Saturday, April 30, 2011

Final Cut Miami: Storm's Tempest by Lacey Savage

Final Cut Miami: Storm's Tempest

by Lacey SavageCover art: Bryan Keller
ISBN: 978-1-60521-619-5
Genre(s): Paranormal, Dark Fantasy, BDSM
Theme(s): Dark Desire
Series: Final Cut Miami
Length: Novella
Page Count: 72


Tempest Kincaide is certain she must be the last twenty-eight-year-old virgin left in the entire world. Her fervent belief in holding out for her soul mate has kept her from doing what most women her age would have done long ago. She might consider a one-night stand, if only she weren't so terrified of admitting that she has no experience, no real knowledge of sexual practices beyond the theoretical, and no skill in pleasing a man.
Storm is a retired sex demon. After centuries of catering to humans' sexual whims, he's taken himself out of the family business. His self-imposed dry spell has lasted more than most humans' lifespans, but he's just fine with that. He's got a business degree and a real job now, and he's in no rush to return to his seducing, womanizing ways.
Until he meets Tempest at Final Cut in Miami, that is. Her innocent nature calls out to the demon in him, making her impossible to resist. He wants to give her everything she craves -- and a few things she's never even imagined.
A memorable night at Final Cut leaves Tempest exhausted. But when she wakes up the next morning, naked and bound, she has no idea what she's gotten herself into. This might be her chance to lose that virginity she's been holding on to for far too long. But first she has to learn trust, passion, and the ecstasy of surrender... all at the hands of a sex demon who's determined to claim Tempest for his own.

Friday, April 29, 2011

All Washed Up by Shannon Marie Blackwell

All Washed Up

by Sharon Maria Bidwell
Cover art: Karen Fox
ISBN: 978-1-60521-625-6
Genre(s): Humor & Satire, Guilty Pleasures (Contemporary)
Theme(s): Gay and Lesbian
Length: Novella


When Peter Blake takes a job working for Walker's Wash-ups, little does he know that the easiest part of his day will be deciding which of his "uniforms" he hates the most. Needing the money to pay off a loan, Peter decides there are worse things in life than wearing a nude male grilling "Hot Sausage" apron, even if he can't exactly remember what at the moment. His life shouldn't be like this. Alas, he didn't foresee corporate redundancy. He didn't foresee a time in his life when he'd have to take such a peculiar job, having to grin and "bare" it, where both pairs of "cheeks" burn equally with embarrassment.

Even more surprising, he didn't expect the sanest person in his growing list of crazy clients would be another man with a bruised heart, who has a lot to answer for, including his future.

All Washed Up
Sharon Maria Bidwell
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2011 Sharon Maria Bidwell

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

"Is that for me?" The man standing in front of the easel stared pointedly down at a certain area near Peter's groin. Peter stood there wearing the "Hot Sausage" Nude Male Grilling apron, gaping like an idiot. He knew he was gaping, knew he wasn't hiding his shock at all. He just couldn't seem to do anything about it.
Chris? He'd thought that meant Christine. The man standing in front of him had a disarming grin, and twinkling brown eyes. Dancing eyes. Laughing gaze. Middle-aged maybe, although it was hard to age him exactly. Despite the touch of grey in his dark hair, the man appeared strong in the arms and shoulders.
The man put down the paintbrush, and then wiped his fingers on an old cloth. Inspecting his digits, he judged them good enough and stuck out a hand. "Christopher Hunter. Sorry about this, but you're my sister's idea, and I generally do what I can to make her happy." Christopher waved a hand, gesturing at a chair. "Sit, sit. No formalities here."
Peter stood at the side of the table, dithering. He'd done a few chores and helped Christopher make some sandwiches. He hadn't expected the man to set out two plates and to pour two large mugs of tea. The offer of food didn't go unnoticed by his stomach. Even if he felt on edge, he'd had nothing but three slices of semi-burnt bread all day. Still, he didn't feel comfortable about sitting. Christopher apparently worked out his predicament.
"I'm not worried about those sweet cheeks touching the seat. Sit. Tuck in. I'm not eating all this alone, and besides," those dark eyes flicked down and then up, "I doubt you've had time to eat today."
Trying to ignore the mention of his sweet cheeks, Peter said, "I could have had my fill of cream cakes earlier."
"Do tell."
Much to his surprise, Peter did.
"Poor girl. Still, not your place to save her, but maybe not your place to encourage her either?" The lilt of Christopher's voice made it a question.
"Well, I didn't know until I got there, but I don't want to go back." Just as he didn't want to go back to the knife-loving Goth. He thought of telling Christopher about that encounter as well, but then he discovered he didn't have the energy. He also felt a little uncomfortable, as if he were breaking client confidentiality or something. If he talked about others, maybe this Christopher would think he'd talk about him in turn. Not that he was sure he wanted to return here either, but at this rate, Michael would kick him out of the job if he kept refusing work. This Christopher at least seemed sane.
"What are you doing this for, Peter?" Christopher looked at him over the rim of his mug. "I mean, forgive me for saying so but you look like a presentable young man."
"Not what you expected?"
"I didn't know what to expect, but you surely weren't it. What do you do when you're not..." Chris waved a hand in the air. "I take it you do do something else?"
"When I'm given the opportunity to, yes, I'm in I.T." He wanted to take it back the moment he said it.
Christopher's raised eyebrow sent heat into his face. "Fallen on hard times?"
"Something like that."
"You're better than this."
Peter squirmed, but all that did was remind him his bare backside sat on one of this man's dining room chairs. What if he left a pubic hair behind? Ugh. "You can't know that. You don't know me."
"Let's say first impressions are everything. You're neat. Your hairstyle says office worker, and even your nails are manicured." Christopher looked at his paint-stained nails and pulled a face. "I'm not very good at keeping up the well-dressed gay stereotype. Give me jeans any day, even in the workplace if I could get away with it. Never cared how people look. More concerned with what they have up here." Christopher tapped the side of his temple. "So you're temporarily between career opportunities." The man grinned as if to say he was only teasing and meant nothing by it. "No girlfriend?"
"No." Why was he answering this guy's questions? It wasn't part of the job description.
Peter blushed deeper. He knew he did. He felt ablaze.
"I'm not going to ravish you," Chris said, making the statement sound perfectly reasonable.
"I-I think I've answered enough questions."
"Well, you are a stranger I've let into my house. A decidedly strange stranger, some might say, considering you're the one wearing nothing but an apron."
"No stranger than wanting someone wearing nothing but an apron, surely?"
"Ah..." Christopher took a bite of sandwich, chewed it up, and wiped his hands on a napkin. Peter caught himself staring at the smudges of paint embedded in the man's cuticles. "Fair enough." He looked abashed. "This really wasn't my idea. If it were up to me, I'd tell you to put your clothes on, but there's no knowing if, or when, my sister will pop back, and if she discovers I'm less than enamoured with her present, she'll be upset. Not that you aren't fetching to look at."
"I-I'm not... I mean, I'm not..."
"Gay? Don't worry. Your virtue's safe. I'm just wondering why a handsome thirty-something like you has no girlfriend."
"She left," Peter said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. He'd managed to devour one sandwich, but now it rested heavily in his stomach. "Truth is, I used to live with my mother, and most women don't like that. Crystal --"
"Crystal?" A smile played with Christopher's lips. The expression softened his features.
Nice smile. Nice lips. Nice man.
What? What the fuck was that? I've not... for years. And it was just the one time. Nothing. I was young. Just... experimenting.
Peter dismissed his wayward thoughts as being ridiculous. Was he so starved for affection he'd look for it with the first person who made him feel comfortable regardless of sexuality? Maybe. Would he regret it? He couldn't answer that...

