City By the Bay: Morgan's Vigil by Sophia Titheniel

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City by the Bay: Morgan's Vigil by Sophia Titheniel cover art by Bryan Keller ISBN: 978-1-60521-438-2 Genre(s): Paranormal Theme(s): Gay and Lesbian Series: City by the Bay Length: Novella

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1398

Blurb:

Morgan's life isn't that bad. Sure, he's bullied, but what gay guy isn't. He doesn't have many friends, but it's high school, a notoriously shitty period in the life of every teenager. He's eighteen, and in just two months, he'll leave for college, where he'll major in Modern Literature and Poetry, and he'll be far, far away from Mission High School.
Until a bullying episode drives him running straight into a speeding car. Morgan's life is suddenly hovering by a thread. But Morgan isn't dead -- he's just out of his body. No one can hear or see him but Derek, his red-haired, unapologetic intern who sticks by him and helps him overcome his fears and find his path in life.
Derek's a keeper, and Morgan's sure he's in love. But will those feelings last once he's back in his body?
Excerpt:
Morgan's Vigil
Sophia Titheniel
All rights reserved.
Copyright (c)2010 Sophia Titheniel

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 Golden Gate stretched on and on, from one shore to another. It glittered like a jewel in the hot, dry summer sun, not a trace of fog in sight. It looked as though the bridge was calling wanderers to move along their journey, silent yet provocative, like a siren --

"Look at this!"

Morgan's eyes snapped up and he frantically tried to grab his notebook back from the hands of the stocky, tall football jock -- said Keller on his jersey. "Give it back," Morgan snapped, trying to keep his voice steady.

"The Golden Gate stretched on and on, from one shore to another," Keller read out loud, putting on a high-pitched squeak, "It glittered like a jewel, in the hot, dry summer sun --"

Morgan's Bambi-brown eyes prickled with unshed tears as the courtyard filled with people -- other football players, friends of Keller's, cheerleaders, and a bunch of curious onlookers. "What kind of fag writes shit like this?"

"Give it back!" Morgan yelled again, but Keller was dangling it out of his reach to raucous laughter.

He grinned maliciously. "Say please." He was a good foot taller than Morgan, who had always been a bit on the scrawny side, and at least twice his size in shoulder width alone.

Morgan swallowed, trying to blink back tears of humiliation. "Please."

"Do you want it back?"

"Make him beg!" a voice shouted, and Morgan flushed so hard he could feel his glasses steam up.

"How do you want it? Hard? Fast? Is that what you faggots like?"

"Make him say it!"

"Make him beg."

Morgan found it harder and harder not to burst into tears, but he didn't want to give them that satisfaction. This wasn't anything new. Morgan had been the butt end of every fag joke in the book. He was very used to people harassing him, slamming him into lockers, flushing his stuff down the toilet. Morgan tried his best to stay under the radar, but it didn't always work. No one would stick his neck out for him, not the people from his calculus class, or the drama club. Morgan had grown up with his dad's talks on how liberal and wonderful San Francisco was, but he'd never experienced that tolerance firsthand. Quite the contrary.

"If you want the stupid book go get it," Keller rolled his shoulder back and threw the book as far as he could towards the dumpsters at the other side of the road, opposite the high school's cafeteria. The crowd cheered and laughed, clapping their hands as they chorused "fag" with elaborate fake coughs.

Morgan rolled his lips into his mouth, his ears red and his chest squeezing in, humiliation so thick it was suffocating. He ducked his head and ran across the road, not looking at anything, ignoring the yells, the calls of his name, just staring straight ahead at the dumpster where his notebook lay and --

Crash!


* * *
Casey fell out of his chair, all his breath driven out of him. Sandra lifted her eyes from the paperwork she was sorting through and immediately jumped up in alarm as Sadie started to bark from her cushion.

"What's happening?"

Casey pinched at the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath as he tried to focus. "Where's Evan?" was the first thing out of his mouth, his palms sweaty as the vertigo pushed him back down on the floor, the whole room spinning.

"I'm right here." Evan crouched down next to Casey, his green eyes staring at somewhere in the vicinity of Casey's face. "I'm fine. It's not me."

Casey nodded, mouth dry. He usually only had that kind of strong reaction if Evan was involved -- that's how they'd met, really. Casey's psychic abilities had guided him to Evan when he had been attacked, and from there on, throughout their relationship, that connection never faded. Evan hadn't really liked it at the beginning; he was a little too guarded, and a lot too scared. The idea of Casey having full access to his thoughts was a bit more than he could handle. But their relationship had grown past the somewhat rocky start, and now Evan really relied on the way Casey was able to see for him.

"Something bad happened," Casey explained as Evan helped him to his feet. "On the crossroad of St. Louis and Fifth. A car crash. Someone's hurt."http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1398

Sadie's Kiss by Sophia Titheniel

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Damon's: King of Damon's by Sophia Titheniel

Damon's: King of Damon's

by Sophia Titheniel cover art by Reneé George

ISBN: 978-1-60521-272-2

Genre(s): Paranormal, Dark Fantasy

Theme(s): Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures, Gay and Lesbian

Series: Damon's

Length: Novella

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1337

Blurb:
Summer Striptease -- does it get any better than this?

Summer's starting in the post-modern hip Los Angeles, and Elves and Humans alike line up outside of Damon's to get tickets for the event of the season: the striptease contest, King of Damon's. Hot, steamy, gorgeous creatures taking their clothes off. Endless possibilities to get laid. Does it get any better than this?

Thomas doesn't think so. Proud of his collection of notches on the bedpost, he enters the contest with no other goal than fuck his way through the rest of the contestants. His game comes to an abrupt halt, however, when he's faced with his first rejection. Euriel is simply not interested... or so he says. What does Euriel really want? Will Thomas be able to give it to him?
Excerpt:
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.

"Do you know what day it is?"

Alyan didn't know what day it was. Actually, he didn't want to know what time it was. He didn't care what day it was because, come to think of it, it couldn't be any day, because the day had not started. "Mfngh," he muttered eloquently as bright, mean light was thrown in his face.

"Alyan! Come on, it's nearly 8 AM."

Alyan groaned and tried to shuffle deeper underneath the covers, clinging to the remains of sleep with all the stubbornness of an Elfling.

The strong smell of coffee penetrated his sleep addled brain. Alyan sighed and rolled over, cracking one eye open and shooting the source of all the commotion a mean glare.

"Morning, sunshine."

"Morning, asshole." Alyan fumbled with the covers and tried to pull them over his head, but Damon wouldn't have any of it. He yanked the sheet back and grinned at Alyan, thoroughly enjoying their little song and dance.

Alyan thoroughly hated it. He actually hated anyone that could spring out of bed like they hadn't worked ten hours straight the previous night and look just as beautiful as they would've looked after a weekend in a spa resort. And of course, Damon belonged to that category.

Alyan hated him so much. For real.

"Come on," Damon ruffled Alyan's hair and sat down on the bed, waving the hot coffee cup under his nose. "We have lots to do today."

"You should've thought of that before fucking me unconscious last night," Alyan shot back, but he did grudgingly accept the coffee, downing it in one go and nearly choking on it when it scorched his throat.

