Category Archives: Teasers

In His Dreams Teaser

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In His Dreams cover

Paranormal Romance, LGBTQ

Date Published: October 4, 2024

 

 

 

For three centuries, Nara’s existence has revolved around providing sexual
gratification to men not of her choosing. As a concubine enslaved by a
brutal master she knows only as the Conqueror, Nara can do nothing but obey
his every cruel whim. But a hundred years ago, Nara discovered where her
real talents lie. She can invade dreams; and in those dreams, she’s the one
in control. Not the men whose thoughts she pervades. Not the Conqueror. Just
her.

Rafe Osmond is a Dream Walker committed to eradicating every last trace of
dream ragers, those whose dark arts not only terrorize, but also kill
innocent dreamers. After he watches Nara terrifying a man she’s recently
serviced, Rafe sets off after her — with a vengeance. But when he finds
her, he also stumbles upon a long-forgotten temple steeped in ancient
mystery, and a terrifying evil.

Together, Rafe and Nara must destroy a power darker and deadlier than
either of them imagined. But first, Rafe must convince Nara that there is
more to dreams than ravages of pain and whimpers of terror… and to do
that, he has to show her unbelievable pleasure…

In His Dreams tablet

 

 

EXCERPT

 

“You think you’re ready for this?”

Rafe Osmond took a deep, steadying breath and closed his eyes. The pillow
beneath his head felt soft and inviting, but his body hummed with
anticipation. How could Master Choeki expect him to fall asleep? He licked
his suddenly dry lips. “I’m ready.”

He felt the dip in the mattress as the Master sat down beside him and
leaned over to light a candle on the nightstand. “Good. Remember what
I’ve taught you.”

“Patience, kindness, strength,” Rafe repeated for the thousandth
time. “We are dream walkers. People count on us to dispel dark dreams,
to preserve their sanity. I won’t forget.”

“And if you encounter a rager?”

“I’ll stop him. At any cost.”

Master Choeki grunted his approval and rose from the bed. “Sleep. I’ll
be here when you return.”

Rafe folded his hands across his chest and waited for sleep to come. He’d
been training at the Dream Academy for three years. Since the day he’d first
presented himself to the Master, they’d entered dreams together, rescued
dreamers from themselves countless times, but they’d never encountered a
rager. Sometimes, Rafe wasn’t sure whether the stories of powerful creatures
who killed humans in their dreams were even true. He’d never seen one. The
Master had told him that when his abilities became strong enough, he’d be
able to sense a rager from a distance, without even having to enter a
dream.

If his current abilities were any indication, it would be a long time
before that happened.

* * *

Rafe didn’t remember falling asleep. One moment he was lying on the
training bed in the Dream Academy, and the next, he was here, standing in a
brightly lit restaurant.

White linen tablecloths, napkins and pristine table settings awaited
patrons, but the place was empty. Crystal glasses caught the light from the
overhead chandelier and fragmented it in a rainbow of colors that splashed
over the pale walls, leading Rafe’s gaze to the large window overlooking the
street. Outside, the city looked deserted. Moonlight played in puddles, and
rain fell with heavy drops on the pavement, but there were no people huddled
under umbrellas, no cabs honking as they sped down city streets.

A soft moan caught his attention, and he spun around quickly, scanning the
restaurant. “Hello? Anyone here?” Another groan echoed through the
room, followed by a giggle and a soft gasp.

Rafe’s pulse raced as he moved forward. Just his luck to stumble into an
erotic dream on his first night alone. He’d encountered a few when
accompanied by Master Choeki, but they’d never lingered long. Sensual dreams
rarely turned into nightmares.

He spotted the couple at last, in a corner booth at the back of the
restaurant. He walked toward them slowly, trying to stay in the shadows as
much as possible. There had to be a reason his dream talent led him here.
Sometimes, his ability to sense nightmares was triggered by a false alarm,
nothing more than a rough edge to sex play. Other times, the possibility of
a nightmare was real. Dreams could turn dark in the blink of an eye, often
without the dreamer’s knowledge or consent. That’s why he was here. To watch
over the dreamer and protect them.

And to destroy dream ragers. The Master’s voice echoed in Rafe’s head, and
he waved it away. He didn’t sense a dream rager. Not that he knew what
sensing one was supposed to feel like, but he assumed it had to be hostile,
dark, powerful. A strong sensation of malevolent evil would crawl up his
spine. There was none of that here. Just two lovers indulging in a little
fun.

He inched closer to get a better look. What could it hurt, lingering for a
moment or two? He’d move on soon. The Master would never know he dallied
here.

