Tag Archives: dark fantasy

by Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez | April 23, 2025 · 5:00 am

Chasing Magic Blitz

Not In Use (#1)

LGBTQ, Dark Fantasy, Romance

Date to be Published: April 25, 2025

Publisher: Changeling Press

Love — and Magic — find desperate lovers in unlikely places.

Chase: It is a madness that draws Chase to the Louisiana bayou, leaving his
sister and his art studio behind. The fact that he longs to strip off his
clothes and run naked through the swamp with the wild creatures who live
there isn’t his first clue that something isn’t right with him… but it
just might be his last.

A Painter’s Price: Jason has studied the Painter for years, but when he
finally meets Eric he’s not prepared for the powerful erotic feelings the
artist provokes in him. His need to touch Erik slowly overrides every other,
until there is nothing he can do but surrender, mind, body and soul.

Rythan’s Becoming: Rythan knows he must harness his sexual energy and burn
through his shell to truly Become an adult. But Becoming also requires the
help of his catalysts, a pair of adults he’s never met, and water doesn’t
combine easily with fire and air. Can Rythan pass the final test and meet
his Destiny?

Excerpt from A Painter’s Price

This is one fine orgy. The self-congratulatory thought filtered through
Erik’s lust-fueled mind as he licked expensive red wine off the impressive
cock bobbing before his lips. Who his mystery lover was, Erik couldn’t say.
He had a nice meaty shaft, though. Not terribly long, but wide enough to
split a man open. Erik’s sphincter spasmed just from imagining the feel of
that thick cock sliding into him.

Salty-sweet pre-cum hit his tongue. He gave his lover’s ass a slap to bring
forth another drop. Nectar of the gods, as far as Erik was concerned. Every
man tasted different, and yet he loved them all.

“Oh, fuck me,” the man whimpered around his mouthful of Erik’s
cock.

“Not this time.”

The spirit was willing, but the body grew weak. He’d been going at it, in
one form or another, for several days now. The need for a long,
uninterrupted sleep gnawed at him. He was hard pressed to keep his eyes
open. Silently promising to make it up to his lover later, if he remembered,
Erik sucked in earnest.

His lover attempted to return the attention. Erik winced as teeth caught
his sensitive skin. All the more reason to end this quickly, he decided. At
the moment, this man needed more education than he had the patience
for.

His lover bucked and groaned under him. It didn’t take long to coax him
into orgasm. Seed spilled across Erik’s tongue in a honey-sweet river. He
drank down every last drop, feeling it was his due for the hard work he’d
put in.

Under his guidance, the man continued to pleasure him with hand and mouth.
Finally a weak orgasm rolled through Erik in quiet surrender, proving he’d
been right about his need for a lengthy respite. He might have stayed awake
long enough to mumble a word of praise before he lost himself in the warm,
dark embrace of sleep.

* * *

A cool breeze ripped through the room some time later. The long brocade
curtains surrounding the bed writhed, and the firelight flickered as though
it were about to die in its wake. That alone would not have disturbed Erik
from his well-earned slumber. No, a great booming voice startled him out of
a deep sleep.

“Since you love your art above all else, I hereby sentence you to an
eternity of creation.”

“What?” Fear trickled through the horrible hangover clouding
Erik’s brain. Though he couldn’t yet see the shadowy figure standing beside
the bed through his bloodshot eyes, he recognized the voice. The king’s mage
was not pleased, and that was never a good thing.

“For the rest of your life, you will produce some of the finest art
ever created.”

Well, that didn’t sound so bad. Painting was, after all, his passion.
“Errrr… thank you.”

A sneer entered the mage’s voice as he continued. “Your creative
energies will be your only sustenance. You will not eat or drink or sleep.
You will not be troubled by mortal weaknesses except on the one night a year
when the price of being the greatest painter alive must be paid to me, a
fragment of your inner spirit to be given to a vessel of my choosing. You
will exist solely to create… until your soul is empty.”

Now that last bit seemed a little extreme. Honestly, Erik didn’t know what
good his soul was doing for him, but he didn’t think it would be wise to go
around without one. “Is that really necessary? Painting is all I’m good
at anyway.”

“Painting… and debauchery. The king has lost all patience with
the discord you create among his court with your callous, self-indulgent
behavior. Could you not even leave the livestock alone?” the mage
muttered with disgust.

