Throwback Thursday: Zombies Don’t Make Good Pets by Ashlynn Monroe #TBT #Zombies

Cover Art by Bryan Keller

 

Coralee Bradley is proud to be the only veterinarian in the small town of Davis, Wisconsin. The picturesque community sits nestled in the river valley surrounded by lush wooded bluffs. Everything about Davis is tranquil except for one thing — zombies. Coralee finds herself battling for her life against the same people she called neighbors seventy-two hours earlier.

Sergeant Jordan Parks invades Cora’s private domain after his black ops zombie fighting unit is overrun by the horde. Injured, he seeks refuge with an angelic redhead. When she suddenly becomes a threat to their safety there’s only one thing he can do — make love to her.

Cora has never seen a better looking man, but it’s just her luck to find him when the world is going crazy and certain death waits outside. Jordan soothes her fear using his buff body to bring her to heights of pleasure she’d never imagined possible. One night of end-of-the-world sex will never be enough, but can they survive long enough for another roll in the hay? Cora only knows one thing — zombies sure as hell don’t make good pets.

 

Get it Today!

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2013 Ashlynn Monroe

The shooting outside stopped. She waited. Taking a deep breath, Cora stood up and checked the window again. The tank in the center of town had stopped its slow progression. A wave of the hungry undead surged over the metallic behemoth. She hoped whoever was operating it was still alive. When she’d first seen the National Guard roll into town she’d thought she’d been saved, but looking out at the overturned jeeps, bodies, and abandoned weapons, she knew salvation wasn’t going to be that simple.

A clatter echoed in the back of the clinic. Cora gasped. Her hands were shaking as she picked up her bag. She reached into the top drawer where she kept her emergency tranquilizer gun. She’d never had to use it on an unruly patient, but now she wondered how well the drug would work on an animated corpse. Shivering, she slowly crept back towards her small operating room. Turning the corner, she passed the storage closet and finally her hand touched the knob to the back room. She hoped that feral cat hadn’t escaped. Cautiously she turned the knob and peeked inside.

A tall man in a uniform was going through her supply bins. She couldn’t see his face, so she couldn’t tell if he was one of them. A desperate breath escaped her and she bit her lip. Here goes nothing. Cora threw open the door and dropped her bag. She raised the gun, ready to fire at the interloper.

He turned. She saw blood running down his forehead. The intruder’s eyes were wide and framed with thick black lashes, and they were clear, not the milky white of death.

Cora let go of the breath she’d been holding and lowered her weapon. “You scared the shit out of me,” she said.

He raised his pistol.

“Whoa, just hang the hell on. You’re in my clinic,” she shouted. Her knees wobbled. This was just too much. Don’t get weepy! She tried to obey her inner voice, but her lip trembled.

“Were you bitten?” He had one of those deep, radio perfect voices. There was a seductive resonance in his tone. He was handsome, movie star hot, and it wasn’t just the uniform. The man had well-proportioned classical features. His eyes were shadowed with fatigue, but they were the most startling shade of green. Perfection. She almost felt the heat radiating off him and his six-pack abs.

What is wrong with me? He’s pointing a gun at me and today is mostly likely the first day of the apocalypse. Why am I so fixated on his total sex-a-lusciousness?

“Were. You. Bitten?” he repeated in annoyance.

“No,” she replied, scowling.

He lowered his gun. “I think you and I may be the last.”

At first, she didn’t understand what he meant, and then the horrific understanding dawned on her. “The last?” she squeaked out. The idea everyone she’d ever known was dead or — worse, undead — squeezed her heart with almost unbearable pain. “Are there reinforcements coming?”

“Don’t think so.” He returned to his search and spoke without looking at her.

“We need to get out of town!” Cora said as she pulled her bag higher on her shoulder. She’d waited too long. She should’ve run sooner, but she’d been waiting for her sister.

“The tank was no match for those things. I seriously doubt we’d be able to get past the bastards on foot.”

His harsh assessment put a glare on her face. “Hey, those bastards used to be my friends and neighbors.” Cora’s voice rose as she reminded him to show respect.

“Sorry,” he muttered gruffly, but she didn’t hear remorse in his tone. His pupils appeared dilated. She realized her only hope looked like he was ready to fall over.

“Sit down. Let me take care of your head.”

He must have been looking for some bandages. He’d come to the right place. He sat while she grabbed what she needed. “What happened?”

“I was dodging a few of the infected bastards when I had to scale a fence and duck under a sign. I hit my head.”

“You didn’t touch your cut after touching the infected? Or let one of them touch your wound?” Cora asked with concern. She had no idea how this spread, but an open gash seemed like an invitation for infection.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Well, that’s good. Hold still. This might sting.”

“Damn,” he spat out as she wiped at the gash with an antiseptic covered pad.

“Sorry.”

“So are you the only doctor in town?”

Cora grinned. It felt strange to be standing there smiling when all hell was breaking loose a few feet away. “No. I’m the town vet. Davis is too small to support its own human clinic. We don’t have a doctor. I make many house calls to local farms. You’re the first human patient I’ve seen in this office, but I don’t think you have the luxury of being picky.”

He grunted, but didn’t tell her to stop. She finished wrapping his wound. His hand was bleeding and she cleaned and wrapped that too.

“I’m Cora. Dr. Coralee Bradley.”

“Jordan Parks,” he said. She already knew part of that — Parks was embroidered on a patch on the right side of his chest. The other side said US ARMY. She hoped he was wrong and there were reinforcements on the way.

