Spaceport: The Cannis Affair by Mikala Ash

Spaceport: The Cannis Affair
by Mikala Ash

Cover art by Reneé George
ISBN: 978-1-60521-239-5
Genre(s): Futuristic, Action/Adventure, Sci-Fi
Theme(s): Ménage, Spaceport
Series: Spaceport Multi-Author
Length: Novella






http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1166







Blurb:


When Peri Barberossa, award-winning sex reporter for the sealed section of the immensely popular guide The Galactic Tourist, flees in order to avoid becoming the newest addition to General R’nok’s harem she encounters two military fighters in the intergalactic void. Peri watches in horror as the two duke it out with quantum torpedoes, and she rescues the unconscious pilots as their ships disintegrate.
What can a dedicated sex reporter do with two gorgeous hunks in her power? The fact that Laz and Rendido are sworn enemies bent on each other's destruction only adds spice to the heady mix, and Peri studies their sexual mores in an atmosphere brimming with tension... sexual and otherwise.



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.

Naked and at ease in the feather soft bed, I was completely at one with the universe, when reality slapped me across the face.
At first I thought I simply misheard General R'nok's solemn commitment to have me locked up in his harem. He'd said something about customary law and me being his property for life. Experience has often shown me that post coital bliss can play havoc with one's perception, so I sought clarification. I propped myself up on trembling elbows, acutely aware of my erratically beating heart, the result of five gut-wrenching orgasms in ten minutes.
"What, darling?" I asked.
The general paused, balanced on one leg, the other tangled up inside the kilt of his kaleidoscopic uniform. "You are now mine."
"I'm sorry?"
He cast a steely Etile glance toward me, his dark eye ridges folding slightly. "Are you deaf?"
Uh-oh. His gruff manner was so different from the smooth wooing of last night. "No, I just didn't understand what you said."
"You have had both orifices filled by my flesh," he said.
"And you filled them so well," I purred, trying to recapture the moment, remembering his two cocks driving into my pussy and ass at the same time, but I should have known that when it comes to men, there's always a catch.
"When you give both holes to an Etile warrior you have given your soul," he said as if he were explaining to me the intricacies of a paperclip. "You belong to me now, my concubine. We are bound for life."
"I didn't realize that was the custom," I explained, attempting to keep my voice level, though inside I was in an acute state of panic.
"It is not a custom. It is the law."
"Oh."
"Wait here. My aide will show you to your cot in the harem."
Cot? Harem?
He turned away from me and stretched an arm out to grasp the bedpost while he untangled his foot. The thing that jumped into my field of vision, apart from the erratically bobbing dual phalluses, both cocks still erect despite our recent exertions, was the stainless steel codpiece which had given me so much amusement at the embassy ball.
I remembered how heavy it felt in my palm when I'd disrobed him prior to our session of athletic passion and as I contemplated a lifetime spent in his harem, instinct took over.
The codpiece made a satisfying clunk as it impacted the side of his head. I use the passive voice when I describe the assault on the general's high-ranking skull. It seemed like I'd been possessed and not in conscious control of my actions.
Had this been a consciously deliberate attack, I would have said the codpiece felt heavy and cold in my hand as I raised it shoulder high and, after taking careful aim and with all my might, swung at his right temple, feeling the skin split as I struck.
You'll note the difference between acting instinctually, out of fear, versus deliberately striking the most powerful man on the planet. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
In any case, the general grunted appropriately and toppled over onto the floor. I jumped off the bed, pulled on my evening gown, transparent silken web from the Spider House on Gaskolin IX, slipped into my pumps, the latest Jess Boscolon creations, and raced to the door to listen for any activity.
From what I remembered of last night, when the general had so smoothly extricated me from the boring embassy party and lustily thrown me onto his bed, his chambers were in the east wing of the sprawling palace and conveniently close to the spaceport.
I found my handbag, a snappy little sequined number from the exclusive Balinese Collection, and rummaged about until I found my diamond encrusted Joclyn communicator. I called Fyche, my ship's AI, and asked him to order a spaceport taxi to meet me outside the general's door in five minutes flat.
"Oh, and power up Jalapeño's converters," I added somewhat breathlessly. "We need to leave."
"Again?"
I didn't have time to respond to his petulant whine because behind me the general gave a long, burbling groan. That wouldn't do. I needed more time. I returned to his prostrate body and tied him up with the exquisitely fine deshlen bed sheets. The silky fabric, soiled by our sweat and his copious spending, was super strong and made a good binding. Once I had him secured I stuffed his mouth with my Gaskolin Haute Couture scarf and rolled him under the bed.
Then I fled the chamber, immediately tripping over a startled aide who was inconveniently sitting on the threshold. I stopped midstride to explain that the general was resting and didn't want to be disturbed. The aide nodded sleepily and resumed his position on the tiny stool. Had he been there all night listening to my moans of passion and screams of ecstasy? I suppressed the moment of embarrassment and calmly asked for directions to the palace's front gate.
A dull thud sounded from inside the room signifying the general had regained consciousness and was no doubt surprised to find himself under the bed with what I hoped was an enormous headache. The aide reacted, and to distract him, I expressed confusion at his surprisingly clear and succinct directions and asked him to show me out himself. A smile, a wink and a flash of my right boob did the trick.
I endured his roving hand for fifty-two floors during the elevator's lazy descent and was very grateful when I found the taxi waiting at the palace gate; Fung knows what Fyche had paid to have it there so quickly. I gave the aide a peck on the cheek and a quick rub of his erect and very impressive dual phalluses. He was rewarded with a messy ejaculation inside his dress kilt and I left him swooning against the granite pillars. That good deed, I hoped, would buy me another chunk of precious time.
Twenty minutes later, Fyche had us in orbit and we were away.





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Send 'Em Packing Collection by Hannah Beckham

Send 'em Packing (Collection)
by Hannah Beckham

Cover art by Reneé George
ISBN: 978-1-60521-175-6
Genre(s): Paranormal, Action/Adventure, Humor, Collections
Theme(s): Ménage, Werewolves
Length: Collection


http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1162









Blurb:



Maya Eddings is six feet tall, a black belt in tae kwon do, proficient with handguns, and an empath who runs her own private security firm in Kansas City. Her life couldn't be better, with the exception of two men who each want her to be exclusively theirs.
Matt Brewer, legal investigator and werewolf, wants Maya to be his life mate, but while she likes a little tail, actually growing one isn't all that appealing to her. Stephen Daniels, architect and part incubus demon, wants Maya too -- body and soul. But he's willing to settle on her body -- for now.
With two hunkalicous men fighting for her attention, mysteries to solve, bad guys to shoot, and a secret past that will rock her world, Maya's beginning to feel she's bitten off more than she can shoot.
Publisher's Note: This collection contains the three previously released novellas Packing Heat, Packing for Three, and Packing Up.









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.