He stopped breathing when he caught sight of a woman’s shapely behind. His
cock stiffened instantly as he took in her long legs, wide hips, slender
waist, and smooth coppery skin. Hair the color of dark, rich honey had been
swept into an untidy heap on top of her head. He took another step forward,
hoping for a glimpse of her face. He wished she’d turn around, but she was
busy sucking a stiff cock.

Her lover lay on his back on one of the white linen tablecloths Rafe had
admired earlier, hands folded behind his head, eyes closed, mouth parted in
ecstasy.

Rafe’s hand moved to his cock. He palmed the stiff length, hoping for a
little relief. He knew he should leave, but couldn’t. Not yet. How often
would he have a chance to witness something like this?

The woman released her lover’s cock. It slid from her mouth with a loud
pop, and she turned to face Rafe. Her features were even more beautiful than
he’d expected. Long, black lashes framed gold-rimmed dark eyes. High
cheekbones and full lips suggested an exotic background. He expected ire, or
shock at the very least, but got neither. Instead, she moved forward and
grasped his hand, tugging him close to her. “Are you here to stop
me?”

Rafe’s mouth was suddenly dry. “I’m here to save you.”

She laughed, the sound low and sensual. “Really? My hero.” Her
tone held neither sarcasm nor anger. “I hope you can stay a
while.”

“Who are you?” His thoughts felt sluggish as she pressed her
naked body against him. He felt her hard nipples graze his chest even
through the shirt he wore and he stifled a groan.

“I’m Nara. This is Vince.”

“Vinny,” the man corrected. He sat up, casting a bewildered stare
at Rafe. “Who’s this?”

“Our rescuer, apparently,” Nara said before Rafe could reply.
“Though I’m not yet sure what he’s supposed to be saving us
from.”

With quick, expert motions, she unzipped his jeans and slid them over his
hips. His briefs followed. “I really can’t stay.”

“Sure you can.” She gripped his hand and placed it over her sex.
Shaved bare, her skin felt deliciously warm and all too inviting. His cock
pulsed. A shudder trembled through his body.

It’s only a dream.

Dreams were as real as the dreamer made them. This wasn’t his dream, but it
didn’t mean he couldn’t share in the dreamer’s delight.

Only a dream, he repeated to himself. What can it hurt?

 

 

About the Author

Award-winning author Lacey Savage loves to write about her dreams — or
more specifically, she loves to breathe life into her steamy fantasies (and
she’s got plenty!). She pens erotic tales of true love and mythical destiny,
peopled with strong alpha heroes and feisty heroines. A hopeless romantic,
Lacey loves writing about the intimate, sensual side of relationships. She
currently resides in Ottawa, Canada, with her mischievous husband and their
loving cat.

 

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

 

Pre-Order Today

 

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gHost Teaser

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gHost cover

Cyberpunk, BDSM

Date Published: September 27, 2024

 

 

In the 23rd century you can jack into the web, shop at a mall floating half
a mile above the street, kill yourself with the drug of the week, and wake
up in a new body.

The rich can have what they want — and they want immortality. What they
get is gHost, generic Host Somnambulant Transfer. The dead become
re-animated hosts for the living. The trade is controlled by megacorps and
is highly regulated. Getting on the list is the perk for any corporate
ladder-climber. But the price is steep.

Brady Woods is a smart-ass hacker fighting to survive in the dim streets at
the bottom of the canyons between two-hundred-story buildings, where smog
and anti-grav shopping malls block out the sun and predators prowl the
shadowed alleys.

Brady has talent. He can fix anything. And he can surf the web like no one
can. Code is his junk food; blind killers and security bots are his nemeses;
information is his currency and his rush.

Sleen’s girl Deel has eyes for Brady; a battered cat knows its own. Brady
knows what he wants, and he wants Deel. Problem. Sleen thinks he owns Deel,
and he’s not about to give her up. In a barter economy Deel’s up for grabs
— for the right price. But can she be trusted? And how far will Brady go to
make her his own?

 

gHost tablet

EXCERPT

Following Brady as they shouldered through the crowd in the free market at
Temple Square, Jongo asked, “That guy from gHost been around
again?”

“Yeah,” said Brady absently.

Free market hawkers shouted lies and the booths were generally full of
crap, but you could get warm beer and stale burgers for a decent price. If
you had a job. Large people with long arms and heavy truncheons roamed the
crowd. A few stood by jewelry booths and the like, vendors who could afford
the service and needed it.

They headed for the Sky Mall at Nineteenth and Ash. Gravs slid through the
canyons in a solid stream. The sun, where it could penetrate through the
maze of skybridges, the sludge of traffic, the vertical walls of the
superscrapers, and the thick drizzle-fog from the grav exhausts, fell
faintly on the Certified Organic PermGrass. You could roll a P-5 battle tank
over that stuff and every blade would spring right back.

