Tuesday, January 28, 2025

Heart of a Lion by Kira Stone #Gay #Romance @ChangelingPress

 

Gay Dark Fantasy Romance

Date Published: January 31, 2025

 

 

It takes a guardsman with the heart of a lion to love the hunt master and survive the wrath of the duke.

 

A chance encounter lands young Curran a coveted position as Duke Luthias’s personal guard, but his seeming good fortune soon sours as the evil and deception woven into the castle walls takes its toll.

Tanis, the lover the duke makes Curran surrender as part of his oath of loyalty, is the only man he can trust to help him stop the duke’s ill-fated campaign to punish the northern marauders. But Tanis has secrets of his own, and as much as he loves Curran, they could lose much more than their lives if he gets involved now.

When the raiders retaliate for the duke’s acts of war by laying siege to his castle, all three men are forced to take refuge within the fortified walls. Who lives and who dies will depend on one man having the heart of a lion.




EXCERPT


England 1446

The Foot of the Chevoit Hills

 

“This was a fine idea,” Curran Aurick announced to the world at large. He arched his back until the rest of his naked body floated to the surface of the steamy water. The natural hot spring formed a bathtub big enough for ten large men, but this night Curran had it all to himself. Of course, if one of the castle functionaries ever caught him here, his good fortune would take a sharp turn for the worse.

“A member of the guard must not befoul the healing waters into which His Grace’s lily-white bottom descends,” he mocked in the nasal tone of the keep’s chatelaine. Like Luthias’ arse shat daisies.

Not that he had any personal knowledge of the arse belonging to Luthias, the Fourth Duke of Otterburn. Yet. Duke Luthias hadn’t been home since Curran took the post of guardsman. That in no way diminished the respect and love which blossomed in Curran’s heart as he listened to the epic tales spun about His Grace’s battle prowess, kind heart, and lusty cock.

The great nobleman had beaten back the northern marauders time and time again. His campaigns on the border separating his beautiful duchy from the Scottish rocks prevented the butchering heathens from spilling stout English blood throughout the peaceful countryside.

As his large family lived in one of the duke’s protected villages, it was a cause Curran wholeheartedly supported. It was also one of the biggest reasons he’d left home. Curran planned to spend his life chasing adventure so his younger siblings back home never needed to run in fear from the barbarians. What better way to accomplish that than by joining the duke’s army and learning the art of making war from the man who did it best?

Unfortunately, as a member of the duke’s home guard, Curran had no opportunity to take an active role in the duchy’s defense. The only time he’d had to draw his weapon was to fend off a playful attack by a quartet of maids.

Thank you, ladies, but no thank you. It took something stouter than a virgin’s plump breasts to make his cock sit up and take notice. Given the dearth of male lovers in the area, every so often Curran became tempted to take a bite of the sweet meat the ladies offered him. The notion never lasted long, for he need only look at their powdered and perfumed bodies to have his manhood bow down in defeat.

No, his body and soul belonged to men with a warrior’s heart. The heart of a lion. Rare men like Luthias.

True, the duke was aging, but far from infirm if the stories told about him contained a grain of truth. His corded thighs were laced with battle scars. His hands were calloused from a strong grip on the hilt of his sword. No doubt the man’s cock would stand as tall and proud as the duke himself.

Curran longed to know what would please so great and worthy a man in the privacy of his bedchamber. Yet, bedding the duke was a dream destined to remain unfulfilled. His first three wives were fragile creatures, dying in childbirth or soon thereafter according to common servant gossip. The fact that he kept replacing those he’d lost even after procuring a male heir spoke to his preference for feminine charms.

Did the duke require his wife to pleasure him with her mouth first? Or was it her warm, wet channel that His Grace preferred? Would there be anything Curran could do to entice the man to sample what pleasures could be found in the arms -- and snug arsehole -- of another man?

Curran let his thoughts linger on the arousing topic, generating an internal heat equal to the temperature of the mineral-laden water surrounding him. His engorged cock bobbed against his flat stomach as he imagined being impaled by the duke’s cock. Soon his cock swelled with the need for release, even if it had to come from his own hand.

Under the water, his feet sought solid ground upon which to rest. The irregularly shaped wall of the pool provided an alcove which cupped his body perfectly. His fist encompassed his cock, stroking the hard cock in a steady rhythm. He didn’t have much room to widen his stance, but he did what he could with his other hand to bring his balls equal pleasure.

“More, faster,” he moaned encouragingly to the duke of his erotic dreams.

His imaginary lover complied, taking care to rub a thumb over the head of his cock on the upstroke, just as Curran preferred.

Sharp edges of the natural formation had been chipped away to provide a surface that might abrade but not slice through tender flesh. Curran relished the sensation of the rough texture against his skin as he flexed his hips.