"Complain, complain." Damon waited patiently as Alyan coughed and spluttered on his coffee. "That's all you do."

"I don't complain about the sex," Alyan clarified. "I do complain about being tossed out of bed before the sun rises." Damon silently and eloquently pointed at the bright light shining in the sky. "It's a figure of speech. Whatever. I'm too tired to argue."

Damon leant in and kissed the frown off Alyan's face, his hand running down Alyan's cheek to his neck, thumb rubbing in the hollow of his throat. Alyan sighed and parted his lips, allowing Damon's tongue to sneak past. There was a slow, dreamlike quality to their kiss, as though all the urgency from Damon's wakeup call had melted away.

Alyan sighed, struggling to keep his eyes open, drinking in the beauty of Damon's face, the way his eyelashes fluttered on his high cheekbones, the pale tone of his skin, the gentle caress of his hair over the sides of his jaw. He was so stupidly handsome that Alyan almost couldn't bear to stare at him.

Damon's fingertips skimmed down the sides of Alyan's chest, dipping just below the waistband of his pants, finding warm skin. Alyan looped his other arm around Damon's neck. Alyan tangled his hand into Damon's hair, pulling him closer, suddenly much keener on being awake. "You taste like caramel," Alyan whispered, dazed, his grin lopsided and warm.

"Pancakes." Damon kissed his lips again, shifting on the bed so that he could throw one leg over Alyan's hips, straddling him --

"Argh!"

Hot, hot, hot hot hot hot motherfuckinghot!

Coffee sprayed on the sheets, on Alyan's chest and general crotch area -- and go with Alyan on this, okay? You don't want hot beverages anywhere near that very vital section of an Elf's body. Not if you want to get laid anytime in the next century, that is.

"Oh, fuck -- fuck, I'm so sorry, I'm -- shit, that hurts -- I'm sorry --"

Damon jumped on the spot, getting out of his stained PJs and trying to work in some damage control. Alyan merely sat with his face between his hands and slowly died of awkward.

It had to be said -- everyone who thought Elves were that kind of cool, aplomb race? Well, they never met Alyan. He had a knack for working himself into embarrassing corners, and even after over a year and half spent living with Damon, his boyfriend's cool did not rub off on him.

Even if technically it had been Damon knocking into the coffee, it was Alyan's cup, and it was Alyan who hadn't a) put it down or b) finished it when he could. He was red hot all over, and when he felt the bed sink down with Damon's weight, he barely dared to peer between his fingers to where Damon was sitting, smiling at him.

"I'm such a klutz."

"No, you're not. And it was my fault in the first place."

Alyan sighed. "You know you don't have to say it --"

"I'm not just saying it. I mean it. I knocked the cup over. I was swept up in the moment, one might say."

Damon pried Alyan's hands off his face and kissed the joined fingertips with a smirk. Alyan felt his heart trip and fall, all over, for the beautiful creature in bed with him. He coughed and sort of looked down at their coffee-stained sheets, then back up in Damon's still grinning face. "So. Um. What's up? I mean, not -- you know, not... in a double entendre meaning or anything like that. I mean, just -- uh -- why did you wake me up?"

"Hm? Oh, yes." Damon bounced excitedly on the bed like a toddler, his grin widening. "Well, do you know what day it is today?"

"Uhhh..." Alyan raked his brains for a couple of seconds, but came up with nothing. "Friday?"

"Wrong! I mean, yes. It's Friday. But that's not what I was asking." He bounced again. "It's Summer Solstice!"

Well, fuck. He had completely forgotten. Having lived amongst humans for so long, Alyan had grown accustomed to their celebrations much more than his own race's traditions. "Oh," was all he could say.

"Yes, oh!" Damon rolled his eyes at him. "Come on. Grab a shower and get dressed. We're gonna be leaving in five."

"Leaving? What -- where to?"

"To the club, of course," Damon quickly stole a kiss from his lips and bounced off the bed. "We have tons of shit to get ready."

Alyan stared at the spot from where Damon had disappeared for a moment before shrugging and finally getting out of bed. After the coffee incident, the least he could do was to go with the flow on this one. Something told him he would've known a lot more than he needed to know by the end of the morning anyway. Pointless to worry about that now.http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1337

Damon's: Masked by Sophia Titheniel

Damon's: Masked
by Sophia Titheniel

Cover art by Reneé George
ISBN: 978-1-60521-271-5
Genre(s): Urban Fantasy
Theme(s): Ménage, Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures, Gay and Lesbian
Series: Damon's
Length: Novella

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1265

Blurb:

It's time for the annual Masked Ball at Damon's. Meredith, Alyan's meddlesome sister, organizes it herself. All guests are granted anonymity, thanks to mandatory costumes and masks, and couples and singles mingle in the great club's ballroom for a night of adventure and eroticism.

The ball is Alyan's chance to spice up his and Damon's relationship a little. With the help of his sister, he picks the perfect disguise and lures Damon to the master bedroom for a highly erotic foursome with two beautiful strangers. It's the first time Alyan has tried something this daring. What will happen when Damon finds out the two strangers are none other than their friends, Jesse and Alagos?




Excerpt:
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.

"You mean to tell me you haven't fucked in over three weeks?"
"Shh!" Alyan looked around the crowded coffee shop, waving his hands agitatedly in front of his sister's face. "Keep it down, will you?"
Meredith shook her head and sipped her coffee, surveying Alyan with narrow, shrewd eyes. "How did you let this happen?"
"I didn't let this happen. I don't voluntarily give up sex, you know," he muttered, eyes skittering from side to side as though he was afraid someone might listen in.
"But it has happened, right? That's why we're here."
Alyan sighed. He rubbed his face with both his hands and nodded. "Yeah."
"Okay, care to tell me how this all started?"
"There's not a precise day," Alyan mumbled. "We're just busy with the club."
"Right." She paused, took another sip from her cup. "So when was the last time you two had sex?"
Alyan blushed crimson. Even if there had never been what you would call a line between him and his sister, in terms of sharing personal information, he still didn't feel quite comfortable talking about his and Damon's sex life in a very public place. Especially considering that public place wasn't two blocks away from Alyan's former office. And true, Alyan was doing so much better now that he wasn't working in that smothering, nine to five environment anymore, but that didn't mean he was comfortable with being caught by one of his ex-coworkers while sharing intimate details with his sister.
"It was, uhh, four weeks ago," Alyan confessed, downing his coffee as though he wished it were whiskey. "We were closing up... Jesse and the other bartenders had gone home. We, um, sneaked in one of the rooms and... you know."
"Wait, oral doesn't count. It's either all the way, or you need to give me another date."
"It was all the way," Alyan gritted out. "But we've both been too busy, or too tired, or too --"
"Boring," Meredith finished, biting into a chocolate éclair and giving her brother a look. "All excuses."
"They aren't excuses!"
"You are immortal beings. Your sex drive should behave accordingly. If it dies after only a few human months, well, then, we have a problem."
And that was precisely what Alyan was afraid of, what he couldn't admit, not even to himself. Alyan knew that even if his parents, bless their souls, would never say so, he was quite the disgrace to the Elven kind. He lacked the charm, he lacked the innate confidence, sensuality and elegance that was distinctive of their race. When the barriers between humans and Elves had come crumbling down, Alyan saw it as a blessing, a way he could mingle and draw as little attention to himself as possible. He lived life on the sidelines and that had always been fine with him, but Damon?
Fuck, Damon. Alyan buried his face in his hands and sighed. Everyone said he and Damon were an explosive couple, opposites attracted, and so on, but Alyan knew just how exciting Damon's life had been before they got together.
Even though it had been Damon who pushed for Alyan to move in with him and be all domestic, Alyan couldn't squish that nasty voice at the back of his mind that kept reminding him how boring he was. And if their sex life had gone sideways he knew, reasonably, that he wasn't the only one to blame (takes two to tango and all that). He still couldn't help but feel like it was up to him to try and fix it.
"What can I do, Meredith?" Alyan urged her, feeling slightly desperate. "I don't know what he wants."
"You're his boyfriend," Meredith retorted. "And you've been his best friend for the best part of a millennium. If you don't know, how should I?"
"Because you're his best friend, as well," Alyan pressed. "If there's anyone in the world that knows anything about him, it's you. I'm not going to ask his exes."
"Well, maybe you should," Meredith said bluntly, leveling him with a hard stare. "They didn't seem to have a problem keeping him between the sheets."
"You're supposed to be on my side."
"I am."
"Then be helpful!"
"I am being helpful. I'm telling you, right now, that if you want to know how to get your sex life back on track, I am not the person you should ask for help. After all, I've never slept with the Elf."
Alyan sniggered. "One of the few."
Meredith smacked him on the head. "I'm serious. There're opportunities to, as they say, rekindle the flame, and it's up to you to try and find them."
"So what am I supposed to do, track down each and every single one of Damon's partners?"
"Not all of them," she smirked. "One's gonna be enough."
Alyan blinked at her. "One who?"