At ground level, most of downtown was a meandering park, with low-light
trees and flower gardens and wandering paths to soften the atmosphere of
crumbling, graffiti covered tenements. Best thing about living here, if you
ignored the fact that it looked like nineteenth century London at midnight,
about which Brady was fairly certain Jongo didn’t have a clue.

“You jacked in again?” asked Jongo, looking askance. Like most
humans, Jongo practically lived to surf, but jacking scared him.
“You’re the only person I ever heard of can jack without an
implant.”

Brady thought Jongo sounded less envious than self pitying. Ordinary
mortals needed an implant and a steady supply of nauseating drugs to make
the necessary mental connection for real jacking.

The reward was the ability to be in the net, to swim with the sharks. The
sort of thing high level corporate IT commandos got paid to do. The downside
for plebes was two days retching your guts out when you checked back in from
the ride. The corporate guys got the good stuff, no withdrawal, but the
brain strain still sent three in ten to the psych ward.

Apparently I’m either immune or already insane.

Deep surfing demanded an out of body experience not compatible with
walking, but Brady could cruise a little.

Ignoring Jongo, Brady chatted with Beezo, who Brady actually knew
personally. Tall angular guy with shadowed eyes who spoke with deceptive
softness and had no known address, or, for that matter, any obvious means of
support. Beezo did mutter occasionally about overthrowing the establishment,
whatever that meant, and was known to drive his environmentally devastating
grav at speeds approaching escape velocity.

Beezo had planned one of his legendary, online/real-time parties, where
he’d take over an entire lower level floor somewhere, spend thousands
painting and decorating, invite three hundred total strangers, and provide
food, beverages and drugs. Entertainment developed through spontaneous
combustion.

Beezo mixed with a different crowd. Brady’d seen a society column online
that had a picture of a big deal party out in the Hamptons and fuck if Beezo
hadn’t been in it. No explanation for that one but Brady always figured
Beezo was some rich family’s black sheep. Black demon sounds closer to
it.

Brady had no idea where Beezo got the money, although the black demon
analogy looked better all the time. There was always serious female talent,
which appeared to be Beezo’s primary interest, but just as frequently the
parties attracted unwelcome legal attention, especially when someone
inevitably jacked in and tried to crack a corporate firewall.

“You in?” Beezo asked by non-video voice link, meaning he was
probably in a session with one or more girls. Brady could never tell
anything by voice alone. Beezo seemed to have Herculean self-control.

Brady had no interest in Beezo’s money or his drugs and he didn’t want to
take a chance on getting arrested, but before he could play the Elena card,
Beezo said, “I can have two good people over there to look after
Elena.”

Brady trusted Beezo that way. “You’re reading my mind. Thanks, but let
me think about it.”

“Way on.” Beezo blinked out.

Beezo had no issue with Brady’s noncommittal attitude, which Brady
understood put him fairly high up the ladder of people Beezo liked. He liked
Beezo in turn, but the party scene had soured for him before it started, in
view of his current situation.

Freddy Lake pinged him, wanting to know who could reverse engineer a
certain program that might perhaps be used to bypass the security system for
a minor third world bank. If one were so inclined.

Brady dropped that one like a dirty bomb, referring Freddy to a vague
acquaintance who had less regard for his own skin. Brady had helped Freddy
out a few years ago with a similar technical issue, before he understood
that Freddy’s profession involved personal intrusion into other people’s
private property.

Rumor had Freddy living in a penthouse in Paris half the year, and an
absolute zero mud hut on Frendel II out at the edge of the galaxy the other
half. No one had any idea what Freddy looked like or where he actually
lived. Brady figured he was a corporate AI construct, built to distract the
masses from their prosaic woes when they weren’t high on the drug of the
week.

Hive flitted by, waving. She used a porn star avatar, totally nude and
rendered in erotically charged detail. Hive liked bondage and D/s, which
request Brady had occasionally obliged, although digital orgasms didn’t do
much for him.

If she actually jacked in we could trade sensory overlays. The idea
appealed on a purely visceral level. But she wasn’t having any, hangover
aside. Sensory overlays were way too intimate for people who spent the
majority of their lives connected to the net.

A corporate cruiser swerved around a corner, riding low and slow, clearly
on the hunt. Amber beams cut through the mist. Jongo stiffened and Brady
knew he had Benedrene or Malzene on him again. The Legacy Corp decal shone
bright yellow on the door of the cruiser. They both breathed out as the long
blue shark glided off in search of other prey.