Maya Eddings patted her 9mm pistol while she stood outside the elevator doors, waiting for what seemed like minutes, but actually only seconds had passed. Nervous habit, really. It helped her to concentrate on the job. Her client, Milo Bach, a minor rock star with a major ego, fidgeted with a hand-held video game, making grunting noises every time he pushed a button.
Glancing in his direction, she rolled her eyes. He wore too long jeans and a seventies’ style, wide collared silk shirt. He was good-looking enough -- if you liked the David Cassidy meets Twisted Sister type. Milo had come to Kansas City to play Kemper Arena and it was Maya’s job to make sure he survived his press conference and autograph session.
His manager, Kit Stan, had hired Maya to get him safely from his room on the seventh floor of the Adam’s Mark hotel to the lower lobby. Apparently he’d been getting death threats from a rabid fan, and it wasn’t hard to see why. A little less than thirty minutes with the rock star, and Maya was ready to kill him.
She waited as the elevator door opened then peeked around the corners. No passengers. Good. Maya ushered Milo and his manager swiftly into the car and pushed the button for the first floor.
“Hold the elevator,” a deep masculine voice yelled from the hallway.
Maya leaned her head out of the opening and wet her lips. Mmm. Nice.
He was tall, at least 6’4”, medium blond hair, and under the tight black pants and a cobalt Nehru jacket, she could see he had broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and long muscular legs. Tempting, but uh-uh. She was off men, even if they happened to be unbelievably beautiful.
He arrived at the doors, just as they were closing. His arm shot out in between them, making them bounce open. Maya stepped forward with cat-like quickness, placing her hand on the man’s chest. Incredible heat poured down her arm, not burning hot, just strong sensual warmth. Her nipples went rigid under her black leather jumper.
Shit.
His mouth -- upper lip slightly fuller than the lower -- curved upward in a gorgeous smile. His remarkable bright green eyes were accented with gold rings around his pupils. Her breath caught in a short gasp and her tongue went tingly.
Even though his arms stayed at his sides, Maya felt hands brush against her breasts, caress her ass, rub down her mound to her wet folds. It’s all in your mind, Maya, she told herself. He’s just standing there. Nothing else. Just standing there… Exuding some major mojo.
Heat and desire rolled off the stranger and she fought the impulse to close the distance between them and kiss his luscious mouth. Instead, Maya shook her head and nudged him back one step into the corridor. “Sorry, Stud, you’ll have to take the next elevator.”
He tilted his head to the side, raised an eyebrow, and backed away. “No problem, hot stuff.”
Yikes! His smooth low voice sent goose bumps over her body. He winked as the doors closed between them. “Oh, jeez, I need to get laid,” she mumbled, then turned her attention back to the client.
The rocker must have heard her, because he leaned against the elevator rail and whispered to her, “Hey, Maya, you gorgeous Amazon, what say we blow this joint and take a little me and you time?”
Usually she didn’t mind the Amazon reference -- being six feet tall, she was used to it -- but the rock star was getting on her last nerve. Besides, his smarmy lust-filled emotions were dripping all over her. As a bodyguard, Maya’s empathic abilities came in handy, but certain men and women could be overwhelming.
“You and me,” she corrected and mentally added, asshole.
He snuggled his body in closer to hers. “Exactly. Me and you.” His long hair brushed against Maya’s shoulder. If he kept up the touching, he might not survive the trip to the lobby.
Rolling her eyes, she put out a hand to push him off. She patted the handgun in her hip holster. “No, the correct way to say that is ‘you and me’ and the answer is no.” She wanted to add that big hair bands died in the 80’s, but held her tongue. Besides, she hadn’t been paid yet.
Milo put up his hands defensively. “Hey, baby, what’s with the ’tude? Most chicks dig me. After all, I’m going to be a legend.” He smiled -- very self-assured.
Maya shook her head and held down the button on the two-way radio that clipped to her belt then spoke into the headset. “Jack, everything set?”
A voice came back over, “Yeah, boss, good to go.”
“Tyler, you set?”
“Yeah, no problem,” came a new voice.
The elevator slowed to a stop. “Have you ever heard of Michael Damian?” she asked Milo.
“Who?”
The doors opened to the lobby. “My point exactly. Rock on, dude. Your fans are waiting.” Maya stepped out between him and a mob of screaming teenage girls chanting “Milo.” She needed aspirin -- and quickly.

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1162

Shunga Chronicles: Flight of Heron by Lizzie Lynn Lee

Shunga Chronicles: Flight of Heron
by Lizzie Lynn Lee

Cover art by Reneé George
ISBN: 978-1-60521-202-9
Genre(s): Action/Adventure, The Fetish Club, BDSM
Theme(s): Shunga
Series: Shunga Chronicles
Length: Novella

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1168

Blurb:

It's hard to kill your enemy when you fall in love with him...
Haunted by the shameful death of her older sister Sadae, Lady Kinshiro Yukiko goes undercover as a tayū in Yoshiwara pleasure quarter to ensnare patronage of daimyo Tsunemoto Matsushita, the man who is responsible for Sadae's death.
When Yukiko finally meets the handsome lord up close and personal, she finds out that he isn't the man she believed him to be. And what makes the matter more complicated, Lord Matsushita is also smitten with Yukiko. Head over heels in love, he purchases Yukiko's contract and elevates her status to his concubine.
Torn between her newfound love and her sacred oath to restore her family honor, Yukiko is unwillingly swept into a tangled web of deceit, betrayal, and intricate political schemes in Tokugawa's exotic shogunate court, where one wrong move can cost her life and the life she holds most dear.

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.