“So what’s going to happen now? What do we do?”

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ashlynn Monroe is a busy working mom. She loves her kids and family. Her greatest joy is creating stories to entertain others, and she hopes they bring a little more romance into the world. She’s been writing since her teens for her own enjoyment but decided in her thirties to share her imagination with readers. Ashlynn enjoys biking, camping, reading, video games, and filling her home and life with love. If she’s not working or chasing children, you can find her daydreaming up her next tale of romance.

Ashlynn at Changeling Press| Ashlynn’s Website

 

Throwback Thursday: Space Opera (box set) by Stephanie Burke #SciFiRomance #TBT @FlashyCat

Cover Art by Karen Fox

 

They were the new world’s only hope. Now their only hope is running from the very people they were created to protect.

Javen and Gara were bred to be the perfect soldiers, protecting New Earth from the scourge from above. As lovers, they were created to resonate in perfect harmony with each other, their lives the stuff of legends. But they proved to be evolution’s darlings, developing beyond anything the scientists had ever dreamed of, their advancement eclipsing that of their creators.

Now their only hope is a planet of their own, where they can live free — free to construct a new society based on the ideals of justice and honor.

But with dangerous factions at work, a mysterious prophesy, and an old enemy amassing, this stunning melody may ring out with the perfect notes to save the worthy and unworthy alike. Freedom demands an awful price.

Publisher’s Note: This Box Set contains the previously published novellas Space Opera and Space Opera: The Second Movement.

 

Get it Today!

 

What are reviewers saying?

 

Praise for Space Opera“If you enjoy stories full of action, in the bedroom and out of it, stories also full of interesting characters and an attention-getting plot, you will thoroughly enjoy this book.”

 — Jacquelyn R. Ward, The Romance Studio

“Space Opera is a multifaceted sci-fi odyssey with very imaginative characters. Stephanie Burke exhibits an ingenious ability that captured my attention to the end.”

— Rosemary, Joyfully Reviewed

 

Praise for The Second Movement“Ms. Burke weaves a seamless tale of unconditional love, friendship, heartbreak and power in this second installment of her Space Opera and I loved getting to meet these men and learning their story. The dialogue is snappy, the sex sizzling and the emotions are so poignant, I sniffled quite a bit!”

— Narcissus, Whipped Cream Reviews

“Just as in the first installment, this book has plenty of fantastic creatures, magical settings, a clear conflict of good vs. evil, and humor. There’s also a great big helping of sex, making this a truly entertaining read… Stephanie Burke has once again written a fun and erotic sci-fi/fantasy story that’s perfect for a lazy summer afternoon.”

— Bella, TwoLips Reviews

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Stephanie is a USA Today Best Selling, multi published, multi award-winning author, Master Costumer, handicapped, wife and mother of two.

From sex-shifting, shape-shifting dragons to undersea worlds, sexually confused elemental Fey and homo-erotic mysteries, all the way to pastel-challenged urban sprites, Stephanie has done it all, and hopes to do more.

Stephanie is an orator on her favorite subjects of writing and world-building, a sometime teacher when you feed her enough tea and donuts, an anime nut, a costumer, and a frequent guest of various sci-fi and writing cons where she can be found leading panel discussions or researching varied legends and theories to improve her writing skills.

Stephanie is known for her love of the outrageous, strong female characters, believable worlds, male characters filled with depth, and multi-cultural stories that make the reader sit up and take notice.

Stephanie at Changeling Press | Stephanie’s Blog | Facebook

 

 

Throwback Thursday: Hungry Novice by Kate Hill #TBT #paranormalromance

Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

Blair and May are supposed to be living their happily ever after, but for them it’s not that easy. Lately the only place they’ve been able to get along is in bed. May wants to join Blair’s vampiric family in their battle against evil, but he wants nothing more than to keep her safe.

Unable to reconcile, Blair sets May free, but when he’s captured by enemies, the tables turn and it’s up to May to defend him — possibly to the death. How far will a newly-made vampire go to test her powers?

 

Get it at Changeling Press

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2015 Kate Hill

As the pleasure ebbed, May sank into a completely relaxed state, her breathing slow and even. She was aware of nothing except Blair lying beside her, his breath against her shoulder and his hand lightly caressing her belly.

After a moment, she opened her eyes to look at him. He took her hand and kissed the back of it, then gazed at their entwined fingers, a far-off expression in his eyes.

“That’s a quizzical look,” she remarked. “What are you thinking about?”

“Just that I never thought I could be this happy again.”

She smiled.

“And that I’m waiting for something to destroy it.”

Her smile faded and she squeezed his hand. “Blair, you must learn to live for the moment — to enjoy what’s happening now and stop worrying about the future until it comes.”

“You’re starting to sound like Hamilton.”

“He’s not such a bad person. I’ve only known him a short time, but I’m already grateful to him for a number of things.”

“I never said he was a bad person, just… annoying. Stubborn. Self-righteous.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like another man I know.”

He looked surprised. “You can’t mean me.”

“Can’t I?” She chuckled.

“May, that’s utterly preposterous and –”

“And I’d rather not argue on our first day home. I have other things to worry about.”

“Such as?”

“How do you intend to explain to the other people in the village that you’ve married your maid?”

“I don’t intend to explain anything. It’s none of their concern.”