“Their CFO got iced a couple of days ago,” muttered Brady by way
of explanation, not that Jongo cared. “Probably Freeman Enterprises. I
heard they were making a move on the North Jupiter mines. The guy who got it
was jacked in at the time. Everybody’s saying it was an inside job. Someone
shorted his connection. Their whole online system collapsed, shut down the
entire Jupiter operation for six days. Cost them a bundle.”

Jongo screwed up his face. “Say what?”

“Nothing.” Brady scowled.

Jongo grimaced. “Unassisted Jacking kills more people than smoking,
Brady. Why the hell do you do it? And how do you do it without
drugs?”

“How do you know I don’t use?” muttered Brady,
concentrating.

Jongo waved his hand. “Shit, man, you won’t even blow a Wad. Besides,
I heard it from the dealers… I mean, you know, people talk. They say you
don’t use. Think you’re a loser.” Then, “So why do you do it all
the time, anyway? Jacking, I mean. You practically live there.”

They stopped at Louie’s Floating Food Kart. Jongo got a bowl of nut soup.
Brady bought a soy burger.

“Just curious,” Brady mumbled in reply as he wolfed down the
tasteless, dripping mess.

“You’re always curious,” Jongo muttered.

Brady knew Jongo really didn’t care.

“So what about the gHost guy?” Jongo asked between crunches.
“You think he’ll buy it?”

Brady shrugged as if he didn’t much care, either. “The holo’s pretty
good. I jigged the program from a server uptown, jumped six links to do
it.”

Jongo scowled again like he thought that was crap. Even though he didn’t
say anything, Brady knew he was secretly awestruck. It didn’t take much to
impress Jongo. “Yeah, I wondered what the three alarm was all about
last night.”

Brady snorted at Jongo’s attempt to sound like he understood one word of
what Brady had said. “That was the Legacy whorehouse. I mean Sexual
Therapy Clinic. Somebody torched the place. The Moral Mafia is taking
credit.” Brady shook his head in admiration. “Good old thermite.
Nobody’s used that since the War.”

He’d have done it himself, but he had a strong suspicion somebody like
Beezo had beat him to it. Or Freddy Lake, although Freddy was strongly
rumored to have no ideology that did not involve money.

Only five years late, he thought.

“Shit, that’s where your mom died, right? You glad it’s
gone?”

“It’s not gone, just well scorched. Pretty hard to burn honeycrete and
kelvic rebar. Somebody called in an alarm and they evacuated, ran the
sniffers and found nothing, then they’re walking back in and the place goes
up. Security got some singed eyebrows is all.” He smiled. Thanks,
whoever.

They walked on, heading for the mall. Jongo wanted to look at stuff he
couldn’t buy. Brady went along for no particular reason. To get out for a
while.

Brady saw Sleen and four of his ass lickers. Two were sizeable males of the
species, Nix and Jawbone. Brady suspected they shared a single digit IQ but
wasn’t prepared to bet it was that high. The other two were females, one
thin, the other not, neither of whom he knew.

Not-Thin-girl wasn’t actually fat, being built more along the lines of a
Roman Centurion, clad in retro-leather with fake metal patches that carried
the Roman analogy even further. Her dark hair stood out in horizontal spikes
and she had a razor chain wrapped around her left forearm. Brady thought she
could probably run the hundred meters in ten flat with one of him under each
arm. That and her possessive stance near the other girl tagged her as
mistress or owner.

Following his brief cataloguing of the Centurion, Brady shifted his gaze
and immediately forgot her.

Thin girl looked to be about a meter fifty if she stood straighter than she
now did, might weigh forty-five kilos if she ate something. But thin is
relative. Next to the Centurion she looked like a rod, but under her
gray-black second-skin, which looked like it had been sprayed on, because it
had, her ass looked firm and round and her tits stood out like melons, with
spectacular nipples.

Her white-blonde hair had been buzzed. She had light chocolate skin and
wore no makeup, which was clearly not an issue given her physical
attributes. If she had been healthier her sharp face would have been elfin
and intelligent instead of gaunt and flat-eyed.

She stood behind the others. Probably the group whore, but Brady didn’t
judge her. Neither, apparently, did Jongo, whose eyes clearly wished they
were hands.

Sleen wore a jacket that appeared to be made from multi-hued feathers. A
holographic tattoo on his bald head changed color and shape constantly,
depending on his mood. Just now it was a snake swallowing a mouse. Brady
watched the shimmering coils slither around the side of Sleen’s head.

Sleen saw Jongo’s look. He casually backhanded the girl, who turned her
face away with practiced quickness and took the blow on her temple as she
crumpled to the ground.