In and out, his cock thrust through his tight fist. No, not his, the duke’s. And what was it Luthias was saying? Oh, yes. That Curran was a brave and honorable man. A man who pleased the duke in so many ways…

“Yes, yes. Take me fully into your mouth, sire,” Curran said aloud. It was the last coherent phrase he could utter, for the power of his release overtook his muscles and he cried out to the full moon in one long, shuddering breath.

And in the brief silence that followed, Curran heard a shrill, avian cry that chilled him to the bone.


 

About the Author

Kira Stone has been around the block…the writer’s block, that is.

From vamps and witches to historical heroes, from futuristic scientists to paranormal corporate executives, from Canadian werewolves to off-world shifters, Kira has written about them all. Manlove has sparked hot and heavy in many of her plots, but Kira also finds a lucky lady to keep the sexy heroes company from time to time. While Scotland remains her favorite place in the world, Kira is constantly in search of new adventures to add to the creative primordial ooze where her best stories are born.


Author Links

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

 

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Friday, January 24, 2025

MASTER Version 1.1 by Antanas Marcelionis #technothriller #WarFiction

 

Technothriller, sci-fi thriller, war fiction

Date Published: December 16, 2024

 

 

Master is a lone soldier, relying on near-future technology and his own creativity to survive in the Gray Zone of the Ukrainian warzone.

The year is 2028. The simmering conflict has transformed into a new kind of battlefield, where military streamers compete for followers and views while carrying out often deadly missions.

Armed with an arsenal of experimental technology—including an advanced computer-brain interface, a multifunctional prosthetic arm, AI, and drones controlled with his mind—Master embarks on a desperate run for his life as he searches for missing fellow streamers.

The book contains 40+ original illustrations and maps. The maps and related action follow actual geographical places down to smallest detail.


About the Author

Master Version 1.1 is my first book. I’ve been writing for most of my life—not books, but code. I’m a software programmer. Together with Martynas Majeris, who translated Master Version 1.1 into English, we run a tiny company—essentially a two-and-a-half-man operation (sans Charlie)—but one that’s extremely successful in its field: amCharts. We estimate that our data visualization libraries are now used by at least half of the Fortune 500 companies and thousands of smaller businesses. Besides this main activity—which, even after nearly two decades, is still fun—I also enjoy long-distance bike travel and participate in competitive sailing events, both fully crewed and double-handed. When it comes to my reading habits, I prefer science fiction. Like most readers, I have my favorite writers, such as Neal Stephenson, and eagerly await their new releases. In between, I enjoy giving new authors a try. Sometimes, they blow me away and become new favorites, like Andy Weir. Unfortunately, there’s also a fair share of disappointment. Every time I felt let down by a new book, I thought, I could do better. On one such occasion, I sat down and wrote my first chapter. Then I wrote another. And a couple more. To make my texts believable, I wrote about things I know well. As a member of the Lithuanian Riflemen Union—an organization of voluntary fighters ready to take up arms and fight Russians if they come this way—and a regular participant in tactical drills and exercises, I’m well-versed in warfare. I know my way around guns and drone combat. You can find me on BlueSky @marcelionis.


Contact Links

Website

Facebook

"X"


Purchase Link

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Thursday, January 23, 2025

Just Call Me Source by James Peifer #Paranormal Thriller


Paranormal Thriller

Date Published: 4/30/23

 

 

In this stunning sequel to Just Call Me Jim, the world has awakened to Jim Vincent’s outside influence on the way things are done.

He and his extraterrestrial partner, the Source, successfully changed the corrupt policies of social media companies and neutralized the nuclear weapons capability of global countries. Now, he has more enemies than he knows.

Despite the risks to Jim and his family; the time has come for him and the Source to venture into the world of drug trafficking, where human life holds little value.

Together they orchestrate attacks destroying the cocaine processing plants in Mexico and Central America, intercepting the flow of cartel cash, and put a stop to the influx of deadly drugs from China.

Mexican drug cartels and their Chinese partners are losing billions of dollars.

They want Jim dead!


About the Author

James Peifer is a retired business-owner from Silicon Valley.

He was an Army Captain and a combat veteran of the Vietnam War.

He lives in Napa, California.

 

Contact Link

Website

 

Purchase Link

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Wednesday, January 22, 2025

Raincatcher by Mikala Ash #SciFi #Romance @changelingpress


Sci-Fi Romance, Multicultural & Interracial

Date Published: January 24, 2025


 

2147: Pollution has poisoned the earth, the seas and the air. Fresh, clean water is as precious as gold.

