Throwback Thursday: A Time Apart by Alexa Piper #PNR #darkfantasy #LGBTQ @prowlingpiper

Cora has become a potent mage while away in China, but upon returning to her job as a PI’s assistant, she finds things have changed quite a bit. Her best friend has become engaged to a demon he summoned, her boss is taking a trip, and her favorite barista is one of the magical denizens of Fairview.

Valerian is just about ready to let life get comfortable around him. With his mage girlfriend Cora and their pretty and impressionable lover around him, that shouldn’t be a problem. But when Cora tells him she doesn’t love him and never did, comfort is the furthest thing from his mind.

Will Fairview’s premier private investigator’s office ever be the same with the accountant marrying a demon? Will a trickster’s games ruin the happy reunion several people are looking forward to? And most importantly, will the desk ever be satisfied? The Fairview gang is ready to find out.

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2020 Alexa Piper

Eris found himself beleaguered by witches. Eris, the incidentally witch-beleaguered, was not one for planning. Things he did just mostly happened to work out as if all his deeds were one great trick, hence people liked to call him trickster, never mind he preferred to be called archer.

Tertia, the youngest witch, had taken to calling him honey, which was altogether worse than trickster.

“You look thoughtful, honey,” she said to Eris.

Eris was thoughtful. He had been sitting on the cushioned windowsill in the house in Fairview he and the sisters — wicked, and three — had air-bnb’d, and he had been staring out that window for a good while. The window was in need of cleaning, and last night’s downpour had left dusty streaks on the outside of the glass, but the red-and-white checkered cushions were comfortable, and so Eris overlooked the dust.

“Do I?” Eris said. His fingers itched. He wanted to take his bow, his quiver, and leave, but whenever he did, the witches waylaid him. Well, they got him laid. It was different, Eris supposed.

“We have been thinking, honey,” said Tertia and ran her fingers up his shoulder to his neck and cinnamon brown hair. “We are about ready to head back to Morrowvale. Fairview is dull and cold and rainy, and there simply are better places to be a witch.”

“Hmm,” Eris said. He was not one for picking a destination and just going there. His kind knew to drift and let themselves be drawn, and Eris could feel nothing draw him to Morrowvale. But Tertia did try to draw him, the way she touched, the way she smelled, like sage and magic and bones cast in the darkness.

“We were thinking you should come with us.” Tertia had nimble fingers. Eris had grown too fond of her fingers entirely.

“Hmm.” Eris was changeable. He had spent a considerable amount of time in girl-shape. He wondered if going back to breasts and a soprano singing voice would make the witches want him less, but he didn’t want to change yet. He liked stubble and a flat chest, liked his cock, which was a clear indication he should keep it.

Tertia was obviously not satisfied with his response. Her hand had drifted down to the cock Eris so enjoyed, and she drove home one of the reasons Eris enjoyed it with her nimble fingers.

“We were thinking we should leave tomorrow,” said the witch, voice growing husky.

“Hmmm,” he said, trying to resist the way she made him hard, but that was, well, hard.

“Come to bed,” Tertia said. “I want you. We want you.”

All three of them could be blunt like that, and none of them had any qualms about telling Eris exactly what they wanted of him. Oh, Tertia had claimed him first, but no witch, no wicked one, kept a lover for herself if she had sisters.

“Coffee,” Eris managed. He looked past Tertia to the living room framed on one side by a dining table behind which an open-concept kitchen dominated about a third of the visible space. The exit was to the right of that.

Like an archer diving for his prey, he ducked in order to escape Tertia’s kiss.

“I need to get coffee!” he said, sliding off the windowsill and out of Tertia’s arms, which were closing like a lusty jaw.

“We have coffee here. I like the idea of getting you caffeinated before I get you naked.” She turned and followed him.

Eris had enjoyed the witches getting him naked. They were good at that, arguably better than at all the witchy stuff, but fucks and feathers, he needed to leave. The house was too small, and it smelled of smoke and witchcraft, and all the cat figurines that lined a shelf in the living room were irritating.

“I need a latte!” he said, reaching for his bow and quiver, both of which had collected a slight trace of dust in the umbrella stand, and really, they did not belong in an umbrella stand. What had he been thinking?

“Prima said she wants to milk you,” Tertia said in a husky voice. She was rounding the oval dining table slowly. “With her mouth.” Oh, she was a beautiful witch, all of them were. And Eris liked them. But he needed to move, even if the thought of Prima’s mouth on his cock made said cock twitch.

“I’ll just go get a latte at the Queene Bean.” He stumbled to the front door ass first, and ass first, he walked into Segunda, who stood in his way, stark naked.

“What you need,” the second witch said, “is someone riding your cock and lapping up your cum.”

The thing about male anatomy was that it could develop a mind of its own, and Eris’s cock stirred further at the possibility of being ridden.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Alexa Piper writes steamy romance that ranges from light to dark, from straight to queer. She’s also a coffee addict. Alexa loves writing stories that make her readers laugh and fall in love with the characters in them. Connect with Alexa on Facebook or Instagram, follow her on Twitter or TikTok, and subscribe to her newsletter!

Find Alexa Online: Website | Facebook | Instagram

Throwback Thursday: Once Upon a Time in Vegas by Stephanie Burke #Magic #UrbanFantasy @FlashyCat

Cover Art by Bryan Keller

Anteros, the god of long-term relationships — and vengeance for the lovelorn — is Eros’s younger, not as well known twin.