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1265

Damon's: Blind Date by Sophia Titheniel

Damon's: Blind Date
by Sophia Titheniel

cover art by Reneé George
ISBN: 978-1-59596-504-2
Genre(s): Urban Fantasy
Theme(s): Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures, Gay and Lesbian
Series: Damon's
Length: Novella

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1231

Blurb:

Life for a waiter at the most glamorous and hip multi-racial club of all the West Coast should be just that: hip and glamorous. Not for Jesse, though. The only human waiter in the club, he watches the special nights of Damon's slide right past him, without having the courage to ever take advantage of any of that.
When Damon finds out that Jesse's not only closeted, but still a virgin, he and Alyan set him up on a blind date with Alagos, a skilled habitué of Damon's nights, who wants nothing more than to introduce Jesse to the thrills of sex and bondage. After an exhilarating first time, Jesse realizes he can't get enough of Alagos. He's going to do his best to break Alagos of his "no strings attached" rule and win the Elf's heart -- one blind date at a time.

Excerpt:

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.

"Damon?"
Damon turned around, smiling once he saw Jesse, one of the club's best employees. "Yeah?"
"There are people demanding a Wednesday special, despite my trying to explain I can't get them a Speed Dating card tonight. I don't really know what to do anymore."
"I'll take care of it," Damon said with a smile. "Where are they?"
"Booth seven," Jesse said, gesturing toward the back of the club.
Damon gave a cheeky wink to Alyan and pressed a soft, wet kiss on his lips. "Don't go anywhere."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Damon breezed toward the back booths, and Alyan turned to Jesse.
"Night's going smooth so far?" Alyan asked, walking back to the bar with him.
"Despite people not knowing the calendar, yeah, it's going fine." Jesse answered with a smile as they both slid behind the bar.
Alyan liked Jesse. He knew Damon couldn't understand the kid's shyness, especially because Jesse was outrageously good looking -- to be a human, that's it. Jesse had that fair complexion that could've almost passed him for one of Elven kind, had his nose and cheekbones not been dusted with freckles. He was tall, not as tall as Alyan, but close enough, and his shoulders were broad, the result of hard manual labor and gym work. And despite all that, and working in one of the classiest clubs in all of LA, where the most beautiful singles from all species came to mingle and pair up, Jesse stayed in the background, shaking cocktails and mixing drinks and generally being polite and professional to everyone, but still only in the background.
Alyan knew it drove Damon crazy. Damon just couldn't comprehend how someone could not want to enjoy himself, how could anyone lack the confidence that he oozed from his every pore. If Damon had a fault, it was his inability to put himself in someone else's shoes. Alyan understood Jesse's plight, probably better than most people. Alyan had spent his centuries-long life feeling awkward, out of place and uncomfortable in his skin while everything around him changed, everyone adapted but him. Meredith made fun of him, in that exasperated, patronizing but loving older sister way, but Alyan just couldn't get past his own issues.
Jesse, in many ways, was very similar to Alyan, even if the reasons behind his attitude were different. And Alyan didn't know exactly which reasons he had, but he still felt for him. Jesse wasn't that comfortable around Alyan yet, even though he'd warmed up considerably since the very first weeks. Alyan wished he could sit the kid down and talk to him. To say what, he had no idea yet, but he just felt as though part of the loneliness most of his kind were used to feeling, because of the burden and gift of immortality, was crushing their bartender.
"When is your night off?" Alyan asked as he started on mixing himself a Screaming Orgasm. The bar was mostly quiet, thankfully, the perfect moment to try and start a conversation.
"Ah, it was gonna be tomorrow, but I told Damon I could work anyway, since Teleon is sick."
Alyan gave him a curious glance. "You've been here every night this week. Surely you want to chill out tomorrow?"
"I don't really have anything to do," Jesse said with a small shrug, turning to give Alyan a smile as he slid a glass his way, so that Alyan could pour his cocktail into it.
"Hey gorgeous, can I buy you one?"
Both of them turned to see a beautiful female Elf, her hair thick, red and wavy, her eyes sparkling blue, leaning across the bar and sliding a bill across it to Jesse. Jesse blinked, as though he didn't really get the implications behind her request. He glanced back at Alyan, then gave her a smile and passed her a shot of tequila. "No, but this one is on the house."
Alyan barely restrained from rolling his eyes a little, and kept his smile to himself. The female Elf gulped down the shot, holding Jesse's gaze seductively before sliding off her stool and pushing herself closer to him. "What time do you get off?"
"Way late," Jesse said, his tone apologetic. He glanced back to Alyan, the look in his eyes sort of desperate, and Alyan quickly cottoned on.
"Jesse, can you come here a moment?"
The female Elf slouched away with a pout, and Jesse took a sigh of relief as he downed what was supposed to be Alyan's drink. "What was that about? She was a knockout."
Jesse blushed slightly, but avoided Alyan's eyes as he finished the cocktail, mumbling something under his breath that could've been anything.
Alyan frowned, perplexed, but before he could get in a word, Damon was back, his hand sliding in the back pocket of Alyan's jeans.
"Hey there," Damon whispered, kissing the side of Alyan's neck.
"Hey. All sorted?"
"Yeah, I had Kalvin kick them out," Damon said indifferently, his grin glowing brighter as Alyan rolled his eyes at him. "Come on."
"Where?"
"Meaning business."
Alyan snorted. It was one of Damon's codes. Sometimes his boyfriend (his boyfriend, didn't that make him giggle like a schoolgirl) was a few cards short of a full deck. Damon was crazy about noir movies and gangster flicks, and he found it immensely amusing that every time there was a night club scene, after you'd seen all the crowd and the dancing people and scantily-clad waitresses, there were always the back rooms where the people in black were "meaning business."
Damon had a lot of these impromptu crazy eureka moments, and Alyan had learned to give in to whatever he came up with. They were what made Alyan fall in love with him in the first place. "Right," he said, grinning at Damon and clasping their fingers together. "Jesse, you okay --"
"I'll take care of the bar," Jesse finished easily, smiling at them.
"You're awesome," Damon beamed. He tugged on Alyan's hand, and before Alyan could actually inquire if Jesse was doing okay, he was dragged away by Damon toward one of the back rooms.