 

Rauni’s Mistress (Rain Catcher 1)

In the squalid red light district of Hobart Town, Roxy Talia earns her living as a porn star to make ends meet. Tobin Kane follows the monsoon rains across the ocean, collecting precious fresh water before it falls into the polluted seas. He and his crew have been blackballed within the industry. Tobin is determined to find a way to keep his beloved ship, the Rauni. That involves Roxy, the sexy vixen who holds the key to saving his future and has been the star of his lusty fantasies for years. Tobin will do whatever it takes to keep his ship -- even if he has to kidnap Roxy to do it…

 

Aqua Vitae (Rain Catcher 2)

When Audrey Purcell’s lover Kirk disappears in the aftermath of a bomb blast, the bittersweet experience transforms the shy, bookish girl into a brazen and reckless risk taker. Each shore leave sees her swimming in alcohol and rejoicing in one-night stands -- her latest fling being Joachim Muller, a navy commander with a body to die for. Her career takes a great leap forward when she’s given command of a derelict rain catcher, the Aqua Vitae -- but her success comes with a price. The echoes of her painful past clash with the promise of the future, threaten her lifelong dream with destruction.




EXCERPT


Excerpt from Rauni's Mistress


With wide eyes and a madly beating heart, Roxy Talia watched the tall, good- looking stranger enter the crowded hotel bar.

He was absolutely perfect.

His crisp uniform proclaimed him to be an officer, non-military, a merchant mariner of some sort. Standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the street lights, he presented an imposing figure, broad shoulders, trim waist, nicely shaped legs. Once he'd removed his face mask, he'd scanned the dimly lit bar room with barely disguised distaste. His chiseled features wore a sad, resigned expression.

When his dark, intense eyes settled on her where she sat at the bar and the spare stool beside her, Roxy's heart fluttered. Her nipples had hardened the instant his eyes met hers. That warm feeling in her belly she'd thought she'd never feel again washed through her like a spring tide.

He fit her needs exactly, but what was it about him? Her response was as bewildering as it was desired. She'd often thought these last few years that she'd become anesthetized to good-looking men. After all, she had her pick yet here he was, the man she had assumed didn't exist, shattering her jaded expectations.

He strode toward Roxy, fixing her with an unwavering gaze.

Roxy gasped, and her sudden intake of breath surprised her. She was actually nervous at the approach of this man. She took a deep breath to calm herself and tamped down the fear that her disguise was not good enough.

That afternoon, Roxy had taken considerable steps to prepare her deception. She'd dressed in a conservative business suit with a white blouse and knee-length gray skirt. She'd chosen platform stilettos to give her height, a tight bandeau to minimize her bust and a platinum wig to disguise her natural jet hair. For her face, she'd applied ivory foundation and powder to hide her golden skin, blue lipstick to alter the line of her lips and a fake mole on her right cheek. To hide her trademark green eyes, she'd inserted blue contacts and added azure eyeliner and turquoise shadow to alter their shape.

The hodgepodge of styles, business and tart, created a jarring amalgam of looks that would confuse any observer. At least that was what she'd intended. She believed herself to be unrecognizable and the three drunks who had tried to pick her up so far tonight hadn't seen her for who she truly was.

This man, however, was sober. It would be the test of her preparation and acting skills to fool him. He towered above her, his face impassive, his attitude commanding. "This seat taken?"

His voice was like honey. It flowed into her ear like sweet syrup, warming her all the way down to her fluttering belly.

"No," she said. The voice she'd decided on was deeper than her own, husky with a faint European accent to hide the Australasian nasal twang. She'd been practicing all afternoon, intending it to lead any listener to think she was just another environmental refugee trying to fit into Hobart Town and not quite succeeding.

The officer sat down. There hadn't been even a flicker of recognition. If anything, he displayed total indifference.

Roxy relaxed. Surreptitiously she gazed at the stranger in the bar's mirror. In between the bottles of imported and domestic Aqua and Hydra water and the ubiquitous range of Gills Beer, she considered his heavily defined features, trying to get a handle on his personality, as if facial lines told you anything about the inner workings of the mind.

His ebony skin, wearing the sheen of perspiration which was unavoidable in Hobart Town's enervating humidity, glowed in the bar's dim lighting. His short, black hair was closely cropped, exposing a nicely shaped skull. His face was heavily textured and seemed to attract the shadows.

"I'm Tobin," he said and she jumped in surprise.

He was staring back at her reflection. "I'm Su Sha Xie," she said, quickly adopting the name of her worst enemy in kindergarten, a petulant little girl who once had stolen her crayons.

His dark eyes narrowed. "Funny, you don't look Chinese."

"It's a long story."

Tobin signaled to the barman. "I'm not into long stories today. Want another?"

"Why not?"

He fished out his card, scowled and flicked it to the barman. "Wanna sit?"

She followed his gaze to a newly vacated table in the corner. "I thought we were."

"Something more comfortable."

"I'm not a hooker," she said.

"I didn't think you were." He stood up and waited, looking down at her. "Coming?"