Hoping to knock his baby brother off his moral high ground, Eros shoots both Anteros and Seneca, a prostitute, with a potent lust arrow. A night of wild sex is sure to leave Anteros too ashamed to defy his big brother for years!

Problem. Seneca, the well skilled and expensive sex care provider Eros chose, happens to be a single father and the only male siren in existence. It gets worse when, with the help of The Fates, Eros’s lust arrow is turned into a pure love that leaves both men shaken and unable to cope.

You see, the sirens are under a curse never to feel love, and the god of long-term relationships does not do one night stands…

What happens next? Only Vegas knows…

Available at Changeling Press

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2015 Stephanie Burke

“Get a haircut, you hippie.”

“I’m out.” Anteros threw his hands in the air as he rose to his feet. Disgust was plain on his face as he stared down at his older brother.

The ne’er-do-well was in another drunken haze, hefting a golden goblet to his lips–filled with Uncle Den’s best brew, no doubt. His state of disarray was shameful, his feathers ungroomed, his short blond hair a tousled mess that looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in days.

“No, wait.” Eros, better known by his government name, Cupid, struggled to sit up from his ungainly slouch and waved at his younger brother. “Wait. Just a minute…”

“What do you want, Eros?” Anteros ran his hands through his hair before turning to face his twin, frustration clearly showing in the lines of his body.

“I just wanted to, you know, check your plans for the day.”

“The day?”

“My day.”

“Your day is not really your day,” Anteros pointed out, wrinkling his nose as his brother squawked in indignation. “It is not, Eros. It is a day for people to bless the stupidity of a Roman priest who was marrying people against the wishes of the army and got beaten to death and his head chopped off for his troubles.”

“You would bring that up,” Eros groused.

“It is the truth.” Anteros pointed at his brother. “So you need to stop acting all high and mighty. It could have just as easily been Aphrodite day. They just needed someone to represent young love.”

Eros cut him a side eye and a nasty smirk before he sang to him, “Jealous, much?”

“Right…” he drawled, shaking his head sadly. “I am so out of here.” Anteros turned away, shaking his head at his brother’s antics. “I don’t even know why I bother.”

“Because you love me.” Anteros blinked as his brother just popped up in front of him. The blond bastard had a habit of doing that. Anteros stared into green eyes that were nearly identical in shape to his silver ones and blew out a breath.

“Just because I love you doesn’t mean I have to like you.”

“But you do,” Eros interrupted. “Like me. You can’t help but like me. You find joy in my youthful antics.”

“I find that you need to grow the hell up, Eros. We’ve got work to do.”

“Valentine’s Day work.”

“Valentine’s Day work,” Anteros agreed, running a frustrated hand over his face. “Now if we could get down to the work portion of the evening…”

“You need to loosen up.” Eros grinned, all happy and boyishly charming now that he was getting his way. “It must be hard to concentrate when you are in — well…” He waved his hands at Anteros’s suit, and the younger brother looked down at what he was wearing.

“What? What’s wrong with my suit?”

“It’s a suit, for Zeus’s sake.”

“It’s Armani,” Anteros growled, running his hands over the wide lapel of his jacket. It was tailored to fit his form perfectly. The cut of it emphasized the broadness of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist. The sleeves were long enough to present just a bit of cuff, and he knew the contrast between the white silk dress shirt with its subtle red stripes glowed next to the rich cotton jacket. The two-button vest was cut low and presented the perfect framework for his red silk tie. The pants were cut to hint at the power of his thighs and calves as he moved and were long enough to cover his matching black-and-white socks. His Stacy Adams shoes were polished to a high glow, and his silver bow-and-arrow cufflinks and tiepin accessorized his outfit while giving him a handy place to store the props of his office.

“It’s a suit.” Eros threw his hands up as if he didn’t understand why he was being cursed with a brother in a suit. “How do you let your wings breathe? Come to think of it, when was the last time I saw you with your wings out?”

Eros got that strange look in his green eyes, and Anteros recalled years of brotherly bullying that usually wound up with him being slapped around, nuggied until his hair was in knots, and somehow made the butt of everyone’s jokes for weeks on end.

Anteros backed up slowly. “They breathe fine.” He spoke softly so as not to rouse the green-eyed monster his brother could become. “At night when I am home.”

“I bet you did something to them, didn’t you?”

Anteros groaned softly to himself, wishing he had some way of diverting his brother’s attention from his wings. It has always been a teasing point for Eros, the condition of his beloved baby brother’s wings. Ares, when he chose to show them, was possessed of a magnificent set of black raptor wings. Their father was a hunter, a predator, the leader of the house of aggression — the only house to bear wings — and it showed in his every movement and in the elegant flap of his vivid black wings.

As his son, Eros had a set of ash-gray wings that were very much like their father’s, but tempered with the influence of their mother. Eros’s wings were more like owls’ wings — silent, deadly, and powerful.

As a god of long-term love and vengeance for love-forsaken, you would think Anteros would have a set of wings that combined long-term and violence… like a hawk or at least a buzzard. But no. Much to his dismay, Anteros was possessed of a magnificent set of butterfly wings.

