In His Dreams Teaser

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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.

 

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Death and Ham Blitz

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Memoir / Humor / Essays

Date Published: November 16, 2022

 

 

Bobby Evers never takes himself—or the world—too seriously.
Death and Ham: Life is a Real Trip offers twenty-three new essays that weave
together the funny and tender aspects of life, death, and the world around
him. The flair for storytelling that Evers premiered in his first book
(Shoes and Cheese: The Boonetown Chronicles) is alive and well in this
follow-up that travels beyond Boonetown, a journey full of interesting
people and heart-felt discoveries. He even lets the reader glimpse his own
apprehensions about turning sixty—while also revealing that he’s
not too worried about not being the most tech-savvy one at the office. Meet
some of his favorite people, and some of the most outlandish people
he’s ever met. Death and Ham is a fun, wacky, sometimes-nostalgic
journey that may leave you a little wistful for the past, and will surely
lend you some laughs for your days ahead.

 

About the Author

Bobby Evers

Bobby Evers is a life-long Tennessean, a theater enthusiast, and avid
traveler. Being a keen people-watcher, he has always been a storyteller, and
now he brings those stories to the page in his first book. He has worked in
the construction business, and as an interior designer and architectural
consultant for over thirty-five years.

 

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Off Edge Virtual Book Tour

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Young Adult Contemporary

Date Published: 09-26-2024

Publisher: Black Rose Writing

 

 

Do you know what it’s like to win an Olympic gold, then have it stripped
away? I do.

Gold is every figure skater’s life dream. At fifteen, I experienced the
thrill of wearing the medal for a few minutes until judges accuse me of
being too young to be eligible. That’s when I realize my father’s ultimate
lie could cost more than my title.

During our daring escape from Russia, I pressure my coach to tell the truth
about my adoption. But the quad combination and two world titles aren’t
enough to keep the scandal from erasing my career and identity. Disgraced,
disqualified, and devastated, I can’t face a rink, fans, or daily life. My
controlling dad’s betrayal lights a fire to break free from his bad
decisions. My best friend and a journalist who will tell my story step in to
stop the downward spiral and help me uncover my past.

The story of Docia’s fierce determination to discover her true identity,
unerase her career, and find the passion to skate again will engage teen
readers, figure skating fans, and anyone who’s ever experience betrayal from
someone close.

 

 

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EXCERPT

“He’s trying to help you.” Her voice switches from authoritative to desperate. “He’s still your father. He cares about you.”

“Funny way to show it.”

“That’s not fair, Docia. He has given up so much for you.”

“Yeah, like what? And ruined my life in the process. You’re not even my real parents. I’ll find them so you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

There’s no usual cheerful response. In fact, Mom says nothing. Her mouth goes from gaping open to shut. The muscles in her face tighten when she clamps her teeth together. Then she walks away, leaving me looking down from the top of the stairs.

I slam my door, lie on my bed, and squeeze my stuffed penguin, Fred. The fiery orange sun peers through my window and hovers above the horizon. As it slips away, the words Lily said as we left the rink replay in my head. “It’s time to face this.”

How can I? I’ve done nothing on my own. Mom tells me when to study, when to eat, when to sleep. Lena makes every skating decision—when to practice and how long, ballet, strength training, programs, music. And Dad’s like a symphony conductor who directs it all. He tells me what to think, who to trust, what to strive for. I always do as I’m told. When I do, everyone’s happy.

They lied to me. Ripped away everything I knew. My parents. My country. Everything I am. They left me on a giant empty stage for everyone to stare at. The imaginary crowd laughs at me, “Look at the fake. What a freak!”

I squeeze Fred as an ache sets into the pit of my stomach. How do I know who to trust anymore? Who can help me show I did nothing wrong? Prove I’m not an imposter?

 

 

About the Author

Addison Brae

Addison Brae lives in Dallas, Texas on the edge of downtown. As a child,
she was constantly in trouble for hiding under the bed to read when she was
supposed to be napping. She has been writing since childhood starting with
diaries, letters, and short stories. She now writes new adult and adult
speculative and romantic suspense, and young adult contemporary fiction.
Addison’s still addicted to reading and enjoys jogging in her
neighborhood park, binge-watching TV series, vintage clothing, and hanging
out with her artistic other half and their geriatric kitten Lucy.

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Catching Little Foxes Blitz

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40 Day Devotional to Tend the Fire of Your Faith

Devotional

Date Published: 09-26-2024

Publisher: Victory Now Consulting

 

 

Have you ever felt overwhelm, as a Christ follower? Have you blamed
yourself for not praying hard enough, fasting more, serving harder? Are you
in a season of life where you long for more of the Lord but you just cannot
seem to find the time or the energy? This Devotional of Song of Songs was
written for you. Over the next 40 days you will experience breakthrough into
a deeper level of intimacy in your relationship with God. I refer to God as
Papa. Along these pages you will be challenged by invitation after
invitation to know and be known by The King of love.

 

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About the Author

Amy Buchanan

Amy Buchanan is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker in private practice in
Northern California providing Christian Counseling to women. Through
consulting, Amy is able to provide non-therapeutic care, strategy, and
insights that have proven successful with women, couples, and other medical
professionals.

After graduating in 2006 with a Masters in Social Work, Amy began working
with older youth and supporting families through Child Protective Services.
She has worked with inmates in CDCR institutions in Northern California.
From there, she was able to serve her community as a clinical social worker
within her local hospital. There, Amy was able to assist the overwhelmed
caretakers who had limited resources. Today she loves providing support to
women and couples that need to reconcile themselves back to God, to
themselves, and to their families.

Amy’s life message, that she feels is needed for women at this time,
is LOVE YOURSELF as much as you love others! This important Kingdom
principal can be overlooked within church culture and even in the culture of
family. As women, we tend to nurture and think of others first, but there
must be a balance—a guilt- and shame-free balance.

Having raised five children, two are children of love through her marriage
of 29 years. Much personal experience has been gained to offer support to
couples with blended families. Amy currently has three grandchildren with
one more on the way. She enjoys spending time with God, her family, and
friends, and she loves being outdoors and in nature as her schedule allows.
To learn more, visit Victorycounseling.com,

 

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gHost Teaser

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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?

 

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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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