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Inked 1: Rough Waters by Kate Hill

Inked 1: Rough Waters

by Kate Hill
Cover art: Karen Fox
ISBN: 978-1-60521-483-2
Genre(s): Paranormal, Action/Adventure
Theme(s): Vampires
Series: Inked
Length: Novella


A night of heaven and hell...
One moment Samantha is admiring a tattooed man at the gym and the next she's aboard a private yacht with no idea how she got there.
Faced with two mysterious men -- one she trusts and one she fears -- she experiences mind-blowing sex with a vampire while avoiding death on what turns out to be a brutal party for the criminally insane.
Lured onto his estranged creator's yacht, Geoffrey meets a woman whom he can't resist, but is Samantha part of a scheme to tempt him into indulging in his long-repressed bloodlust?
Inked 1: Rough Waters
Kate Hill
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2011 Kate Hill

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

The man performing pull-ups caught Samantha's eye not only because he had a body like a heavyweight boxer, but because tattoos covered him from the top of his shaved head to the waist of his black workout pants. The artwork probably extended to his lower body too.
At the gym she normally didn't gawk at other people but focused on her workout, yet this guy commanded attention. On her way to the free weights, she passed him and stared at the broad expanse of his sweat-slicked back. Her gaze focused on the tattoo of a ship at sea. His rippling muscles gave the illusion of waves rippling around the vessel.
Samantha paused, unable to look away from the waves moving up and down.
Up and down.
Up and...
The spray of salt water on her face roused Samantha from her stupor. Her heart pounding, she glanced around. Instead of the familiar sight of weights, treadmills and other gym equipment around her, she saw people -- most in evening wear -- mingling on the deck of a yacht.
Glancing down, she nearly gave a scream of shock to find her workout clothes had been replaced by a low-cut, sleeveless silver gown and matching strappy sandals.
"Are you all right?" asked a slightly raspy but sexy male voice. A hand gently touched her lower back.
"No, I don't know what happened," she said, turning and staring into the most beautiful blue eyes she'd ever seen. They gazed at her with concern and underlying strength. He had a chiseled yet masculine face topped with reddish blond hair cropped close to his head. A strange feeling swept her, but she blamed it on the sudden disappearance of the gym.
"What do you mean?" he asked. This time Samantha detected a slight English accent. Tall and lean, he wore snug jeans, and the sleeves of his tan shirt were rolled up, exposing his powerful forearms. The shirt was open almost to his navel, and she tried not to get distracted by the sight of his sculpted chest.
"I don't know how I got here. I was at the gym and... I have no idea where I am." Panic almost overtook her, but the man slid an arm around her and guided her away from the ship's rail.
She probably should have pulled away, but at the moment she needed someone to take control. Truly she had never felt so confused and scared in her life.
"Did you have a lot to drink?" he asked.
"I don't drink."
"Are you here with someone or did John invite you?"
"He owns the yacht."
"I don't know any John with a yacht," Samantha said and allowed him to lead her below deck to a room decorated in red and black. People mingled, drinking, dancing and talking. A bar stood at the far corner of the room and to her right people lingered around a buffet table.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Samantha. And you?"
"Geoffrey." He guided her onto a chair and stooped in front of her, gently tilting her head from one side to the other, his blue gaze fixed on her neck.
At that moment she collected herself -- or started to.
"What are you doing?" she asked. "Where am I exactly?"
"We're somewhere off the coast of Hawaii. You don't remember anything?"
"Yeah. I told you, I was at the gym and --"
"There's a doctor aboard. I'll get him. Don't move."
He stood and walked away. Despite being dumbfounded, she noticed the curve of his tight ass in the jeans.
What was wrong with her? She had absolutely no recollection of arriving on this ship, of being invited, or of meeting anyone named John.
Moments later, Geoffrey returned with a shorter, dark-haired man dressed in black whom he introduced as Dr. Wayne Butler. He asked her a series of questions, such as her address and the date, which Samantha answered without difficulty.
"I'm not crazy," she said, then her brow furrowed. Or was she? After all, she was here on this yacht but had no idea how she had arrived.
A third man approached, this one tall and pale with steel gray eyes. He wore a black suit and charcoal tie. His short black hair was perfectly styled, despite the cool ocean breeze.
"John, what can you tell us about Samantha?" asked the doctor.
Geoffrey stared hard at their host, whose handsome brow furrowed. He shook his head and said, "I'm sorry. I don't believe we've met."
"No. We haven't," Samantha said. She'd have remembered him. He had eyes like the villain in a suspense flick.
"She doesn't remember how she got here," Dr. Butler said. "I suggest letting her rest for a while and turning back to shore. She should be checked out at a hospital."
John smiled. "Of course. Samantha, do you need help back to your room?"
"I don't have a room," she said.
"Don't worry. We'll find you one." John offered her his arm.
"I'll take her," Geoffrey interrupted.
He and John locked gazes, and Samantha had the awful feeling they would come to blows then and there.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Singing Up the Sun by Adera Orfanelli