Her plan was simple: bed Lord Tsunemoto Matsushita, and when he was in his most vulnerable state, she would avenge the death of her beloved sister, Sadae, and collect a confession from his dying mouth.
She'd plotted for years since she'd learned the truth behind her sister's tragic demise. But now, Yukiko found herself shrouded in doubt when she finally met him. Lord Matsushita was the Shogun's favorite vassal, and his gallantry was well known throughout Edo. If Yukiko hadn't discovered the ugly truth behind Lord Matsushita's noble character, she would naively believe he was as righteous as his reputation.
Yukiko reminded herself she must carry out her plan no matter how innocent he might look. Sadae wouldn't rest in peace until Yukiko fulfilled the vow she had sworn on her shrine. Sadae's death was a disgrace to the Kinshiro clan, and this revenge was the only way to restore their family honor.
She gave the daimyo a deep obeisance, proceeding to pour him sake. Her heart thundered and her hands trembled. She didn't fear him, nor did she yet have second thoughts. She just couldn't fathom why this man literally made her nervous.
"Tsunemoto-dono." Yukiko summoned all her wits, and schooled a coy smile she had rehearsed a thousand times before. "Would you like to sample these sweet cakes? Nishio-san procured them especially for you." She bowed again in a perfect motion, full of grace as any celebrated tayū, courtesan, would. The long sleeves of her scarlet kimono swept the edge of the lord's feet, and the silver sparrow jewelry that festooned her coiffure made a clinking sound when her forehead brushed the tatami floor. She started when she felt his warm hand on the nape of her neck. Lord Matsushita ordered her to rise.
Nishio, the yarite, madam chaperone of the pleasure house, also gave the daimyo deep obeisance. "Honorable Lord, please forgive the girl's impetuousness. Azalea was so excited when my lord decided to grant the honor of an engagement this evening."
Yukiko heard the sharpness in Nishio's tone, which served as an indirect warning for her: Don't ruin the charade. As a tayū -- the Lady of the First Class Rank courtesan in Yoshiwara's pleasure quarters -- she was supposed to maintain a stoic and passive demeanor on her first appointment with the patron. Yukiko was a virgin, and thus she lacked the necessary skills to please a man. But for the last several months, Nishio had taught her the pillowing art as well as how to carry herself to pass as a seasoned tayū. It would be a shame if the charade was foiled by a simple mistake.
Lord Matsushita made a tiny gesture with his hand, dismissing Nishio's apology. "I'm honored Lady Azalea would grant me an appointment tonight." The daimyo tugged Yukiko's chin up so she would look at his face. His dark eyes glittered like moonlit jewels when she caught his gaze. "I've heard of Lady Azalea's famous beauty for some time, and what they've been telling me doesn't do justice to what I witness before my eyes."
Yukiko blushed. She couldn't help being flattered, even though the praise came from this heartless man. She calmed herself, brushing out the fluttery feeling. But she was alarmed when Lord Matsushita politely requested Nishio to remove herself from the room so they could have some privacy.
"Forgive me, sire," Nishio objected. "I don't mean to be rude, but this is only your first appointment." Old custom dictated patrons would only bed a tayū on his third appointment, as the first and second appointments were intended for getting to know each other.
"Are you worried about your master's fee, Nishio? Tell Ori I would be more than happy to satisfy any due amount. Just leave us in private for now."
Yukiko cast a sharp glance at Nishio, hoping she would persuade the daimyo to rescind his decision. She wasn't supposed to bed him tonight, as she didn't have the weapon to carry out her plan. To her disappointment, Yukiko saw Nishio bow. No one dared to disagree with a daimyo, especially with a man like Lord Matsushita.
"Tsunemoto-dono, I bid you a good evening," Nishio conceded in a low voice.
The madam looked worried as she silently withdrew from the room. Yukiko caught the meaning in Nishio's eyes that she should go along with Lord Matsushita's whim. To assassinate a powerful man like him required a meticulous arrangement. They didn't think Lord Matsushita would fall into their machination this fast. And so Nishio and Yukiko hadn't planned to escape from Yoshiwara tonight. The pleasure quarter was tightly guarded. One couldn't just walk in and out unchallenged, especially women. The tight security measures were employed to preserve order, keeping shady characters away, and to prevent the courtesans from escaping.
Yukiko was about to pour the lord more sake when he suddenly halted her hand. "I prefer to enjoy my drink in my own fashion."
Yukiko was baffled for a second, and then she inclined her head. Nishio had told her that sometimes patrons demanded queer ways to be satisfied. She had no idea what the lord meant by preferring to drink in his own fashion. To ask would be an inappropriate thing to do.
"Azalea-chan. You're new in Yoshiwara, aren't you?" Lord Matsushita's voice sounded deep and warm, and commanded great authority.
"Yes, sire."
"I heard you are quite selective with patrons too. You even refused Senior Elder Umehara's patronage. Truthfully, I find your selectiveness quite unusual."
Yukiko didn't know what to say. Her sole purpose in Yoshiwara was to lure this man and then kill him. She had no interest in bedding old men for money. She thought hard and chose her answer carefully. "Sire, Lord Umehara is ripe with old age."
Matsushita smiled at her answer. "Senior Elder Umehara is a very wealthy and prominent man. His Excellency values his advice greatly. No courtesan has dared to refuse his patronage before. If you don't mind quenching my curiosity, may I ask why you did?"
Yukiko's lips thinned. "I don't mean to be rude, sire, but have you ever seen Lord Umehara in person? He is… most undesirable."
Lord Matsushita arched an eyebrow. "But he can buy your freedom. Don't you want to be free?"
"Not if I have to bed a man like him. Am I foolish, sire?" Yukiko dared to look upon him. The lord possessed a pair of sharp eyes -- hawk eyes, her sister used to say. They were oval-shaped, fathomless, and dark as a starless night. A true mark of a great warrior. In ancient times, people said a man who possessed hawk eyes could see a thousand miles away, and spot a liar with one glance. Could he see that she lied right now? Yukiko secretly hoped not.
"You're young. I understand." Matsushita reached for the sake flask and poured himself a cup. "How many men have you bedded since you arrived in Yoshiwara?"
The question was rude and unexpected. Yukiko had no idea why Matsushita would ask such a question. She could lie, but she worried he would already know the answer. A daimyo like him chose his intimate companions selectively. One of his spies would have already investigated her background before the lord decided to approach her.
She answered in a small voice, "None."
"Will you have me, Azalea-chan? I would rather not waste my time with women who have no interest in me."
"Lord, it would be my greatest honor to please you."
He arched his eyebrows again. A sneer lingered on the corner of his lips. "Is that so? Why?"
She was tempted to give more elaborate answers, but she was afraid he wouldn't believe her. "Because you're very desirable, sire."
His smile widened. "Yuhara Tamuramaro is also a desirable man, but you refused his request for a second appointment."
So he had investigated her. Yukiko found the fact rather amusing. "Forgive me, sire, since you wish me to be blunt, Lord Tamuramaro preferred sake and greasy barbarian food to my companionship. My art was wasted, sire. You should see the way he engorged the whole roast pheasant by himself." She pretended to shudder. "Repulsive."
Lord Matsushita laughed heartily. "Fair enough."
Yukiko was relieved. Apparently, her answer had satisfied him.
Lord Matsushita slowly lifted the cup and drank his sake in one gulp. His eyes devoured her with unspoken lust. His hawk eyes stripped her of her clothing, leaving her naked and vulnerable in his presence. Her face burned. She had anticipated this moment for years, and yet nothing had prepared her for the sudden attraction to this man. Yukiko resented herself for being weak.
"Look at me, Azalea."
Yukiko lifted her gaze from the floor and forced herself to meet his demand. Her heart skipped a beat. He was tall, broad-shouldered and very well built. Yukiko had stolen a glimpse of him when he arrived with his retainers downstairs. Lord Matsushita stood a head taller than everyone else in the room. The moment he arrived, all courtesans on the floor flirted for his attention.
"Do you want me to be your sponsor, Azalea-chan?"
A sponsor was a patron a tayū saw exclusively. When a patron willed himself to be a sponsor, the tayū would commit herself only to him, and was forbidden to receive the patronage of others. Yukiko fluttered her eyelashes. "Will you, sire?"
Lord Matsushita answered her question with a smile. Her heart thundered. His smile had temporarily captivated her attention. She froze when the lord leaned toward her, cupped her face, and captured her lips with his. This display of affection was only practiced by the yellow-haired barbarians from the West, and it was uncommon for Japanese people. Luckily, Nishio had enlightened her about this, so Yukiko knew what she had to do. She surrendered under his ministration and timidly reciprocated his kiss. But nothing that Nishio had said had prepared her for the effect from the kiss. All the bones in her body melted as his tongue stroked deep into the moist cavern of her mouth.

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In The Belly of the Night Collection by Jonathan Wright

In The Belly of the Night (Collection)
by Jonathan Wright


Cover art by Bryan Keller
ISBN: 978-1-60521-219-7
Genre(s): Collections
Length: Collection



http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1159

Blurb:

Refugees...
Joe Horn emerged from the twisted mental lapse of 'Nam thirty years ago tired and scarred and a little whacked, running like hell from a nightmare. For the last three decades he's lived life on the edge, never stopping, never making friends, never aging. And never, ever sleeping.
Until he meets Sarah Fenton, a razor-edged reporter with secrets within her secrets. Sarah stalks Horn, hunting for a great story -- and something more. A compelling, voluptuous dream of intense sensual pleasure, she sets off all his alarm bells and makes him sweat with pure passionate hunger for the one thing he knows he can never have.
And there's one more...
Muck Drippy Thing comes from the Other Side, entering through a rift in the curtain between Here and There. He hangs out in the shadowy corner of narrow alleys, moves silently through the quiet night, slides wetly through the open window, delivering nightmarish hell and screaming death. He breathes bile and feeds on his victims' blind terror, and always follows Horn. Always.
Why? Just because.
Their paths cross like bloody trails on a Ouija board, and no place, not Here, or There, or the Netherworld, will ever be the same...

Publisher's Note: This collection contains three previous published novellas, In The Belly of the Night, Nightwalker, and Promises to Keep.

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.