Tobin's self-confidence was staggering. Then she figured out what it really was. He didn't care if she came with him or not. She was just a woman to him, one of thousands out on this hot Hobart night. Roxy quelled her momentary annoyance by reminding herself that this was exactly why she was here in disguise. She wanted, for once, to be just an ordinary woman.

"Sure."

The barman returned with two beers. Tobin took his card, picked up the bottles and, weaving through a group of drunken marines, strode over to the table.

Roxy followed. The view of his physique from behind was as impressive as from the front. His broad shoulders gave way to bulging biceps which were barely contained by the short sleeves of his shirt. He sported a trim waist, slim hips and oh so tight buns atop sturdy but shapely legs. The musculature of which screamed both stamina and strength.

Roxy approved. Unlike the men she knew, Tobin's body lacked the artificial contours gained in the gym. He was used to real work, and hard work at that.

Tobin sat down without waiting for her. "I meant it. I'm not a hooker."

"I believe you." He took a swig of his beer, his eyes fixed on hers. "I'm not looking for a hooker."

"What are you looking for?"

He took a swig of beer and motioned to the chair.

She sat.

"So, keeping it short, what's your story?" she asked finally, putting an amused tone in her voice.

He looked into his beer. "No potted histories, please. Let me tell you who you are and then I'll tell you who I am."

Her heart stopped. Damn it, he'd recognized her after all. She'd hoped she could have at least one encounter with someone who didn't know who she was. Her anticipation of the night she'd planned collapsed and the despair in the bottom of her chest stirred.

"We are two of a kind," he said slowly. "You tell me you're not a hooker, I say I believe you. Then you tell me again to make sure. You are balancing on stiletto heels to make you appear taller than you really are. You are wearing an appalling wig and, geeze, to apply all that makeup you must have used a bricklayer's trowel. So, I'm assuming you don't want to be recognized."

His eyes trapped her in an inescapable gaze and she felt like she was falling into their dark depths. Within her chest her heart thudded like a prisoner beating against prison bars and in her ears, her blood roared. She could barely breathe waiting for him to say her name and shatter her desire. She so much wanted this stranger not to recognize her.

"You don't want to be recognized," he repeated. "Well, that's fine by me. I don't want to know who you really are, and I'll believe whatever you tell me."

Confusion roiled inside her mind. What game was he playing? Did he recognize her or not?

Roxy cleared her throat. "You said we are two of a kind."

"Well, you see, Su, I don't want to be me tonight either. So the reason I'm here, in this bar in this dodgy hotel in this stinking rotten town, is to be anyone but me, okay? Like you, I want to be someone else, if just for the night."

 

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.

 

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

 

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

 

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Tuesday, January 21, 2025

BREAKER by @HarleyWylde #MCromance @changelingpress


Motorcycle Club Romance, Age Gap, Suspense

Date Published: January 24, 2025

 

 

In the shadows of a world where danger lurks around every corner and loyalty and love can be the deadliest weapons of all, two souls are drawn together by fate.

Juniper -- I was only fifteen when I ran away from home. Or rather, the nightmare I’d ended up in, after my parents died. I’d known living on the streets wouldn’t be easy, but I also hadn’t planned to nearly freeze to death in an alley five years later. The biker who found me, nursed me back to health, and promised to keep me safe was unlike anyone I’d ever met before. When we found out my uncle would be paroled, there was no doubt he’d try to find me. After all, he’d think I was the one who turned him in. But somewhere along the way, I started to fall in love with Breaker. Now I’ll do anything for him.

Breaker -- I’ve been with the Hades Abyss since I was a teenager. Back then I went by Teller Reed, until I earned my patch. These people are my family. I never thought I’d be willing to break all the rules and defy the club president. Then I found Juniper nearly dead in an alley. I’ve always believed in Fate, and I have no doubt I was led to her for a reason. Now she’s mine, and I’ll do whatever it takes to hold onto her… even if it means getting my hands dirty. If her uncle thinks he can come and take her from me, he’d better reconsider… because if he even tries, I’m putting him six feet under.

As nights grow darker and stakes escalate, will their bond be enough to withstand the ultimate test?




EXCERPT


Juniper

I trudged through the dimly lit alley, my feet dragging with each exhausted step. Frigid air filled my lungs, the biting cold seeping deep with every exhale. Clouds of breath formed before me, dissipating into the night like my fading strength.

Violent shivers wracked my slender frame as I struggled onward. The thin, tattered coat offered little protection against winter’s onslaught. My head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, the fever’s unrelenting grip making the world seem distant and hazy.

Vision blurring, I blinked hard, trying to will away the encroaching darkness at the edges of my sight. Each step required immense effort, as if lead weights pulled at my aching legs. I had to keep going. Stopping meant surrendering to the cold, to sickness, to despair.