Singing Up the Sun

by Adera Orfanelli
Cover art: Reneé George
ISBN: 978-1-60521-629-4
Length: Novella
Page Count: 60

For discharged soldier Dougaln, the Winter Holidays are simply a time of little work and no prospects. But when he hears a beautiful tenor voice during a stroll in the Reclamation Gardens, Dougaln’s dark days suddenly brighten.

Exiled from his people, Reynau travels from world to world sharing his people’s spiritual traditions and learning new ones. For him, the Longest Night is a time to celebrate joy, ensuring that the new year brings happiness and light.

But Reynau refuses to be anyone’s “secret,” and Dougaln has too much to hide. Can a retired soldier open up and let a young man sing the light back into his life?
Singing Up the Sun
Adera Orfanelli
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2011 Adera Orfanelli

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

The clear tenor voice stopped Dougaln Chabastia in his tracks. An unexpected and sudden lump formed in his throat. Too many tours, too many acts of atrocity contrasted with the stark, masculine beauty of the man's song. Other than the words in a language Dougaln thought sounded like Bimera, and yet held a lilting dialect the old and venerable Bimerans never used, silence reigned in the Reclamation Garden. Algae tubes, hydroponic plants, and the occasional fruit-bearing tree or bush created winding pathways and made it difficult to find the music's source. Still, Dougaln moved toward the sound, drawn by some unspeakable need to find the source of the music and perhaps stand in its beauty.
The music continued, though the song had changed. What had been a slow, dirge-like tune shifted into something with a faster tempo. Pausing, Dougaln listened. The lump in his throat had subsided, though the music still moved him. So beautiful. So unlike the life he'd led as a Relacharan soldier. Too close to the lullabies his mother had sung to him as a child.
His footsteps brought him to the small courtyard where the singer sat. A lithe young man, his face obscured by tousled dark brown hair that brushed his bare shoulders. With the singer turned away from him, Dougaln could only follow the muscled lines of the young man's back. Attraction, pure and primal, hit him in the gut. His cock hardened, a swift reminder that he'd been too long on assignment, and without a lover.
No more, not since... Dougaln stomped that line of thought away. No one except his commanding officer knew he wouldn't return from the Winter Holiday break. With such a mishmash of religions and traditions, the Relacharan military gave non-deployed soldiers a two-week shore leave to try to accommodate them all. Though his family followed the simple traditions of The Lady, and the longest night of the year was the night she birthed the sun, her son, into the world, he hadn't done anything except send perfunctory notes and gifts. Until now, he hadn't wanted to.
Seeing this young man changed everything. The song ended, and the singer turned. With too-slender hands, he swept his hair from his face. Silver rings glinted in his nipples, and some kind of tattoo -- from this distance it looked like flames -- swirled around his navel. He pointed to the bench opposite him. "Feel free to sit. No one should have to spend the Longest Night alone."
You were. Dougaln bit back the retort and sat. "I figured the gardens would be empty."
"So did I." The singer flashed a grin that damn near stole Dougaln's breath.
Drawing on military discipline, he managed to sit, then looked up. Eyes of the darkest blue, like storm clouds on the horizon, stared back at him in a face that at once looked ancient and too young for this world. Or at least this station. No one came to Lanx Station if they could help it, and it'd been that way since the war.
"You know any songs?" The young man's speaking voice rang with the clear promise of his singing one.
Dougaln shrugged. "None that are fit to share. And I sound like a rat being run through a meat grinder when I sing."
The man laughed, and damn him, his mirth was musical, too. "It's the Longest Night. Everyone sings up the sun. I'm Reynau Cossepor."
Reynau glanced over his military uniform. "You're Relacharan, aren't you? On duty?"
Dougaln shook his head. "I'm Relacharan, but not on duty tonight." He paused, then decided he didn't need to explain his discharged status. "Singing up the sun? What's that?" Changing the subject seemed to be the best thing to do.
"My people believe without the voices of her people, the sun will not rise. Of course, there are other things that we can do to encourage the sun, too. The important part is to be joyful." The shy smile Reynau offered left little doubt as to what the joyful actions could be.
"Interesting tradition." Dougaln tried to remember if he'd run across any worlds with such practices and couldn't. Then again, he'd only been to a few worlds, and most of them pretty close to his own.
"Join in if you want. No matter how bad you sing." With those words, Reynau returned to his devotion and began singing. The words weren't in the common language, a hybrid of Relacharan and Bimera that most people spoke. The more Dougaln listened, the more the words seemed to escape him. And the more he wanted Reynau.