Miss July, green-eyed, lithe and seductive, had returned.
Joe Horn sat outside the Croissant Place, feet propped up on a chair, reading the Tribune, sipping a mug of steaming coffee. Meat for the predator.
He caught glimpses of the emerald-eyed succubus as she carefully stalked her prey. Stalking me. Yes. Not overtly. Instinctively. It's something she does without thought.
Paranoia, leavened with a measure of grim experience, drove his instinctive assessment. He watched her, surreptitiously, and with a certain amount of prurient interest. He imagined popping the buttons of her blouse and sucking those ripe tits.
In a far, dark corner of his mind, prompted by this line of thought, the Beast stirred.
On Columbus Day the crowd at the Harborside Mall lacked the usual noise and clamor. The usual mess of screaming kids, giggling teenagers and exhausted men and women dragged themselves from one store to the next, but the retailers sweated. The summer had been bad. In a so-called booming economy a lot of people, like Joe Horn, had next to no money.
Unlike those to whom appearance was all, his chosen look was down-and-out chic. Army surplus fatigue pants and a field jacket, thoroughly broken in. Which is to say, ragged, with patches. Beat up running shoes, showing miles of wear. Good quality, though. Major budget item.
A family walked by. Mom with shades perched on frosted hair, Dad looking comfortably rumpled in an Eddie Bauer way. Two kids, a girl in a stroller and a boy toddling. Mom's laser eyes hunted bargains. Dad sighed. Toddler had to go to the baffroom. Made the elusive th into ff and then ffff, a spray of spittle. Giggled at his own rapier wit.
Mom pointed, issuing directives to Dad, who did the sigh thing again. Mom and the stroller arced into Ms Professional. Dad picked up the toddler and headed for the baffroom. He had a bit more lift in his step, maybe thinking of a detour to Sears, where he could spend a few minutes ogling a voluptuous band saw.
In contrast to the slightly paunchy dad, Horn was on the lean side. Unlike the glassy-eyed followers of the latest diet fad, Joe Horn had come by his leanness in other ways. Like sweating in the lee of a bridge abutment while something that breathed bile and moved with the sound of mud flowing searched for him. Like creeping quietly in the dark, hoping to sneak by the place where death was just a sigh. Like running down a pitch-black alley with something fast and lethal on his tail, praying he didn't run into more of the same. A fellow could sweat off a few pounds that way.
Miss July cruised like a mako along the storefronts: Periwinkle's. The Old Bag. The Short Shop. Successfully evaded the Mrs. Fields gill net, focused on her prey.
Horn turned to the sports section. Atlanta came from behind, beat the Pirates in the tenth, evened the playoffs.
It wasn't like he'd never seen her before. That was the problem. The memory lingered, enticing him, like a hint of perfumed cyanide, like a shy smile that hid lethal fangs.
C'mon, Horn, she's a babe, not Muck-Drippy thing. The differences are pretty obvious. Like, you can count her arms...
He'd liked her eyes, from the moment he saw her, even though the initial impact had been frightening. He had a thing about eyes. Windows to the soul and all that.
Yeah, nice eyes. And a killer body, let's not forget about that. Tits to die for… Whoops, bad choice of words… He allowed himself that bit of fantasy. It wasn't every day that a chick with a pneumatic chest chose to hunt him down.
The Beast, on the other hand, regarded her with quiescent, simmering dislike. It didn't care if the stranger looked like Miss July, which in fact she did. Appearances could deceive. Deceptions could kill. The Beast did not parse clever phrases or weigh the potential meaning of a subtle inflection. The Beast's job was simple. Stay alive.
Mom emerged, staggering under captured treasures, went looking for the troops. Somebody's gotta carry all this stuff.
Miss July dodged right and left through the crowd, like Gayle Sayers slipping through the Rams front four. Sato would have liked the way she moved. He had always valued fluidity over power.
Good old Sato. Horn's sensei. Sato had a little dojo in Japan, in the mountains. Very pristine. Very beautiful. Very rugged. Very fucking cold at night. Horn had spent a few nights outside, up there at eight thousand feet, watching for the furtive movement, listening for the delicate step. Screaming obscenities when Sato inevitably caught him napping and beat the shit out of him with the Stick.
When Horn first arrived at the dojo, he'd been afraid. His fear had begun as a child, had grown through adulthood, had blossomed like a blood red rose, in a scummy bog in Vietnam, one night when the moon waned and a hideous stick figure rose out of the black water and ate seven men.
A long time ago, in a land far, far away, but their screams still haunted him thirty years after the fact. Even though they had been about to kill him. No one deserved to die the way they died.
Sato taught Horn how to control his fear. Mostly the fear of Sato, hiding behind trees and bushes, waiting with the Stick.
Horn hated the fucking Stick.
He snapped open the metro section. Man strangled his wife because she served his oatmeal cold. Horn smiled thinly. Human interest stories were his favorite.
Miss July swooped in, took the seat across from him. Let out a sigh. Pulled out her notebook. Brushed a bang out of her big green eyes. Clicked the pen. "I talked to a man who says you blew up a bar in Texas."
"Really." Horn turned the page.
She might have introduced herself, but he already knew her name. Sarah Fenton, a reporter doing a story on the homeless. She'd found him yesterday. She had nice hair, short and thick. Moved like a dancer, accentuating her sleek body. His puerile mind invented means of disrobing her. The possibility of making her do it herself, for his considerable pleasure, momentarily clouded his mind. He noticed she was bra-less under a fairly thin top. His eyes strayed to her rather prominent nipples.
He sensed she was immediately aware, and not repulsed.
But the Beast murmured fear her. He usually listened to the Beast. He resolved to do so this time. Besides, he had other things to do. People were dying.
He'd chased her off last time with one of his wacko routines, mumbling about God's Wrath On Heathen Puppies. But now she'd returned, and she knew about the bar in Texas.
She nodded briskly, checking items off. "Yep. Then there was a truck stop in Nevada. And..." she paused as she confirmed her careful research, "... a warehouse in Seattle."
He grimaced inwardly. The grapevine was unreal. "Well, some architecture is an affront to good taste."
"Crap."
He shrugged. "That's what I just said."
She tried a different tack. "I also found out you're a Vietnam vet --" She frowned, looked up at him, then down at her notes again. "That doesn't make sense."
He raised one eyebrow without looking at her. "Smartest thing you've said so far."
She ignored that. "That conflict ended in seventy-five -- twenty-eight years ago. You'd have to be at least fifty, maybe fifty-five years old."

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Sweet Oblivion 3: Fluid by Jordan Castillo Price

Sweet Oblivion 3: Fluid
by Jordan Castillo Price

Cover art by Reneé George
ISBN: 978-1-59596-397-0
Genre(s): Paranormal
Theme(s): Vampires, The Dark Side, Gay and Lesbian
Series: Sweet Oblivion
Length: Novella

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1161

Blurb:

It's been a couple of decades since Wild Bill has been able to savor the bite of an ice-cold, freshly tapped keg. Twenty-odd years since the shivery pucker of a cheap, boxed wine has assaulted his palate. But that doesn't mean Bill's forgotten how to party.
Wild Bill and Michael have holed up in a week-to-week hotel in an iffy Milwaukee neighborhood, and even though it's been a year or two, the fringe art happenings are just as edgy as Bill remembers.
There's a girl covered in frosting in the middle of the hors d’ouvres table, and she's begging them to dip. And the host of the party wants to lure them into the range of his mechanical eye. It's all fun and games, until a tryst turns deadly.