“But –”

“No buts. The opinion of anyone who would find fault in our union means nothing to me. Do you honestly think that I of all people would sacrifice love for propriety?”

“No. I’m still not accustomed to someone like you.”

“Learning about each other is exciting, don’t you think?”

“Quite.” She snuggled closer and he tightened his arm around her.

“What would you like to do today?” he asked.

“I thought we might go for a ride so we can continue the lessons we started before we left for London. I’m still not as comfortable on horseback as I’d like to be. Then maybe you could help with my self-defense practice.”

A smile played around his lips. “You’re an unusual woman, May.”

Smiling, she brushed the tip of her nose against his. “We’re a good match then, because you’re an unusual man.”

She had quickly learned that Blair and his vampiric “family” were unlike humans in more than their drinking habits. Vampire females, like wildcats, often embraced violence to survive. Human women, at least in the world May knew, weren’t expected to develop combat skills.

In London, Blair’s friends had encouraged her to be self-sufficient. Daria, Woodrow and Giacomo had started teaching her the fighting arts and when Blair returned after battling a gang of vampire criminals, he had continued her training.

He had been pleased with her interest in learning to defend herself, having lost his previous wife and children to a brutal attacker.

May kissed him, then slipped out of bed. She searched through her travel bag for the shirt and trousers Daria had given her. She bound her breasts with a piece of cloth to protect them during exercise, then she donned the masculine attire. Blair raised himself on his elbows and gazed at her with a faint smile.

“What?” May asked.

“I never imagined a woman in men’s clothes could be so appealing.”

His words warmed her but she narrowed her eyes and pointed at him. “You, Sir, had better behave, at least until my training session is complete.”

Blair stood abruptly and strode toward her. May moistened her lips, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of Blair’s lean, muscular body and the hungry look in his eyes.

He placed a hand to the back of her head and covered her mouth in a penetrating kiss. His tongue teased hers and she moaned, her resolve already disintegrating.

When the kiss broke, he stared into her eyes with a playful look. “To tide me over until we finish the session.”

 

More from Kate Hill at Changeling Press …

Kate Hill (Also writing as Saloni Quinby)

Always a fan of romance and the paranormal, I started writing over twenty years ago. My first story was accepted for publication in 1996. Since then I’ve written over one hundred short stories, novellas and novels. I love to blend genres. I also love horror and a happily ever after, so if you’re looking for romance with witches, aliens, vampires, angels, demons, shapeshifters and more, there’s a good chance you’ll find something to your taste here.

When I’m not writing, I enjoy reading, watching horror and action movies, working out and spending time with my family and pets.  I love hearing from readers, so feel free to leave a comment at my blog or connect with me on Twitter.

 

Throwback Thursday: Dr. Feel Good (Operation Bliss) by Ashlynn Monroe #TBT #DarkDesire

Cover Art by Bryan Keller

The crew of the Galactic Alliance exploration vessel Bliss has discovered many uncharted worlds. They’ve faced many dangers. Yet nothing has prepared them for the new threat burning through the crew like fire. Lust. When they rescue a dying alien, they have no idea he’s infected with an undetectable pathogen that will attack the crew through their most primal desires.

Doctor Arely Sampson fights to save her fellow crewmembers even as the fever burns inside her. Only one man on the ship has ever made her question her dedication to the Galactic Alliance no-fraternization policy — Nikili Berak, the Morian Chief of Security. He’s the hottest — and most frustrating — man she’s ever met. But then her long-time friend Lydon Zo, the ship’s telepathic counselor, admits how much he wants her for himself. Lydon is just as sexy, in his own way. And he’s Nikili’s best friend. How can she choose between them?

Will she be able to fight her primal urges, or will the Alliance policy book go straight out the airlock? This is one virus the crew will enjoy catching.

 

Get it at Changeling Press

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Ashlynn Monroe

Dr. Arely Sampson, ship’s Medical Officer, jumped as the emergency warning sirens screamed out. She nearly dropped the vial of blood she’d just taken out of the centrifuge. With shaking hands she put it down and took off her gloves.

“Incoming priority message,” VI, the ship’s AI computer, informed Arely in her slightly flat, albeit incredibly human voice.

Arely tapped the smart fabric on the arm of her uniform. The fibers lit up and the captain’s image appeared. “Doctor, we need your team to shuttle bay three,” Captain Zahara ordered. “We’ve run across an Emergency Escape Pod. We’re reading one life form. VI has swept the pod and reports the occupant is alive, but life signs are weak. We’ll need your crew to secure the pod and transport the patient directly to isolation.”

“We’ll be there right away, Captain.” Arely grabbed her scanner and her med kit. She tapped her comm again. “Lt. Tamalia, get a team together and bring the decon unit to shuttle bay three.”

“The security team is already on the way,” the lieutenant replied.

In the corridor Arely paused momentarily to glance out a starboard porthole. A robotic arm was attaching to the EEP and drawing it toward the shuttle bay doors. She broke into a run. “Level Three,” she told the elevator as she stepped inside.

Thirty-six seconds later, she exited on the level she’d requested.

“The decon unit is ready, and there’s a security crew waiting on the dock,” Lt. Tamalia replied to her unspoken question.

She nodded as they jogged toward the shuttle bay. “Understood.” Arely turned on the portable scanner.

“Cargo bay doors are now closed and atmosphere has been returned to normal,” VI reported. “You may enter.”

“Good, let’s do it.”