Friday, April 22, 2011

Dragon Kin: Resistance by Selena Illyria

Dragon Kin: Resistance

by Selena Illyria 

Cover art: Zuri
ISBN: 978-1-60521-607-2
Genre(s): Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, BDSM
Theme(s): Interracial, Magic and Mayhem, Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures
Series: Dragon Kin (Multi Author)
Length: Novella

It's been two weeks since Katrina last saw Braydon. She's beginning to have her doubts about their relationship. Braydon refuses to let Katrina's insecurities keep them apart. No matter what it takes, what walls she he has to break down and what excuses she makes, he's going to prove that they belong together.
Dragon Kin: Resistance
Selena Illyria
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2011 Selena Illyria

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Braydon flipped open his cell phone and checked the bars. No signal. With a sigh, he closed it and looked around. Trees, shrubs, rocks and a dirt road surrounded him. The sky above looked like a cauldron of steel grey, black with patches of white. Humidity weighed heavy on the air, pressing against his body, and causing his shirt to stick to his skin. No matter how many times he wiped his brow, the sweat returned and streaked down his face in thick droplets.
"Looking for a cell signal, sonny? You won't find it here. Wards fuck up the reception." A small gnome with only one tooth meandered out of a dilapidated wooden shack standing a few feet away. The structure looked like it was held together by spit, gum, string and a lot of swearing. Braydon shook his head, his attention on the shorter ragged man in torn brown coveralls and a stained white shirt. He carried a spittoon which made Braydon's stomach roil at the sloshing sound coming from inside. A strong breeze picked up. He tried not to grimace as the strong odor of tobacco and herbs wafted toward him.
Swallowing, pushing down the bile rising, he said, "I need a letter sent and a fast messenger to take it. Any of your men up to the task?" He didn't see anyone else, but that didn't mean there wasn't someone lurking around.
"How fast you want it?" the gnome asked. He made a snorting sound before spitting a large wad of black viscous fluid into the urn.
Braydon tried not to retch. He'd seen a lot of things in his lifetime but watching someone spit whatever it was the man had discharged still made him queasy. Clearing his throat, he managed to say through clenched teeth, "I need a letter taken to Utopia Bay, as quick as wings can carry your messenger. I'm willing to pay ten dragon eye rubies for it. No more."
The man's eyes widened. Hunger caused his dull brown eyes to become dark and luminous. He grinned, showing off a lot of gums and that one tooth again. Braydon swallowed. Is this going to turn into a scene from Deliverance? I refuse to squeal like a pig. He crossed his arms over his chest but relaxed his body, readying himself for battle.
"If you want one of my boys to fly fast enough, you have to make it twenty dragon eyes. Utopia Bay is a looooong way from here. And you're asking them to go through treacherous territory. Last I checked, we had an uneasy peace with those Werewolf packs that roam the fringes near there. One of my boys disappears, I'm gonna have to replace him." He peered at Braydon, eyes glittering with lust, but his face was slack. It was as if he was at war within himself on how to proceed with such a possible fat payday.
"The wolves haven't been an issue in years," Braydon pointed out. So far he didn't sense anything dangerous from the man other than the teeth and the horrible stench from the spittoon.
The gnome shrugged. "That don't mean they won't become one. 'Sides, what if one of my boys gets pinched and changed? They're not like you pretty Elf boys. They're small, defenseless. They aren't warriors."
You don't mention they can grow in size. Braydon sighed. He didn't want to spend all day haggling with the man. "Fifteen dragon eyes and not a ruby more. You have the letter there by tomorrow morning, and I may come back and give you a bonus." He extracted the letter to Katrina from his pocket and held it out to the gnome, hating that the man's grubby paws would be touching anything going to Katrina.
The gnome smiled. "Deal. I'll get one of my fastest men on it." He snapped his finger and a green blur darted out from the bushes. It darted all around the gnome before taking the envelope and flying off down the way Braydon had come.
Braydon dug into his pocket and opened up a small satchel. He counted out fifteen dragon eye rubies, adding an extra one for expedited service, gave the gnome his payment and headed back to his car. As he slammed the door shut behind him, he prayed Katrina would get the letter letting her know he was all right. So far none of the messengers he'd sent out had returned to him and that worried him. Maybe the Werewolves really are acting up.
He started up the vehicle and took off. Returning home hadn't been the quick trip he'd thought it would be. His parents had been thrilled to see him and to have the deed to the land which had saved their leadership positions, but a new crisis had reared its ugly head. His brother Finan had disappeared with no word. It was normal for his brother to take off but not without leaving word on how to reach him. Braydon ran a hand over his face. It had been two weeks since he'd left the tree house palace, and he'd gotten very little sleep during that time.
His nights were either filled with going in and out of bars and his brother's known hangouts, or trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in his car. He would have stayed at a hotel or inn but didn't want to chance the possibility of getting word about his brother and having to take off on short notice. At least he was close to the wheel and could drive after his sibling at a moment's notice.
To top things off, he was worried about what his absence was doing to his relationship with Katrina. No messengers had returned to him and -- due to the magical warding of Elven lands -- his cell phone and laptop were useless. There was no signal for them to latch onto. He hadn't spoken to Katrina since he'd left that Monday morning after their weekend together.
Braydon prayed that Katrina wouldn't think he was flaking out on her. His grip tightened on the wheel at the thought of Katrina erecting her walls between them.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Mirror, Mirror: Shadowed Glass by Elizabeth Jewell