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 old loft had been a factory once upon a time. Maybe a place where six-year-olds earned two cents a day drilling holes in buttons. Or maybe a place where Bohunk women fresh off the boat stitched together brand new ready-made stuff for the generations who'd been here longer, middle-class matrons who spoke English.
It wasn't hard to imagine humanity teeming through the place. They wouldn't have been wearing PVC and fishnet back then, of course. But bodies is bodies.
Unless you count the body on the table. "What's that?" I asked her.
Her gaze met mine. "Cream cheese frosting."
What was she, twenty-five? If that. And splayed out on a table in nothing but a thin white coating of frosting, surrounded by sliced fruit. She'd bleached her buzz-cut to match the frosting -- that night, or maybe the night before, judging by the faint note of peroxide I detected over the warring scents of kiwi, pear, apple and grape. "Very creative. You're the artist?"
She shook her head. The cream cheese stopped at her collarbone, so she could do that much without disturbing the setup. "I'm modeling for Ivan."
Ivan. He was the flavor du jour, judging by the snips and snatches of conversation floating around every trendy watering hole on the south side of Milwaukee.
"What's your name?"
"Wild Bill."
"Suzanne. Listen, will you do me a favor? Dip something on me and eat it. Everyone's avoiding me like the plague. Maybe you could get it started."
Twenty-odd years ago, I woulda been all over her like stink on a wino. But even though I thought she was cute -- because, come on, how can a pixie-faced chick covered in frosting not be cute -- I felt like this wasn't my world anymore, and I had no business butting in.
"Please?" she begged me. "This was supposed to be fun."
What can I say? I felt sorry for the kid. It was ballsy of her to be pressing into service as a centerpiece for someone named Ivan. It had probably seemed like a great idea at the time, in a performance art sorta way. Who could've predicted how weird it would be to walk up to the hors d'oeuvres table and find a chick on it? I really did want to help her out. And while I couldn't eat -- not fruit, anyway -- I could at least dip.
I almost took an apple slice. My hand hovered over a fan of them. Twitched. But then I scented the pear, September-hard, and I took a wedge of that instead. "Anyplace in particular you want me to start?"
She blushed. Zing. The smell of it went straight to my nuts like an invisible, fondling hand.
"My arm, or, uh… my leg."
I'd been staring at her tits. No barrier whatsoever between her and the cream cheese. Oh my. I locked eyes with her again, gave her my most reassuring smile, fangs covered, and glanced at her wrist. A pair of handcuffs surrounded her skinny girl-arm, both cuffs on the same wrist.
"Don't ask. I've been on the lookout for someone with a master key. The locksmith wants a hundred bucks to pop it."
"Just act like it's a fashion statement, and no one'll be any the wiser." I judiciously ignored the hard, cold metal and the titillating story that undoubtedly went with it, and dragged the hard edge of the pear down Suzanne's thigh. The frosting parted. I imagine that's how it would've felt to press cuneiform letters into a clay tablet. The pear was a good choice. It made a beautiful line.
I drew a spiral first. Her thigh was firm as a boy's, and had just the right amount of give. I traced an accent line around it. The two lines, side by side, created a sort of negative space, a pinstripe of frosting. Another stroke. Even better.
I felt eyes on me, that prickle that's not quite hot or cold but maybe a little of both, and I glanced up and saw a dark-eyed kid with a mohawk and a pierced eyebrow giving me bedroom eyes. A year ago, I would've made good on that invitation -- 'cos he was sweet on the outside, but better than that, I could tell just by looking at him that he was bitter on the inside -- and that's the siren song that makes even the mustiest of dried-up vamps dash themselves to death on the rocky shore of wanting.
I'd paused mid-swoop, eye-locked with Pretty Boy for a split second, with that cream cheese-covered pear wedge clutched between thumb and forefinger.
Michael stepped between the vamp bait and me, and I felt like my soul, which had been trying to float out through my eyes, had slammed back into me, and I was myself again. I don't think he'd noticed the current of Mesmerism that he'd just short-circuited. "What are you doing?" Michael said, genuinely curious -- about the pear, not the mohawk boy. I finished out the whorl of the line I'd been drawing, and then turned to face him.
He had a red plastic cup of beer in one hand, full to the brim, and a handful of chips in the other. Everything else was black. Black leather jacket. Black T-shirt, black jeans. Filmy black scarf. Raven black Clairol hair. Thick black eyeliner. And tragically pretty, with insides all red and raw as if his best gal-pal had just been sucked dry yesterday. I brought the frosting-covered pear wedge up to his face and painted a thin line of white across his lower lip. "Dipping," I told him. And I slid the pear into his mouth. His tongue grazed my finger as he took it.
"That is so hot," Suzanne said.

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Moonlight & Magic 2: Sunlight & Slavery by Mina Carter

Moonlight & Magic 2: Sunlight & Slavery
by Mina Carter

Cover art by Reneé George
ISBN: 978-1-60521-240-1
Genre(s): Paranormal, Dark Fantasy
Series: Moonlight & Magic
Length: Novella

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1163

Blurb:

Gargoyles guard things. That's a fact of life. Knuckles, head doorman of Moonlight & Magic, leads a simple life. People cause trouble, he talks to them. People continue to cause trouble and he proves how squishable most races are compared to a creature hewn out of stone. Knuckles doesn't do gentle.
That is, until he rescues Neri, a fragile human woman, quite literally from a fate worse than death. Can a gargoyle fall in love? Can a human woman make the leap of faith required to accept him for what he is?

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.
Saturday night had always been Neri and Jason's "date night." Some things didn't change. Their relationship was on the rocks, so far on the rocks it could only be described as a shipwreck. For Neri, at least, it had been over a while. She'd assumed they had a normal relationship, the sort where you could say, "I've had enough. I'm outta here." Except theirs wasn't a normal relationship. Here they were, out on the town on a Saturday night like normal, apart from one important distinction.
Neri didn't expect to make it to morning.
As though he could read her mind, Jason caught her eye from across the table and smiled. She suppressed a shudder and looked away. She'd tried to leave earlier but he'd stopped her. She looked up and to her right circumspectly. Neil, Jason's bulldog bodyguard, grinned down at her. This time she did shudder. She'd never liked the way Neil looked at her, as though he was undressing her in his head.
Neri reached for her drink with nerveless fingers, wrapping them about the glass and lifting it to her lips. Looking around the club she took a sip and tried to act as though nothing was wrong. That was the key. Jason was a stickler for appearances. If she played the game well enough she might be able to string things along, perhaps delay them long enough to find a way out.
There had to be a way out. Otherwise she'd end her life in a back alley somewhere with her body left in a Dumpster. The expression on her face didn't change as another thought occurred to her.
Neil.
She slid a glance at Jason. He wouldn't. Would he? Neil had some… unhealthy appetites. He would. Without a doubt he would give her to Neil. The numbness she'd been feeling since Jason had thrown her, half naked, into the bedroom and told her to get dressed for the evening burned away under her fear. She had to get out of here. Now.
Replacing the glass on the table she shifted along the bench seat.
"Excuse me… Oh, for fuck's sake, do you have to ask him for permission to take a piss as well?" she snapped when Neil looked at Jason to check.
"Let her go." Jason's voice was just audible over the heavy music of the club. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Neri grabbed her purse and slid past Neil before he could change his mind.
She fled through the club on swift feet. Moonlight & Magic was the biggest of the "paranormal" clubs in town. Neri didn't know much about paranormals. Sure, she knew they'd come out of the "closet" a couple of years ago, but she'd never really thought much about it. So the monster under the bed was real? Big deal. Neri had always known monsters were real, but in her world they went by the term Homo sapiens.
Still, perhaps she'd get lucky and Jason would piss off something big and mean that would tear his head off. Yeah, like she'd get that lucky.
Skirting the edge of the packed dance floor she made her way to the ladies' room. There had to be an exit out back somewhere, a staff entrance or something. She just needed a five minute head start. Just five lousy minutes and she'd disappear so completely even her own mother wouldn't be able to find her.
Her lips quirked as she paused to make way for a busboy. Of course, that would depend on her knowing who her mother was. Not information a brat left on the hospital steps twenty-four years ago tended to have access to.
Neri Jacobs. Unwanted by her own mother, shunted from foster home to foster home, and now the soon-to-be-deceased girlfriend of a sleaze like Jason Carrick, small-time wannabe crime lord. Just her fucking luck.

