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Posted in Books, Teasers

Tuesday Teaser from Autumn Montague

Dear Readers and Fans:

For this Teaser Tuesday, I am featuring author, Autumn Montague, and a teaser from her latest work, ‘Blood Sworn 1: Salva Me’. Enjoy the excerpt below. Should you seek more of Autumn’s writing style: please see the list of available books from this author that follows the excerpt. Happy reading!

Autumn Montague Blood Sworn 1: Salva Me (Excerpt)

Chapter One
London, 1816

Blood. Sweet, sweet blood thickened with terror. The girl in his arms fought with weakening desperation, her life rushing away through the crimson tide pulsing from her with each frantic beat of her heart. Intoxicating copper heat coursed across his lips, suffusing him with its nourishing power.

Her moans grew fainter as his poison saturated her body. The exquisite torture of emptying his venom flooded his muscles with godlike power, and he tightened his hold, crushing her fragile, merely human form against him. Her gasp of pain drove a spike of lusty pleasure through him. He released her neck to watch her blood flood across her shoulders to stain her flimsy gown.

A waste perhaps, but he could find another. The silent, horrified plea in her dulling eyes spurred his lust, and he ripped the sodden dress open to bare her cotton stays. A hand batted feebly, a near-unconscious impulse to protect her vanished modesty.

Little whore. She’d no need for modesty with him. He had no interest in her person, not yet. Not until she was at the brink. Then he’d spread her legs and revel in her death throes.

Yes. Yes, that peak of ecstasy neared, her glazed eyes beginning to fade. She drew a hitching breath, and he dropped her limp body to the mud, reaching for the fastenings to his breeches.

The clatter of hooves and creak of heavy wheels broke his concentration, his anticipated pleasure vanishing.

Damn! With a frantic bound, he hurled himself into the velvet black shadow of the alley behind him. Frustrated desire boiled through him as he watched the carriage lurch to a halt. A murderous rage rose, urging him to attack the interlopers. He attempted to quash it, but the slavering beast of his hunger did not want to be assuaged. The girl was his rightful prey, and he would be damned if he would allow mere humans to drive him off. He readied himself, prepared to lunge when the correct moment presented.

The tiniest of breezes stirred the air as the passengers descended from the barouche. It carried the oh-so-faint scent of the intruders, driving him back into the shadows.

“Imbecile!” The word escaped him in a hiss. He peered around, forcing his eyes to see, his ears to hear. As if a veil had been drawn back, he realized he stood almost in the heart of London. How had he followed the girl so far without recognizing his danger?

At least one of the men in the carriage knew him by sight and scent. Worse, if they were to meet, his enemy was duty-bound to kill him without hesitation. He twitched, annoyed, uncertain—wanting his prize but unwilling to face his opponent at this moment.

His hunger stilled, replaced by an urgent need to flee. Later. The time would come, but that time was not now. With a last look at the shuddering girl behind him, he forced more venom to his muscles and shivered in delight as he fled into the night.

* * * *

Morgan Holland clenched his teeth against an impious curse as the carriage lurched to an unexpected halt, knocking his skull against the lacquered wooden panel behind his head. Inertial momentum pitched his companion face forward against the opposite seat with bruising abruptness. Morgan gave the trap door over his head a savage thump with his fist, even as he reached to help the Baron of Colbourne up off the floor.

“Blast it all, I’m fine, Holland,” Colbourne barked.

Morgan smothered a grin at his master’s temper over his bruised dignity. He gestured at the gaping tear across the knee of Colbourne’s superfine trousers. “Perhaps we should return home for a change of clothes before we continue to White’s.”

Colbourne scowled. “Damn. Weston just delivered these this week. I’ll have to commission a new pair.”

“As you say, my lord.” Amusement warred with Morgan’s ringing head as he fought to keep a smirk off his face. Colbourne’s penchant for fine clothes had been a constant source of humor between them.

“Don’t be smug, Holland. Just because you managed to maintain your seat is no reason for a swelled head.”

The dour tone proved too much, and a highly inappropriate snort evaded Morgan’s control. Jeremy Takeshi Yamakawa Colbourne, Fifth Baron of Colbourne, took great pains to appear neat and elegant for any evening revelry. Since his Japanese ancestry drew the derision of his peers, he always maintained a flawless nobleman’s appearance. Morgan felt privileged to be among those few who could jest about the habit without giving offense. Moreover, the unique circumstances of Morgan’s employment had built a bond between them, a bond closer to friendship than master and servant.

A sharp rap at the window halted Colbourne’s next salvo even as he drew breath for the words, undoubtedly to cast unmeant aspersions on Morgan’s ancestry. The words died at the sound of their driver’s frantic rap on the door.

It seemed the difficulty interrupting them was more than a mere rut in the road.

“This needs your attention, my lord,” Toby quavered, fear plain in his voice.

Morgan felt a chill worm its way down his spine, a chill having nothing to do with the damp air outside the carriage door. Colbourne’s handsome face tightened, his grave expression igniting an answering spark of alarm in Morgan. He followed his master into the dank night, and nearly choked.

“Plague of the ages!” Colbourne’s biting exclamation did not quite carry the weight of a bellow, but it might as well have been a shout.

The night air carried a familiar coppery tang, laced with the faint odor of bile. Morgan knew the smell, of tainted blood and death. When he’d first met Colbourne, the man had been covered in the same bloody aroma. Morgan could not see this poor soul, not yet, but the smell left no doubt.

“Nosferatu.” He’d never encountered one, only read in books what they were, what they did. Read, and seen what had happened to his master, the Baron of Colbourne, one of the preeminent nosferii nobles in England. Or anywhere else. The last nosferatu to hunt here had almost cost the country its most needed protector.