Mirror, Mirror: Shadowed Glass

by Elizabeth Jewell
Cover art: Reneé George
ISBN: 978-1-60521-599-0
Genre(s): Paranormal, Hot Flashes
Theme(s): Vampires, Gay and Lesbian
Series: Mirror, Mirror (Multi-Author)
Length: Hot Flash


Vampire Olav hasn't seen his lover, Rig, in centuries... until he looks in the Mirror.
Olav, a vampire, is at a business meeting in Fiji when he sees a strange, wooded landscape in the mirror in an elevator. The mirror draws him through, and he finds himself face-to-face with Rig, the only man he's ever loved, who disappeared hundreds of years before.
Rig has been in the wasteland behind the mirror for centuries, being punished by a man he wronged in his former life. Will Olav's love be enough to free him from eternal torment?

Mirror, Mirror: Shadowed Glass
Elizabeth Jewell
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2011 Elizabeth Jewell

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Olav was tired. Not so much in the physical sense -- vampires didn't really suffer from weariness except in cases of extreme duress. No, this was more a mental tired. Or maybe emotional. Either way, he couldn't say he was enjoying it.
For most people suffering from unspecified existential fatigue, a business trip to the Tavoro Sands Resort in Fiji would be a welcome distraction. For Olav, it was just another trip where he'd have to make excuses about for avoiding the beach.
Straightening his tie, he gave a practiced sigh as he waited for the elevator. After four hundred years, he was a natural at fake breathing. He'd worked at the Brinks and Anderson law firm for three years now, and no one suspected he was anything but human.
In fact, no one had suspected he was anything but human for a long time. He didn't hang out with other vampires, though he could have. Finding a local cadre guaranteed certain social advantages as well as better access to decent food. But the truth of the matter was, he just didn't care. He hadn't cared in a very long time.
The elevator door slid open, and he stepped in. The soft sound of the doors sliding shut reminded him of something. He wasn't certain what; the sensation lingered just at the edge of his consciousness, like something glimpsed out of the corner of his eye.
Snow, he thought, and then, Rig.
God. Rig. He hadn't thought about Rig in decades -- centuries, even. In fact, he had actively not thought about Rig, and the mere drift of the name across his consciousness felt like a fist to his gut.
He was alone on the elevator. Without really thinking about it, he reached out and pushed the emergency stop button. Like everything else at the resort, it was well maintained and designed for comfort.
Rig. Olav had loved Rig at a time when he'd been certain he was incapable of any kind of emotion at all. Maybe that was why Olav had suddenly thought of him. Because right now Olav felt every bit as empty as he had then. Just as numb. Just as lost. Just as broken.
He turned to put his back against the elevator door, facing the mirrored back wall. He was glad he was alone. The shifting and jostling it would have taken to keep another occupant of the elevator from noting the strange muddiness of his reflection was more than he wanted to deal with at the moment. Or, for that matter, ever.
Rig. Strong, powerful, forged of ice and fire, with hands so big they had engulfed Olav's face whenever Rig kissed him. A warrior, born when Olav had been but a fledgling, and Rig had been his first eternal companion.
It should have been that way, anyway. But Rig had just disappeared one day with no explanation, no warning, and nothing left behind but a dull, aching hole in Olav's memory.
Where moments before Olav had felt nothing, now suddenly the memory of emotion threatened to overwhelm him. He felt tears gathering along the edges of his eyes. Why was he remembering this now? He stared at the muddled reflection he cast back from the mirror, his features and clothing reduced to something like a smeared watercolor. After all these years, he didn't even know for certain what he looked like.
Then, as he stared, willing the blurred shapes to resolve into something he could make sense of, the surface of the mirror began to change.
It was a strange effect, like nothing he'd ever seen before. If it resembled anything, it was like looking through ice to see the fish still swimming below. Only he didn't see fish.
He saw trees. Not waving, kelpy fronds like one might see at the bottom of an iced-over pond, but sturdy evergreens. Snow lay in piles between them, and suddenly he could almost hear the raucous singing from the alehouse, hear the boasting warriors and the songs of the skalds.
Almost, almost, he could hear home.