No one moved, including Brady. Sleen clamped one huge hand on Jongo’s neck,
squeezing lightly and making Jongo’s eyes bulge.

“Forget about her, shitbird. She ain’t for sale or rent and you got
other business right now.”

 

About the Author

By day, Jonathan Wright disguises himself as a retired insurance
underwriter. His family believe him to be supremely cool, though slightly
deranged. In pursuit of his career as a horror/romance/comedy writer, Jon
strives to expand his experiences, in order to relate them to his readers
with authenticity. Skulking through everyday life is not enough for Jon, no,
he pushes the envelope (and everyone’s buttons). He calls this
“research.”

The cats, who have unique and appropriate names, but do not answer to them,
and are therefore both known simply as “Cat,” could care less. His
daughter generally forgives him, as long as he remembers to take out the
trash and put the toilet seat down.

 

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

 

Pre-Order Today

 

 

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Thief of Hearts Teaser

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Thief of Hearts cover

BDSM Romance, Capture Fantasy

Date Published: September 20, 2024

 

 

They have nothing in common but a difficult past… and a taste for
unusual pleasures…

 

Once a Thief

The good girl: A successful district attorney with a reputation to uphold,
Katherine can’t afford to let go and indulge her secret desires.

The bad boy: Seeing Kate again makes Ex-con Jake Monroe want to live out
every kinky fantasy he’s ever had — with her. Jake’s determined
to tear down Kate’s walls, to push her past her limits. But Kate takes
him further than he ever imagined.

 

Still a Thief

Only Jake can scratch Kate’s secret itch for domination. But if she
lets him take their bedroom play into the real world, it’s only a
matter of time before her colleagues in the District Attorney’s office
find out.

 

Three s Not a Crowd

It’s Halloween, and Kate’s about to learn that three s not a
crowd, and if she’s good, maybe she’ll get a treat as
well.

 

Thief of Hearts box set banner

 

EXCERPT

 

Excerpt from Once a Thief

 

The door to Katherine’s office opened with a click. She looked up at
a tall man — tall, dark, and broad-shouldered, wearing a denim jacket over
a white T-shirt and jeans.

Jake Monroe.

Great. Just what she needed., a reminder of her ghetto roots. A reminder of
everything she’d worked so hard to leave behind.

He had the same curly black hair, cut short, and the same jutting angles to
his face. Age had added deep lines to his cheeks and bitterness to his brown
eyes.

And he looked much more dangerous than she remembered.

At least he didn’t give any hint of recognizing her. Maybe she could
keep it that way.

“I’m John Monroe.”

She closed his file and put it facedown on her desk. She wouldn’t
want to see a man like him get angry. No need to let him know she’d
been reading up on him — worse, she’d been looking at his rap sheet.
He’d done three years for his first offense. Armed robbery.

When he reached over her desk to shake her hand, she rose to greet
him.

“Katherine Kern. I’m an assistant district attorney for the
city.”

His big, calloused hand swallowed hers in a firm grip.
“Congratulations,” he said dryly, with an ironic lift of one
eyebrow. Still no glimmer of recognition, though. Maybe she hadn’t
been that memorable.

Even leaning across her wide desk, he towered over her. And he didn’t
release her hand after the perfunctory handshake. No, he held on while his
gaze raked her breasts. Blatantly.

She pulled away and motioned to the chairs that faced her desk. “Have
a seat.”

He did, leaning back and sprawling his legs in front of him as if he were
lounging on a sofa watching Monday night football. Even as a punk teenager,
he’d been muscular, but now… He’d really filled out, with
broad shoulders, a solid chest, and bulging thighs that strained the denim
of his jeans. Maybe he’d spent his time behind bars working out. Or
maybe he’d filled out naturally in the ten years since she’d
seen him.

Time had changed her, too. So much that he didn’t seem to recognize
her. Maybe he never would. She’d kept away from his kind in high
school. As tempting as the bad boys had been, she’d known better than
to play with fire.

She still knew better. Unfortunately. No wonder she hadn’t had a man
in years.

She sat down and folded her arms on the desk in front of her. “You
know why you’re here, John?”

“Yeah.”

He sounded resentful, like one of the kids he was supposed to help. Why had
he volunteered to be a mentor if he didn’t want to be here? Maybe he
hadn’t volunteered. Maybe community service was a condition of his
parole. “You’ll have to be a bit more communicative than that
when you talk to your mentee. Have you prepared anything to
say?”

“No.”

So much for communication.

After a long moment of studying his hands, he spoke. “I can ad lib
just fine. I want to sound natural. Natural and honest.”