“Butterfly wings can be dangerous,” his father had explained to him once as Anteros sought sanctuary from Cupid’s teasing in his father’s hall. “Some of them are poisonous and they will eat you, given half the chance. Yeah, butterflies can be little corpse-suckers and they swarm — oh, how they can swarm. Butterflies are really badassery in a frilly, colorful package.” Anteros remembered the evil look he shot his father while seated on his knee, which prompted his first archery lesson.

“If anybody fucks with you about your wings, shoot iron in their asses and see how well they fly when I kick their asses off this hunk of rock we call home.”

His dad was an awesome dad, but his older brother… “I know you did something to them, Anty. Come on and let big brother check and see.” Not so much on the awesome scale.

“Back away, Eros.” He didn’t like the glint in his brother’s eyes at all. Anteros moved farther back, which had the unwanted effect of moving him deeper into his brother’s Las Vegas penthouse, and tried to avoid Eros’ grabby hands.

“Come on, little brother. Let me see what you did. I bet you tried to paint them black again.”

“I was three!” Anteros growled.

“And you were so adorable too, paint spraying all over Mom’s bedroom when you tried to get away from our nanny and your bath…”

“Back away, Eros.” The bare-chested idiot was drawing closer, his own wings flapping happily as he set out to torment his favorite target.

“You may as well let me see, little brother. You know you are not getting out of here until I see for myself.”

“I didn’t come here for molestation,” Anteros roared, done with playing games. He was not going to back down from his brother like he had so many times in the past. He was fully grown, an adult, and a fully mature god in every way. He was not going to let Eros rule him.

And it was a scant five minutes later that he found himself frozen and chained in the middle of Eros’s living room, his suit in tatters around his feet while his brother coaxed his wings out of the pocket space where he had them hidden and into full view.

“There we are.” Eros chuckled as he tugged at one of his brother’s silvery pink wings. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“That was a new suit!” Anteros roared, his curls flopping in his face, his chest heaving as he struggled to shake himself free of his brother’s magical bindings.

“You can’t win, Anty.” Eros laughed, tugging Anteros’s delicate-looking wings out to their fullest, making him twitch in aggravation.

As evil as Eros could be, he never hurt his brother’s wings. In fact, he’d kicked the asses of a lot of little godlings who teased him about them. Eros reasoned that since Anteros was his twin brother, created just for him, only he could torment him. So he teased, and he bullied, but he never really did any physical harm. Still, it was frustrating as hell that even after all these years Anteros couldn’t overpower Eros.

“It’s not my fault people seem to be going for raw sex and quick hook-ups instead of a long-lasting marriage, nowadays,” Eros went on. “It’s just the way the world works.”

Anteros grumbled, tugging at whatever invisible thing was holding his wrists above his head.

“Divorce rates are high, little brother, infidelity is on the rise.”

“Maybe if you were more careful about where you shoved your arrows…”

“I’ve never had any complaints.” Eros smirked.

“No, because they save them all for me,” Anteros snarled. “Every one of them, every low life, philanderer, whoremonger, and slut-sanctioned heartbreak victim winds up screaming at me for vengeance. And I give it to them however I can, and you just go on to make more.”

“Not my fault,” Eros denied, pulling a wing over his shoulder to delicately finger his feathers back into place. “Not all of them are stung by my arrow.”

“And the ones who aren’t follow the example of the ones who are.”

“Then they shouldn’t get caught.” Eros winced as he plucked a feather, and then snapped his fingers, magicking up a pot of ink and some paper. Dipping the feather into the crystal pot and using it like a quill, he began writing.

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.

Perfect Rhythm by Megan Slayer

The moment the king passed down the curse, Minos knew he wasn’t getting his voice back. He’s caused enough heartache for two lifetimes, but when he sees a handsome man struggling in the lake, his innate desire to protect comes to the surface. John Leed just wants to be loved. When he comes out to his friends, instead of embracing him, they throw him overboard — into the arms of a merman. Once together, he realizes he’s found the partner he’s always wanted. Minos is determined to protect this human. Can they forge a relationship or will the secrets in Minos’s past disrupt their perfect rhythm?