Monday, April 18, 2011

Night Stalker Collection by Angelina Evans

Night Stalker (Collection)

by Angelina Evans
Cover art: Bryan Keller
ISBN: 978-1-60521-534-1
Genre(s): Paranormal, Collections
Theme(s): Vampires
Series: Stalkers
Length: Collection


Kayla. Phaeryn came to Earth looking for a small, delicate, submissive woman able to bear his children. Kayla's exactly what Phaeryn needs -- he just doesn't know that yet.
Allison. All Allison wanted when she stopped at the coffee shop was a latte. She wasn't looking for adventure, sex, love, or a Vampyryn. 'Til she met Vance.
Mya. The man of her dreams won't come to her so she sets out to find him, never dreaming that the only man for her isn't a man at all.
Even the strength of a Vampyryn is no match for the power of a woman in love!
This collection contains the previously released Stalker series novellas Night Stalker, Night Stalker Christmas, Shadow Stalker, and Stalker’s Stalker.This title is available in print.
Night Stalker
Angelina Evans
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2011 Angelina Evans

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Phaeryn and Vance walked into the Red Light club and were immediately assaulted by music set at a deafening level. The floor of the converted warehouse was a mass of gyrating bodies. Small tables for two to six were built out on platforms, stair-stepped up and down the walls.

"You called this what?" Phaeryn asked. He wasn't happy to be here. The smells -- men's cologne, women's perfumes, body odors -- made his stomach roll. Why would people put themselves into a situation like this? There was no chance of meeting anyone here. It was like an orgy without the sex.

He looked into a corner where a man and woman were wrapped around each other. They were still dressed, though in the shadows. He could see she had one breast bared and her legs were wrapped around the man. His hips were pumping against her. Maybe he was wrong... it was an orgy.

Smirking, Vance watched his cousin's face. The imperturbable prince had lost a bit of his veneer. It was about time.

"This is a club. Some people fondly call it a meat market."

Eyes narrowed, Phaeryn glared at Vance. "A meat market?"

Vance's smile was wicked. "Mmmhmm."

"Humans are a strange species." Phaeryn looked back over the crowd of people. To some of his own race, humans were meat. There was an odd irony in the name they gave this meeting place. "Do you think we could go somewhere more appropriate for my search?"

"You said you wanted to go somewhere with lots of women." Vance widened his eyes attempting an innocent look. It didn't work.

"And you immediately thought of this place?"

"It's the biggest gathering of women I could think of on such short notice."

"My earlier question stands. Do you think we could go somewhere more appropriate? I want a woman, not a disease."

"As if you could catch anything from a human woman."

"Vance..." There was a thread of steel in Phaeryn's tone.

Vance grinned unrepentantly. "We're here. Why not try it? What have you got to lose?"

Jaw tight, Phaeryn glared at his cousin. Vance was very young. He also had no concept of the respect his elders were entitled to. Usually it was amusing. At other times, like now, it was irritating.

"Just try it."

Phaeryn's brows rose. Was that exasperation he heard in Vance's voice? Before he returned home, he'd teach his young cousin a lesson in etiquette. For now, though, he'd prove what a waste coming here had been.

Raking the unwholesome crowd with a censorious eye, he opened his mind and sent out his silent call.

You who would be mine, sensitive and pure, come to me. Come to me.

There was no change in the activity going on throughout the warehouse. His call hadn't been a powerful one. It would take someone very receptive to sense it, let alone understand it. In this mess, with the alcohol and no doubt drugs that flowed freely through the crowd, there was little chance of anyone responding to the light compulsion he'd laced through the call.

"It's time we left." He gave his cousin an imperious look. He'd had enough of this game. It was time they went somewhere he could begin a serious search for the human woman who'd bear his children.

Vance started to follow. He'd been counting on Phaeryn finding someone here.

He glanced over his shoulder. "Stop." He grabbed Phaeryn's arm.

Phaeryn turned, the black depths of his eyes a living inferno.

Vance released his cousin's arm, lifted both hands in the air and stepped back. "Sorry. I didn't think before I touched you. Look." He pointed at the tall, big-breasted woman pushing her way through the crowd toward them. She didn't look happy. Her lips were a tight thin line and her nostrils flared.

What clued him into the fact that she wasn't happy was that she kept glaring up at them. Her lips moving in what he was sure wasn't a blessing. "I think you caught someone's attention."

Phaeryn looked over his shoulder. He turned away dismissively when he saw the tall, voluptuously proportioned woman steaming through the crowd below them. She wasn't the woman he'd come looking for. She was too... too much... of everything. The woman who'd bear his children would be smaller, more delicate in looks and manner.

"You don't want to meet her?"

"No." He didn't even try to soften his response. Finding a human woman was his duty and he would do it -- but she would meet his requirements and expectations. This woman did neither.

"If you would accompany me, then do so. If not, stay here and meet the woman yourself. I have a commitment to fulfill and no more time for games."

Vance shrugged. "Have it your way."

"I intend to."

So do I. Vance watched the woman reach the stairs leading to the platform where he and Phaeryn stood. He wasn't leaving until Phaeryn met the woman.

"Did you hear from the Vampyran today?"

Phaeryn didn't stop, cleared people from his path with a thought. Vance was pitifully transparent in his attempt to thwart his exit. He seemed strangely enthralled by the woman moving in on them like a shark through shallow water. He'd never liked aggressive women. He certainly wouldn't like this one. Dealing with her would only waste his time.

"So it would waste your time to deal with me, would it?"

The voice, husky and thick with temper made the hairs on the back of Phaeryn's neck stand up. He stopped in mid stride and turned to face the woman.

"You arrogant ass." Her voice was a low hiss. "You send out some sort of siren call and then you run. You can damn well answer a few questions before you retreat."

Phaeryn straightened to his full, considerable height. He looked down his nose. Let his temper show in the flare of fire in his eyes.

She didn't even blink.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

The Spartans are HERE!