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Mate Marks: Hunger by Kate Hill

Mate Marks: Hunger
by Kate Hill

Cover art by Reneé George
ISBN: 978-60521-130-5
Genre(s): Paranormal
Theme(s): Interracial, Shapeshifters
Series: Mate Marks
Length: Novella

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1157

Blurb:

All her life Chante has wondered about two things, her family history and the cat-shaped birthmark on her breast. To avoid the frightening yet sexy man who has been following her, she travels to Jamaica to visit her great aunt and learns more than she ever wanted to know about a strange family curse.
Joshi has always known that he's destined to mate with the human female who bears the mark of the cat on her breast. Still, his bitterness toward humans has prevented him from claiming his rightful mate. With his species near extinction, he has no choice but to take Chante as his own.
Seducing this stubborn yet beautiful woman will challenge this shapeshifting cat in more ways than he realizes, especially when their lives depend on his prowess as a warrior.

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.

Joshi growled, muscles rippling as Clementine's clawed hands raked his back. Behind him, Clarissa purred and sank her fangs into his ass. His head snapped over his shoulder and he gave a sharp roar.
Clarissa backed away slightly, but glanced at him with a sultry look in her large green eyes.
Seeing that he'd been distracted by her sister, Clementine pawed his face and made a sound somewhere between a growl and a purr. He turned back to her and pawed her face in response, then thrust into her hot, wet body, making her writhe with desire.
This pair had kept him busy for most of the evening. Clarissa and Clementine were ultra-rare twin female Prowleryns -- beings gifted with the characteristics of both humans and great cats.
The entire species now dwindled. Males like Joshi vied for the attention of females whom they greatly outnumbered. He'd spent most of his life traveling all over the world in search of females of his kind, hoping to spread his seed and increase the Prowleryn chances of survival.
If he didn't succeed, he'd be forced into an act that sickened him. He would have no choice but to mate with a human female.
Beneath him, Clementine gasped and growled, her lips drawn back in pleasure, exposing her sharp little fangs. The American Prowleryns were smaller than the ones from his tribe, but what these females lacked in size they made up for in enthusiasm.
His cock ached and heart pounded with lust. Clementine came hard, her flesh pulsing around him. Joshi closed his eyes and lunged into her with several more hard thrusts. He exploded, filling her with his essence.
He scarcely had time to recover before Clarissa rubbed her face against his back, her hand kneading his ass. One of her claws slid between the indentation and tickled his sphincter.
Joshi roared again and rolled off of Clementine to grab her sister. His fingers bit into Clarissa's upper arms and his mouth covered hers in a rough kiss. She met him with equal ferocity. Her tongue thrust against his and she bit his upper lip hard enough to draw blood. The taste of it aroused him, making him hard again. Unlike human males, Prowleryns had amazing recuperative qualities, not to mention incredible staying power.
Only Prowleryn females could truly satisfy them, which was part of the reason Joshi disliked the idea of fucking a human woman. It would be such a bore, such a waste. Worst of all, his children would carry weak, human blood. That would not happen if he got one or both of these sisters pregnant.
Pressing Clarissa against a nearby boulder, he bent his knees and filled her cunt with a long, hard thrust. She cried out sharply, whether from pleasure or pain he wasn't sure. He felt no emotional attachment to these women, and they had made it clear they felt none to him. They'd agreed to fuck him for the sole purpose of procreation.
It had taken some heavy bargaining with their tribal leader to allow him to take these women. He'd brought gifts for both the leader and the women. Finally they had agreed that if he impregnated Clementine, the offspring would remain with this Colorado tribe. If his seed grew within Clarissa, she would return with him to his tribal territory and their child would be raised there.
Perhaps taking a human would be easier, as she would be his no matter what. Still, he would rather leave behind the child of a Prowleryn than be burdened with a human female for the rest of his life.
"Something wrong?" Clarissa purred, lightly running her claws over his shoulders. "You look distracted. Don't I please you, you gorgeous golden beast?" As if to draw his attention, she tightened her muscles around him, squeezing his stiff cock.
In reply he growled and raked his fangs along her shoulder, then grasped her wrists and pinned them on either side of her head as he pounded into her.
She moaned and arched against him. Her drenched pussy throbbed around him and his body stiffened as he came long and hard.
No sooner had he finished than he withdrew from her, leaving her panting against the rock.
Clementine, who had been watching them, stood a short distance away. Lust burned in her eyes as she stroked her breasts, her fingertips teasing her long, pink nipples.
"You're vigorous, even for one of our kind," Clementine said, her gaze sweeping him. "Let's see which one of us wears you out first."
"You mean why don't we see which one of you gives out first," he said, his voice husky as he reached for her again.
She opened her mouth for his kiss, but they were interrupted by the roars of several Prowleryn males.
Four cat men, covered in dark gold fur, appeared at the top of a rock pile. All were young and strong, the scent of their rage and arousal wafted on the air.
Joshi had no doubt what this was about. In spite of his arrangement with their leader, he was still infringing on their rights by claiming these females.
They climbed down the rocks and surrounded him.
"You have no business here," said the largest male, though even he wasn't as tall as Joshi.
"These are our females," said another. "Go back where you came from."
"My job is done here," Joshi said with a smug grin. This had the desired effect and the four males roared with fury.
He probably shouldn't be so arrogant, considering it was a four-to-one situation, but Joshi had never backed away from a challenge in his life.

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Shadows in the City by Jonathan Wright

Shadows in the City
by Jonathan Wright

Cover art by Reneé George
ISBN: 978-1-60521-254-8
Genre(s): Paranormal, Action/Adventure, Dark Fantasy, BDSM
Theme(s): Interracial, The Dark Side
Series: Joseph Horn
Length: Novella

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1173



Blurb:



Before -- Summer of 99...
"Watch out for the crazy bitch, Horn. She's lookin' for the darkness! Seen her prowlin' the alleys and the basements of them places down below Market, where they doin' the reno -- rebuildin', y'know..."
So naturally, Horn goes looking.
Horn's spent the past twenty-five years running, always one step ahead of a nightmare. He has no home, and he never sleeps. He roams the streets, always alert. He does not need emotional complications.
Jasmine Torneau, black and regal, with eyes that could swallow him whole, qualifies as a serious emotional complication. Horn wants to know what she's seeking down there amid the condemned buildings.
And then he just wants her. But finding her means facing his greatest fear. And following her into hell is just the beginning...



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.