Available Now at Changeling Press

preorder for February 5th at online booksellers

EXCERPT

All rights reserved. Copyright ©2021 Megan Slayer I’ll never get my voice back. Minos swam through the lake with nowhere to go. He wished he had somewhere to be, but being banned, all he could do was linger. He’d lost his purpose — working for the king — and his voice. Why? Because he’d trusted the wrong mer. Sure, he’d been partially to blame. He’d pursued Rian, the prince of the mers, a bit too heavily. In his defense, he’d thought Rian loved him. He’d been so wrong. He continued to swim and cursed the king’s decision to punish him. He didn’t deserve to be without a voice. No one could understand him, and he’d failed at expressing himself. His magic remained, but faded the longer he was punished. Where was this perfect being to complete him and fix the problem? That being probably didn’t exist. He couldn’t shake his anger. All he’d wanted was to be loved. He’d truly thought he had a connection with Rian, and that they could’ve even been partners. Except he knew the truth. He and Rian would never be together. They weren’t couple material. Fuck. He wished he had his voice back. His anger wasn’t going anywhere, but time made him realize he needed to apologize and be honest with not only Rian, but himself. He’d been terrible to Rian, and the guilt ate at him. Minos surfaced. One thing he loved was the way the moon shimmered on the waves on the lake at night. The water was never calm, but the ripples reminded him of magic. Like the magic surrounded him. The glittery effect never lasted long, but was still dazzling. He shook his hair out and surveyed the landscape. At night, the water and sky seemed to blend into endlessness. The moonlight sparkled on the waves. He trailed his fingers through the dark water. The ripples mesmerized him. A sound filtered to him, and he tipped his head. The sound reminded him of a whistle or horn. A boat? He glanced over his shoulder and spotted a vessel. He’d seen plenty of boats, and this one didn’t seem overly exciting. It was a bigger watercraft and had people lounging in the moonlight on the deck. They were partying and singing or playing music. One man appeared to have a drink in his hand. Minos stayed out of sight from the boat and watched the humans. Two men stood at the railing. A woman reclined in a chair, and another one stepped out onto the deck. A third man held a big glass. Minos hated playing the voyeur, but he couldn’t look away. He wanted a group of friends and a place to belong. Those people seemed carefree and happy. Maybe he could approach them. One of these people could be his destiny. Was he supposed to talk to the humans? He wasn’t sure how without his voice, but he’d been wrong about the magic before. He listened closer, but didn’t hear the music. His destiny would come with the specific song of his mate. If anyone in the boat could belong to him, then he would hear the unique tune. Nothing. The voices filtered to him again, though, and he honed in on the conversation. “John wants to tell us something,” one of the women said. She flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder. “He says it’s important.” “Nothing with John is important.” The dark-haired man swatted at one of the women. “He’d have to speak up first, and he’s so shy.” “And too dramatic.” The blond man laughed. “He can’t say anything too exciting.” “Now, it might be important,” the other girl said. “My brother wanted that promotion at work. He’s good at his job and would be a great building manager. He’s been shift manager for a long time and proving himself.” Minos dipped under the water to breathe. He had no idea what a building manager might be and wondered what it looked like. Did that mean the man was in charge of the boxes the humans lived in? Worked in? He surfaced and listened to the humans talk. “Well, whatever it is, he can get his ass out here any time now,” one of the guys said. Minos couldn’t follow the conversation, but he enjoyed listening. The humans were so angry and pushy. A fourth man ventured out to the deck. The other humans were dressed for night swimming and lounging on the boat, but this guy seemed out of place. He wore glasses and kept his inky black hair cut short. Instead of being dressed like the other men in shorts, he wore a button-down shirt and slacks. Minos stared at him. He liked the way this man looked. He longed to touch him. A faint tune played in his ears. Was it music from the radio? He wasn’t sure.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and white hot themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been nominated at the LRC for Best Author, Best Contemporary, Best Ménage, Best BDSM and Best Anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on various e-tailer sites. When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library.

Mara by the Sea by Faith Talbot

Since her divorce, Mara has been moldering. Or at least that’s what her best friend tells her when she drags Mara to Cancun for a pick-me-up.

Mara finds more than a pick-me-up. On the beach, she meets two beautiful men who, though they’re obviously into each other, are very much into Mara, too. And when they invite her into their unique world, it’s an experience unlike anything she could ever imagine.

Available Now at Changeling Press

preorder for February 5th at online booksellers

EXCERPT

All rights reserved. Copyright ©2021 Faith Talbot

“Do you know what your problem is? You don’t know how to have fun. Plain and simple. You are funless.”

Mara gaped at her friend Cor, offended. “I am not funless. I’m… funful. I have lots of fun.”

“No, you don’t.” With a slight flip of her shoulder length chestnut hair, Cor looked pointedly at Mara’s Diet Coke. Cor herself was drinking a margarita. “Seriously, when was the last time you had fun?”

“I went to the movies last weekend,” Mara shot back, defensive.

“Wow.” Cor’s voice was deadpan. “Really daring.”

Mara sank back in the booth, annoyed and chagrined at the same time. “Well, what would you suggest, Miss Ultimate Fun?”

Cor looked smug. “That actually is my name, you know.” She drew something out of her purse, holding it hidden under the edge of the table. “So of course I have ideas.”

“Of course you do.” Mara stared at the edge of the table as if she might suddenly develop X-ray vision and be able to see what her friend was hiding. “So what are these ideas? Should I be scared?”

“Of course you should be scared. I’m going to push you right out of your comfort zone.”

“I like my comfort zone. It’s comfortable. That’s why it’s called a comfort zone.”

Cor leaned over the table, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. “You know what else is comfortable? Hot guys fucking you senseless” — she revealed the envelope she held — “on the beach at Cancun.”

Mara stared, then reached out to take the envelope. “You didn’t.” She opened it hesitantly, as if a poisonous snake might leap out and bite her. Inside the envelope were two tickets to Cancun, one for her and one for Cor. Mara sighed. “I hope my passport’s up to date.”

“It is. I checked.” She grinned brightly and snatched the tickets back. “You’ve been moping around for eight months, ever since the divorce was finalized. This will do you some good. Trust me.”

Mara looked mournfully at her Diet Coke, then Cor’s margarita. “I guess I’ll have to.”

Cor’s grin turned to a smirk. “Damn straight.”