“That wasn’t me,” Erik protested as he tried to extract himself
from the tangle of limbs pinning him down. A small corner of his brain
wondered again who the bed belonged to, how long he’d been in it, and if his
host’s largess would hold out until he had a bite of bread and cheese, maybe
another mug of wine.

“Not in body, perhaps, but the act was done with your encouragement.
You sow depravity into the souls of the good people of this land, leaving a
trail of broken marriages and broken hearts behind. The king will have no
more of this debauchery!”

“I hardly think all the consequences of the court’s questionable
behavior can be blamed on me.” Erik looked around for his clothes, a
little intimidated to be talking to the king’s mage without a stitch on.
However, every garment he found smelled rank with spent passion. He flipped
the bed curtain over his lap instead. “I enjoy a good party. What soul
doesn’t? That’s human nature, not a crime.”

“The evidence is quite plain, and the king has rendered his judgment.
He left it to me to determine your punishment. After a fortnight of
observation, I see the only way to change your ways is to give you exactly
what you desire.”

Warning bells clamored in his head, but Erik couldn’t puzzle out exactly
what about that statement troubled him. “Would the king be satisfied if
I left the city for a few weeks?” Surely he could convince one of the
rich lords in the outlying districts to keep him sheltered and fed for a
month.

“Your departure might satisfy him, but it will not satisfy me. From
this day forth, you will breathe art, dine on creative passion, and survive
as long as your depraved, artistic soul can sustain you.” The mage’s
robes rippled as if an angry fall wind had whirled around him. “As I
will it, so mote it be,” the mage intoned with an earth-shaking
power.

And, just like that, Erik’s life transformed.

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

Author on Facebook

Author on Goodreads

Author’s Website

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

Pre-Order Today

Earth’s Passion Blitz

LGBTQ, Dark Fantasy, Steamy

Date Published: April 18, 2025

As their need for each other grows, so does the danger.

Kailee and Tom are falling for each other, but their secrets continue to
come between them. Kailee’s afraid to show her physical scars, while
Tom dreads his lover will discover the power those he still calls Master and
Mistress hold over him.

Dragon and werewolf must join together in every way to defeat those who
would dominate Tom and kill Kailee.

EXCERPT

Kailee had been lying next to Tom for close to twenty minutes. Her new
dragon lover was fast asleep, and she knew she should be resting too.
Instead, she was filled with joy and an incautious sense of promise that she
hadn’t felt in years.

Tom rolled over, draping his arm over her waist. Kailee wriggled a little
as the urge to pee made itself known. A deeper craving drew at her
also.

“Are you okay?” Tom mumbled. Then he stiffened.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” He pulled his
arm off her.

She turned over, snuggling in close. “I like it when you touch me. I
just… I need to get up and use the bathroom.” It was true, but
her ulterior motive was to take so long that he fell back to sleep, and she
could go outside.

“I’ll wait up for you,” he said, slurring his words a
little.

Kailee kissed his temple. “Go to sleep. I’ll be back in a
moment.”

His eyes were already closed. As she watched, he lost the tension in his
limbs and the worry lines on his face smoothed out. He began to snore.

She waited another five minutes, to make sure he was well and truly under.
He’d had a sucky, hard life and she thought he hadn’t probably
slept well for large parts of it. Knowing he was safe here, that she would
protect him, made her smile.

She got up, padding to the bathroom after putting on the clothes
she’d worn before they made love. Once in the bathroom, she unzipped
her jeans. As much as she felt one hundred percent female most of the time,
she still enjoyed the simple pleasure of peeing while standing up.

When she was finished, she flushed, zipped up, and washed her hands. Then,
moving silently, not wanting to wake anyone up because this pack already
knew everyone else’s business as it was, she went to the mudroom, put
on her boots, and made her way out of the back door into the gloriously dark
night. It was a waxing crescent moon tonight, about four days from the first
quarter, and with so little light coming from that celestial orb, the
darkness was close as a passionate lover, full of kindness. Like Tom.

She wrapped her arms around her chest, which was flat without the boobs she
usually wore. That felt a little awkward but for this one moment, she was
able to dismiss the feeling. She’d needed to embrace herself for pure
joy’s sake. She’d been so very alone for damn near half her
life, relying on gentleness and understanding from those who were either
hired professionals or simply much older than she was and thus not quite as
in touch with their wolflinghood as she could have wished. Maybe it was
foolish to assume someone closer to her own age would have “gotten
it,” her experiences and suffering. Still, because Tom understood, and
only after so short a time, she thought the idea had slight merit.