 

More from Ashlynn Monroe at Changeling Press …

Ashlynn Monroe is a busy working mom. She loves her kids and family. Her greatest joy is creating stories to entertain others, and she hopes they bring a little more romance into the world. She’s been writing since her teens for her own enjoyment but decided in her thirties to share her imagination with readers. Ashlynn enjoys biking, camping, reading, video games, and filling her home and life with love. If she’s not working or chasing children, you can find her daydreaming up her next tale of romance.

 

 

Throwback Thursday: Morgan’s Creed by Willa Okati #paranormalromance #TBT

Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

Dante’s World… a place where vampires live, thrive, and do as they please. “As they please” often includes drinking from willing humans in defiance of the law, selling their services as protection, and setting up brothels that cater to those with a taste for the bite.

Morgan is a true beauty and a Mistress among vampires who isn’t living up to her potential. Creed, a Master vampire, sees all that she can be, and determines to make her star shine. The trouble is, they own competing brothels, one of mortals and one of vampiresses, and they’re locked in a fierce competition.

To settle their dispute, Creed challenges Morgan to a tri-fold battle: feeding, fighting, and… making love. Morgan, who denies her vampire nature, relishes the idea of going tooth and claw with Creed. Little does Morgan know that after their duel, things will never go back to the way they were…

Publisher’s Note: Second Edition — Morgan’s Creed was first released by Changeling Press in 2005. Morgan’s Creed is set in Dante’s World, but is not included in the Black Leather Night and Other Tales collection.

 

Get it at Changeling Press

 

EXCERPT

Copyright ©2013 Willa Okati
An Authorized Excerpt

The city looked like a warren. Built up from a few huts around the spaceport, it had grown into a vast maze of tall mansions, low dwellings, alleys, and shops. Easy to get lost in. Easy to lose yourself in. A dangerous place for a woman alone.

That was why Morgan was here. She couldn’t protect them all, but she could keep a few safe in her house. A low stone enclosure attached to a tall mansion, it had been abandoned when she moved in. She figured her house had been servants’ quarters, once. No matter. It suited her needs, and those of the women she protected. They each had a small den-like room of their own, with very few windows.

Important for her kind. Especially during the day.

Morgan smiled without humor as she looked down on the city. Dark hair, the color of a raven’s wing, soft and smooth, fell down into her eyes, across skin the color of milky mocha, luminous in the moonlight. Small and slender, she nestled into the window cranny with no problem, and could gaze down, drinking in her fill of the night.

Some of the things she saw made her furious. She didn’t use her fangs or her strength to defend any except those under her care, but truth to tell, the human brigands roaming the streets were the least of her women’s worries. Far worse were the vampire-kind, those who lurked in the alleys. They’d leave their victim half-drained to die or be rescued, uncaring which one. Sometimes they would take it all and make that helpless soul one of their own, another to hunt and stalk and kill.

Vampires were evil creatures.

She knew.

She’d been there.

Absently, she felt at the two small puncture wounds on her neck. She’d heard a small rustle from a nearby cranny one night. Thinking only that it might be a small animal, trapped under rubbish, she’d gone to look, and —

Awakened the next night one of them. A vampire.

Abandoned, with no one to teach her, she could live as she chose, without having been indoctrinated into the vampire-kind’s ways. She drank blood from bags stolen from the hospital or bottles bought in the black market. She did not hunt, but protected, instead.

She’d begun gathering street-dwellers to her for protection, keeping them safe from the vampires and the human vultures who preyed on the weak. It made restitution, somehow, for being what she was. She knew she could never change back into what she had been, but she could keep others from falling prey to the same fate.

Always women; always the helpless. Women who used their bodies to eke out another day’s food and shelter. Her home had turned into a house for soiled doves, and the rooms into love nests, but she didn’t mind. With a vampire there, the men treated her girls well, and paid them what they should. The women passed on to her the pittance she asked for, only enough to serve her needs. If she stayed clear of men, and kept to herself, no one asked any questions.

It was a good life, altogether.

But if she sometimes longed for something… something insubstantial… as she gazed down on the city, no matter. Her women were friends as well as housemates. And she had —

A small noise issued from the cupboard where they kept food. A little rustling, but enough to perk up her sensitive ears. “Sascha,” she crooned, rolling off the counter and landing on all fours. “Sascha, what ails you?”

She crept forward, peering into the bottom of the pantry. A handsome calico cat lay on her side amid swaddlings of clean rags, with six puffballs of kittens, all colors, nursing at her plump nipples.

Sascha shifted again as Morgan came into sight, and opened her mouth in a silent “meow.”

“Are you hungry, love?” Morgan asked softly. “Feeding all those, you must be starved, yourself. Hold on, I’ll get you an early breakfast.”

Her women said she spoiled the cat, and, well, she probably did. All Sascha had to do was make the slightest of complaints, and Morgan would rush to her side to mend the wrong. But she’d always had a soft spot for small creatures, even when she was mortal. Now that she lived as a vampire, the cat was one of her great comforts. Before the kittens, she had always crept into Morgan’s sunless interior room during the day, to nap away the hours curled up on her feet or at her side.

Morgan missed that, now. But the cupboard was where Sascha had chosen to litter, and like Morgan, she was faithful to her little ones.

She felt in a small drawer for a tin of sliced meat. She spent most of her own small monies on things for the cat, especially luxuries like the canned food Sascha loved. She laughed at the loud caterwaul from the cupboard as she cracked the tin open. “Here you are, little one.”