* * *

The sand between her toes and the mojito in her hand helped a bit, but Mara still felt out of sorts. This just wasn’t the kind of thing she did. It wasn’t a Mara thing.

That’s the point, her little voice said. Doing Mara things isn’t going to get you anywhere. Mara things are boring.

She took another sip of the mojito, enjoying the tang of mint and citrus. Maybe that little voice was just the rum talking. Maybe she should quit worrying so damn much about it and just enjoy herself. She might not break down and have a crazy sexual fling, as Cor insisted she should, but at the very least she could relax for the weekend. God knew she could use some relaxation.

She took another sip of her mojito, then leaned back in the beach chair and closed her eyes. The sun was warm, the breeze off the ocean vaguely cool, and the rum was working its way into her system, leaving her nicely limp and relaxed.

Somebody giggled.

Mara wasn’t sure why that particular sound, out of all the sounds around her, caught her attention. She wasn’t alone on the beach, after all. There were couples all around, lotioning each other, running up and down the beach, smooching, doing God only knew what under beach blankets, kids tossing beach balls and squeaking like kids do — but that giggle rose above everything else and set something off in her brain. Maybe because of the incongruity. It wasn’t a woman giggling, or a kid. It was a man, the sound of the giggle strange when paired with the deepness of his voice.

The sound came again, this time a bit more toward the laugh end of the spectrum than the giggle end. Mara turned her head and zeroed in on the source.

Two young men were sprawled over a blanket not far away. The giggling seemed even more incongruous now; the giggler was a big, lanky man, easily six feet three. And young. He’d be lucky, Mara thought, if he’d seen his twenty-fifth birthday yet. The other man looked to be a few years older and a few inches shorter. He sat bent forward a bit, a wry smile on his face, while the younger man slathered suntan lotion over his wide, muscular back. The younger man’s hands were huge, engulfing the older man’s broad shoulders. As Mara watched, he leaned forward to kiss the hollow of his friend’s shoulder, then laughed again. The sound was deep and melodious, and made Mara strangely warm. Friend, hell. Lover, more like. The older man reached up to cup his friend’s face, smiling, and Mara gulped down more mojito.

They were just so… pretty. Unselfconscious, relaxed, obviously enjoying each other’s company. She remembered feeling that way once on a beach with David, curled up into his wide body on a beach blanket while he combed his fingers through her wet hair —

She pushed that thought back. No sense thinking about that right now. She was here to have fun, to forget about the divorce and everything having to do with David.

The men moved closer together, the taller one draping his arms over his friend’s chest. They looked happy to her.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Faith Talbot has been a body double, a prima ballerina, and a forklift driver. In her spare time, she likes to knit and play the zither. Sometimes she can be found at rock concerts not being the least bit stalkery at all.

Throwback Thursday: Tales of the Quiet Kitty by Camille Anthony #ActionAdventure #TBThursday

These futuristic sci-fi tales are anything but quiet. Board the Quiet Kitty Waveship and travel with Brant Sel, a Sh’Bahkyr Tygyr and his crew: Bevel-leveB, a Medusoid Jenari with a sentient cock, and Willa, a Sprite from the wounded planet Sparkle. Brought together by fate, these three have common goals. To rescue and gather their lost peoples so they can take down the corrupt, brutal Corporation, run by the most evil beings in the three Galaxies… Humans.

This collection contains the previously released Quiet Kitty novellas Under the Cat’s Paw, Dancing with the Devil, Holiday Dreams, Naked Secrets, and Cat Scratch Fever.

Available at Changeling Press

Praise for Under the Cat’s Paw

“Camille Anthony did a wonderful job of laying the groundwork for a series of books with this story and I can hardly wait for the rest of the series to come out. If you love a good erotic science fantasy, don’t miss this book.”— Chere Gruver, Sensual Romance Reviews

“Ms. Anthony has written a sharp short story. This futuristic science fiction story is wonderful.”— Julie Esparza, Just Erotic Romance Reviews

Praise for Dancing with the Devil

“This story has a sensual and fiery plot that makes it smolder.”— Sheryl, Coffee Time Romance

“The second installment of Tales of the Quiet Kitty is much edgier than the first. Camille Anthony has taken the plot into an interesting direction.”— Nancy Riggins-Hume, The Road to Romance

Praise for Holiday Dreams

“Switch off the heating because Ms. Anthony provides more than enough steam and heat with this short story.”— Michelle Naumann, Just Erotic Romance Reviews

“This story is all about sex and love! What’s not to enjoy?”— Vikky Bertling, The Road to Romance

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A funny thing happened on the way to the grave…

In 2006, I was diagnosed with Pulmonary Sarcoidosis and given two weeks to live, whereupon I promptly discharged myself against medical advice, since, as I stubbornly informed the doctors, I could die at home far more comfortably than at the hospital. Resigned, I prepared to meet my maker. But then…

I got an idea for a new story. No way could I check out before finishing it. So I did. Then, another idea came, and another… These tales are all begging to be told and I couldn’t possibly ignore their vehement cries.

So there you have it. A new motivation to continue bringing you the stories I love to tell and that you love to read. As always, I encourage you to embrace adventure, even if the only journey you undertake is through the pages of a book. Enjoy every moment of this life we’re gifted with. Whatever you do, keep reading!