“Good. Kids can tell when you’re lying to them.”

He shrugged. “I don’t have anything to hide.”

He stared straight into her eyes, as if he was challenging her. Defensive
— typical for an ex-con. She’d worked with a lot of them. No reason
to treat Jake Monroe any differently than the others, even if seeing him
again brought back a stupid rush of adolescent hormones.

She grabbed the file folder labeled Scott Hopkins and slid it across the
desk to him. “Here’s the boy you’ll be meeting
tonight.”

He straightened up and took it, then slouched back again and opened the
file. “Tell me about him.”

“He’s new to the program. His mom is in and out of rehab all
the time. His older brother supposedly takes care of him when his mother
isn’t home.”

“Is he in a gang?”

“No. He’s a loner.” At least he was curious. Maybe
he’d do a good job after all. “He’s been convicted of
multiple misdemeanors. Our goal is to prevent him from graduating to
felonies.”

“Like I did.”

She might as well be frank. “Exactly.”

He looked amused by her agreement. Full lips tilted up at the corners in a
little smile… almost a smirk.

“If you aren’t going to take this seriously, you might as well
leave right now. There’s no point in establishing a relationship with
Scott if you’re going to flake on him.”

He frowned at that. “I’m not going to flake.”

“You clearly don’t want to be here.”

“You don’t have a clue what I want.” He gave her another
long look, as if assessing her suit. Or the breasts beneath it. “How
did you get stuck with this gig?”

“I volunteered. These kids need all the help they can
get.”

“You’re a D. A., right?”

Where was he going with this? She nodded. “I’m an assistant D.
A.”

“So it’s your job to prosecute criminals, not to help
them.” He sounded like he thought she had the most immoral job in the
world. “Seems strange for you to be running a prevention
program.”

“I’d prefer it if the crime was never committed in the first
place.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Then you’d be out of a job.”

She didn’t have to take this. “We have five minutes before the
session begins. If you can’t be civil, you can wait in the
hallway.” And take those broad shoulders with you.

“Don’t get pissed off, Kate.”

“It’s Katherine.” Wait a minute. She hadn’t gone by
Kate in years.

His eyes gleamed. Now his lips wore a bona fide smirk. As if he recognized
her for the scared, uptight girl she’d been all those years ago.

“So you do remember me.”

His smile didn’t fade. “And you remember me.”

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Why didn’t you?”

About the Author

Gemma Woods has no spouse, no children, and no pets. Her family is
imaginary — she writes them. Outside her imaginary world, she enjoys the
typical author hobbies of reading, traveling, and fretting over her dying
houseplants.

 

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

 

 

Pre-Order Today

 

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Taken by the Necromancer Teaser

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Taken by the Necromancer cover

Paranormal Women’s Fiction, Urban Fantasy, Vampires

Date Published: September 20, 2024

 

 

Briley Reed never expected to be a vampire or thought she’d find
herself heading to Eerie, but a brutal attack changes everything. When a
mystery man sends her to Eerie to find Atticus, she realizes just how much
her life has changed.

But could it be for the better?

Atticus Maguire wants to be left alone. He’s had his heart broken and
he’s done with love. Then Briley shows up in his life and it’s
turned upside down. He wasn’t planning to fall in love, but the magic
never lies.

Right?

 

Taken by the Necromancer tablet

EXCERPT

 

Atticus stood on his front porch and stared out at the water. He’d
lived in Eerie his entire life and loved his place on the edge of the lake.
The waves calmed him. He could think here. Could let his magic languish. Not
be forced to use it or help someone who wasn’t interested in being
helped.

He could be the old man yelling at kids running on his lawn.

He snorted. He had a lawn, but it wasn’t much — mostly sand and
rocks with a little grass mixed in. Kids didn’t venture to his side of
the lake, so no one trespassed on his property.

He’d accepted that he’d be alone. Who wanted to be with someone
who manipulated magic? Who could read the future and the past, and could
animate the dead? No one he knew.

When he’d visited the bars, he’d been given a wide berth. Women
didn’t approach him. He shouldn’t be annoyed by the actions, but
he was. He didn’t want to be alone.

Who did?

But he couldn’t find anyone who wanted to be with a being imbued with
magic. His former fiancée couldn’t handle his power or his
unintended ability to read the future. He knew the moment he’d met her
that she’d leave him, but he’d fallen in love with her anyway.
He’d given his heart, knowing it’d get broken.

She’d been a fun, vibrant light in his life — until she decided he
wasn’t good enough. She hadn’t been thrilled with his abilities
or his decision to live on the lake. She wanted life and noise and someone
who couldn’t read the future in her eyes.

