Bill could see how pissed I was. “I’ll deliver your message to the bitch and go one better. I’ll give you a heads-up before she does anythin’ else to piss you off.”

“Now, why would you do that, Wild Bill?” I drawled out the question as I leaned against the bar and took a sip of my coffee. Wild Bill had met me just outside the Kiss of Death compound in Nashville. The area we’d purchased and walled off sat in the industrial outskirts of the city, but there were still a couple bars and a strip club in the area, which is where we were currently. Little club called Afternoon Delytes. The music was loud, the girls had big tits, and the alcohol wasn’t watered down. A good place for an enemy to be distracted if he wasn’t cautious. Which was why I liked to meet here with men I didn’t fully trust.

“I know you think I’m amoral, but I do have a code, Knuckles. A line I won’t cross. If what you told me is true -- and your reputation says you know your shit before you speak -- that bitch obliterated my line. I ain’t above pimpin’ out girls willin’ to split the profits, but I don’t force women. For any reason. And I absolutely do not traffic. Beth broke both those hard and fast rules for me. I agreed to this in good faith with her mostly because I respect you. If it were my daughter, I’d kill anyone who knew what was goin’ on and didn’t tell me. But, honest to God, I thought Beth had the girl. Maybe in a gilded cage, or maybe it was an empty threat to you and there was no danger to your daughter at all.”

“I could be lying.”

Wild Bill shook his head. “Nope. That’s not your style. You’ve always given it to me straight. Whether or not it’s what I wanted to hear.” I had to admit, the man might have gone up a little in my estimation. I’d still verify any information he shared with me before acting on it. It might not tell the tale, but I’d be able to better see if Wild Bill subscribed to the honor among thieves mentality, or if it was every man for himself.

“You know where Beth is?” Even if he was lying, I wanted any information he doled out. If it was bogus, I’d act accordingly. Which would not end well for Wild Bill.

“Yep.” He took out an envelope. “I’ve had a guy on her for a couple months. She’s at the same place she’s always been at. Way too rich for a nurse’s salary.” He handed me the envelope and I took it.

I stared at him a long time. Wild Bill held my gaze without flinching. “Few men surprise me, so I’m going to give you this one time to tell me your agenda. I won’t consider you an enemy and I’ll respect your territory, but only if you come clean now.”

“No agenda, Knuckles. No repayment expected. No favors later. This is because I agreed to help your ex without investigatin’ beyond the surface. Knowin’ the girl was her daughter? Yeah. Wasn’t expectin’ her to hurt her own kid.” He shook his head like he knew he’d fucked up royally. “I don’t question things beyond the job because the job speaks for itself, but with somethin’ like this, I should have dug a little deeper. Ain’t too proud to admit when I’m wrong.” The corner of his lips curled up in a self-deprecating smile. “I’d also prefer it if you didn’t see this as a betrayal of the fragile alliance we have.”

“OK, now that I believe.” I took a sip of coffee, never taking my eyes from Wild Bill.

“How’d you get out of a life sentence anyway?” Wild Bill took a healthy pull of his beer before signaling the bartender for another.

“Friends in high places.” I continued to study the other man. “I’d’ve been out years ago except I had to help a guy out.”

Wild Bill snorted. “Right. You went in on a triple murder the way I heard it. That ain’t somethin’ you get out of that easy.”

“I did confess to a triple murder. Yes.” The smile I gave him wasn’t genuine.

Wild Bill looked like he wasn’t sure whether or not to believe me. “Must have been some long, hard dick you sucked to get out of that kind of rap.”

“All you need to know is it’s none of your Goddamned business.” This was getting tiresome. “You can spread the word to anyone you want to live that I’m back.”

About the Author

Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double life as an erotic romance author by evening and a semi-domesticated housewife by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes pleasure in spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited, vulnerable heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her writings are speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning delight entwined with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying conclusions that elicit a sigh from her readers.

Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts (which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with Marteeka's latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her website. Don't forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you with a potpourri of Teeka's beloved recipes, book suggestions, autograph events, and a plethora of interesting tidbits.