New from Marteeka Karland

Lysander, Calix, and Thanos are warriors currently patrolling inside the Badlands. Unlike most Warriors, they are not podmates -- at least, Thanos is not. The two older men took him in when his two podmates were killed. The bond among the three of them has grown steadily, but Thanos always holds himself back. He does not share his body freely with the other two men unless the need is so great he can't resist.

Artemis has been watching the trio for some time. She knows Thanos has a horrible secret about the death of his podmates, but knows he's a good man nonetheless. She's also intrigued that these men are truly Spartan warriors, unlike so many second generation Warriors created by the WCGA. That aside, she's drawn to them and knows they are her true mates.

She just hopes she can break through Thanos's grief and guilt before he does something stupid. Like letting himself get killed.


Tall and proud, she was well-muscled like a warrior. Her body was lean and all graceful lines but with enough feminine curves to make his mouth water and his cock rock hard. Long, dark, curly hair graced her head, tumbling down her back, and piercing green eyes seemed to bore into his soul. In that instant, Thanos knew this woman could see every secret he had. More than that, she was every inch the warrior he and his shield mates were.
"Aries’ balls," he whispered in awe.

Moving with grace and sureness, the woman stepped over to the pot of stew Thanos had brewing over the fire and sniffed. Her cloak fluttered behind her, never interfering with her movements. Thanos was struck that, while he was generally aware of his surroundings -- Lysander and Calix were even more aware than he was -- none of them had noticed the bright red cape in the trees above them, or in the lush, green foliage around them. A sure sign she had earned the cape she wore. The idea of a female warrior should have been preposterous. All Spartan women could fight when necessary, but they usually stayed away from battle to protect the children and elderly. Not this woman.

For her part, she seemed to ignore Thanos completely. When she finally spoke, her voice was husky and deep. Not distractingly so, but more like a woman great with need. She had a voice that simply oozed sex. Thanos had to grit his teeth to keep from groaning and sinking to the ground with the sheer force of the sexual tension. And she hadn't done anything even remotely sexually encouraging.

"Looks like a fine meal." She sounded neither interested nor apathetic. It was a simple statement.

"Some think so. Would you like to share our evening meal?" Thanos purposely use the plural "our" so she'd know the others would return soon. She needed to know the whole situation, if she didn't already. He doubted very much she thought he was alone, though. This was a warrior woman. She would likely know everything and enjoy how off-balance it put them.

"Perhaps." She sounded distracted as she moved from the stew around the fire to the interior of their small camp. "I've been in your dreams, Thanos," she stated, as if musing to herself. "Why do you not share your pain with your shield brothers?"

Thanos couldn't have felt more pain if she'd kneed him in the nuts. There was no way he could prevent the show of emotion he knew crossed his face at the mention of his horrible secret. When he recovered enough to find her with his gaze, she looked squarely at him. Watching. Assessing. Strangely, the expression on her face was one of understanding rather than pity or, worse, condemnation.

"Because I'm not sure I trust them."

"No." She advanced on him so quickly, Thanos took a couple of steps back and prepared himself for battle. "You $do trust them, and that's what's eating at you. You're afraid of how they'll react. Afraid they'll look at $you with distrust in their eyes and fear in their hearts when you go into the battles that are inevitable in the Badlands."

She was daring him to call her a liar, daring him to deny it. He couldn't.

"Thanos, I've always figured you for a stout warrior." It was Lysander's voice, but Thanos was so entranced by this woman, he couldn't look at his shield brother. "But it looks like you're frightened by a slip of a woman. Come. Introduce us so that we may share in her company."

At the description "slip of a woman," she smiled an almost vicious smile. Thanos was almost grateful Lysander was about to get his ass kicked, because it saved him from having to answer to her all-too-perceptive statement.

Without warning, she turned and launched herself into the air and straight at Lysander. Had he not stepped back in reflex, she probably would have struck high on his body, perhaps even sailing over thetop of him and at Calix’s feet where he stood a few paces behind Lysander. But she knew he'd move. Knew how far he'd move. Her shoulder caught him square in the gut, knocking the wind from his lungs and landing the mighty warrior Lysander flat on his ass in the dirt.

There was a silence that was almost deafening before Calix burst out laughing. He pointed at the pair in his mirth as the woman sat up, her rump on Lysander's stomach, effectively keeping him from being able to catch his breath too quickly. The smug look on her face said it all.

"I might be a 'slip of a woman,' but I can still kick your ass. You'll do well to remember that." Her voice was again husky and sexy. She didn't offer to get off Lysander, but sat there on his torso, her legs spread on either side of him, her arms draped over each knee. She looked like she'd just downed a trophy animal and was gloating over her kill.

Caveat Emptor by Zenobia Renquist

Caveat Emptor: Charmed Lover

by Zenobia RenquistCover art: Marteeka Karland
ISBN: 978-1-60521-615-7
Genre(s): Paranormal
Theme(s): Interracial, Vampires, Magic and Mayhem
Series: Caveat Emptor
Length: Novella
Page Count: 38


Ryver is one of the many humans who owns a vampire. She purchased Theron for home security. When the magic charms keeping the vampires docile and subservient suddenly start failing, Theron goes from protector to threat. A nationwide, mandatory recall of all vampires is in effect. Ryver is ready to comply, but a night of passion spent in Theron's arms changes her mind.
It's only a matter of time before someone figures out Ryver and Theron's secret. With the threat of mages bearing down on them, Ryver has to decide if she's willing to give up her lover or her freedom.
Caveat Emptor: Charmed Lover
Zenobia Renquist
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2011 Zenobia Renquist