At two in the morning in downtown San Diego, fog of suspicious origin rolled off the bay and across the rail yard next to the trolley station below Market until the place looked like the moors of Baskerville. Snoring derelicts lay scattered across the ground, barely visible. Cops would roust them before dawn. If there were any left.
From the shadows of a recently renovated warehouse that now housed a microbrewery and several boutiques Joe Horn watched a black girl waltz down Market toward the high rise condos that overlooked the bay. She passed the snoring drunks, oblivious to the sinister fog. Swishing through the pale, insubstantial sea, she crossed Third, her form intermittently illuminated by the flashing traffic signal, paralleling the open rail yard.
With eyes a cat would envy Horn admired her buxom form, nicely displayed in tight dark slacks and a sheer white blouse through which he discerned heavy breasts with fat nipples, even at this distance in the middle of the night. Her close cropped head looked regally Nubian, in keeping with her slender waist and long, trim legs.
He shadowed her as she cut across an open dirt lot by the trolley line. Across the tracks stood an old four-story office building waiting for the wrecking ball, looking like a hoary sentinel full of black holes and stillness.
Bad choice for a shortcut, he thought, noting the distance to the nearest streetlight and the deeper shadows in the lee of the building. Not that it mattered.
He did nothing to disguise his presence about fifty feet back. She flicked him a glance. He sensed rather than saw the fear in her eyes.
Sorry, sweetheart. Wrong bad guy.
As he had expected, a shadow detached itself from a deeper shadow at the edge of the building.
She didn't look in Horn's direction as she quickened her pace, but he knew she had to be focused on him by the way she held her body, tense and ready to flee -- where? Her hand moved to her purse, where he assumed she had a can of mace.
The shadow, clad in a long coat, flicked across the lot behind her, leaving whorls of smoky fog in its wake, and reached her almost before Horn could react.
Almost.
The girl screamed as dark limbs encircled her torso and neck. Three or four or five dark limbs that each ended in writhing, boneless appendages.
Horn's knife sliced three of the tentacles in half a second. As he sidestepped behind the girl the featureless face of her attacker split vertically, flashing multiple rows of wet teeth. He drove six inches of sharp steel into the maw, dragging sideways.
Black blood spurted from the ragged remains and the being released the girl and reeled away. Horn started after it, then reversed direction in an instant as three more shadowy figures appeared in the increasingly dense fog.
He turned and ran, grabbing the girl's arm and dragging her stumbling after him.
She shrieked and dragged her feet.
"They'll kill you!" he snapped. "Run!"
She glanced back and saw the oncoming attackers then glanced at Horn, who hesitated. Apparently deciding that he looked less lethal and perhaps a spot more human, she nodded once.
They took off. The fog, dense and palpable, had risen above them. Horn could see next to nothing. Running across Market, eerily empty and silent under the faint glow of the almost invisible streetlights, he heard the sloppy, slapping sounds of inhuman appendages following and prayed nothing lurked ahead.
The girl stumbled in her three-inch spikes. She staggered and almost fell as she kicked them off, then hissed in pain as she ran barefoot on the rough concrete sidewalk. But she picked up speed and in seconds the fog lessened as they left their pursuers far behind.
Horn realized he still had her arm in a steel grip and released her. She staggered over to a building and slapped her hands against the wall, hanging her head and gasping hoarsely. Sweat and dampness from the fog plastered the blouse to her impressive curves, giving Horn an eyeful if he cared to notice, which he did. He heard movement back the way they had come and instinctively moved closer to the girl.
She had managed to hang on to her purse and suddenly stepped back and whipped out a can of mace. "Back off!"
He raised one quizzical eyebrow.
"I know this scam! Get me all grateful and cooing over what a man you are and take me home and screw my lights out and then your friends come in and get everything I own and me in the bargain --"
Her face evidenced concentrated fear but her hand remained steady. Mace hurt a lot so Horn kept his distance. Over her head he saw that the fog had lifted. Miraculously, almost. He relaxed and shrugged. "I guess you didn't see the 'guys' who attacked you."
She relaxed a little, too, seeing him back off, then took an obvious second to appraise his appearance.
Worn Army surplus field jacket hanging on a pretty good set of shoulders. Hard planed face looking brooding and thoughtful, or at least he hoped so.
"Get lost, Lothario."
He backed up twenty feet, still watching her, mainly to make sure something slimy didn't drop out of the sky. Then he turned and walked away, uphill toward Broadway.
He glanced back and saw her walking back toward Market, presumably to get her shoes. Not smart, and she didn't look dumb. She ought to run down to the all night burger joint a block away, call a girlfriend to come get her.
He stopped and thought about it, decided he should risk a face full of hell, and trotted back after her. Then he heard her screams, and this time it didn't sound like a girl being mugged who was mad and scared and if she got out that can of mace it was going to be emptied into someone's face.
This time it sounded like she had seen the Truth.

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Open Doors by Leona Grey

Open Doors
by Leona Grey

Cover art by Karen Fox
ISBN: 978-1-60521-192-3
Genre(s): Paranormal
Theme(s): Magic and Mayhem
Length: Novella


http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1160









Blurb:

Maura has a way of ignoring the open doors in her life, like the door to the spirit world in her guest room and the opportunity to be with Jared. But he plans to change all that. As a mystic, he recognizes what is in her house and is determined to take care of it, with hopes of winning her heart in the process.
But the person who opened the portal has other plans.



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.

Jared studied the portal in Maura Sanderson's spare room. Most portals to the spirit world were protected so that only good energies, or ones that were invited, could enter. This portal had no such restrictions. So anything could come into Maura's home without her knowledge. If the entity was smart, the changes would be gradual. Maura would slowly slip into depression. Close friends might notice, but she would seem like the millions of other Americans fighting their inner demons. Except Maura's demon would have its own consciousness. If she started antidepressants, they would cloud her mind and give the spirit/entity/demon -- whatever it might be -- more of a hold on her. Maura had no protections. She would be an easy target.
* * *
Maura just wanted to take off her shoes and put on her comfy clothes. Managing one of the nicer restaurants in town was a good job but a lot of work. It made her really appreciate going home, getting comfortable, and not having to deal with anything or anyone. It was impossible to avoid all human contact right now. Her kitchen was being remodeled, but the contractors didn't usually bother her unless they had a question. Which was why she was really surprised to see her handyman, Jared, in the spare bedroom. "What are you doing?" she asked.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Your room just caught my attention."
She looked around the rather generic room with its nearly bare eggshell-colored walls. She'd been meaning to spruce it up for a while, but it kept slipping her mind. "This room caught your attention."
In its current state it was probably the least inviting room in the house. Or maybe it was just her. She had never really liked this room. It made her uneasy. In all honesty, she was a little ashamed of the guest room. She wondered if the fact that she hadn't done anything with it meant she was an unwelcoming person. Especially since she had taken great pains to make sure the rest of her home reflected her personality, elegant with an edge. At least, she liked to think of herself that way.
"Oh, yeah. I have a cabinet that I made that would fit just right in that odd-shaped space over there. If you want, I can bring it by sometime and let you look at it."
"Sure, why not?"
He smiled. "Great. Thanks, Maura. And thanks for letting my cousin work with me on this. He really is a good guy."
"I trust you, Jared. Are you guys almost done?"
"Yes, ma'am. We'll be out in a few minutes."
"Okay, see you Monday." Maura wasn't trying to get rid of him, really. She just had plans with a girlfriend this evening. Netta wanted to have another "let's bash men because my boyfriend's a jerk" night. How could Maura refuse? Though some days she would much rather spend an evening with the handsome and handy Jared.
"'Night, Maura," Jared called. The door shut quietly, as usual. That was something she had always noticed about him. He was a big man, but careful. Of course, it wasn't the first thing she noticed about him. That was his smile. He had a serious face with a closely trimmed beard that gave him an almost stern appearance, but when he smiled it was so… real. It completely changed the look of him. It made her think there was more to him than people knew.
Maybe after the remodels in her kitchen were done, she could find the nerve to ask him out. If she did it before then, whether he said yes or no, she would have to see him every day, and that would be uncomfortable.
She had just gotten into her oldest T-shirt and a pair of ratty cutoffs when there was a knock at the door. "The pasta was great," she called to Netta through the door, but when she pulled it open, Jared was on the other side.
He raised his eyebrows at her state of dress. Or undress -- the cutoffs were pretty short. "Sorry. I don't mean to disturb you but I think I left my work calendar in your spare room. I can't go a day without it, I'm so forgetful. Do you mind?"
"No, go ahead and look for it."
"Thanks, I'll hurry."
He left soon after, waving the calendar at her as he went past. As often happened, she was struck by the urge to figure him out. It might have been genuine curiosity or just plain old attraction but it always tugged at her mind. He was obviously handsome and a good person, but she knew lots of nice handsome men. She didn't feel the need to get into their minds. With a small shake of her head she let it go and played the message on her answering machine. It was from her father.
"Hey, baby girl. Just checking in, wanted to see how work is going and all that. Well, I guess I'll catch you later, then. Bye."
Dad was good about checking in on her. He knew Mom didn't call except to complain about how bad her life was, how lonely she was, how little money she had. That always got on Maura's nerves. Her mother didn't work yet she was living almost as well as Maura, who had a well-paying full-time job. She kept those thoughts to herself, though. Comments like that would just bring on an argument and hurt feelings.
She made a note by the phone to call her father back and proceeded to raid the fridge for snacks her friend would like. Netta, the gourmet cook and food connoisseur, arrived before long with a bottle of wine and a bag of potato chips.
"You have such good taste, my friend," laughed Maura. She was glad to see her friend eating, even if it was potato chips. Netta was a small woman with a tendency to lose weight when she got stressed, which was fairly often. She already had a permanent line between her eyebrows. Her short, straight, light brown hair was usually tucked behind her ears, out of the way. Many people were careful about approaching her because she always seemed angry. In reality, she was a very funny person, just a little too high-strung.
"Hey, don't knock it 'til you try it," Netta said as she filled two glasses.
"Easy, that's enough. Let's not drink so much tonight, okay?"
"Oh, come on. It's one night a week when we get to unwind. Don't make me drink by myself. Please." Netta did the puppy dog face.
"Fine. I'll drink with you, but I don't want to get drunk."
"That's fine. Let's go see if there are any cute guys on TV, preferably not wearing shirts. I think we can manage that, don't you? Oh, hey, those are great." She pointed to the new cabinet doors in Maura's kitchen. "I didn't know you were redoing your kitchen." The plain white doors were being replaced by more ornate ones sporting the wood's natural warm tones. Also, the section of counter right next to the stove was becoming a large cutting board.
"I told you about it last weekend."
Netta waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, you know I don't pay attention to things like that, but these are beautiful."
"Aren't they? Jared does great work."
Netta gave her a wicked look. "Ooh, Mr. Big and Stern Jared with the nice ass? I may need some work done in my kitchen." Netta laughed at herself and took a sip of wine. "I am such a slut sometimes."
Maura just shook her head. "He's going to bring over this cabinet he made that he thinks would look good in the spare room. I'm excited to see it. Remember when we drove by his house and I showed you the chainsaw carvings in his front yard?"
"Oh, yeah. Nice ass and good with his hands. My, my…" Netta smiled and shook her head then grabbed the bag of chips and headed to the living room. "Come on; let's see what's on TV."
Maura was used to her friend's abrupt subject changes. So she just went along with her. As usual, they spent the night drinking and laughing while Netta made snide comments about Sam, her boyfriend. Somehow, Maura managed to pass out, also like usual, even though she didn't remember having that much to drink.