Peace!
Cammy

Throwback Thursday: A Grizzly Affair by Dulce Dennison #Shifters #TBThursday @AuthorDulce

With a rogue shifter on the loose leaving a trail of bodies, it isn’t the best time for bear shifter, Roarke Hilliard to have his heat cycle. Especially since he’s the lead Special Agent on the case. But nature must take its course. When his partner, agent Spencer Malloy, places himself in Roarke’s path during his greatest time of need, the bear is worried he might break the human. But Spencer wants Roarke badly… bad enough to call in a paranormal escort.

Grigore Gabor may be a male escort, but he’s never slept with any of his clients… until now. The moment the wolf shifter gets a whiff of the bear who hired him, and his human companion, he knows he’s found his mates. But getting the surly ursa to agree is another matter.

With a killer on the loose, now isn’t the time for finding true love. With Roarke handicapped by his heat cycle, there’s only so much the agents can do against the rogue shifter. They can only hope to bring the man to justice before another body is found.

Get it at Changeling Press

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2017 Dulce Dennison

Special Agent Roarke Hilliard, Bureau of Paranormal Affairs, scented the air as he scanned the crime scene for clues. Darkness filled him, narrowing his world to this one moment. Blood soaked through his pants and coated his hands as he knelt beside the too still, mangled body. The copper tang of the teen’s blood teased his nostrils. His nose flared as he searched for other scents. Gunpowder residue and the stale smell of sweat hung heavy in the air.

A gun was clutched in the young man’s hand, his fingers gripping it even in death, and yet the weapon hadn’t been able to save him. Slashed across his sternum, the killer’s claws had dug deep, all the way to the bone. His clothes were torn in other areas. His belt had been partially torn from him. The clues were adding up to a terrifying, grisly picture.

This wasn’t the first victim, and if Roarke couldn’t catch the bastard responsible, it wouldn’t be the last. Up to this point, the killer had targeted male prostitutes. But this one was different. There were no indications of drug use, no condoms in the victim’s wallet. Was the killer branching out? Or were his tastes changing?

“This is definitely our guy,” Agent Spencer Malloy said as he surveyed the scene. “If we don’t catch him soon, we’ll be on every channel in the country. You know how much the Bureau hates bad publicity.”

Roarke stood. “There has to be a pattern. The first known victim was in Chicago. The second was in South Bend, Indiana. But now, victim number five is in Atlanta. Where is he going?”

“I still say they aren’t planned. I think our guy is picking up young men, then he gets frustrated when they won’t give him what he wants and he kills them.”

“They’re prostitutes living on the streets. There isn’t much they won’t do for the right amount,” Roarke reasoned.

“What’s that super sniffer of yours telling you?”

“I don’t smell semen. I don’t think he got very far before he killed this one. Maybe that was his motivation. Either he couldn’t get it up, or the victim resisted.” Although he could be wrong. Roarke wasn’t about to admit it to anyone, but during his heat cycle his nose was not the most reliable. It took every effort not to turn bear the closer the time got.

Spencer ran a hand through his short, blond hair. “I don’t like this. Rogue shifters are one thing, but one bent on murder?”

“The lab ran the sample three times,” Roarke reminded him. “No match was found in the system, but the DNA suggested a hybrid.”

“Which explains the instability,” Spencer muttered. “He obviously has impulse control issues. My gut says there are more murders. Unless some switch flipped in this guy’s head, there’s no way his first murder was last month. Not unless he was just turned, and what’s the likelihood of a just-turned hybrid?”

Roarke sighed. “I’m afraid I have to agree with you. We need to have records run a search on all unsolved shifter related homicides nationwide for the past five years, see if anything pops up that matches our guy’s MO.”

“I’ll call it in while you check out the rest of the scene. Maybe we missed something on the first walk through. Then you’re going to the hotel for a shower and a change of clothes.”

Roarke nodded and looked around again. He began a slow circuit of the space, sniffing for something he might have missed as his gaze touched on every square inch of the room. He knew from experience they wouldn’t find anything new. Fingerprints and DNA did them no good when the killer wasn’t in the system. According to the shifter laws of 2023, formed when shifters came out of hiding, all shapeshifters were required to have DNA and fingerprints on file with the government. Those who didn’t comply were termed “rogue” and would be put to death if they were found to have committed a heinous crime. If you weren’t registered, you didn’t have rights.

Spencer motioned to him from the doorway and Roarke stepped out into the sunshine. With the smell of death and decay surrounding him, he’d forgotten how beautiful it was outside. Spring was in the air, which spelled trouble for a bear on a never-ending job. The urge to mate would hit him hard and Roarke would be powerless to stop it. Last mating season, he’d damn near lost his job when he’d holed up in a motel room for three days with a willing male from a shifter run escort service… he might do well to keep their number handy.

“I passed on our thoughts about there being more murders and Rawlins said he would put a team on it.” Spencer began walking toward their SUV. “He asked why the hell we couldn’t have thought of that weeks ago. I told him we were too busy chasing a trail of mangled bodies. Pompous ass.”

Roarke grinned.

“I say we go get you cleaned up and grab a bite to eat. We missed lunch and I know that beast inside of you has to be starving.” Spencer held out his hand. “Keys.”

Roarke pulled them from his pocket and handed them over. He climbed into the passenger’s seat and patiently waited for Spencer to get in and start the vehicle.