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1231

Damons: Speed Dating by Sophia Titheniel

Damon's: Speed Dating
by Sophia Titheniel

Cover art by Reneé George
ISBN: 978-1-59596-410-6
Genre(s): Urban Fantasy
Theme(s): Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures, Gay and Lesbian
Series: Damon's
Length: Novella

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1202

Blurb:

Welcome to Damon's, the hottest club in town -- the must-go place for every single gay Elf (or Human) around.
Alyan's life has gone down the tubes. After a painful breakup with his long time lover and boss, he's shut himself off, trying to mend his broken heart. His sister, however, has other plans. Meredith's not willing to let Alyan wallow in self-pity any longer. Deaf to his protests, she drags him to Damon's big Friday night event -- speed dating.
Alyan's trying to play along, but he's really not interested in a one-night fling. No matter how many years -- or lovers -- have passed, something always brings him back to Damon's. Not something. Someone. The man who's everything Alyan is not -- confident, charming and charismatic. What Alyan truly wants is the owner of the club, Damon himself. But he'd better get a move on, before he ends up with a Troll.

Excerpt:

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.

"I don't want to go out."
Meredith sighed, breezing into his room as though Alyan hadn't spoken. "Sweetheart, it's been weeks. Of course you want to go out."
"I'm pretty sure I don't."
Meredith stopped in the middle of his bedroom, grimacing and scrunching up her nose at the smell. "Jesus Christ, did you let a Dwarf in or what?"
"Racist."
Meredith snorted. She tied up her long, wavy dark hair in a ponytail and threw the window open, taking a full breath before rounding on the bundle of covers on the bed. "I swear between you and Lairi, I need a goddamn holiday." She paused and made her way to the bed, gingerly. "I hope you aren't naked under that duvet because I'm about to pull it off."
Alyan groaned, trying to scramble for the sheets, but Meredith was quicker than he was. She yanked it all off, balling it up and stocking it under her arm with a smug smile. "This was due for washing two weeks ago. Now follow me. There's a shower with your name on it."
"Go away," Alyan muttered miserably, burying himself in the pillow. He loved Meredith, he did, but he wasn't in the mood to play games.
"No, I will not, not until you become an active member of society again." She sat on the mattress, her voice gentler now. Alyan peered at her from under the pillow, his eyes bloodshot and sad like those of a kicked puppy. "You can't mope forever."
Alyan begged to differ. "It was forty-two days ago," he mumbled. "Not forever."
"That's still an impressive chunk of time to drink oneself stupid."
"I haven't," Alyan said morosely. That was true. Alyan might have had his heart broken, lost the job opportunity he'd been working on for the last few years, and become the topic of gossip amongst pretty much the whole community, but he was still an Elf. It took more than a brutal end to a relationship for alcohol to have any effect on him.
Which, by the way, sucked pretty hard.
There were times when Alyan craved to just shut off his mind and let go. Even though he wouldn't admit it to Meredith, he envied humans and their ability to separate themselves from their pain, numbing it until it was reduced to a dull throb.
No such luck for him. All his memories were still standing pretty sharp in his mind's eye.
"Come on, go shower and rejoin the immortals." Meredith prodded him, standing and picking up discarded clothes as she went. "I'm going to start your laundry, and you better be all sparkly and shiny when I get back."
Alyan sighed. It was pointless to argue with her. His sister had always known how to kick ass, even when they weren't yet living in the human world and he was still the 'older' one.
He stood and wobbled to the master bath, where most of Sellion's possessions were still standing around like lonely ghosts. He really should start cleaning up the shattered remains of their relationship and box them all up with a no-return ticket. He could totally do it. He could take the higher route and flip him the bird from a distance. That was respectable, and if he did that, maybe people would forget the screaming match he had with the CEO of EnterPrise and the walk of shame that had followed.
Alyan shook his head with a grimace and stepped under the blistering hot spray of his shower with a pained hiss. He did realize the bridging of Elven and human culture was much needed, especially in this day and age, but he felt increasingly nostalgic towards the times when they hadn't need to trudge the same path as the mortals. One good thing to be said about humans, though, was that they forgot fast. Soon his and Sellion's break up would be old news, and life would go on as usual for everyone.
For everyone but Alyan.
A sudden knock on the door startled him, and he nearly slipped on the wet shower tiles. Soap suds trickled down from his hairline into his eyes.
"No jerking off. Save the juice for later. We're going out."
Alyan groaned. "I'm not Lairion. I don't do post-break-up rebound sex."
"You need to see something besides these four walls." Meredith pushed the door open, her tall, lean figure distorted through the glass panel of the shower. "I mean it. I'm not letting you drown in your own self pity any longer."
"Meredith, I'm doing fine."
"The state of your place says otherwise." She tossed some clothes on the counter by the mirror. "Get dressed."
"Don't I get a say in the matter?"
"No."
She walked out. Alyan turned off the taps, yelping when, as usual, the last trickles of cold water dripped down his back. Maybe his sister was right. It had been long enough. Also, he strongly suspected that the pile of mail growing inside his door was mainly composed of bills he had been ignoring. Soon it would be time to start looking for a new job. One that possibly didn't involve his boss screwing him over to the point of breaking his heart.
He toweled his hair dry, facing the mirror for the first time in forever. He'd hand it to Meredith, he did look pretty crappy. His eyes were circled with dark purplish bags that didn't belong on the fair skin of an Elf. His usually sleek chocolate brown hair was hanging damp on his forehead in an unruly, messy mop.
Decidedly not fit to be seen in public.
Meredith poked her head in again. Alyan was just too used to her doing that to bother covering himself up. "Get a move on, will you? I told Damon we would be there soonish."
What in the blessed name of Galadriel! Damon was not part of the bargain. "I'm not going to Damon's!"
"Yes you are, and you'll like it. Get dressed. The pruney look doesn't suit you at all."
Alyan was too busy gaping at her retreating back to follow orders.
Fuck.