Laughing, Morgan lay on her side to watch the mother and babies. She could afford the luxury. It was an hour until dawn, and the last of the clients had left some time ago. She could savor the warmth of the clay stove in the kitchen without fear of sunlight streaming in the window. Hunger gnawed at her, but it was bearable.

She was… dared she think it? Content.

Just as she thought that, a small snick caught her ears. She whirled around, staring narrowly through to the front door. Baring her fangs, she growled low in her throat. If it was a man, come to take advantage of a house of women…

The door opened fully, and Agnes staggered in under the weight of a full linen basket.

“Aggie!” Morgan exploded. “Where have you been?”

Agnes jumped and pressed a hand to her heart. “Morgan! I didn’t know you’d still be awake. It’s almost dawn.”

“Almost, but not quite.”

“Close enough?”

“You’re trying to distract me.” Morgan rose easily to her feet, stalking toward the woman. “I thought you were an intruder.”

“No! No one would dare come in here, with you around.” Agnes was a tall woman, with soft, corn-colored hair, and dreamy blue eyes. Eyes that were now spiked with wet lashes. She had tear-trails down her rosy cheeks. Still, she smiled and reached out a gentle hand. “You’re our protector.”

Morgan laid her hand across Agnes’ for a brief moment. “You didn’t answer my question. Where were you, at this time of night? What’s had you crying?”

Agnes ducked her head, as if to hide the tell-tale signs.

Morgan hung on, like a terrier with a rat. “You have been crying. What happened? Were you attacked?”

“No. I was careful. You’ve taught us too well to be caught by surprise. I couldn’t sleep, so I went to the laundress to pick up our fresh bedclothes. And I’m not crying, not really. It’s just… Creed. Creed and his women, down the block.”

“Creed?” Morgan blinked in surprise. “Who’s he?”

“You don’t know? Well, I suppose you wouldn’t. You hardly ever leave here…” Agnes busied herself with lifting the linen basket to a low countertop. From inside, she drew a fresh bed-sheet, so often washed that it was soft as fur, and began to fold it. “It’s nothing, Morgan, truly.”

Morgan narrowed her eyes. “I think you should tell me about this Creed, and his women. If he’s a threat to you, I’ll see to him.”

“Oh, no!” Agnes lifted a hand to her throat. “Don’t, Morgan. It’s just my own silliness. Never mind me.”

“I will mind you. Now tell me.”

“Creed is a… a vampire, too,” Agnes said reluctantly. “So are his women. Vampires, or those that crave the bite.”

Morgan growled softly in her throat. She’d heard of such deviants, women and men who savored the pain and the supposed orgasmic bliss of being punctured and drunk from. “Filth,” she spat. “And?”

“He runs his house like this one. The women are there as pleasure servants. He protects them. But they — Morgan, they’re so bold. Close to dawn as this, and they were hanging from the balconies of the mansion he’s taken over. Dressed in corsets and leather, cat-calling to the men below. Our own clients have dropped lately, and now I know why. They’ve been lured in by the vampire-kind.”

“Do they change them over?” Morgan’s hand shot out and tightened on Agnes’ wrist. “Tell me, do they make them into vampires?”

“I don’t know. Please, Morgan, you’re hurting me.”

Instantly, remorsefully, Morgan dropped the woman’s wrist. “Forgive me. But this Creed, he takes our business? His women, they flaunt themselves like that?”

Agnes looked down at her own leather vest, long skirt, and slippers. The skirt was filmy, showing her long legs through it, and her vest tight enough her breasts were thrust high and up. There could be no mistaking what she was, and her lovely face only added to her attraction. “They do,” she admitted. “They’re painted, Morgan. And when I walked by, one of them laughed at me. Called me a baby who should still be home tagging onto her Momma’s shirt-tails. They don’t know, Morgan.”

Morgan’s face tightened. Agnes had run away from a fat old man who’d already used up three wives in his effort to get a son and heir. Her family had been more than willing to sell her off for the right price, so she’d run. It had been luck that Morgan had found her after only a couple weeks living on the streets.

“No,” she said flatly, “they don’t know. Is this the first time this has happened?”

Agnes hesitated.

“If you’re trying not to make me angry, it’s too late,” Morgan said in a voice so angry that it whispered like silk. “You’ve been hiding this from me. Trying not to upset me? They’ve done this before, haven’t they? And not just to you. To the other women, as well. Am I right?”

Agnes nodded, her head dipped.

 

More from Willa Okati at Changeling Press ….

Willa Okati is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray cat hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for winter weather, a little more coffee, and a lifelong love of storytelling. She is definitely one of the quiet ones you have to watch out for.

 

Throwback Thursday: Seduced by Darkness (Box Set) by Lacey Savage #DarkFantasy #PNR #DarkDesire #multiplepartners

Cover Artist: Renee George

A girl can only take so much darkness before she succumbs to its seductive call…

When sexy magician Luke Howard yanks Heidi Cole on stage and names her his audience volunteer, dark desire wraps Heidi in tendrils of passion, as foreign to her as the shadowy world of magic. And then Luke is brutally torn from her arms.

Driven by haunting memories of losing him, she hopes to one day become strong enough to conduct a Summoning and rescue her lover from the depths of Hell. But magic makes no guarantees. When Heidi is finally able to open a portal into Hell, she brings back not only Luke but also his cellmate, a man whose raw sex appeal is only matched by the secrets he keeps.