Wanting to make some sort of noise to express herself, she began to sing.
It was a simple song in Werewelsh, her first language. She’d grown up
surrounded by the language developed by werewolves for their own kind, and
although other people spoke it now, it remained mostly shared among the ones
who had to change at the full moon. Werewolves largely did, though, and she
was, first and foremost, a wolf.

She translated in her head as she sang, loving the poetry even though it
didn’t rhyme in English.

Moon of darkness, moon of light,

Moon of power and strength.

Moon of my heart, full and wise,

Be with me tonight.

Probably, she thought as her joy crested but didn’t recede, I’m
being foolish. He hasn’t even said he loves me.

That was true but what made her heart sing was a simple truth, not
complicated by whether Tom wanted to be her mate or not. “In all
honesty,” she whispered to the night that seemed to be listening,
“I never thought anyone could see past my scars and love me
anyway.”

All right, so he hadn’t actually seen her physical scars, her dead
name carved into her chest with a silver knife and made to stay because of
silver powder. She hadn’t been quite that brave. Still, Tom knew she
had a reputation, that she’d killed, and he hadn’t pulled away.
Wasn’t that worthy of ecstasy?

She closed her eyes and resumed her singing. Now she sang a song of how the
sky so loved the moon that he bid her to cross from one edge to the other so
he might admire her beauty. The moon’s response Kailee sang too,
reveling in the way the moon demanded something in return: to see the stars
scattered before her like diamonds.

Once again, her joy crested until it filled her chest. She broke out in a
light sweat. That was when she became aware that the exhilaration she felt
wasn’t hers alone.

Wary because she’d been influenced by outsider forces before,
although less directly or psychically, she mounted her defenses and scanned
the area with her telepathy, seeking the source of the external, pushy
force.

At first, she felt nothing and no one. Widening her circle of ability, she
fumbled in the darkness of the in-between that existed in the psychic world.
Reaching, reaching, she felt a half-familiar mind.

About the Author

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

Author’s Website

Emily on Facebook

Emily on Twitter

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

Pre-Order Today

Earth’s Craving Blitz

LGBTQ, Dark Fantasy, Steamy

Date Published: February 21, 2025

When werewolf and dragon meet, will their need for each other defeat all
their well-intentioned plans?

Tom, a land dragon, is so large he’s earned the nickname
“Earth.” His dragon herd takes advantage of him until he’s
sold to a pair of basilisks. Unfortunately for them, Tom’s mating
plans don’t include repopulating the basilisk species. Time to make
his escape…

Kailee, psychic disaster and frightened “rehabilitated”
werewolf, is new to adulting, but she’s been through enough to make
her a force to be reckoned with. Transgender, she is burdened with not one,
but three psychic abilities. The overabundance of power tends to make her a
little off-balance…

Will Kailee be able to protect Tom from those hunting him? Can Tom learn to
trust? Or will their need for each other defeat all their well-intentioned
plans?

EXCERPT

Tom fled through the forest, staying low to the ground, or as low as a
person who stood over six feet could manage without crawling. He needed to
keep his feet because —

He flashed back to when the matriarch had cut off his left foot to keep him
from escaping again. It had grown back, of course. He was a dragon. Still,
it had hurt, and he sometimes woke in the middle of the night with phantom
pain reminding him how he’d suffered.

He didn’t have a very good sense of direction, but it was a sunny
day, early in the morning, and the sun came up in the east. So, just as long
as he kept the sun on his left, he’d assumed he’d be generally
heading south. Out of Canada. He’d grown up here but all he knew about
the country where he’d been imprisoned was that it was north of the
United States.

He was grateful his shedding was over for another six months. His escape
would have been impossible while he was struggling through the twice-a-year
loss of his scales.

He heard other dragons flying above him and huddled against a tree, hoping
the darkness of his skin would blend with the shadows. He wasn’t
exactly dressed for a late December winter when the temperatures around Nova
Scotia lingered just above freezing most days. He wouldn’t freeze to
death… probably. As long as he kept moving, he’d be all right.
Just now, though, stillness was required. He shut his eyes, fearing that his
anxiety had turned his irises yellow-green. They might be spotted by someone
with a searchlight.