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1202

Dance Wars: Last Night Stand by Sophia Titheniel

Dance Wars 4: Last Night Stand
by Sophia Titheniel

Cover art by Reneé George
ISBN: 978-1-60521-151-0
Genre(s): Futuristic, Paranormal, Dark Fantasy
Theme(s): Werewolves, Gay and Lesbian
Series: Dance Wars
Length: Novella

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1155

Blurb:

It’s been a year since Lachlan first set foot in the Chlodwig -- and set his eyes on Adair. What started as a down and dirty one-night stand has grown into something more, but what they have can’t last forever -- not when their lives are so diametrically opposed. Knowing Adair won’t listen to any reasoning of his, and he’s not ready to take that step that will take him away from his life as scavenger and dance warrior, Lachlan decides it’s time to take action.
It’s a win all, lose all bet when Lachlan walks in the Chlodwig with a crew of his own, challenging Adair in a dance fight that will either cost him his lover, or win him forever...

Excerpt:

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.

Lachlan wakes up first. The light filters through the half closed blinds, and he blinks, stretching lazily, like a cat. Adair’s lying on his back, still naked, the sheet barely hanging in there, covering his lower body. Lachlan pushes himself up on his elbows, looking down at Adair with a half-formed smile.
Adair’s dark hair is messy and damp with sweat. Lachlan strokes it back off his face, lingering on the prickle of stubble along his jaw line. He wishes it were so easy. He looks up at the flickering lights and sighs, placing a quiet kiss over the curve of Adair’s hair before trying to stand up.
His back gives Lachlan a very strong signal that once again, riding the bike is going to be a motherfucking bitch for the rest of the week, but instead of cursing a blue streak as he would usually do, he brings his fingers around, feeling the burn of Adair’s presence between his butt cheeks.
Christ, he can feel himself hardening already. Every time he has to leave, it feels like he’s ripping something out of his chest. He pulls his fingers out and whimpers softly at the loss. He has to get going; he can’t linger. He stands and wobbles to his jeans, but before he can slide them on, strong, firm hands wrap around his hips, and he’s pulled back against a solid, sculpted body.
“Not even a goodbye kiss?” Adair whispers roughly in his ear.
Lachlan grins. “Goodbye kisses turn mostly into goodbye fucks,” he murmurs, pushing back against him, relishing in the closeness.
“Never heard you complain before.”
Lachlan shakes his head lightly, his smile lazy. “You’re pretty decent, I’ll give you that.”
Adair’s growl is playful, but he still bites down on the curve of Lachlan’s shoulder, whipping him around and pushing him up against the small chest of drawers Lachlan tossed his clothes over in his frenzy.
“What about -- ah,” Lachlan moans, immediately spreading his legs wide open to accommodate Adair between them. “What about security and…”
Whatever else Lachlan might have wanted to say is lost in a moan. Adair grabs his hips and pulls him close, grinding their groins together. Adair chuckles and sucks on Lachlan’s neck. There’s nothing that gets Lachlan hot faster than Adair’s mouth on his neck, his teeth sinking deep into the tissue of Lachlan’s skin. Lachlan groans and jerks forward, his cock now fully erect and rubbing deliciously against the groove of Adair’s hip.
Adair’s mouth travels from Lachlan’s neck down to his chest. Lachlan wraps his legs around Adair’s back, yanking him closer. “Come on!” Lachlan fists his hands in Adair’s hair. Their mouths mash together as Lachlan ruts up against him, already lost in his blatant need.
“Fuck, what is it that you do to me?” Adair groans, nudging at Lachlan’s chin.
Lachlan grins, shaky, his fingernails sinking into the muscles of Adair’s shoulder as he leans back, his ass jutting out on the edge of the drawers, rubbing teasingly over the plum-shaped head of Adair’s dick. “Pretty much what you do to me,” he whispers, his body shaking with a shiver when Adair’s dick slides between his butt cheeks.
Adair grunts and moves one hand up Lachlan’s thigh, finding his hole and thrusting one finger up to the knuckle. Lachlan is still open and raw from the night before, and he whimpers, his forehead falling against Adair’s shoulder as he wills his body to relax.
Adair mouths his way down to Lachlan’s chest, sucking one nipple as he moves his finger in and out of Lachlan’s body, each thrust earning a whimper from Lachlan’s bitten-red lips.
Lachlan groans and clutches at Adair’s biceps, his eyes squeezed shut. The pain prickles down his spine, adding to the edge of his arousal. Lachlan’s cock is hard and curved against his belly, pressed between his and Adair’s abs, pre-come making the friction hotter, sweeter.
“Can I?” Adair murmurs, his voice low, adding another finger to the knuckle.
Lachlan’s heart skips a beat. Adair rarely, if ever, asks anything of the sort. It’s like a dollop of warm honey dropping onto his tongue. He nods, shakily, but doesn’t say a word. His voice would betray the butterflies flying wild in his stomach.
Adair pulls back, laying a kiss on Lachlan’s lips before pulling his fingers out, arranging Lachlan’s legs over his shoulders as he lines himself up.
Lachlan forces his eyes open and stares into Adair’s face, feeling himself float as a rush of sensation hits him, as if he’s on a rollercoaster. He tries to keep staring but as Adair’s huge dick sinks into him, his eyes roll back and he lets out a long, guttural groan, head thumping against Adair’s forehead as he pants, harsh, ragged breaths blowing against Adair’s lips.
“So hot,” Adair groans, nibbling on Lachlan’s lower lip as he grabs his hips, pulling him into his thrust. “Gorgeous. Mine.”
Lachlan keens, grabbing a handful of Adair’s hair. “More, Adair, please. Please.”
Adair nods, shushing Lachlan with a powerful kiss, their teeth clashing together with muffled groans. He pulls out completely, then slams back in, the chest of drawers rattling noisily against the wall as the force of Adair’s thrust sends Lachlan reeling. Lachlan’s feet dangle helplessly against Adair’s back, his moans growing louder and louder as Adair picks up the pace, each thrust harder and faster than the one before.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Adair chants, gripping Lachlan as he guides him down on his dick with each roll of his hips. Lachlan whimpers, clinging to Adair’s back, arching into his touch as Adair hoists Lachlan’s legs further up his shoulders, spreading him wider and hitting Lachlan’s prostate.
Lachlan cries out sharply, his whole body seizing, hot tingles curling up at the base of his spine and spreading through his body with every forceful push. He tries to rock back on Adair’s dick, but he nearly falls off the chest of drawers, his ankles crossing at the back of Adair’s neck for support, hands gripping tight, slippery with sweat, as he tries to keep his balance.
The sharp movement has Adair sinking in even deeper, his balls slapping against the back of Lachlan’s ass, breathy moans the only added sound in the tiny room as Adair’s hips snap in a staccato rhythm. “Adair,” Lachlan groans, his mouth open in a silent O. “Adair -- ah -- ah --”
Lachlan’s whole body tightens painfully as his orgasm rushes through him, robbing him of breath. Everything whitens, pleasure sizzling through his veins as Adair keeps ramming into him, every thrust matched by the continuous thump, thump, thump of the chest of drawers against the wall.
“Come on,” Lachlan moans, yanking Adair’s face up to pant against his mouth, their tongues meeting halfway. “Come -- on -- Adair --”
With a grunt, Adair pulls Lachlan bodily off the chest and impales him on his dick, making both of them cry out at the sensation. Adair comes, shooting messy and hot in Lachlan’s ass, holding him up as they both shake with release.
Lachlan whimpers and clings to Adair, his body shaking with the aftershocks. Adair holds him up, his were strength helping him to keep balance.
They stumble backwards onto the bed, Adair hitting the mattress first, Lachlan falling on top of him with an ooomphf. Adair smiles -- Lachlan can feel it underneath his cheek. He lifts his head a few inches, feeling boneless and sated, and pushes back Adair’s sweaty hair. “I don’t think I can ride anywhere now.”
Adair snorts, his hands trailing down Lachlan’s back, over the rounded curve of his ass. “Guess you can’t.”
“Sneaky motherfucker,” Lachlan grins, sitting up far enough to kiss him. It’s slow and quiet, at complete odds with the intense orgasm they just shared. Adair pulls out and hoists Lachlan higher on his chest.
Lachlan’s smile fades as Adair’s eyes slowly flutter closed. This is going to kill him at some point, either because he misses Adair so much he does something stupid, or because the scavengers catch him. Lachlan sighs and closes his eyes, resting his head on Adair’s chest, his heartbeat lulling him to sleep. He needs to do something, and do it soon.