Flashes of memory cut through the fevered confusion -- Mama’s kind eyes, the warmth of our tiny apartment, the scent of fresh baked bread. Before the accident stole everything. Before Uncle’s leering face and harsh blows became my waking nightmare.

“J-just… a little… f-farther,” I whispered through chattering teeth.

Safety. Warmth. I needed… somewhere… to rest.

Squinting, I scanned the dank alleyway, willing a spot to manifest. There -- a small alcove tucked between two brick buildings. It wasn’t much, but the worn wooden crate and scattered rubbish offered a modicum of shelter against the biting wind.

Dragging myself the final few steps, I practically fell into the corner, knees buckling. The rough brick scraped my back through my clothes as I slid down the wall. Warring sensations of burning fever and clawing chills besieged me. I drew my knees to my chest, trying to conserve any whisper of body heat.

Snowflakes drifted in the dim lamplight at the alley’s mouth, the first to fall this season. Once, a lifetime ago, I danced between swirling flurries, Papa’s rich laughter ringing out as he twirled Mama. Now the snow felt like a frozen shroud, settling over me with gentle finality. Had I escaped the horror of living with my uncle only to die in this alley?

Exhaustion tugged at my eyelids, the effort of keeping them open suddenly monumental. Thoughts scattered like windblown leaves. Perhaps if I rested, just for a moment, the weariness would lessen. The pounding in my skull might abate.

I huddled against the wall, arms wrapped around myself in a vain attempt at comfort, and let my head drop to my chest.

The cold embrace of brick and stone welcomed me as awareness slipped away, a final dark mercy. In the recesses of my mind, a tiny flame still flickered, stubborn and desperate. A yearning for the warmth of a gentle touch, the safety of a loving hand.

But as I spiraled into oblivion, even that spark guttered out, lost to fever dreams and the remorseless bite of winter’s chill.

* * *

I fought to open my eyes, the weight of exhaustion pressing down like a physical force. The alley swam into focus, all harsh edges and deep shadows. I blinked slowly, trying to orient myself. How long had I been drifting in the liminal space between wakefulness and oblivion?

A violent shiver wracked my body, the movement sending a fresh wave of pain through my aching muscles. I gritted my teeth against the discomfort, my breath escaping in a hiss. The cold had seeped into my very bones, a chill no amount of rubbing could dispel. I had to get up and move. If I didn’t, not only could I potentially freeze to death, but bad things happened when you lingered in one spot for too long. I would be easy prey for those who liked to take advantage of those weaker than them.

I braced my hand against the rough brick, my fingers scraping against the weathered surface as I struggled to push myself upright. The world tilted alarmingly, and I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the dizziness to pass. When I opened them again, the alley had settled, but the edges of my vision remained blurred, the colors muted and indistinct.

“Come on, Juniper,” I whispered, my voice rasping in my dry throat. “You can’t stay here.”

But where could I go? The question haunted me as I staggered forward, my hand skimming the wall for support. Each step was a battle, my legs trembling beneath me like a newborn foal’s. The future stretched out before me, a yawning void of uncertainty and despair.

Hot tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked furiously. Crying would solve nothing, and the moisture would only freeze on my cheeks, another layer of discomfort to contend with. I had to keep moving, had to find shelter, had to… had to…

My train of thought derailed, scattering into fragments. The fever was playing tricks on my mind, making it difficult to focus on anything beyond the next step, the next breath. A cough bubbled up from my lungs, tearing at my throat like shards of glass. I pressed my free hand to my mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but it only seemed to echo louder in the stillness of the alley.

Desperation clawed at my chest, a wild thing scrabbling for escape. What if I couldn’t find a safe place to rest? What if the sickness worsened, leaving me helpless and alone? The specter of my uncle loomed in my mind, his malevolent presence a constant shadow at the edges of my consciousness.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the dark thoughts. I had to stay focused on the present, on survival. One foot in front of the other. One breath at a time. It was a mantra I clung to, a fragile lifeline in a sea of hopelessness.

But even as I repeated the words silently, I could feel the last vestiges of my strength ebbing away. The brick wall was the only thing keeping me upright, and I knew that soon, even that support wouldn’t be enough.

Fear and despair twined around my heart, constricting tighter with each labored step. The future I had once dreamed of, a life of safety and warmth, love and laughter, seemed as distant as the stars, forever out of reach. All that remained was the cold, the pain, and the certainty that I was utterly, inescapably alone.

Hunger gnawed at my stomach, a relentless ache that consumed my every thought. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a proper meal, the kind that filled you up and chased away the cold. The memory of my last meager rations, scrounged from a dumpster behind a restaurant, only served to intensify the emptiness inside me.

I pressed a hand to my belly, feeling the hollow space beneath my ribs. The hunger was a constant companion, a cruel reminder of how far I’d fallen. It sapped my strength, making each step more difficult than the last. I longed for the days when food was plentiful, when I didn’t have to worry about where my next meal would come from.