When she left, despite him knowing it would happen, he retreated into
himself.

He rested his hands on his hips and watched the water move. The ripples
lulled him. Nothing mattered right now. Just the water moving, the chirp of
the birds and the flecks of sunlight through the trees. The warmth of the
sun danced on his skin.

His thoughts turned to Lydia. She’d been the first woman he’d
wanted to live with. The one he’d thought he’d love forever.
He’d never been good with women. He tended to be too shy and
didn’t say much. Lydia had claimed his silence was cute. She liked
when he brooded because she never quite knew what he was thinking. Except
when she wanted to know what he had on his mind, and he didn’t say
anything. She wanted him to open up. To talk more. To be more social and
take her out.

He didn’t mind going out, but he couldn’t dance and his ability
to see the future tended to get him into trouble. Lydia didn’t want
him reading her mind and got angry when he clammed up. She’d chew him
out for not talking, then when he did talk and it wasn’t what she
wanted to hear, she chewed him out again.

His skin tingled. A vision formed in his mind. A woman approaching and his
brother warning her to find him. He frowned. Who was this woman, and why
would his brother appear in his vision? He tipped his head. Who was she? He
wasn’t sure. The vision wasn’t clear enough.

He glanced over his shoulder. The woman wasn’t even in Eerie, but he
felt her. Another vision formed in his mind. This time, the woman stood in
his living room and wore nothing.

A nude woman in his home.

What was he getting himself involved in?

He’d figure it out when she arrived. If he knew one thing more than
anything else, fighting the future wasn’t smart. The future would
happen no matter what he did.

Still, he wished he knew more about this person trying to locate him. She
might end up hating him. The nudity might be because she was getting
revenge… on him? Someone else?

The more he thought about this woman, the more the vision of her nude in
his living room came into focus. Slender, curly brown hair down to her
shoulders, wide eyes, blushing from her hairline to her chest, breasts just
right for his hands and curves to make his mouth water. He longed to touch
her. He hadn’t even met her yet, and she’d stirred his
magic.

He wondered what her kiss would taste like.

He shook his head. Her kiss! She might not even want to kiss him.

The water sloshed against the bank and tore his attention from the woman.
His woodland oasis would be invaded. Did he mind?

Not really.

He headed back to the house as a shiver ran the length of his spine. The
woman hadn’t reached Eerie, but she was on the outskirts. She also
needed his help.

He grabbed his keys, then tucked his phone into his front pocket. Once he
locked up the cabin, he rushed out to his motorcycle. He sped out of the
shed toward the gravel path, then the road. Living on the far side of the
lake meant he’d waste precious minutes rounding the body of water to
get to her, but his magic swore she was closer than he’d
thought.

Atticus sped down the back road to the edge of town. Her car wasn’t
broken down, but she had a follower. He couldn’t see the person in the
truck tailing her. Didn’t matter. He’d use a cloaking spell to
hide her from the other driver. He spotted her little car, and his heart
skipped a beat. He’d never met her, but he had a connection to
her.

He pulled out onto the main road between her and the truck, blocking the
following vehicle from getting to her. At the same time, he spoke the words
to the spell and enveloped her in the invisible cloak. She’d never
know he was behind her, but she would know the truck was gone.

Now he could deal with the truck.

About the Author

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

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

 

Author Links

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

Author on Instagram

 

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

 

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For the Love of Winter 2 Teaser

For the Love of Winter 2 banner

 

For the Love of Winter 2 cover

Holiday Romance (varying heat levels and sub-genres)

Publication Date: September 24, 2024

Publisher: First Coast Romance Writers

 

 

Warm your heart with nine enchanting tales of love. From historical winter
celebrations to modern sizzling New Year’s Eve encounters, this anthology
spans sweet to spicy romance across different eras and realms. Whether you
prefer gentle courtship or steamy embraces, this collection has something
for every romance reader.

 

Mistletoe Magic, by Leah Miles: A holiday romance rekindles when Navy SEAL
Michael Rodriguez runs into his old flame, Nora Geller, and invites her to
his family gathering. Will they mend old wounds and find love again, or will
misunderstandings leave their hearts out in the cold?

Happily Ever After, Take Two, by Sara Walker: Will Dino and Hilde’s second
chance love overcome family doubts and past mistakes for a lifetime of
happiness?

Love Under the Cold Moon, by Vanessa Kilmer: A headstrong Celtic woman and
a reluctant Roman heir clash and connect in an arranged marriage during the
Alpine winter festivals of 193 AD.