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Dance Wars 3: Bad Moon Rising by Sophia Titheniel

Dance Wars 3: Bad Moon Rising
by Sophia Titheniel

Cover art by Reneé George
ISBN (13): 978-1-60521-152-7
Genre(s): Futuristic, Paranormal
Theme(s): Werewolves, Gay and Lesbian
Series: Dance Wars
Length: Novella

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1120

Blurb:

The Big Bad Wolf is at the door…
It’s that time again. Mating Season. Adair can scent it, getting closer, harder to resist. Mating needs are not something he can control, not anymore than he can control his transformations, but so far, Lachlan’s been right there for him after every full moon.
But what happens when Lachlan’s not there, and Cedric, Adair’s ex-lover, the werewolf who turned him, shows up instead? Will Adair be able to resist the pull of his instincts, going against his own nature, or will he succumb to Cedric’s advances and risk everything he and Lachlan have fought to build together?






Excerpt:

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 crowd at the Chlodwig feels wilder, crazier, more reckless than Adair remembers. It’s sawdust and sweat, crooked lamps and beeswax candles dripping on the floor. It’s hard music pumping through his veins, booze and acrid wood cutting at the edges.
Adair parts the throng easily, bodies swishing back and forth to let him pass. His mind is clear, clearer than it has been in days. His eyes focus on the corner booth where his crew is waiting for him -- Morgan, Dagan, Ezra… and Gale.
Adair’s upper lip curls, and his fists tighten at his sides. He forces his walk to keep steady, shoulders rolling back with ease as he advances on them, the thrum of the bass setting the rhythm to his steps.
His shoulders are still carved with fingernail marks, the tangible proof of Lachlan’s wildcat possessiveness spelled out all over his skin, covering him like armor. Adair can still feel him, his teeth, his lips, the heat of Lachlan’s body writhing on top of him, the strength of his arms. Everything that made Lachlan, everything that Lachlan has given him drives him on, and as he stops a few feet short of their booth, his men shuffle from sprawling to sitting up straighter, tense looks flying across the table and past half finished pints.
“Hey there.” Adair smirks, and nods towards Morgan, who immediately scoots forward to let him sit down. “How’s it going?”
For the past four weeks the tension within the group has been tangible. Adair can’t say he likes it, but at the same time he’s had too much on his mind to even try and smooth things out. Truthfully, there was a distant, dark corner of him that didn’t want to. His nerves were already stretched to breaking point with worry for Lachlan. He couldn’t deal on multiple fronts.
Ezra had been the only one daring enough to ask him “What now?” Adair has to give him his dues, it had been a pretty bold move, but then again, Ezra has always been the no nonsense one of the crew. Adair respects him enough not to lie to him, but at the same time he couldn’t very well make a decision on that in the span of a day, nor a week, or even four.
Now though. Now Adair knows his answer.
“Nothing much,” Ezra says, shrugging his shoulders. He’s got an empty whiskey glass rolling between his palms. “Crews are on the loose, seems like every scum on Earth’s drawn to the Chlodwig.”
“Nothing new with that,” Adair says, darkly amused.
Morgan nods and finishes his drink with several long gulps, not looking at Adair. He’s been very quiet lately, and if there’s one thing Adair’s sorry for, it’s putting the three of them through the nerve eating tension of the past month.
Gale… Well, Gale is a different matter altogether. Adair doesn’t give a flying fuck how much Gale squirms. The more the better. Son of a bitch is lucky his head hasn’t parted company with his shoulders by now.
To some, it might have looked like Adair has been stalling, and maybe part of that rumor had some fundaments of truth. After the raid -- Adair still can’t think of that day without a violent shiver raking down his spine -- he hadn’t said more than a few words to the four of them altogether, much less in individual convos. Adair didn’t even address Gale, as though he didn’t exist. As though the major fuck up that had been Lachlan’s capture hadn’t happened.
But it had happened, and in the aftermath, Adair’s willpower alone had prevented the crew from slipping a few paces off the top in the Dance Wars, the rehearsals frequent and punctuated by long, menacing silences. It would’ve been enough to crush any man’s nerves, but Adair couldn’t care less, his mind still wrapped around morbid, terrible thoughts as to what could’ve happened to Lachlan after he’d left him, possibly the single most stupid decision in Adair’s life.
Things have flipped around now. Now he has Lachlan back, and he’s never felt as resolute. “I thought we could spice things up a little tonight,” Adair says evenly. He can feel the four of them stiffen in their seats, and Gale’s eyes sharpening on him, but he keeps looking utterly casual, as if he’s discussing the matters around drinks. “It’s overdue, don’t you think?”
Ezra smiles, and even though Adair knows he shouldn’t give the game away, he should keep his cards close to his chest, he smiles back at him. It’s good to know he’s got at least one loyal friend. “I most surely do.”
“Good.” Adair nods and shifts on the bench to fixate his glare on Gale. “Get up.”
Gale scoffs. “Don’t see why I would want to,” he spits back, the challenge very much open.
Adair bares his teeth in a smirk. Works for him. “I’m telling you to get up.” He speaks softly, but his voice can be heard around the table even above the loud thumping of the music. “And you will get up, you useless piece of shit, unless you wanna show everyone how much of a fucking coward you are.”
The taunt does the trick. Gale stands, slamming his palms flat on the table. “Watch who you’re calling coward, you arrogant self-absorbed dick,” he seethes. “What, you’ve finally decided to grow some balls? Bring it on.”
Adair laughs under his breath. It’s a cold, chilling sound, and Morgan shifts uncomfortably at Adair’s side. “Then you shouldn’t have a problem stepping into the ring with me.”





http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1120

Snowfire: Express by Sophia Titheniel

Snowfire: Express
by Sophia Titheniel

Cover art by Reneé George
ISBN (13): 978-1-60521-184-8
Genre(s): Futuristic, Dark Fantasy, Hot Flashes
Theme(s): Gay and Lesbian
Series: Snowfire Multi-Author Series
Length: Hot Flash

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1107

Blurb:

Thorn is not a newbie. He's been running all across the barren wastelands that make up what once was America since he was fifteen -- he knows his shit. He does not need one of the psychic kids running with him to save his neck, no sir. No matter how good Rae is at his job.
When their run goes incredibly wrong, and they narrowly manage to escape somewhere across the snow-capped mountains, Thorn has to admit that having someone along is not all that bad -- especially when Rae provides more fun ways of resisting the bitter cold…

Excerpt:

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 ground is hard, covered in pine needles, mud and dirty snow, but Thorn collapses face down on it as if it were a feather bed. His bones ache, a deep, dull throbbing that spreads from the small of his back all the way up his spine, making even thinking too difficult a job for him to accomplish right now.
He won’t even mention the cold -- after five hours and over three hundred miles flat on his bike zigzagging across the Junction with a gang of scavengers after their asses, he thinks it’s become embedded in of him. He can barely flex his fingers; the skin is so red and dry from lack of circulation.
“Well, that was fun.”
Thorn snorts. He raises his head half an inch from the ground, needles stuck to his cheek and into the side of his Mohawk. “Your life would be so dull without me, admit it.”
“No shit.” Piercing blue eyes twinkle back at him, and Rae sits down by his side, pushing wet, dark hair off his face. “It’s amazing how you revaluate boredom when your chances of survival drop under five percent.”
“That sounds way more dramatic than it was,” Thorn protests, pushing himself up on his elbows. “We did manage to get out of there alive, didn’t we?”
“Yep.” Rae nods very seriously. “Middle of fucking Nowhere, Bumfuck Colorado. With little to no gas and no provisions.”
“We got whiskey.”
Rae chuckles, wrapping his arms around his knees and pulling them against his chest in an effort to keep himself warm. “How many times? Whiskey is not a food group, buddy.”
Thorn shrugs. “Beats hibernation.”
“Now that was dramatic.”
“Was it?” Thorn smirks. “C’mon, do you have a better idea?”
“Start a fire, for instance,” Rae replies, glancing around the snow-covered ground. “There’s gotta be some wood we can use, just to last till morning.”
“Good luck finding anything dry,” Thorn snorts, finally pushing himself up to a sitting position. “Though I suppose we could use a few drops of gas to set the thing burning. You got a lighter?”
Rae makes a face. “No. We could get the wires to spark, though.”
Thorn glances over at their steeds, both of them looking the worse for wear but still standing proud under their cover of scratches and mud. “You want to risk it?”
Thorn knew what Rae’s answer was going to be before he’d uttered it, “Not really.” Touching anything on either of their bike’s engines would mean disrupting the fragile algorithm of tape, spit and prayer that held the shit in place, dropping the possibilities of putting it back together to somewhere below zero.
“But we have whiskey,” Thorn announces then, trying to sound bright and alert. He pulls a flask from under his jacket, the whiff of icy draught that hits his collarbone suggesting him to screw the cap open and gulp down some before handing it over to Rae. “We’ll manage.”




http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1107

Dance Wars 2: Ruled by You by Sophia Titheniel

Dance Wars 2: Ruled By You
by Sophia Titheniel

Cover art by Reneé George
ISBN (13): 978-1-60521-150-3
Genre(s): Futuristic, Paranormal
Theme(s): Werewolves, Gay and Lesbian
Series: Dance Wars
Length: Novella

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1078

Blurb:

Embattled Lovers…

Adair leads a very successful band of scavengers, bandits who prey on Pony Express riders and their motorbikes. But since the first night he spotted Lachlan in the crowd at the Chlodwig’s, Adair’s been far too relenting with captured Pony Express riders, and he’s been concentrating his efforts on winning the Dance Wars rather than snatching their prey.
Adair’s crew is getting suspicious -- has their leader gone soft? There’s no place in their world for a sappy Werewolf. Adair rashly promises a kill for their next capture -- only to have his world come crashing down on him when Lachlan’s motorbike falls in their trap.
Adair can’t go back on his word. Seems there may be only one option left -- one neither rider nor werewolf is ready to face…

Excerpt:

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 sky beyond the window is slowly tinting with pale pink and amber-yellow. It slithers through the filthy glass and onto the rumpled, discarded sheets trailing on the floor, hesitating there for an instant as if asking permission before going up a pair of long, beautiful legs. It dances on panels of finely toned abs and lean, smooth pecs, to paint the skin golden.
Lachlan shifts in his sleep, a flurry of movement that has unruly blond hair falling across the sharp lines of his face, hiding him from Adair’s attentive scrutiny. Adair’s fingers curl in Lachlan’s forelock, pushing it off to the side. The light of morning gives Lachlan’s body an ethereal quality. Adair’s thumb runs across the sweep of Lachlan’s cheekbone, down to his jaw and up again to stroke kiss-bruised lips. A rather vivid image of those lips wrapped around his cock surfaces to the forefront of his mind. He swallows, elbows his way down on the bed until they’re level, and draws his fingers on the expanse of Lachlan’s chest. He’s loathe to wake him, but at the same time he knows he ought to. If he waits any longer they’ll probably find more scavengers afoot. The fact that his crew gives Adair a two day break before and after the full moon doesn’t mean everyone else is not taking advantage of his absence.
“Lachlan,” he whispers, palm skimming over his lover’s arm, down his side. “Lachlan, wake up.” A grunt, and Lachlan sinks deeper into the mattress, burying his face into the pillow. Adair leans closer, nudging his forehead with his chin. “Wake up, c’mon.”
The sound that Lachlan makes could’ve been anything between “fuck you,” “not ever,” and “forget it.” Adair doesn’t need to know; he thinks he’s got the gist anyway.
He tries not to sigh in frustration. They’ve been through it a hundred times. Lachlan’s as stubborn as a mule and twice as conceited. Somehow, the notion that something might happen to him, either coming or going from Washington every full moon, has completely escaped Lachlan’s self-assured ass. Of course, it works in Lachlan’s favor that Adair really doesn’t want to think about what could happen if Lachlan gets snatched by one of the crews -- and they both know he could. It’s like Lachlan simply refuses to contemplate the possibility, and it scares Adair, far more than he’s going to admit.
“I’m too good,” Lachlan had told him only the previous night, the light of the moon not yet faded from the sky and Adair’s eyes, the wolf’s instincts still rearing under Adair’s skin.
“Too insane,” Adair had growled as he toppled the both of them over the bed. They’d been frantic, burning with need after a month without seeing one another, and Adair hadn’t pressed the point.
Now, though. The sun’s rising, and soon it’ll be harder to avoid detection. Adair looks at the sharp dip of Lachlan’s jaw, the sunrise sharpening the collection of brilliantly red love bites down his breastbone and kicking Adair’s possessive streak into overdrive. He molds his hand over the finger-shaped bruises he’d etched on Lachlan’s hips earlier and pulls him closer, delivering tiny nips up Lachlan’s arm as he watches him cling to sleep with eyes screwed tightly shut.
“C’mon, it’s past dawn already,” Adair whispers, trying and failing to sound stern, his breath blowing cool over saliva-damp patches of skin. He can’t resist sinking his teeth a little harder on the tender hickey on the juncture of Lachlan’s neck, remembering how he’d pushed him face first on the bedding, mouth branding every inch of Lachlan’s upper body as Adair fucked him with rough, short thrusts, taking Lachlan to the edge and pulling him back so many times that Lachlan had been crying by the time Adair had finally allowed him to come.
“Ngh,” Lachlan grunts eloquently, but he arches backwards against Adair’s chest, still halfway between conscious and dream, turning his head to the side to bare his neck for Adair’s pleasure.
The submissive act stirs ever-burning coals in Adair’s gut, and he spans the width of his hand over Lachlan’s belly, fitting himself to his back as he licks a line from the furled tip of Lachlan’s ear down to the ruby-red mark on his shoulder. He can see Lachlan’s cock from this angle, already half hard and heavy between lean, muscular thighs. He sneaks his other arm under Lachlan’s armpit, circling his waist and lazily fisting the base of Lachlan’s cock, giving it a couple of soft, slow pulls and grinning against the back of Lachlan’s head when he hears him groan.
“Oh no you don’t,” Lachlan mumbles, angled elbows trying halfheartedly to pull back. “No nookie. Sleep.”