“Speaking of my beast, there’s something you should know,” Roarke said as they pulled out of the parking lot. “My mating heat is going to hit soon. Since I don’t have a mate, my bear is going to seek the first willing male available. It’s going to possibly put me out of commission for a few days.”

“So we take a break.”

Roarke shook his head. “The mating fever is going to hit our killer grizzly too. It means more murders if he can’t find someone willing and able to handle the frenzy. Think double or even triple the body count we have now.”

“Fuck. We have to catch this guy!” Spencer slammed his hand against the steering wheel.

ABOUT DULCE DENNISON

With an overactive imagination and a penchant for making up stories, was it any wonder Dulce Dennison decided to be an author? From cowboys to shapeshifters, she has a story for them all, but her passion lies in writing m/m romances. Dulce believes in love in all shapes and sizes, and that everyone deserves a happily-ever-after.

Throwback Thursday: Dire’s Strait by Mikala Ash #Shifters #TBThursday @ash_mikala

One has to be careful when in love with a cannibal. One must time liaisons with care. Meeting after a meal is recommended, never before.

Agent Dire of the Paranormal Defense Department is in such a predicament. His relationship with Max Detroit, a Frenchman with an appetite, is problematic at best. For to Max, fine dining and love are two sides of the same coin, the distinction between them often hard to judge, much like good and evil.

When another agent is kidnapped by paranormal drug dealers, and sword wielding assassins make another attempt on Agent Dire’s life, Max intervenes. But what is his motive? And just how does the delectable Agent Candice Neith fit in?

Get it at Changeling Press

Stop by Changeling Press to read an adult excerpt for this title…

ABOUT MIKALA ASH

Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on Twitter.

Throwback Thursday: A Pack of His Own by Emily Carrington #werewolves #LGBTQ @CarringtonEmily

A psychic vampire, werewolves, and war with TruWolves terrorists – how can they find time for love?

Hunter’s Claim: Luis Delgado, psychic vampire, can deal with lust. That’s one of the fun parts of being a psychic vampire. What he can’t handle is falling in love with the half wolf who wants nothing to do with him.

Almost nothing. Charlie can’t resist the sex. But Charlie has become alpha of an eros pack, whom he must protect at all costs, and the TruWolves terrorist group wants to destroy everyone who supports peace between the straight and LGBT wolves. How can there be time for love?

Tracker’s Fate: Ethan is afraid his job as a tracker — execution chief among his duties — will keep other wolves away and cripple his soul. Jeremy wants children. He is not bisexual, though, and can’t imagine seeking out a female wolf just to have pups.

When these two are thrown into a murder mystery where the bystanders are not so innocent, can Ethan and Jeremy find their way to true love?

Publisher’s Note: This book was previously published by a different house which has since gone dark.

Get it at Changeling Press

Praise for A Pack of His Own (Duet) Vol. 1

“In my humble opinion, this author has taken the standard, staid, stale, some old same old shifter/paranormal genre storyline, and turned it into a fantastic, engaging, poignant, awesome, vivid, complex, fascinating, intense, interesting, intriguing, and totally awesome book that I will be rereading over and over again. I would definitely recommend one-clicking this ASAP!”

— Patricia Nelson, Amazon Reader Review

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender erotica. Seeking a world made of equality, she created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires.

LR Cafe’s Best of 2019 Awards Nominee: Best Author

Throwback Thursday: Buckle Up by Julia Talbot #Werewolves #LGBTQ @juliatalbot

How many werewolves, magical shops, and cursed gamers fit into one box set? Quite a few when it’s Buckle Up! Magic, mayhem, and hot loving fill every story.

Buckle Up: Cody’s trying to find the original owner of an antique belt buckle. Pawn shop owner Kelvin’s happy to help this cowboy find anything he needs.

Crazy in Love: Keaton loves Starbucks and Wi-Fi. Dakota loves Keaton. But the city’s a dangerous place for a werewolf. A rescue is definitely in order.

Changes in Attitude: A warlock faces off against a werewolf and his lover. Can they all get what they want in the end?

Under the Moon: Jamie doesn’t do two things — other werewolves and gaming. Ty might just change his mind.

Dream Dice: Thayer has no idea what to expect when he buys new dice at a convention. He certainly doesn’t bargain for barbarian Erlich to enter the picture.

Publisher’s Note: Buckle Up (Box Set) contains the previously published novellas Buckle Up!, Crazy in Love, Changes in Attitude, Under the Moon, and Dream Dice.

Get it at Changeling Press

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2016 Julia Talbot
Excerpt from Buckle Up!

“Old pawn jewelry is the best,” the little blonde chick with the tramp stamp in the shape of a dragonfly exclaimed. She waved the heavy silver and turquoise cuff Kelvin had handed her in the general direction of her boyfriend, a pimpled, dyed-black-haired boy wearing an Army issue jacket.

“What’s the difference between this and the shit you bought at the Governor’s Palace?” the boy asked, popping his gum and looking bored as anything.

Kelvin wanted to growl, wanted to tell the little fuck that his silly girlfriend held a piece of someone’s life in her hands, something powerful. Meaningful.

He didn’t snarl, though. They couldn’t know what he knew. They never would.

Instead, he drew a calming breath and smiled. “Old pawn means that the jewelry was a family heirloom, not a modern reproduction. That bracelet, for instance, runs about two thousand.”