He wondered briefly if the female dragons had employed some of their males
to help. Most of the males were treated better than he was, although not
equal to the females. The large majority would do as they were told because
they weren’t required to stand stud all year, just when the females
wanted them.

Probably most of the other male dragons were grateful for his existence. He
was an anomaly, but one that the females liked. Bigger and stronger than any
other dragon he’d ever met, he’d been conditioned since birth.
He’d been born larger and the hopes for his future progeny had been
high. Hell, they were still high even though only about one third of the
dragons he sired were of greater size when they were born. He’d only
been at this enslavement stud service for a year and a half, so none of his
children were more than a year old.

It was as if, when the dragons and werewolves had split off from their
basilisk parentage, they’d been cursed to all stand at the exact same
height in either human guise or scaly form. Five feet, ten inches was the
height of almost every other dragon he’d heard of when they walked on
two feet. With their talons and tails, they stood eight feet tall.

Tom was six-two sometimes, and others, he was ten feet tall. Being larger
than most dragons should have been an advantage. Having increased strength
could have helped if there weren’t so many damn males and females
alike ready to take him down.

The sounds overhead faded and he hesitated, not wanting to leave his hiding
place. Yet, what good would it do him to stay here? They’d send out
hunters on foot if necessary.

So, biting his lips almost hard enough to draw blood, he crept away from
the tree and started running again. He skirted around a meadow and kept
going, adrenaline making him thirsty even as it lent his muscles
endurance.

The sun had been up for an hour before he judged it safe to stop and drink.
He’d been hearing a river nearby for about the last ten minutes and
that burbling, overly cheery sound made him long for water.

He broke from the game trail he’d been following and found an
offshoot that led in the correct direction. When he came upon the river, he
was relieved to see a rocky bank where he could get right down close to the
water and drink his fill.

He crawled to the edge of the river, listening hard. He heard nothing
except the twittering of birds and the chittering of squirrels. Well, and
the rushing of the water, of course. It was a deep stream, not quite the
river he’d been envisioning based on the amount of noise it was
making. He slipped his hands into the icy cold water.

Hands seized him roughly by his hair.

Without thought, he shifted to his scaly form to lose that grip. His
clothes, rags now, fell away as he tried for the sky.

Three dragons, brown and orange, like him, male, like him, each two feet
smaller, crashed into him. From below came a howl of triumph and something
sharp sliced through his wing’s membrane.

He screamed as he fell.

About the Author

Contact Links

Author’s Website

Emily on Facebook

Emily on Twitter

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

Pre-Order Today

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Filed under BOOK BLITZ

Tagged as dark fantasy, Earth's Craving, Emily Carrington, LGBTQ, Steamy

by Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez | December 10, 2024 · 5:00 am

Trust is Sacred Teaser Tuesday

(Medically Necessary 3)

LGBTQ, Dark Fantasy, Steamy

Date Published: December 13, 2024

Publisher: Changeling Press

Without trust, nothing is sacred. Not even long-held beliefs.

Oliver’s terrible secret is eating both himself and his would-be mate
alive. He and Amir have been apart for three months, and absence indeed
makes the heart grow fonder. Unfortunately, there’s terror, pain, and
deceit lying between them.

Amir thinks purging and confession are medically necessary for spiritual
and physical well-being. Oliver will stop at almost nothing to hide his
scars.

Can these two be mated in truth or will Oliver’s past and
Amir’s unstated fears push them away before the werewolves’ most
sacred holiday, Winter Solstice?

Excerpt

August

In a very real sense, Oliver’s heart hadn’t ached this way in
years. It was a mixture of longing and a sweet promise of eventual
homecoming. He’d just sent his lover away on an airplane, back to New
York. Amir would gather together his staff, choose a new doctor to take over
his practice, and then be back down here to live with Oliver.

To become Oliver’s mate.

Werewolves didn’t have spouses. Except when they did. They also
didn’t have Life Dancers. That was a psychic vampire thing, knowledge
Oliver had gained over the last month. Wolves had mates, a name for their
beloved, the person with whom they wanted to spend the rest of their
lives.

He’d had a mate before. This time would be different. He’d
protect his mate. He’d keep him safe, no matter the cost, and he
wouldn’t allow his nightmares to drive them apart. To shove his lover
toward the singular choice of suicide.