Unbidden, memories of my family flooded my mind, bringing with them a fresh wave of pain. I remembered the warmth of our kitchen, the scent of my mother’s cooking filling the air. She always made sure I had enough to eat, pressing second helpings onto my plate with a loving smile.

“You’re a growing girl, Juniper,” she’d say, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “You need your strength.”

My father would laugh, reaching over to ruffle my hair. “Listen to your mother, little one. She knows best.”

The love and affection in their voices, the safety of their presence, seemed like a distant dream now. I ached for the comfort of their arms, the reassurance that everything would be all right. But they were gone, taken from me too soon, and all that remained was the bitter cold and the unrelenting loneliness.

Tears stung my eyes, blurring my vision. I blinked them away, unwilling to let them fall. Crying would only waste precious energy, energy I couldn’t afford to squander. But the memories continued to assail me, each one a bittersweet reminder of all I had lost.

I remembered the laughter-filled evenings spent playing board games, the lazy Sunday mornings snuggled together on the couch. I remembered the pride in my parents’ eyes when I brought home a good report card, the gentle encouragement when I struggled with a difficult subject.

Those memories were a double-edged sword, bringing both comfort and agony. They reminded me of the love I had once known, the family I had cherished above all else. But they also underscored the stark reality of my current situation, the yawning chasm between the life I had lived and the one I now endured.

The longing for my parents’ presence, for the warmth and safety of our home, was a physical ache in my chest. It mingled with the hunger, the cold, and the fear, creating a cocktail of misery that threatened to drag me under.

I shook my head, trying to dispel the memories. Dwelling on the past would do me no good, not when the present demanded every ounce of my focus and strength. I had to keep moving, had to find a way to survive, no matter how bleak the future seemed.

But even as I pushed myself forward, the hunger and the loneliness remained. They were a constant reminder of all I had lost, and all I stood to lose if I couldn’t find a way out of this nightmare.

As I trudged onward, my mind drifted to the dark shadow that had haunted me for years: my uncle. The mere thought of him sent a shudder down my spine, a visceral reaction to the memories of his cruelty. His sinister presence loomed large in my mind. It served to remind me of the danger I had fled and the safety I so desperately yearned for.

I could still feel his hands on me, the bruising grip that left marks on my skin and scars on my soul. His words echoed in my ears, the vicious insults and threats that had eroded my sense of self-worth. Even now, miles away and years later, his influence lingered, a poison that seeped into every aspect of my life.

The weight of my past trauma pressed down on me, a suffocating force making each step feel like a Herculean effort. I wanted to scream, to rage against the injustice of it all, but I had learned long ago silence was my only defense. To draw attention to myself was to invite more pain, more suffering.

So I kept moving, my eyes scanning the alley for any sign of shelter. The wind whipped through the narrow passage, its icy fingers clawing at my exposed skin. I needed to find a place to rest again, to escape the relentless cold that sapped my strength and clouded my mind. I didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to find a warm space, but I could close my eyes another short while before I needed to move again.

There, tucked away in a small alcove, I spotted a glimmer of hope. The space was partially shielded from the wind, a tiny oasis in the midst of the unforgiving city. I made my way toward it with faltering steps, my body trembling with exhaustion and illness.

As I drew closer, I could see that the alcove was little more than a shallow indentation in the wall, barely large enough to accommodate my small frame. But it was better than nothing, a chance to catch my breath and gather my strength before facing the long night ahead.

I lowered myself to the ground, my legs giving out beneath me. The concrete was hard and unyielding, but I hardly noticed as I curled into myself, trying to conserve what little warmth I had left. My eyelids grew heavy, the temptation to surrender to the darkness nearly overwhelming.

But I couldn’t give in, not yet. I had to keep fighting, had to find a way to survive. For all the pain and trauma of my past, I clung to the hope that someday, somehow, I would find the safety and love I so desperately craved. It was a fragile hope, a flickering candle in the darkness, but it was all I had left.

So I huddled in the alcove, my breath coming in shallow gasps as I willed myself to stay awake. The night stretched out before me, a vast expanse of uncertainty and fear, but I knew I had no choice but to face it head-on. For better or worse, this was my life now, and I would do whatever it took to survive.


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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Monday, January 20, 2025

Surviving Karma by Mark Nistor #Mystery @rabtbooktours


The Karma Series, Book 2

 

Literary Fiction, Mystery

Date Published: November 9, 2024


 

Officer Bella Streit's abduction has yet to make headlines. Her captor once again humiliates police by nabbing Captain Stark's protective detail from the precinct parking lot. Her predecessor, the third officer taken, adds to the comedic nature of embarrassing the police. Taken from the scene of an accident, Officer Tauron Sandoval's handling reflects the lengths at which Pin will go to feed his hunger. Now with Bella secured, Pin no longer needing Tauron leaves her to a fast moving hourglass of life. Her minimal sands flow as two other officers succumb.