The descent into darkness will demand Heidi’s body, her heart, her humanity, and the one thing she refuses to sacrifice: her men.

This collection contains the previously released novellas Dark Desire, Summoning Darkness, Darkness Becomes Her, and Seduced by Darkness.

GET IT AT CHANGELING PRESS

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2009 Lacey Savage

It was a damn good day to die.

Varin crossed his arms over his bare chest and leaned against a sharply jutting edge of phosphorous black rock. The smell of sulfur and molten lava blended with the acrid stench of fear, drenching the damp air. He sucked in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the heady mixture.

Glorious. Like everything else about this place.

Although he’d been appointed Demon Guardian Overlord almost a millennium earlier, the euphoria that came with receiving new souls hadn’t yet begun to fade. Time had no meaning in the dark place beneath the mortal realm. Here, there was nothing but suffering and everlasting torment. The culmination of countless lifetimes of sin.

An intoxicating, potent rush heated his blood, bringing with it a torrent of pleasure. He reveled in it as he watched vessels carrying newcomers sway on the black waters of the underground river. The roiling turmoil beneath the surface of the stream mirrored the pounding of his heart. Frothy whitecaps blossomed to the top, stirred by the passing of the long, sleek ships.

Varin flexed his arms, feeling the rock dig deeper into his back. A tang of pain slid down his spine, shooting a jolt of adrenaline and arousal into his veins. He waited patiently as the newcomers disembarked, mere pale shades of the humans they once were. The occasional scream or wailing sob reached his ears, filling his soul.

This was what he was meant to do. Serve the Prince of Darkness as his most trusted Guardian of the Underworld, oversee the arrival of souls and ensure none ever crossed in the other direction, through any means.

“That’s the last of them, Master.”

He shot a glance to his right, where a long, ghostly shadow rippled in the hot breeze. “How many?”

“Three hundred and nineteen.”

“That’s twice as many as yesterday,” Varin said. “Baal will be pleased.”

The souleater bowed low at its shapeless waist, materializing into a solid figure. “If you’ll approve the delivery, we’ll transfer the new souls into your care immediately.”

Varin scanned the paperwork the shadow handed him. Etched in black on a pristine white surface, the names of those condemned to spend eternity in torment glistened on the form. The record was separated into two sections, and Varin’s gaze immediately jumped to the bottom, where a dozen names stood apart from the others.

His grin broadened. “The list of Forgotten continues to grow. You’ve done well.”

The apparition quivered with barely contained excitement. His dark eyes glowed red-hot for a moment, reflecting the unsettled waves of the river. “Do you think the Prince will reward me?”

Varin made a show of thinking about it. He’d served Baal for as long as he could remember. In all that time, the Prince of Darkness had never shown a shred of appreciation toward anyone. The Lord of the Underworld was quick to punish for the smallest infraction, but positive reinforcement wasn’t part of his leadership philosophy.

“Perhaps.” Varin glanced back at the names that had caught his attention. Forgotten souls belonged to humans captured before their time and hauled into Hell by force rather than by fate. Many had been destined for the Other place, but would now never see it.

For that reason, the Forgotten were among the most prized of prisoners. Unlike those who’d earned their stay in the Underworld, the Forgotten maintained their humanity after crossing over. They felt the sweet burn of every whiplash ten-fold. They could never die, and they would never escape the depths of Hell.

They were Varin’s triumph. Before him, no other Guardian Overlord had ever been able to draw the souls of those who had not yet passed over to linger on the other side. But Varin had known it was possible. He’d trained the souleaters himself. It had taken a century of constant instruction and countless fruitless journeys into the mortal realm, but it had all been worth it.

Excitement stirred his blood, jolting his cock. Overseeing the soul transfer to the Underworld always left him eager to fuck.

After consulting the record one last time, Varin brought his hand to his mouth and bit down on the pad of his index finger. Blood so dark it was almost black sprung up to the surface. He pressed the glistening drop down on to the paper, where it sizzled slowly, imbuing the air with a scorched scent.

Restless and aroused, he tossed the clipboard back to the souleater. “Find a lesser Guardian to take possession.”

He strolled away, following the edge of the river until it came to a sharp bend in the uneven trail. Ducking his head beneath a six-foot opening in a side cavern, he pressed his palm to the slick rock. At the contact, the barrier slid aside with a tumultuous rumble that made the ground quake beneath Varin’s feet.

He stepped inside and waited while his eyes adjusted to the dim interior. Decorated in a dark mixture of deep violet, crimson and midnight black, the cavernous room allowed him all the space he needed to indulge his cravings. Trickling streams of lava dripped along the stone walls, the light casting a soft glow over the minimal furniture in his chamber.

“Welcome home, Master. We were starting to get restless.”

Two succubae lounged in leather armchairs on either side of Varin’s bed. Tall and slim, with long black hair, plump breasts with rosy nipples, and hairless cunts, they looked like mirror images of each other.

Anger lit a fiery trail through Varin’s veins. “I’ve told you never to enter my chambers uninvited. And yet you insist on defying me at every opportunity.”

The succubus on the left batted her eyelashes. “We keep hoping you’ll change your mind about letting us entertain you.” She trailed her fingertips over her breasts, pausing to tweak a nipple and roll it between thumb and forefinger. “We pleased you once, remember? We can please you again.”