He pulled up in front of Llosgia Maxine’s house, where his heart told
him he belonged. Granted, she hadn’t exactly accepted her title of
alpha, or the duties commensurate with that status change. She would,
though. He had faith. Well, mostly he had faith. Sometimes he worried that
Tilthos Charles’s words would come true and Llosgia Maxine would
choose to take up no title at all.

Except, of course, she’d already claimed Director of Werewolf Watch
for herself. Maybe she couldn’t take on that responsibility
and…

The front door opened and Tilthos Charles stepped out, looking even
stronger than he had the night before, when he’d arrived at Llosgia
Maxine’s and asked for a place for himself and his lover to sleep.
Now, in the dimness of false dawn, the alpha above all alphas
shouldn’t have been able to use his limited vision to see more than a
car approaching. However, that didn’t seem to be the case because he
smiled and waved as if he knew exactly who was arriving.

Oliver considered driving away. He didn’t want to hear the political
answer as to why the Kreisha pack was still allowed to exist after all the
shit three of its members had pulled. Geoffrey Huntington, Noah Travers, and
Josiah Cobb had plotted to drive Tilthos Charles mad. They had made it so
hearing his rightful title had caused him physical and psychic pain.
They’d forced him to attack his lover, Luis. Now, though, surely
Tilthos Charles was coming to tell him they’d been forgiven for some
fucked-up political reason that boiled down to the alpha above all
alphas… what? Didn’t want to kill? That might just be it.

The alpha above all alphas’ soft voice was in his head suddenly. Open
the door, Oliver.

Oliver unlocked the doors. He waited for the alpha above all alphas to sit
beside him, or order him to get out of the car, denying him his
escape.

He acknowledged his expectations had no basis in reality, especially
because everything he’d seen of Tilthos Charles when the leader was in
his right mind was favorable. Still, he didn’t actually know how
Tilthos Charles governed. He was only assuming, based on the one alpha he
knew, that Tilthos Charles might have allowed power to go to his head.

“So uncharitable,” the alpha above all alphas said after
opening the door. He sat in the passenger seat, folded his white cane, the
symbol of his visual impairment, and then buckled himself in. “Feel
free to drive if it will make you less edgy.”

“You’re reading my every thought?” Oliver asked.
He’d assumed his shields were better than that.

“Not quite. You’re not projecting everything, I don’t
think, but you’re very unhappy with me and that carries just
fine.”

Oliver relocked the doors and pulled out of the driveway. “Where are
we going?”

“Somewhere that you can drive and listen without getting us in an
accident would be good.”

Oliver grunted.

To his amazement, the leader of most of the world’s werewolves on
this side of the Atlantic laughed. “You sound like Luis when
he’s unhappy. Please tell me what’s bothering you.”

Oliver couldn’t bring himself to accuse the alpha above all alphas of
any wrongdoing. Instead, he asked, “What happened to the six wolves
who attacked you?”

“Huntington, Travers, and Cobb have been placed with different packs,
separated by quite a bit of geography. Their new alphas reassure me their
movements will be closely observed.”

Oliver turned off Llosgia Maxine’s street and just headed south, away
from Washington, DC. He knew he wouldn’t be able to drive in heavy
traffic and listen. “Why are they still alive?”

“I’m not in the habit of killing every single wolf who’s
tried a coup. There would be considerably fewer wolves in the world if I
exacted that sort of revenge. They’re being watched by three alphas I
trust implicitly and I’m sure these bastards will show their true
colors again. And unlike in baseball, they only get two chances.” He
turned his head away from Oliver. “They’re not the only ones
I’m watching. Kreisha Alexander let this go on right under his nose.
At best, the very best, that makes him not perceptive enough.”

He faced Oliver again. “I’m asking you to keep me informed if
he does anything inappropriate, dangerous, or careless. I don’t order
you because I don’t want to step on your agency that way.”

“Please order me,” Oliver blurted.

That got him a raised eyebrow.

“Kreisha Alexander is in the habit of ordering his wolves not to
share things, good or bad, outside the pack. If I have your order first, and
because you outrank him, I’ll be able to tattletale.” He
grimaced. “That came out more bitter than I anticipated or meant.
I’m sorry.”

Tilthos Charles seemed to have caught onto another part of his speech,
however, because he said, “Is there anything you’re forbidden to
share with me?” There was a growl in his voice.