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

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Blood and Secrets by Serenity Wylde #fantasy #romance

 

Dark Fantasy Romance

Date Published: March 10, 2025

 

 

☠️ Dark magic. Deadly secrets. And a supernatural academy where everyone wants me dead. ☠️

One moment, I’m human. The next, I wake up in Nightveil Academy—a school for vampires, werewolves, and dark fae.

They say I belong here. That I’m a vampire hybrid. But I don’t trust them.

My memories are shattered. My past is a lie.

And someone at this Academy wants me dead.

💔 The Boys of Nightveil Want to Claim Me.

 

    Lucien—the vampire heir who says we were bonded in another life.

    Kai—the werewolf outcast who warns me to run before it’s too late.

    Riven—the fae prince who’s always watching… always waiting… but never revealing his true intentions.

 

I don’t know who to trust.

I don’t even know who I am.

But when the blood moon rises, and my forbidden power awakens, one thing is certain—

Nightveil Academy will never be the same.

🔥 A dark fantasy romance with enemies-to-lovers tension, supernatural mystery, and a love triangle that will leave you breathless. Perfect for fans of Zodiac Academy, Crave, and Shadowhunters.

About the Author

Serenity Wylde weaves enchanting tales of monster love and magic, captivating readers with fantastical realms where romance blossoms amidst mythical creatures and extraordinary adventures. Follow Serenity on Amazon and never miss a new release!

 

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Sanguine Shadows by Will Okati LGBTQ+ Vampire Romance

 

LGBTQ+ Vampire Romance

Date Published: April 11, 2025

 

 

This is where everything changes.

Darce has done his best to live off the radar as one of the bloodkind, keeping himself separate from the company of other vampires and the danger they court. The cowboy might be lonely in his solitude, but he's safe.

Raven's come to change that. He's come to change everything.

A newly made bloodkind, Raven's out to shake up the old world order that oppresses their kind. He carries Darce along in his wake like a leaf on the tide, pushes and goads and tops from the bottom, inciting Darce to lust, passion and action. He makes a centuries-old cowboy feel alive again, something well worth taking risks for.

But when Raven challenges the Sanguine, the most dangerous of all vampires, has he gone too far?

 

EXCERPT

All he'd wanted was a quiet drink.

Darce swirled the drop or three of tequila left in his shot glass and raised it to the guy who tended bar in this backwoods dive. If he had a name, or if the bar did, Darce didn't know it and he liked it that way. Tall and skinny as a pool cue, his head shaved just as bald, he didn't talk much and took Darce's glass with a grunt. Didn't ask what Darce wanted. You had your choice here of PBR, Bud, Jose and JD. Like 'em or find somewhere else to drink.

Tequila suited Darce fine. Didn't do anything for him, no, his being a dead man walking and all -- vampire, as some might say -- but he'd developed a taste for agave over the years. He held up one finger. Already had two, and three was one more than his usual.

The bartender shrugged, not giving too much of a damn. Maybe the folks around here knew what he was. Maybe they didn't. Knew enough to keep their mouths shut, anyway.

One more drink in peace and it'd be time to walk. He had a peaceful stretch of road home, nothing but the cicadas and bullfrogs and the yellow half-moon to guide him on his way. Nothing to hinder him.

Until the stranger slid onto the bar stool next to Darce and jostled him like they were old friends, bumping his shoulder. "I've got this one," he said. Sounded young. "One for me, too."

The bartender eyed Darce's new companion.

"I'll pay my own way," Darce said; that, and nothing more.

"Ouch. Not too friendly there, cowboy," the new arrival said. He swung around to give Darce a bold once-over.

Out of his peripheral vision, Darce got a good enough look at the new kid. Pretty. Fresh-faced and young, his jaw cut firm and his grin made for promising wicked deeds in the dark. He had a dusting of freckles on his nose and cheeks that nearly tempted Darce into a snort of humor because he'd seen a lot in his time but a vampire with a scattering of pale sepia freckles was a new one on even him.

"I'm Raven," the vamp said, offering his hand along with his unlikely name. Darce snorted quietly. Raven, Silvershadow, Witchlight, Darce had heard 'em all and believed none. This one would be newly made, then, not knowing of the rules by which their kind lived. Which were no rules at all, for the most part, except to watch your back in case someone was sneaking up to shove a silver knife in it, and most of all to keep to yourself.