Pin seeks revenge through torturing those he deems as old police. Detectives Rix and Jain work the case. They find a roadmap offering clues to the serial killer's endgame. The roadmap given to them by informants. However, unknown by the detectives is Pin also has informants feeding him information. Double agent informants play their roles as if trained spies. Both parties question the loyalties while traversing to the ultimate showdown.

Surviving Karma will require finding the common ingredient to their sandwiches of life.

 

The Karma Series

 Available on Amazon


 

Challenging Karma

The Karma Series, Book One

 

Surviving Karma

The Karma Series, Book 2 

 

About the Author

Well, Mark’s just a guy who made a life-changing promise.

Mark prides himself on being a family man, entrepreneur and now, author. Trained to be a certified logistics professional, Mark got a certificate in video and television production. Script writing class helped expand a love for transforming ideas into stories. One of those first scripts would become a first novel, Challenging Karma.

The published author experience has always placed high on a list of dreams.

Mark’s late mother would be the one to give the push needed to make the dream a reality. After reading a first draft; she offered encouragement toward finishing a yet to be named story. The self-published Karma series is how he is keeping a promise to her.

 

Contact Links

Website

Instagram

Facebook

Goodreads

BookBub

BookBuzz

 

Purchase Link

Amazon



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Friday, January 17, 2025

Just Call Me Jim by James Peifer #paranormal #thriller


Paranormal Thriller

Date Published: 6/13/22

 

 

Jim Vincent thought he'd seen it all, but he'd never seen anything like this.

He'd fought in Vietnam and founded successful companies in Silicon Valley.

His Napa Valley retirement was supposed to be quiet and peaceful.

Until he was visited by an extraterrestrial calling itself the Source.

When the Source recruits him to address some of the problems here on Earth, Jim discovers that world leaders and criminal enterprises don't exactly appreciate his meddling.

How was Jim supposed to know that trying to rid the world of evil would leave people wanting him dead?


About the Author

James Peifer is a retired business-owner from Silicon Valley.

He was an Army Captain and a combat veteran of the Vietnam War.

He lives in Napa, California.


Contact Link

Website

 

Purchase Link

Amazon



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Tuesday, January 14, 2025

Maddog by Marteeka Karland #MCromance @changelingpress

 

Black Reign MC (#10)


Motorcycle Club Romance

Date Published: 1/17/25


 

Who knew we’d get ambushed by the cartel on our way to a village deep in the Amazon jungle?

 

Holly: I was sick as a kid. Leukemia. Felt like someone always had to drop everything to take care of me. Hate being dependent on people now, so I try to do everything myself. When my best friend takes up with a creep and won’t believe me when I tell her something’s not right with the man, I decide it’s safer (for her) if I go with her on a trip to Columbia he’s organizing. Bad news: I’m right. Fortunately the most annoying man I’ve ever come to count on thinks it’s his job to rescue me. This time, I might just let him. And that’s where the trouble starts…

Jax: I’ve known Holly nearly all her life. I’ve been her protector and the person she wants most when things go horribly wrong, which they do, more often than not. To say we have a contentious relationship is an understatement. I put a claim on Holly she never accepted, but it’s time to force the issue. Not because she doesn’t love me. Because she’s afraid history is doomed to repeat itself. She’s wrong. I’ll always come for her when she needs me. Like it or not, Holly’s more than my responsibility. No matter the cost, she’s mine.


Excerpt

Copyright ©2025 Marteeka Karland

 

Jax

“Let me get this straight.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to stave off the headache threatening to split my skull open. Funny how that worked when I talked to Holly. “You’re voluntarily going to a country with a level four travel advisory. Unarmed. With a bunch of college students. With no security to speak of. Have I got that right?” I tried to keep my voice low and even, to fight my way through the rage that she’d be so cavalier with her life.

“Sweet God, could you be a bigger buzzkill.” Holly, ever the little ray of sarcastic sunshine, sounded like she was exasperated with me. Or, quite possibly, like she thought I was being unreasonable.

“Answer the question, Holly.” If I let her distract me, she’d talk her way around my directness and hang up before I could forbid her from going. Not that it was going to help. Holly always did what she wanted. Usually, only her mother was able to talk sense into her.

“You do realize you’re not the boss of me. Right?”

“I realize that, when you’re considering putting your life in danger for no good fuckin’ reason, someone has to rein you in. I’m surprised Wrath even considered letting you go, much less given his blessing.” The silence on the other end was deafening. “You didn’t tell him.” It wasn’t a question.

“Again, not your business, Jax. This is my life and I’m living it. If I get into trouble, I’ll accept the consequences.”