About the Author

Contact Links

Author’s Website

Emily on Facebook

Emily on Twitter

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

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Tagged as dark fantasy, Emily Carrington, LGBTQ, Steamy, Trust is Sacred

by Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez | October 30, 2024 · 5:00 am

Bog Hag Anthology Blitz

Dark Fantasy, Lovecraftian Fantasy, Horror, Occult and Supernatural,
Witchcraft and Magic

Publication Date: October 14, 2024

Whether she’s crawling across a sweltering bayou or swimming
languidly through a swamp, the bog hag watches and waits.

Join sixteen AuthorTubers as they explore the allure and mystery of the Bog
Hag, turning her from a villain to a gal with a social calendar, a vendetta,
or even a need to be the best she can be.

Any and all proceeds from the sales of this anthology go to Quill Cottage
Wildlife, a 501C3 nonprofit.

Featuring A Murky Reckoning

Garwick Greedgill is a fisherman desperate to become a legend in the realm
where he dwells. When he pulls a horrific creature up from the polluted sea,
he sacrifices it to the legendary sorceress who is said to live at the
center of the bog near which he dwells.

Yadira of the Roots is said to be the daughter of Nyarlathotep, the
Wish-Bringer From Beyond the Stars. Will Garwick’s actions earn favor
from the storied Bog Hag, or does another fate await him?

Excerpt

An Aquatic Reckoning

Back at the dock, the fisherman hurried to the stables, paying the stable
hand four Electrotokens to rent a cart and a pair of mules to haul his catch
away. He promised to return the cart and the animals the next day.

Garwick Greedgill was thick around the midsection and had a sunken chest
and narrow frame that belied the strength of his wiry arms. His leathery,
tanned skin bore witness to many years spent on a boat’s deck under the
sun’s harsh glare. His hair was a bristly mix of silver and gunmetal gray,
poking through the many holes in a threadbare red cap embossed with the
emblem of a long-forgotten fishing guild. A heavy forehead and scowling brow
framed eyes a sickly shade of murky green, reminiscent of a polluted ocean.
His broad nose bent slightly to one side courtesy of a mishap with the sail
boom. Countless hours spent retrieving catch after catch left his calloused
hands stained with fish scales and innards as he searched for the grand haul
that always eluded him.

Garwick wore frayed puce trousers held up by a filthy, tattered flaxen rope
belt. His once-bright cerise tunic, covered in various colored patches where
he had mended it over the years, was threadbare. It hung loosely over his
prominent belly. The soles of his scuffed brown boots were worn thin,
leaving his feet vulnerable to the cold and damp. He wore a necklace of
oddly shaped stones and bones that he believed would attract good luck. The
longed-for luck seldom materialized.

Garwick drove the cart as close as possible to the bog extending beyond his
property’s edge. He lived in a ramshackle hut between the bog and a
twisting, moss-covered path that led to a meandering creek. Near the hut was
a dingy shed. Every corner held remnants of his profession—a
collection of rusty hooks, tattered nets, and an old, cracked barrel filled
with miscellaneous items of dubious worth. A box containing lucky tokens
collected over the years sat on a dusty shelf. Best of all, there was a
wondrous grimoire. An odor of decay emanated from the book’s brown hide
cover. Garwick did not mind the strange texture or unpleasant scent of the
tome. Based on today’s catch, the grimoire’s magic had already begun to
work.

About the Author

C. L. Hart, the owner and sole employee of Naughty Netherworld Press and
Ornery Owl Ventures, is spoken of in hushed tones. She is an editor who
writes or a writer who edits. She is also described as The Mad Scribe of the
Northeastern Colorado Plains, The Terrible Old Woman, and The Author That
Should Not Be. 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.

Ms. Hart shares a home in a remote rural town of 134 souls with her adult
son and three cats. Her sense of fashion is best described as Early
Twenty-First Century Unmade Bed. This disabled former nurse can usually be
found arguing with herself about subplots or rehabilitating eldritch
horrors.

When not penning sanity-destroying works of dystopian fiction, Lovecraftian
fantasy, or old-school horror with the occasional sweet romance thrown in to
upset the cosmic apple cart, Ms. Hart enjoys creating baked goods she hopes
will be considered palatable by someone besides eldritch horrors.

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Tagged as Bog Hag Anthology, C. L. Hart, dark fantasy, Horror, Lovecraftian Fantasy, Occult and Supernatural, Witchcraft and Magic