"That a fact," Darce said, not asking it. He caught the shot glass as the bartender slid it his way, amber drops spilling over the backs of his fingers.

Raven waited, then laughed under his breath. "And you're not going to tell me your name. That's okay. I already know who you are."

Darce stilled. That was more than he cared to have bandied about. "You'd be wise to keep that to yourself. That and your own name. Names get you in trouble."

"Do they really," Raven murmured. He swallowed his drink like a man with nary a grimace nor a cough. Not new to that game, at least.

Darce shot him a sideways glare. He shook his hair back and slammed the tequila neat, no salt or lime around here. Damn hair; it'd been long, near to chin length when he'd come across, and no matter how he cut it back it'd grow out by the next new moon.

Freckles there had short hair, crisp-cut dark, some kind of gel keeping it stuck up in spikes that looked sharp enough to prick a finger on. So young he was damn near veal, and fresh meat for any who cared to take a bite. No wonder he'd been turned. Someone had wanted to keep him that young and pretty for good, was Darce's bet.

And he'd gotten away. Darce wondered how, for a second, then discarded the question. Not his business. He backslapped his empty shot glass across the bar and licked his lips to get the last of the burning-hot taste off them.

"Now there's a pretty sight," Raven said, his gaze hot where it glanced over Darce's face.

A vampire sometimes liked to pretend to breathe, to mix in all the better, and for the most part Darce did it well. He drew air in through his nose and let it out slow and smooth. "You want to watch that kind of talk around here," he said. "Matter of fact, you want to keep your mouth tighter shut overall if you don't want trouble."

Raven laughed loud enough to draw a few wary looks. No one who drank in that backwater Texas dive wanted to draw attention, except this young'un. "You honestly think you're fooling anyone?" He lazily drew his finger around the rim of his shot glass. "Look around you, old man. Pretty crowded in here tonight for a place like this. I count fifteen heads, yours and mine and Baldy's not included, and it's not a big bar. Yet there's an empty space three men deep all around you. No one wants to get too close. They all know, even if they don't say. Maybe they don't want to admit it's true, but somewhere inside them they all know what you are -- what I am -- and that's why they leave you be."

Darce ground his back teeth together. His fangs, folded up against the top of his mouth usually, rattlesnake-style, slid down and pricked his tongue as he clamped his jaw shut.

"Must be lonely." Raven pushed his luck, shifting closer. "How long's it been since you traded more than a handful of words with anyone else? How long have you been around, old man?"

Something cool and firm brushed the top of Darce's thigh, tantalizingly close to his groin. He inhaled sharp and quick, and cursed it as a giveaway that Raven pounced on as sly and quick as a fox.

"If you want," Raven said, thumbing half an inch away from Darce's stiffening cock -- it had been a long, long time, whether he'd admit it out loud or not, "I'll leave you be. All you have to do is say 'go,' and I'll be out the door."

"Like hell you would."

"I think we're gonna get along, you and me." Raven stroked higher up and closer. "You know me already."

"I know you're trouble walking on two legs," Darce said. He fought with the urge to rise into the teasing pressure. Damn, it'd been half of forever since someone, anyone, laid a hand on him not in anger or with an addict's mindless craving. "I know I want you on your way as fast as you think you can run."

"No, you don't." Raven's palm molded over Darce's cock, his touch firm and strong as any vampire's, and for half a moment Darce burned with curiosity over what this kid's story was, anyway. What'd shaped him this way? He forgot that in the next second when Raven moved fast in the way of their kind, faster than most, his lips brushing Darce's ear, and said, "I could leave, or I could take you around back and suck your dick." He pierced Darce's earlobe with one of his fangs, slim and needle-sharp. "Your choice."

About the Author

Will Okati (formerly known as Willa) has lived through a few Interesting Times, but come out the other side a little grayer, a little wiser, and ready to get writing. Still as passionate about coffee, cats, and crafts as ever, but knowing that to your own self you must be true. Also still one of the quiet ones to watch out for, but life -- like storytelling -- is always a work in progress.

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Reclaiming Venom by Harley Wylde #MCromance @changelingpress

 

(Dixie Reapers MC)

Motorcycle Club Romance, 2nd Chance Romance

Date Published: April 11, 2025

 

 

What happens when a life shrouded in memories fades away, leaving only a faint echo of love?