“Even if it cost you your life?” I tried to go for a matter-of-fact tone, but my words came out a low growl.

“Even if it cost me my life.”

Neither of us spoke for long moments, the silence so long I was afraid the call had dropped. Then she sighed.

“Look, Jax. I’ve got a sat phone. Even if there’s no cell coverage where we’re at, Shotgun will be able to see where I am. He and Esther are great with that shit. If we get into trouble, I can call him. They can either send someone to come get me, or let me work it out myself. I’m only agreeing to any of this so my mom doesn’t worry.”

“Did you at least tell Celeste? Because I don’t see your mother letting you do something like this at all.”

“No one lets me do anything, Jax.” Her tone was hard and firm. She was barely out of her teens yet I’d never met anyone more firmly in control of her life. Which was to say she lived in utter chaos most of the time and that was exactly the way she liked it. “But yes. I told her what I was doing. She’s not happy about it, but she knows she can’t talk me out of it.”

“Did you ever stop to think how your mother and father would feel if you got hurt or killed? I realize it could happen anywhere, but by going to Columbia increases those chances exponentially over anywhere in the U.S. She almost lost you once and gave everything she had to keep you alive. Don’t you think you’re being incredibly selfish?” I winced. Yeah, this wasn’t my finest moment. Had I been trying to push her away I couldn’t have done a better job.

“Go fuck yourself, Jax.” She disconnected the call.

“Motherfuck!” I hissed the expletive under my breath. I knew better. I fucking knew better. The best way to get Holly to do anything other than what you wanted her to do, was to tell her she had to do it. Pushing her into doing what you wanted was even worse. Trying to lay a guilt trip on her? Yeah. I’d just guaranteed Holly was heading straight to Columbia on a humanitarian aid expedition.

I pressed her contact and waited for her to answer the Facetime call. She let it go to voicemail once so I tried again. She picked up this time and… yeah. She hated me right now.

“Got nothin’ else to say to you, asshole.” I recognized that mulish look on her face. She thought I was going to try to talk her out of going again, but I knew better than that.

“Can you give me two days, Holly? Two days and I’ll go with you. You can still do what you do with your college friends, but I can make sure you’re safe.”

“We’ve got plenty of security. There’s no need for that.”

“Holly. Two days.”

She shrugged one delicate shoulder, a look of indifference and disinterest on her face. “Sorry, Jax. I don’t make the schedule. Plane leaves tomorrow morning at six.”

I wanted to throttle the younger woman. She was constantly bucking me, doing exactly the opposite of what I wanted her to do. To be fair, I was twelve years older than she was and had decided she’d be mine long before I should have. I’d been sixteen when she came to the compound with Wrath and Celeste. She’d been a precocious but sickly child of four. She’d survived leukemia like a champ, never letting anything get to her. No matter how sick I’d seen her get from the chemo, the girl had no quit in her. I knew because I’d been with her for the last few treatments. Which she’d not appreciated. I’d insisted because she’d been so mad at me she hadn’t focused on all the needles and unpleasantness. I’d been happy to take her wrath then, even if what remained of the kid in me had been slightly hurt that she hadn’t accepted me as her protector.

Even when she was so young, I’d been drawn to her. She was this little pixie who’d absolutely cut you if you displeased her but needed someone looking after her. I’d taken that task on my own, growing into a man protecting the girl until she’d started becoming a woman. The plain truth was, it scared me the first time I caught sight of her in a bikini at the pool. Freaked me the absolute fuck out. Once I’d come to terms with my feelings for Holly, I’d inserted myself into her life but kept playing the part of mean and annoying older brother. Why? Because I knew if she learned to stand up to me, she always would. And if she could stand up to me, she could stand up to anyone.

“Holly, I’m half the fuckin’ world away right now. All I’m asking for is two fuckin’ days. It’s the right thing to do and you know it. I may be a bastard, but I would never let anything happen to you.”

Her expression didn’t change. “I don’t need your protection, Jax. Shotgun and Esther have my back. I’ll be fine. Besides, the father of one of the students going is a senator. They always have security.”

“And their priority will be the senator’s kid. They won’t give two shits about you or the others.”

“And if you were with me, you’d give a shit about the others?” Oh, the sarcasm was strong with this one…

“Of course not. But I’d care about you. I’d be the one protecting you and I’d do it with my life.”

She snorted, scowling at me over the video. “Dramatic much?”

“Holly --”

“No. You listen to me! Nothing’s going to happen. And if it does, I’ll deal. I don’t want or need your help, Jax.”

“You’re wrong there, baby. You need all my help you can get. But I’m telling you right now, if you don’t wait for me, when I find you, I will turn you over my knee and blister your bare ass until you don’t sit for a fuckin’ week.”

Oh, that got her attention.

 

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.

 

Contact Links

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

Author on Facebook

 

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

 

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