The girl’s face went blank with what he thought of as sticker shock, and she carefully set the bracelet back on its black velvet bed. “Two thousand dollars?”

“Well, I admit it’s an unusual one. It’s Navajo point work, it’s got nearly a pound of silver in it, sterling, and it’s signed by a local artist who was rather famous a hundred years ago. All of that raises the price. I have some nice 1950s pieces in this case that run between sixty-five and one-fifty…”

By the time she and the greasy little boy left, Kelvin had made a sale, and the day was, if not looking up, not a total loss.

Santa Fe was a crapshoot that way, especially when you were off the beaten track. If your store wasn’t on the plaza, or somewhere near the big hotels… Well.

Kelvin’s little shop had been his grandfather’s, and while town had encroached and it wasn’t exactly a trading post anymore, the place was still a ways out of town, next to a truck stop and a cafe that served things like blue corn pancakes. There wasn’t much in the way of New Age salons and crunchy-granola vegan restaurants, and that was what pulled the tourists in.

He had three more customers before closing time, and the last, a pair of blue-haired snowbirds, were still trolling for bargains when it was time to lock up.

“I don’t polish the old pawn,” Kelvin was saying when the bell over the door jingled again, a long-legged cowboy walking into the shop.

“Why not?”

“Uh…” Kelvin tried to focus on the old lady’s faded blue eyes, but he couldn’t seem to take his own eyes off of the man who stood inside the door, doffing his hat and turning it in his hands. Over and over.

“Sir?”

“Right. Well, if you polish it before your client indicates whether they want you to, it’s like refinishing antique furniture. Some people say you’re removing a layer of history. There’s a whole school of thought that you ought to leave the echoes of the past on any object that has meaning.”

He gave the couple an ingratiating smile, trying hard not to overplay his hand. By the time he left and he locked the door, he’d sold them three hundred dollars in old dreams.

The cowboy had hardly moved, except for those brown hands turning that hat.

“Am I getting locked in for the night now?” the man finally asked, smiling a little. Lines crinkled up around the most shocking pair of blue eyes that Kelvin had ever seen.

“Only if you want to,” Kelvin replied with a wink. Then he sobered. “I’m happy to stay and help with whatever you need. I need to lock up so I don’t get anyone else in.”

“All righty, then.” The cowboy nodded, shifting from foot to foot. He was one of those guys who had skinny legs all the way up to his neck, and he wore Wranglers that fit like a second skin. He reminded Kelvin of the late Chris LeDoux, including the eye lines and the aw-shucks smile.

“So, what can I do for you?” By force of will alone, Kelvin kept from adding things like, “Suck you?” or “Lick you all over?” He did love a cowboy.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Julia Talbot lives in the great Southwest, where she’s embraced hot and cold running rodeo, cowboys, and everything from meat and potatoes to the best Tex-Mex. A full time author, Julia believes everyone deserves a happy ending, so she writes about love without limits, where boys love boys, girls love girls, and boys and girls get together to get wild, especially when her crazy paranormal characters are involved.

Throwback Thursday: Krampus to the Rescue #HolidayRomance #TBThursday @crymsynhart

When Jack Frost appears at Krampus’ house asking for help to save Santa, Krampus knows with his arch-enemy gone, Christmas could be his for the taking. But Jack is willing to sweeten the deal, so Krampus goes to help Jack on his mission.

What they find is the Elves running amok in Christmas Town and Mrs. Claus held prisoner. Racing against time, Krampus must face an even darker energy to rescue Santa.

Get it at Changeling Press

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2017 Crymsyn Hart

“Jingle balls. Jingle balls. Swinging all the way. Oh what fun it is to squeeze…”

Krampus followed the sound of Emerald’s off-key singing into the kitchen. He stood in the doorway and watched the cook. Her scarlet hair was bound up between the two curled horns on her head. She once told him she got the horns and her hooves from a god who cursed her because he didn’t appreciate her psychic predictions.

Krampus adored every bit of her — except her singing.

She rolled ground meat between her hands and set the finished ball into a pan. From the smell of the cooked ones, he suspected sausage and ground turkey. They weren’t made with the human meat he enjoyed more. His taste for long pig was an acquired one. It came with the office. Still, his stock had thinned during the winter and he needed them to fatten up. He listened to a few more bars and cringed before he went into the kitchen.

Emerald glanced up from her task. Her smile dazzled him. “You’re back early. Dinner’s not ready yet.”

He nuzzled her neck. His forked tongue flicked along her flesh until she shivered. A small moan escaped her lips as his hands slipped underneath her apron and skirt and over her luscious thighs. “I needed a break. And then I smelled this wonderful aroma and heard your god-awful singing.”

ABOUT CRYMSYN HART

Crymsyn Hart is a National Bestselling author of over eighty paranormal romance and horror novels. Her experiences as a psychic and ghostly encounters have given her a lot of material to use in her books. Vampires, grim reapers, shifters, and other paranormal creatures tend to end up in her books no matter how hard she tries to keep them away.

She currently resides in Charlotte, NC with her hubby and her three dogs. If she’s not writing, she’s curled up with the dogs watching a good horror movie or off with friends.

To find out more about Crymsyn, check out her website on: www.crymsynhart.com