 

Ridley -- Life can change in an instant. For me, it was the day I got that devastating call -- my world crumbled when I found out my husband, Venom, had been shot. He woke up, but the man I loved was a stranger. Then someone gave me a great idea. Make him fall for me all over again! Venom might not remember our past, but deep down, I know our connection is still there.

Venom -- I woke up in a hospital, no idea how I got there or what the hell happened. The angel by my bed seems familiar and yet not. Then she tells me she’s my wife. What the hell?

But as I spend time with Ridley, every story she shares awakens something deep within me. Her laughter, her warmth… the taste of her lips… every moment I spend with her ignites a spark that feels so right. I may not remember our years together, but I know one thing for sure: she’s mine.

Fall in love with the thrill of the ride, the heartache of forgotten memories, and the fierce determination of a love that refuses to die.

WARNING: Reclaiming Venom is intended for readers 18+ due to adult situations, bad language, and violence. While Reclaiming Venom can be read as a standalone, we recommended you read Venom (A Dixie Reapers MC 1) and Emergency Date (Swift Angels MC 2) first to better appreciate Reclaiming Venom.

 

 

EXCERPT

Venom

I moved quickly, coming up behind Tinker. I couldn’t believe this asshole was still alive. Pressing the barrel of my gun to his head, I made sure I had his fucking attention. “Drop it. Now!”

Tinker froze, a string of curses spilling from his lips. Slowly, he turned to face me, realization dawning in his eyes.

“You sneaky bastards,” he snarled.

Torch and Bull emerged from the shadows, their own weapons trained on Tinker. The old man’s face contorted with rage. “This is all your fault,” he spat at us. “You and your damned club!”

Torch stepped forward. “Until you decided to stir up shit, we all thought you were dead. Why now, Tinker? Why didn’t you just stay gone?”

Tinker’s laugh was bitter. “You want to know why?”

His gaze darted to Justin, the President of the Swift Angels MC. “I only found out about him a year ago. My own flesh and blood, a cop. I watched. I waited. Hoped maybe he’d at least be dirty, something I could work with.”

I got it. Sort of. I hadn’t been too pleased to find out my son, Dawson, was not only a fireman, but also the VP of another club. I’d hoped he’d follow in my footsteps. But now, I had to admit I was proud of the man he’d become.

“Then I realized,” Tinker continued, a cruel smile twisting his features, “that the Swift Angels had ties to you Dixie Reaper scum. That’s when I knew it was time to make my move. All these decades, waiting for a chance to get revenge, and it fell right into my lap.”

“It’s over, Tinker. You’ve lost. Do you really think you’ll get out of this alive? We may not have made sure you were dead last time, but things are different now,” I said.

Tinker’s grin widened. “You sure about that, Venom?”

Without warning, chaos erupted. Two men materialized from the shadows behind Justin. Shit! Wire had said Tinker would be alone. Where the hell had these men come from?

“Justin, down!” Logan yelled, but it was too late.

A deafening crack split the air. Justin’s body jerked, his blue eyes wide with shock. Blood bloomed across his chest, a crimson stain spreading rapidly. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice barely audible before his knees buckled.

Logan appeared shocked at first, then the paramedic sprang into action. He snatched the med bag he’d brought as a precaution and sprinted toward Justin’s fallen form.

Two more shots went off, and pain hit me like a fucking freight train. I stared at Tinker in confusion as I sank to the ground, everything going dark around the edges of my vision. I could hear everything around me, even though it felt like I was down a long tunnel, voices echoing.

“Logan! Hurry the fuck up!” Dawson’s frantic voice cut through the chaos.

I felt something pooling beneath me and realized it was my own fucking blood. The world got darker and darker, and I knew I was going under. Jesus fucking Christ! I’d lived this damn long, and a snake like Tinker got the drop on me?

Ridley… What the hell would she do without me? I didn’t want to leave her. There was still so much I wanted to see and do with her. Regret slammed into me, as I tried to recall if I’d told her I loved her before we left.

“Diego!” Logan barked. “Keep pressure on Justin’s wound. I need to check on Venom.”