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Ryver came awake with a startled scream. The man touching her inner thigh moved his hand higher. She struggled against him and tried to get away but he had hold of her ankle.
She froze. In the darkness she could just make out Theron's features on the man attacking her. The glint of something red at Theron's throat caught her eye.
The docility charm was red.
It had failed.
The complete horror of that realization kept her paralyzed.
Theron smiled at her, flashing his fangs in the dim light. "I do believe you asked what I would do to you if I were free. Shall I show you, Ryver?" He used her ankle and pulled her closer to him.
Fear kept her from answering or even trying to escape.
The charm had failed.
Theron was loose.
She should have taken him back. She shouldn't have trusted some stupid green glow over her common sense. She should never have gotten him in the first place.
Theron leaned into her. Only then did she try to move away.
She pushed at Theron's face and kicked her free leg, hoping to hit something sensitive. He still had one of her ankles trapped in his grip, and her body was half pinned beneath his, though he braced most of the weight on his other hand which was planted firmly on the bed next to her waist. Her struggles didn't faze him. Theron chuckled as he continued his descent. His mouth was aimed for her throat.
He planned to bleed her dry.
At least it wouldn't be a painful death.
She hoped.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

Bringing Her Home by S. Michael

Bringing Her Home

by S. Michael
Cover art: Karen Fox
ISBN: 978-1-60521-606-5
Genre(s): Paranormal
Theme(s): Ménage, Bisexual and More, Werewolves
Length: Novella


Wolves mate for life, so where does that leave werewolf Kelsi when she finds the two men she was considering in bed with each other?
Spoiled and beautiful, Kelsi is the daughter of the former pack leader. Now that he's stepped down, it's time for her to choose a mate. She has two different males in her sights and she cares for both of them. Keifer is the smaller of the two, slender and lovely, sweet and kind, and he looks at her with adoration in his eyes. Gage, on the other hand, is big and buff, hot and possessive, and his gaze fills her with heat. How's a girl to choose?
When she stumbles upon the two of them in bed together, it looks like she's had the choice made for her and, shocked and hurt, she runs from the pack lands. Can Gage and Keifer find her? And even if they do, can they convince her that they're not complete without her?
Bringing Her Home
S. Michael
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2011 S. Michael

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

"Order up, Kel! Come on, girl. Move your ass!"
Kelsi nodded, hurrying to the window. "I'm here. Table six needed more coffee."
Ed growled. "I don't give a fuck, girlie. Hurry up."
She grabbed the burger, and the eggs, stacking plates on her arm. She'd picked up the late-night shift a few weeks ago. Between it, the greeter position at WalMart, and the hours cleaning at the hotel, she was starting to save a little money.
Now if she could just keep it going during the full moon, fight the change one more month, she'd have enough to put a down payment on a trailer, have a more private place backing onto a field.
She nearly dropped the plates when she first smelled it. A male. Here. In the restaurant. She didn't look, though. If she was lucky, he wouldn't notice her. If he did, Ed had a huge butcher knife in the kitchen and, as big as an asshole as he was, he'd proven he would use it.
"I just sat the biggest hunk to ever walk in here at one of your tables," Minnie told her. "You can thank me later."
"Thanks." Great. She passed out plates, then headed over to the table in the back, refusing to make eye contact. "What can I get you to drink?"
"No hello, Kel?" Her heart stopped in her chest, before it started racing, trying to tear its way out of her rib cage. Damn it, that was Gage's low, sexy voice.
"What do you want to drink?" What the hell was he doing here?
"We need to talk."
"About what?" She met his eyes. It had been eighteen months since she'd run. Eighteen months, hundreds of miles, and twenty pounds ago, she'd been a spoiled little brat of a girl. She was a woman now.
"About you coming home to the pack."
"No. Coffee?"
"You ran away. It's time to come home."
"No. There's nothing to come home to. I have a life here."
"Kel! Order up!"
She turned and headed back to the window, fighting her tears with everything she had. What the hell was Gage doing here? He had his mate, had the pack. Why hadn't he just left her alone?
He was still there after she'd served her table. "I'd like to get some service here."
"Okay. Okay, what do you want? Coffee? Coke? Burger? Eggs?" Her hands were trembling a little, pen jittering over her pad.
"When are you finished here?" God, his eyes were intense, staring right into her.
"My shift here is over at six, and then I start at WalMart at seven."
"Six? That's another seven hours." He shook his head. "Come with me now."
"What? I can't. I need this job."
He banged his fist on the table. "You need to come home."
She jumped. "That's not my home! Go back to your mate and leave me alone!"
His voice lowered, became somehow more dangerous. "My mate?"
"Yes. I saw you both. Together."
Gage's eyebrows drew together. "That's why you ran away."
"I didn't have any reason to stay. I needed to get out on my own. Find my own mate. What do you want to drink?"
"You need to come with me. Kief's out there, waiting for us."
Oh. Gage had brought his lover. Someone must have sent them for her. She shook her head. "I'm not interested."
"You saw us together and, instead of asking, you made assumptions, and like a spoiled little brat turned tail and ran."
"Gage." Kiefer's voiced sounded from right beside her.
She jumped, then jerked away, hips banging into another table.
"Watch it! Jesus!"
"S... sorry."
"Kel? You okay?" Minnie came over, pushed between her and the boys. "You assholes giving our little sweetheart problems?"
Kelsi didn't wait for an answer. She didn't wait for anything. She hit the door at a dead run.