It had been years since he’d allowed either succubus to touch him. Despite their lithe, willing bodies and savage cravings, tonight, just like on countless other nights, Varin craved something — someone — else.

“Bring her,” he commanded, barely tossing another glance in the succubae’s direction. “Then leave us.”

“Her again. You’ve been fucking her exclusively for far too long. I wonder how much longer Baal will continue to ignore your deviant behavior. It’s not natural for a demon to prefer one of the Forgotten to those of his own kind.”

The petulant tone in the succubus’s voice didn’t escape Varin. His hand went to his belt. He drew it out slowly, then slipped it through his fingertips and snapped it before letting it land on the black bedspread. He didn’t have the inclination to punish her, even knowing she’d enjoy every slap of the leather against her perfectly shaped ass.

No, he wanted nothing to do with either succubus. There was only one woman who could relieve the pressure hardening his cock to painful proportions, and she didn’t have a drop of demonic blood in her.

“Do it now,” he ground out between gritted teeth, knowing he didn’t have to repeat his original order.

The stone doorway shifted to allow the succubae to leave. Varin removed his loose silk pants, letting the hot air permeating his room ruffle the curls at his groin.

Though his back was turned, he knew the exact moment when Lillian arrived. He felt her, even before the sentient stone guarding his chamber slid aside to let her pass. Her scent, musky with a tinge of something floral, even after all this time in the Underworld, taunted him.

“You asked for me, M-master?”

“The bonds of love and trust that develop between these characters throughout the story were a wonderful thing to see.”

–Mistletoe, Whipped Cream Reviews

“Dark Desire had me laughing, moaning, screaming and on the verge of crying with its intensity. Lacey Savage is an amazingly talented writer that never fails to satisfy this reader.”

 — Kerin, TwoLips Reviews

 

Throwback Thursday: Werelock by Dakota Cassidy #PNR #RomanticComedy #DarkDesire #TBT #werewolves #holidayromance #halloween @DakotaCassidy

When Addison Ross takes her niece and nephew pumpkin picking, she picks a winner…

 

Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Length: Novella

To keep her tired cooped-up sister from annihilating her niece and nephew and to appease their taunts that “Auntie Addison needs to get a life,” Addison Ross agrees to go on a pumpkin picking expedition with them.

And, hoo boy does she ever pick a winner.

Beneath the pumpkin she chooses, a talisman is buried. A talisman that brings the delish Caleb Marsden to her door and into her life.

Caleb Marsden the werelock.

Half werewolf, half warlock, the scrumptious Caleb holds the key to keeping the talisman safe, but he also unlocks something in Addison. Something long tucked away, wanton and wicked. Something she doesn’t want to risk losing.

He’s come to protect Addison until All Hallows Eve when a demon will try to wrest the talisman from her and take over the world. If the demon, Volac, gets his hands on the talisman, not only will the world know devastating destruction, but Caleb’s life may come to a devastating end…

Get it at Changeling Press

EXCERPT:

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2006 Dakota Cassidy
An Authorized Excerpt

Dear Nathan,

So I went pumpkin picking with my sister and her kids like three weeks before Halloween. I said it was much too early in the month. But my sister, Tricia, said that if those two spawn of Beelzebub spent one more second driving her out of her mind, she was going to hang a noose on her tree in the backyard, stick her head in it, and jump from the highest branch.

I told her that I didn’t think her husband, Griffon, looked at all like Beelzebub, but she kinda did.

I also thought that was sorta extreme and the visual was kinda ugly in my mind’s eye, but well, Joel and Sophia are spirited. Spirited is the polite word that stressed out, glazed-eyed parents use when they’re describing their little heathens. Heathens that constantly move and chatter. I say, bring on the valium and slip it in their Kool-Aid.

Hoorah for whatever helps you preserve your sanity.

Plus, to make matters worse, lately Sophie has been driving Tricia nuts about getting a dog. At the ripe old age of six, she’s decided — after watching far too much Animal Planet in my opinion — to become a veterinarian and she’d told us all quite proudly she needed a puppy to practice on.

According to Tricia, if Sophie mentioned getting a dog one more Jesus effin’ time, she’d simply end it all.

Anyway, we’ve had a cold snap and the kids had been stuck inside for a week. So they were driving her insane. Clearly Tricia needed respite. And a reason to razz the shit out of me for doing nothing but work. They take me pumpkin picking and Christmas tree hunting every year, under protest, while they nag me about my social life.

Er, non-social life, that is.

They make me go because they think that Auntie Addison needs to get out more. I say bullshit. Well, I didn’t say bullshit to the kids. Just so we’re straight. They’re only six and eight. I’d never do that. I said bullshit to Tricia about the theory of me getting out more.

I get out. I do. I go from my townhouse to my car to my office, and then do that all in reverse at like six o’clock at night. Okay, maybe more like nine if I’m honest. Sometimes I get all crazy and make a trip to the grocery store for milk that never fails to end up sour because I’m always working and forget it’s in the fridge.

My sister (and her kids too — they’ve learned well from the master nagger) calls me driven and ambitious. Like the little shits even know what those words mean. I call my sister crazy for so purposely and intentionally having nose pickers with big mouths just like their mother’s.

I mean, they’re cute and all, and, yeah, I love ’em but, Jesus, they have way too much to say. Just like their mother.