I felt someone drop beside me, but I couldn’t make out any shapes anymore.

“We need ambulances,” Logan shouted. “Two of them. Now!”

I felt someone rip open my shirt and try to staunch the flow of blood, but I knew it was too late. Nothing could save me now.

“Dad.” Dawson’s voice broke as someone knelt beside me. Was it Dawson? “Dad, can you hear me?”

I heard Logan’s voice on the other side of me. “He’s lost a lot of blood. We need to get him to the hospital immediately.”

Logan worked on packing my wounds. I wanted to tell him to save someone else, that I’d finally come to the end of my journey, but I couldn’t form the words. My body felt cold, and soon even the noises around me faded to nothing.

Ridley… I’m so fucking sorry for leaving you. I’ll always love you.

* * *

Ridley

I stared at my son in horror, seeing my husband’s blood all over him. I wordlessly handed him a change of clothes and watched as he rushed off to a bathroom. Jesus. He’d told me it was bad, but… there was so much blood.

I looked over at Torch, and he came closer.

“What happened?” I asked. “There were so many of you. Was Tinker really that hard to take down?”

Torch sighed and ran a hand over his beard. “He wasn’t alone. Not Wire’s fault. Somewhere he picked up two helpers. While Venom had his gun to Tinker’s head, the other two came out of nowhere. They shot Justin first, and while our focus was on him, the other one shot Venom.”

I pressed a hand to my chest, my knees feeling weak. “How bad? And don’t fucking lie to me, Torch.”

“It’s bad, Ridley,” he murmured. “He nearly coded in the ambulance. By some miracle, the paramedics were able to get him back. They rushed him to surgery the minute we arrived. If it hadn’t been for Logan, he’d have died before they even got there.”

Right when my knees gave out, someone caught me. I glanced up to see Viking behind me. He hugged me tight before picking me up and carrying me over to a chair. He gently eased me down, and I leaned forward, pressing my head to my knees.

“This can’t be happening,” I whispered. “All these years, and this happens now? He was supposed to be safer. He stepped down as VP, and I thought, for sure, most of the danger was behind us.”

Torch took the spot beside me, and Savior sat on the other. We remained silent, praying and hoping for good news. It felt like an eternity before two doctors came out. One talked to the Swift Angels first about Justin, and the other came to me. He faced me, his expression grim, and my heart dropped.

“Venom has a long road to travel before he’s back on his feet. He made it through surgery, but… we lost him. We were about to call time of death, when his heart started beating again. He’s been moved to recovery, but it’s been decided it would be best to place him in a coma to help with the healing process.”

“What…” I licked my lips. “What does that mean?”

“He’s going to sleep until his body is mostly repaired. Then we’ll see if we can get him awake again.”

“What do you mean you’ll see?” Panic welled inside me. “He has to wake up!”

The doctor nodded. “I understand how you feel, but his situation… it’s not the best. For a man his age, well. There’s a lot of trauma to his body. There’s no way of telling when he’ll wake up.”

“Or if, right?” I asked, giving a bitter laugh. “You’re telling me he’s alive, but I may never get the chance to talk to him again? To see his eyes open, or hear him laugh? What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

I heard my voice rising but couldn’t stop it. Tears streaked my cheek, and I felt the hysteria welling inside me. Then my son was there. Dawson wrapped me in his arms, and I sobbed against his chest while he spoke with the doctor.

Venom. You better come back to me! I can’t live without you.

 

About the Author

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

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

Author on Facebook, Instagram, & TikTok: @harleywylde

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

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REGRETS by Caryn M. McGill #Romance

Romance

Date Published: March 19, 2025

Publisher: Wild Rose Press

 

 

Trauma surgeon, Rea Tasson, rescues Hollywood heartthrob Drew Foster after he crashes his Porsche into the beach by her house. To escape unwanted publicity, she allows him to stay the night.

After discovering Rea's fiancée died from an opioid overdose, Drew chooses to stay. Their friendship grows, as does their romance. But when Drew's next project takes him to Paris, Rea must reconcile with all the people who have abandoned her, if she ever wants a happily ever after.