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Bound in Lust Collection by Dawn Montgomery

Bound in Lust (Collection)
by Dawn Montgomery

Cover art by Reneé George
ISBN: 978-1-60521-183-1
Genre(s): Paranormal, Dark Fantasy
Theme(s): Interracial, BBW
Length: Collection

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Blurb:

One bite by a rogue demon has left Elena in the throes of a dark curse. It will take all Drake's power to halt the change and save her life. In the depths of their dark lust she becomes something other, a bond mate to a demon of lust. Will it be worth the cost?
In the shadows a deadly adversary begins moving the pieces, creating a trap that will bring Drake and Elena into the darkest reaches of their hearts. Neither expects the depth of hatred from the Brotherhood or the lengths to which they will go to destroy one demon. Drake, it seems, has old enemies and they're willing to overthrow Hell itself to destroy him.


Publisher's Note: This collection contains three previous published novellas Bound in Lust, Bound in Fury, and Bound Eternally.




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.
They won’t kill me. I know too much. Those thoughts did little to ease her fears, but she knew it wouldn’t matter anyway. Show or die. Easy decision, really.
The throb and pulse of Abandon’s dance floor beat a counter rhythm to Elena’s thudding heart. She skirted the fringes of the crowd, trying to weave through the bodies without attracting too much attention. Drawing deep on her reserves and adding energy to reinforce her inner shields, she avoided the lustful onslaught of hormones. Even with the skintight pantsuit she was wearing, it shouldn’t be much of a problem. Most of the dancers wore far less. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Why the hell did I wear my hair down?
Within moments a hand grasped her elbow. She glanced up and gasped at the gorgeous specimen who’d touched her. Eyes dark as onyx reflected the changing flashes of light throughout the club. Thick eyelashes framed them in perfect symmetry, making her fingers itch to sketch them. Sharp cheekbones were accented by shadows, reminding her of a Greek statue. The dark silk of his hair was held in place by a leather thong. Like always.
“Angels don’t usually grace me with their presence. To what do I owe this honor?” The deeply masculine voice rumbled across her skin like a caress.
Waves of lust stroked her, teased her nipples to aching tips thrusting against the black denim. She shivered against the heavy power in his touch. Demon power. The raw sensual heat of a demon of lust.
“I’m no angel.” Her throat was husky with suppressed longing. Desperately, she concentrated on rebuilding the shambles of her empathy shield.
His full sensual lips lifted in a half smile. He brought her hand to those fascinating lips and brushed them against her open palm. Little shots of electricity shot from her hand to her core, stroking her pussy from within. She bit back a moan at his tender ministration. Control. She had to maintain control. His hungry gaze sizzled her from head to toe. He had a way of making her very aware of every single curve.
She cleared her throat. “You have something I need.”
“I appreciate your candor, Elena. Would you like to retire to my office?” He gestured toward the upper balcony.
She nodded, not trusting her voice to form further coherent words. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew this was life and death, but her libido, at the moment, was in heaven. Don’t forget why you’re here, Elena. There are worse things than death. She flinched in memory of the cloaked man’s words.
She pulled her hand from his with an apologetic smile. “Please, after you.” She gestured and did her best to keep from rubbing her hand against her thigh. It still tingled where his lips had touched her.
He led her to his executive elevator. Two men, more like tree trunks with arms, blocked the path of any others who would dare enter. From their lack of expressions to the tangy flavor of their cologne, she couldn’t tell them apart. At 5'6" she only came to their shoulders, but even at close range they exuded no emotion.
They stepped into the elevator and she couldn’t help but comment. “It’s rare to see twins working as bouncers.”
The demon smiled and his eyes glowed. “They owed me a debt.”
Elena swallowed and tore her gaze away from his disturbing presence. “Debts are serious things.”
Within the confines of the box, the rich scent of his body surrounded her, infiltrated her senses, and teased her with a promise.
“Yes, they are.” His voice rumbled with amusement. Drake’s heavy gaze was unnerving. “You should wear your hair down more often, Elena. The chestnut color is striking.”
Heat flushed her cheeks at the compliment. To her immense relief, the elevator chimed their arrival.
He gestured and she left the elevator. Her heels sank into the plush carpet -- blood red and a perfect match to her demon host. She peeked at him from beneath her lashes. An elegant profile and lost in thought. For just a moment she wondered what he was thinking.
His obsidian eyes flicked to meet her gaze. For several long seconds she held her breath at the intense sexual longing she felt from him. Her pussy clenched in desperate urgency, slicking her panties with her need. Empathy’s curse.
She needed a distraction. Ornate doors drew her interest. Wrought iron edging with wooden carvings in the panels. She reached the doors and stared. Women and men writhed in sexual abandon. Each tiny body an embodiment of lust. She fisted her hands to keep from tracing a particularly intricate one. Is that even physically possible?
“I assure you it is,” he whispered in her ear.


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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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