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Left Side of the Moon by Sophia Titheniel

Dance Wars 1: Left Side of the Moon
by Sophia Titheniel

Cover art by Reneé George
ISBN (13): 978-1-60521-148-0
Genre(s): Futuristic, Paranormal
Theme(s): Werewolves, Gay and Lesbian
Series: Dance Wars
Length: Novella

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1052

Blurb:

The Pony Express Rides Again… On a motorbike.

Lachlan enjoys living on the edge, and in a war-torn land rife with savagery, life as a Pony Express Rider puts good cash in his pockets and, on occasion, a roof over his head. Any roof will do. Doesn’t have to be his.

Until his path clashes with Adair’s. At the Chlodwig, a ramshackle pub renown for its dance fights and high stakes betting, Lachlan and Adair’s heated argument turns into something far more raw and powerful -- something neither of them is prepared for. Something Lachlan’s not sure he can recover from. This time, he’s met his match.

But beyond the cover of the dance fights, Adair belongs to a group of scavengers, thieves who make Pony Express Riders their intended targets. Is Lachlan prepared to risk his loyalty, his job, and everything he thinks he’s earned -- for a werewolf?

Excerpt:

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The barroom’s nothing short of dismal inside, dirty and dank, but there’s a fire crackling beneath a wide, finely carved marble fireplace. Lachlan wonders where it came from. Maybe the Pentagon? It was rumored to be on this side of town.
His skin tingles at the abrupt but welcome change in temperature. The few people scattered about are playing rounds of cards or nursing their own drinks, each of them indifferent to the new arrival, and that suits Lachlan just fine. He takes off his jacket, throwing it on an empty stool in front of the bar, and raps the wooden surface with his knuckles. “D’ya have any JD?”
The barman, a carbon copy of every other barman Lachlan’s met on his roaming around the country, looks at him from underneath a bushy eyebrow and plucks the cigar out of his mouth to speak. “Money up front.”
Lachlan slips a hand underneath his jacket, plucks two bills out of the elastic band that keeps his savings together and hands them to the barman. The man eyes him up and down with a slight sneer, then limps off and disappears behind a curtain half-hidden by darkness and dust.
Must be where he keeps his stock. Lachlan twiddles his fingers and huffs out a sigh. He’d swear he can hear his frozen, tired limbs purring with contentedness at the newfound warmth. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s at the pit of the known world and to stay safe he needs to keep moving, he’d curl up and sleep for twelve hours straight.
“Downstairs.”
The barman reappears to deliver that message, popping up practically out of thin air. The unexpected swift movement makes the hair at the back of Lachlan’s neck stand up in discomfort. He nods and grabs the brass token the man’s handed to him, picking up his jacket and walking in the direction the bartender indicates.
The rickety staircase, illuminated only by naked light bulbs set around the railings, looks dangerous, so Lachlan’s cautious as he descends. As he approaches the bottom of the stairs, he hears the faint thump, thump, thump of music filtering from the latched door. He pulls at the hook screwed in the center that serves as a knob, and blanches at the deafening volume he’s met with the second the door opens.
He sets off, eyes peeled, his fingers curled around the handle of his knife. A guy can never be too careful. Pubs and clubs in the cities are a bit of a sanctuary for all those creatures who couldn’t disguise themselves in the “human” world. The clientele in the basement, though, looks exactly the same as the one you would see in any regular bar in the country, and for an instant Lachlan feels a bit let down. With a setup like that, he was at least expecting a couple of vampires.
A woman with a red corset saunters over, draping herself over his back. Lachlan goes rigid, his hand tightening around his knife. “Not interested,” he says calmly, the pocket where he’s hidden his money burning.
“You here for the fights, sugar?”
The fights? “That’s right.” He grabs her wandering hand and pushes her away, none too gently. “And I’m not interested.”
The music’s even louder now that he’s fully in the room. An opening lies before him, between the tables, right in front of the bar. People are pushing at each other for the best viewing spots, some of them exchanging money and talking excitedly among themselves. Lachlan frowns, the brass coin heavy in his palm. For fuck’s sake, he just wants a bottle of whiskey already.
Instead of making a fuss about it, he takes a seat in front of the bar, craning his neck to try and locate the person he has to hand the coin to. The sooner he leaves, the better. If he makes good time, the Dulles station is twenty-five miles west, and a good night of sleep sounds just about fantastic right now.
The barman walks up to him, taking a dour glance at Lachlan’s coin. Either he’s an identical twin of the barman upstairs, or he’s a clone, or maybe all barmen look the same -- Lachlan doesn’t care. It’s even warmer here. A slight sweat’s starting to bead on the nape of his neck, and his long hair is sticking to his skin. He rubs his hand over his neck as if to displace an irksome fly. Turning to toss the hair off his shoulder, he stops abruptly when he finds himself looking across the bar into the brightest gray eyes he’s ever seen. They look like molten silver, like shards of moonlight around large, black pupils.
Lachlan blinks and leans across the bar for a better look. The guy’s still staring, unmoving, as if he’s waiting for something or someone, and Lachlan fights the urge to turn his head and see if he’s looking at anyone else beside him.
“Here,” the barman grunts, the bottle landing in front of Lachlan with a heavy thunk. Lachlan feels like crying in relief. He grabs at the neck of the bottle and tips it back, taking a long, blissfully scorching hot sip. It burns in his throat and in his empty stomach, but he doesn’t mind. Limbs that he hadn’t quite thought were still connected to his body waken, making him feel more alive than he’s been in quite a few hours. Bless you, whiskey.
He fills his flask, finishing in a single gulp the glassful left over, and, handing the empty bottle back to the barman, decides it’s time to head back out on the road. If nothing happens, he’ll manage to be at the station in less than an hour.
“Want to take a chance there?”
Lachlan looks down at a bucketful of dollar bills held by some clown who’s up in his face and frowns. “Take a chance on what?”
“Leave it, Riff.”
A shiver runs down Lachlan’s back. He knows who the voice belongs to even before he raises his eyes to meet the man’s compelling, liquid gray ones. “He’s one of them bikers,” the man says like it’s an insult.

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