About the Author

Caryn M. McGill has always been a storyteller. She often told tales to her children at bedtime in lieu of reading to them. A serious daydreamer, she used to think it the opposite of her education and work in the sciences, but now realizes scientists are the ultimate daydreamers. She's immersed herself in a lifelong study of religion, astrology, reincarnation, and past-life regressions. This otherworldly journey produced her debut novel, The Wives of Lucifer (2015), a trilogy. She also writes a romantic suspense series, Steel and Desire, under the name Kendra Greenwood. Her newest novel, Regrets, debuts in 2025 and her current work, His Daughter, is in pitch mode. Caryn grew up on the beaches of Long Island's East End. When she's not writing, you can find her in the kitchen whipping up something scrumptious or in the studio, painting and fusing glass into decorative dishes.

 

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Fallen by Megan Slayer #ParanormalRomance

Paranormal Romance

Date Published: April 4, 2025

 

 

He may be her salvation -- if she's willing to lose her wings all over again.

 

Livia was cast out of heaven for the crime of falling in love with a human. So what's a fallen angel to do when she meets the man of her dreams? Falling certainly has its perks.

Ty didn't expect the angel at his party to be fallen or to have a murky past. He also didn't expect her to end up in his arms. Now he's not about to let the past stand in the way of their future.

 

EXCERPT

 

Parties are so lame.

Livia crossed her arms and stared at the people swaying before her. Hard rock blasted from the speakers and rumbled the floor. She flicked a lock of her hair over her shoulder. Dancing, laughing, and more than enough drinking. She sighed. When was the last time she'd danced and laughed? Hell. She couldn't remember.

She wanted to dance, to wrap her arms around a torso thick with muscle, to rest her head on a taut set of pecs and hear the heartbeat of a red-blooded male like the one she'd drooled over in her history course. He'd mentioned throwing an event. She wanted to see him, to see if he was actually like the persona she'd created for him in her mind.

She snorted. Meeting a guy was probably not the best reason to attend a costume party off campus, but who cared? It wasn't like she had anyone keeping tabs on her.

A young man dressed as a gladiator ambled toward her. "Hel-lo, beautiful." A wide grin curled his lips. His blond hair flopped over his brow as he winked and pointed to her with his sloshing cup. "You shouldn't stand in the corner alone. Might get your wings dirty."

Wings? She crooked one brow. She'd come as a Madonna look-alike, not an angel. When she glanced over her shoulder, sure enough, her wings were there -- translucent, but there. Odd. "They'll wash." Her wings had been ripped off over two thousand years prior. When - and how -- the hell had they come back?

"Yeah?" He wobbled on his feet. "Feathers work in a washing machine?" He burped and his dark eyes widened. "I made a funny." He swayed again and splashed beer onto her bustier.

Livia gritted her teeth. This wasn't the man she had in mind. Her dream man didn't slop alcohol on anyone -- as far as she knew. Was the man in her mind simply a figment of her imagination? An impossibility? Probably. She'd been around far too long and seen more than her share of good men fall by the wayside.

At least washing the beer stench out of her clothes wouldn't be too difficult.

"So, do ya wanna go make out?" He licked his lips. "I'm a great kisser, and I bet you do wonders with those tits."

"Go home, Brett."

Livia's blood turned to fire in her veins. The deep, gravelly voice set her nerves on edge. If the drunken fool would just blow, she could at least see the guy who'd come to her aid. If he was Tyler from history class, then even better.

"Butt out, Ty." Brett smacked his lips. "We were gonna have sex. Me and those lovelies." He reached out, hands hovering over her chest. "Come to Brett. Again."

Again? Who was this clown? "I wouldn't have sex with you if you were the last man alive," Livia snapped and slapped his hands away. "You spilled beer on me, and you're an ass."

"You'd know." He swayed into her personal space and murmured in a much less slurred tone, "I never forgot you."

Never forgot her? What the hell was this guy drinking? She stared at the drunken gladiator. Nothing about him really stood out. Still, at her age, everything looked a little familiar. He couldn't possibly be him. Isaiah was dead. She'd seen him die over three centuries ago.

"Okay, time for Brett to go home. I don't want shit on my carpet, and she's not interested." The owner of the deep voice stepped out from behind Livia and grabbed Brett's arms. Her jaw dropped. This man was the man. The man. Tyler Wilson embodied her innermost desires, and he was right there protecting her.