Big mouths aside, I went anyway just to shut them all up and keep the peace. I hadn’t seen them in a month and I was long overdue for a visit. I figured I could be in and out of that pumpkin patch in an hour flat and back home with the glow of my computer warming my face in an hour and a half tops given mini-van travel time. Well, maybe not an hour. I’d forgotten to include time for the apple cider and donuts.

They’re a must, according to nose picker number one, er, my nephew Joel, and when you’re eight, it’s an experience you don’t wanna miss.

I’d soon come to find there were several experiences at the pumpkin patch I didn’t want to miss and it wasn’t just the apple cider and donuts. I just didn’t know I didn’t want to miss them until I almost did, ya know?

I know. You’re confused. I was too. Bear with me.

Here’s the thing. I skipped along behind those two little buggers and Tricia, between those rows of that damned pumpkin patch for like forevah until we finally found suitable pumpkins for them.

Little Sophie’s pumpkin coup was the hardest of all. Christ, you’d think we were shopping for friggin’ life support machines rather than a pumpkin. Sophie took choosing one to a whole new level. It had to be round, perfectly so. It had to be reallllly orange. “Cuz that’s how punkins should be, Auntie Addison,” she’d reminded me in all of her six-year old wisdom. It had to be reallllly big. Big enough that she could fit three candles in the base so it would be reallllly spooky at night after it was carved. I remember smiling down at the top of her chestnut brown head and saying, “Reallllly?” and making her giggle.

Everything was reallllly something or other with Sophie. That word was synonymous for Sophie with anything needing solemn description or anything seriously cool.

When we’d finally settled on one for each of the kids, they decided I needed one too. I didn’t want to tell them it would most likely rot away, sitting on my kitchen counter because I’d forget about it. Not to mention, I turned off all my lights and locked my doors come Halloween night. Trick-or-treaters are a persnickety, snobbish bunch these days. They want the big candy bars and they call you crappy names if you don’t cough up the good stuff.

Shit on that. I don’t need a bunch of ten year olds in Darth Vader costumes calling me cheap. I have my niece and nephew around to abuse me plenty, thanks.

Fine, I said. Auntie Addison needs a pumpkin like she needs a spiral perm, but sure, let’s blow twenty bucks so I can see just how long it really does take a pumpkin to rot. It’ll be like a science project.

My sister nudged me hard in the ribs and gave me the “mommy” look. The one that says I was being a mean, cranky, old auntie, spoiling all the fun — who was going to end up all alone in a nursing home someday because she wasn’t nicer to her sister’s demons.

I rolled my eyes and grudgingly agreed. Auntie Addison did indeed need a pumpkin.

I guess that’s where the trouble all began for me.

That fucking pumpkin.

And what was under it.

I should have stuck to my guns and refused to buy one, but I honestly do love the little heathens and I sure would like someone to visit me come my twilight years if my life keeps going on the path it’s on. I really am absorbed in my work and I haven’t dated in well over three years.

So I picked a pumpkin.

A humdinger of one.

Joel began jumping around like he always does. He’s prone to constant motion. It’s as if he’s had an overdose of his daily gummy worm intake and the sugar was rushing to his skinny, little legs. Thus, creating a River Dance-like effect. He makes me dizzy and my head swirls from his endless chatter.

So I didn’t pay attention to all the noise he was making after I’d yanked my pumpkin up.

When I saw him pointing to the soft dirt where the pumpkin had been and realized he wasn’t just jumping around for the sake of making us all bonkers, I stooped to check it out.

And there it was. A little statue on a rope imbedded in the dirt. It looked like a totem pole to me.

Joel thought it was uber cool and Sophie thought it was reallllly weird. Imagine that, eh? Very predictable my Sophie is.

So since we found this — this — er, talisman is what I’m told it is — shit’s been a little crazy around here.

That brings me to why I’m writing this letter. I mean, in case I don’t come back, I’m going to assume that eventually my sister will come looking for me. Damn, I hope she doesn’t bring the nose pickers here to my house before you can contact her. They might get upset if Auntie Addison is dead.

I really do love them. In fact, part of the reason I’m doing this is because I love them. Well, it’s not the only reason, if I’m honest. I kinda like the guy that started this whole talisman thing. No, I mean I really like him and if I don’t help him, he might not come back either. I think the world won’t much miss me if I end up dead trying to help him. My sister has her family and husband to keep her busy. They all have each other.

Me? I don’t have much that needs me here.

But if I’m left behind after this mess is over, I’d sure miss Caleb if he ended up six-feet under. He’s the guy I mentioned. Anyway, I’ve grown attached to him. Like seriously attached. So I hope you’ll understand why I had to go with him. He fulfills something in me I didn’t know was missing. I like the way he calls me Addy. He makes me smile. He makes me nuts. He makes me wish I’d spent less time at work. He made me realize there’s a whole lot going on out there that I didn’t know about. He made me value the here and now.

And so what if Caleb isn’t your typical idea of a knight in shining armor? He’s mine. At least I think I want to find out if he can be anyway.

I’m leaving this note in the event of my death and I’ve followed it up with a message on your service that you won’t get until November first. I was of sound body and reallllly close to sound mind when I wrote this. Please tell Tricia there’s a more detailed account of the events since that day at the pumpkin patch in my top right-hand dresser drawer. Oh, and tell her I love her and I’m sorry I didn’t go pumpkin picking without bitching about it for all these years.

As for you, Nathan, my legal-eagle, well, you’ll know what to do after you read this.

Addison Ross