Finding a Date for Christmas by Vickey Wollan: Joan’s going to a
Christmas gala and hires Mack on Rent-A-Date. If he reveals his secret, will
he get a second date? Can two lonely hearts find romance in time for
Christmas?

Snowbound Hearts, by C.L. Hart: When a divorced couple ends up stuck in a
snowbound lodge in the Sierra Nevada mountains, it could either be the worst
Christmas ever or a second chance to make things right.

A Fluffy White Christmas – A Tail of Love, by Sally Murphy: Can a
half-starved stray dog help a lonely woman open up her frozen heart to a new
love this Christmas?

Maiya’s New Year’s Wish, by Marie Morton: Maiya Collins finds
herself swept into an unexpected holiday romance in the sun-kissed paradise
of St. Croix. Yet, a misunderstanding threatens to shatter her dreams. As
the New Year’s countdown approaches, she must confront her doubts. Can love
prevail, or will her island romance become another broken resolution?

The Naughty List Nightmare, by Erika Kilmer Freidley: Love, traditions, and
a mythical menace collide as Thea and Bash get involved in a festive fight
to save Pittsburgh’s children.

Winter Wonderland by Elizabeth Edgar: Cinderella made her own gown and
found her Prince Charming, but will they get their fairy tale ending?

 

Don’t miss your chance to purchase this collection while it is
available.

Proceeds benefit First Coast Romance Writers, an independent non-profit
organization that helps writers hone their craft and expand their knowledge
of the publishing industry.

 

 

Snowbound Hearts by C.L. Hart

When Marta Benscoter gets stuck in a snowbound lodge with her ex-husband
and his energetic assistant, she prepares for the worst Christmas
ever.

Marta is proud of Adam’s recovery from alcohol addiction. He is back to
being the man she fell in love with. Giving him another chance is tempting.
However, memories of the events leading to their divorce fill her with
doubt.

Can Marta and Adam move beyond their past, or is a tenuous friendship all
they can hope for?

 

Excerpt

Enter Adam

 

Although Adam Benscoter’s hair had grayed significantly, he still looked
the part of the handsome college quarterback he had been when Marta first
met him a lifetime ago. She felt a warmth rising within her, which quickly
cooled when she looked at his sidepiece. The tall young Asian woman was
about twenty years younger than Adam. Her long, wavy hair was dyed amaranth,
and she was dressed in a light coral coat that was entirely inappropriate
for the climate.

“Whoo, I’m so glad to be out of that storm!” the young
woman proclaimed. “You were a boss on that road, Ad-Man!”

“At least this one looks like she’s been out of high school for
more than two years,” Marta muttered under her breath.
“I’m so glad we never had any children. Imagine having someone
your own age as your stepmother.”

“Hi there, Ladies, I’m Clara Wola,” the young woman
introduced herself, extending a friendly hand. “Since it appears we’ll
be spending lots of time together, we might as well get to know each
other.”

“Hi Clara, I’m Ophrah Pololáník. Oh goodness,
your hands are so cold! Miss Tia, could we have a hot chocolate over here
for this young lady?”

“Dear Ophrah, always the mother hen,” Adam said kindly.

“Wait—you two know each other?” Clara asked.

“Yes, and he knows me too,” Marta said coldly. “Hello,
Clara, I’m Marta Benscoter, your—what is he to you,
Dear?”

“He’s my boss,” Clara said, a puzzled expression on her
face. “But we’ve also become good friends since he hired me six
years ago.”

“We’re going to make our partnership official when we get back
to Diamond Bar,” Adam said with a grin. “Then she can finally
stop calling me Boss.”

“Well, that’s generous of you,” Marta quipped. “I
hate to rain on your parade, Ms. Wola, but even if you aren’t
officially marrying Saint Adam, I hope you’ve spoken to an attorney
about protecting your interests in the event of an eventual dissolution of
your partnership.”

“It’s not a romantic partnership; it’s purely
business,” Clara corrected. “I’ve been Adam’s
assistant at Cloud Limited since getting my doctorate from Oceanside Tech.
You must be the ex-wife he won’t talk about. It seems like you two
need to iron some things out.”

About the Author

C. L. Hart

C. L. Hart is an editor who writes or a writer who edits. She primarily
writes Lovecraftian fantasy and horror with the occasional sweet romance
thrown in to upset the cosmic apple cart. This is her second year
participating in the annual For the Love of Winter anthology from First
Coast Romance Writers. She is a member of ACES Editing Society, The Denver
Horror Collective, First Coast Romance Writers, The H. P. Lovecraft
Historical Society, Passionate Ink (writing as Lil DeVille), Regency Romance
Writers, and Rocky Mountain Romance Writers.

 

Author Links

 

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