Lean muscle filled out Ty's tall frame. What would it feel like to have his hands on her body? To run her fingers through his thick, dark hair and listen to him murmur dirty things as they explored each other's bodies -- what would it be like? A flash of bodies moving together and the look of sheer lust in his blue eyes filled her mind. Oh, good God, it would be almost heaven. Her pussy clenched and liquid heat coated her panties.

If he felt the heat, too. She couldn't hope to be so lucky again. The run-in with Brett or whoever he was had served as a cold reminder of what she'd fallen for and couldn't have.

Both men moved through the throng of people and disappeared. She should stick around and find out if Ty was interested or if he was just keeping an eye on his property. Not that she could blame him. Dumped beer could be murder on a sound system. Not that her opinion mattered much. She was just a partygoer like everyone else there. She folded her arms. Every moment she waited, her conscience ate into her a little more. Waiting made her look weak. It made her look needy. Was she needy?

Maybe. Damn.

No. She'd waited long enough. If he really wanted to talk to her, he'd have come back. She turned and made her way to the apartment door and rummaged through the pile of coats, looking for hers. Guys like Ty had women chasing them in swarms. She'd been witness to that every time she walked out of the Saunders Building. She wasn't going to follow him around like a damned puppy. Coat in hand, she turned toward the door. She plowed into a scantily clad tiger giggling with a cowboy.

"Watch it," the tiger snapped. "Nice wings, though. Costume outlet, or did you get them online? I've been looking for some just like them. I want a set. Michael, buy me some like that."

Livia rolled her eyes. The truth was much too involved. Obscure always worked. "I don't remember."

The cowboy tipped his hat. "Wanna join in?" He bobbed his brows, and his gaze went straight to her chest. "We're always looking for more, and looking at those boobs, you'd be one hell of a third."

"Michael! You said I was the only one," she squealed. "No more thirds."

Michael shrugged. "Can't blame me for asking." He turned his attention back to Livia. "You in?"

If they only knew what she'd done during her lifetime. "I'm good. No thanks." Livia ducked her head and stepped out into the hallway. She didn't look up until she hit the stairwell door.

Finally. Freedom.

Livia stopped on the landing and stared up at the sky through the round stairwell window. Her heart ached. He was out there somewhere. The one man to complete her. Was he still alive? Had she'd only imagined his death? Or was she doomed to walk the Earth for the rest of eternity, alone?

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. It was foolish to pine for the assumed dead, especially when they'd parted so badly. Still, Isaiah held her heart and her life in his hands, just as he'd had for the last couple thousand years.

Footsteps thumped behind her, but she didn't bother to look up.

"Angel?"

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.

 

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Warrior Queen by Mikala Ash #LGBTQ+ #SteampunkRomance

LGBTQ+ Steampunk Romance

Date Published: April 4, 2025

 

A volatile cauldron of magic, love, and the empire may be on the edge of a precipice, but witches, humans, and automatons indulge in pleasures of the flesh.

 

Victoria has been dubbed by her adoring public as their Warrior Queen. Destroying her Continental enemies is nothing to the challenge she faces now. For years, the Lunarians, goblins from the moon, led by the powerful witch Mon Ilson, have been murdering humans and stealing the bodies for his followers to “adopt.”

Beautiful witch Selena Whiteheart, Mon Ilson’s human agent on Earth, is closely watched by Home Office Agent Harry Kincaid, whose loyalty to the Queen suppresses his ability to show Selena his true feelings. Spiritualist Miss Cordelia Warrington has been exploring the carnal attributes and mechanical stamina of Adam, her automaton butler. Now Selena needs Cordelia’s help, and allows herself to be entertained by the amorous pair in a steamy ménage à trois.

Meanwhile, Agent of the Queen Rachel Clayton is instantly attracted to the hauntingly handsome Major Guy Tremayne, hero of the Coronation Island disaster. Can he be trusted? She throws all caution to the wind to find out. At a crucial moment the Queen is cruelly betrayed and threatened with assassination. Selena, Rachel, and Victoria all face difficult choices as love and lust compete with their duty to the Empire.

 

Author’s Note: Enjoy Warrior Queen as a standalone tale or as part of a continuing narrative.

 

 

EXCERPT

 

Thwack!

Thwack!

The sound of two cane sticks striking each other reminded me of how a scant two hours ago the Home Secretary had slapped my posterior as he ravaged me. Pressed for time he’d unceremoniously bent me over his Whitehall desk, pulled down my culottes and drawers, grabbed my shoulders for leverage, and drove his prodigious erection into me with frightful force. A few minutes later he flooded my quivering cunt with his lava hot seed. It had been a perfunctory fuck, short and sharp, and my climax perversely satisfying.

My cunny still retained a fair quantity of his ejaculation, and I shifted in my seat contriving to put pressure on my fleshy nether lips to keep it from escaping. My apparently not-so-subtle contortions did not escape the notice of the fine-looking man sitting opposite me. I’d quite forgotten about him as I relived the morning’s carnal adventure. He cleared his throat which brought me back to the here and now.

I was sitting in a Buckingham Palace anteroom, and I felt my cheeks warm under the scrutiny of this ruggedly handsome and smartly uniformed officer. When I’d first arrived, he’d introduced himself as Guy Tremayne. He was in fact the famous Major of the Southern Royal Air Corps who’d distinguished himself by leading the survivors of an airship crash on Coronation Island, a frozen rock midway between Tierra Del Fuego and Antarctica. Their inspirational struggle for survival on the barren island was a true Boys Own Adventure. I’d read his file during my recent convalescence and believed Major Tremayne to be a brave and resourceful officer, respected by his men and superiors alike.

He had given me an elegant bow, took my proffered hand, and lightly brushed his lips against my knuckles. To say I was instantly attracted would be an understatement. He was the epitome of masculinity: well over six feet tall, slim, and long legged. His hips were narrow, his chest deep, and his shoulders broad. His sharply chiselled face was suntanned, and above a thin black moustache his nose was pleasantly symmetrical. The palest of blue eyes gave his countenance a strikingly mysterious and yet desirable aspect.

My cunny throbbed.

He was sitting as if he was on parade with his back straight as a board. He’d started his career in the cavalry, and I couldn’t help but imagine him in the saddle riding into battle, his sabre held high, its razor edge glinting in the sun. He’d actually seen combat, and his curly hair disguised the missing left ear, lost during a bloody skirmish in the Punjab.

Thwack! Thwack!

“Do you singlestick?” I asked him, my mouth dry, and my voice husky.

Thwack! Thwack!

The corners of his mouth curled into a smile. “Indeed, I do. The sabre is my weapon of choice.”

Singlestick fighting had been a feature of English martial life for centuries and cavalry men used it for practicing sabre strokes from horseback. Though the sport had become highly regimented, it required fast reflexes and strict discipline. I found it useful for developing forearm and wrist strength.

Thwack! Thwack!

“Perhaps we should have a bout?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Thwack! Thwack!

My cunt throbbed lustily, and inside my blouse, my nipples ached. I licked my bottom lip, slowly. “Are you residing in London?”

He threw up his hands. “Alas. I exist at the whim of the War Department.”

Thwack! Thwack!

“Then we should arrange a time soon.”

“I believe I am free tomorrow evening.”

“As it happens, so am I.”

Thwack! Thwack!

We’d just concluded arrangements to meet at a restaurant in Chelsea when the door to the anteroom opened, and a footman showed in a slim, elegantly dressed woman. She was about forty years of age, with an attractive oval face and perfect complexion accentuated by challenging hazel eyes and provocatively painted red lips. Her luxurious auburn hair was coiled expertly around her head in such a way that suggested considerable length. The bulk was held in place with gem-tipped pins which glinted in the harsh electric light. I imagined her standing naked, her hair cascading over her ample breasts, reaching and discreetly hiding her mound of Venus. I recognised her as the wife of a member of the House of Lords, and this sensual impression I’d constructed was at odds with her reputation. She was known as a straitlaced prude, active in charitable institutions and a fierce and passionate advocate for women’s suffrage. On one occasion she’d been seen at a rally striking a constable with a placard after she accused him of taking undisclosed liberties.

I curtsied. “Lady Fogerty, I’m Rachel Clayton.”

 

About the Author

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

 

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