Colbourne cast a keen glance his way but said nothing, just stepped around the corner of the carriage for a look at what had bollixed their plans for the evening. Morgan followed, suppressing the urge to gag at the foulness of the air. He tried to keep his strides casual, as though he were walking into yet another evening entertainment, not around the carriage corner for a look at a shredded human being.

Colbourne quirked an eyebrow at Morgan’s calm facade. “No one would think twelve years ago you were a mere tenant farmer, untutored in such things.”

“Even a farmer faces death, my lord.” A true enough statement. After all, Morgan had tended to enough carrion when he was younger: dead livestock, headless chickens after foxes raided the coops. Yet none of his experience prepared him for the putrid aroma hovering over the slumped form in the road. The rank odor was fouler than the oldest carcass he’d ever cleared from his fields. With reluctance, he turned his full attention on the unfortunate victim.

“God!” The exclamation burst from him at the appalling sight that met his eyes.

The brown dirt of the road had turned to mud, glistening with the darkness of spilled blood. A young woman lay trembling in that crimson sludge, her neck savaged and raw. The gaping wounds reeked from the pungent slime coating them.

“Well, she lives, Morgan.” Colbourne sighed, as though the fact was unworthy of celebration. “At least for the present.”

“For the present? Is there nothing to be done?” Morgan could not tear his eyes from the girl. She couldn’t have seen more than sixteen, eighteen years at best.

“From the smell of things, the abomination emptied his venom into her.” Colbourne knelt in the mud, oblivious now to his appearance. “See?” He pointed to the ragged edges of the wounds on the girl’s neck. “There are multiple bites here, some more recent than others.” He laid a gentle, gloved finger near the deepest one. “This bite is hours old, and she is nearly exsanguinated. I am amazed she can still draw breath.”

“Is it too late for a turning?”

That caught Colbourne’s attention. His master stood, searching Morgan’s face for something. Then he sighed, perhaps finding no answer to what he sought.

“It is far too late. At this point, all we can do is ease her passing by treating the wound and dosing her liberally with laudanum. I doubt she’ll notice, but it should be done nonetheless.” He gave Morgan another cryptic glance. “I suppose it’s time to introduce you to the real meaning behind the existence of the Colbourne title. I’ll call you to my study after I have fed. In the meantime, you might want to do some research into turnings. The library has plenty of material for your reading.”

Research? Morgan felt the faintest flush of embarrassment warm his neck. It seemed he’d touched on a sensitive topic. He turned to the coachman. “Toby, get the lap blanket.” He considered for a moment. “And your long coat.” Between the blood, the sodden clothing, and the general mess, two layers should provide both warmth for the young woman and protection for the carriage.

Toby returned, and Morgan watched as Colbourne bundled the girl tightly in the coat, wrapping her head to toe in the blanket. When he lifted the fragile burden, Morgan attempted to assist him, only to receive a flat denial.

“This slime will eat through your hide,” Colbourne reminded. “Don’t forget your teachings, Holland.”

Morgan stepped back, feeling the Compulsion his master laid behind the words. He suppressed a sigh. When Colbourne used such a trick, it usually meant unpleasant instruction ahead.

They rode home at a rapid clip, carriage swaying on its springs at Toby’s urgent pace. Morgan could see the lax bundle in his master’s lap out of the corner of his eye, though he did his utmost not to stare. He focused instead on the adorning crest of the panel immediately behind Colbourne’s head, little good though it did him. Every time he relaxed his control, his eyes flew inexorably to the doomed girl. At some point, he glanced down again and discovered her hitching breaths had ceased.

Colbourne’s dark eyes were shuttered. Even in the dimness of their carriage, distress showed in the line between his brows and the bunched muscles of his jaw. Morgan reached across the gap separating them, called to soothe his master’s pain. Dark lashes lifted, revealing Colbourne’s grief at his failure.

Tonight’s enjoyments were meant to be a prelude in advance of Colbourne’s Contracted feeding; a bit of casual camaraderie to make amends for the awkward strain that had recently come between them. With this appalling discovery, the emotional toll on them both could hinder the process. Worse still, it might encourage Colbourne to postpone the feeding.

A tinge of red outlined those dark eyes. “Don’t worry, Holland. I’ll have myself under control by the appointed time.”

“I am certain you will, my lord,” Morgan answered, keeping his voice level. “I worry more for my control than for yours.”

A wistful smile touched Colbourne’s lips. “Your iron will? It will never waver, regardless of my desires.” The smile vanished. “Nonetheless, we will bury this poor child before we begin, Holland. I owe her that much, at least.”

* * * *

At the expected time, Morgan stood outside the sanguis cubiculum, irresolute. After a moment, he drew a deep breath and opened the heavy door enough to slip into the dim room. Hoping to recover his usual calm, he looked around at the comforts scattered about the feeding chamber. His master’s ancestry held full sway here, unlike any other room within Colbourne Manor. In the center, where the Contract always took place, a pile of soft bedding dominated. Oriental basins and water pitchers flanked the futon, with folded cloths of soft linen laid neatly alongside. Wax-paper lanterns lit the room with softened candlelight, casting shadows over the ornate screens and furnishings in the corners.

Colbourne waited on the futon, his white shirt open at the neck. Shadows from the flickering lanterns enhanced his Japanese ancestry, drawing attention to the faint epicanthic folds and the graceful arch of his brow. It presented a strong contrast to the British height and strong jaw, but Colbourne’s nosferii nature blended the two into pleasing harmony. Altogether attractive, sensual, and dangerous for Morgan’s heart, given what usually passed after a feeding.

Over the past twelve years, Morgan had gradually become accustomed to his master’s bisexuality, though with difficulty. It was a hallmark of the nosferii, but as Colbourne had said, Morgan had once been an untutored farmer. The Church of England considered such relationships unnatural and anathema to any God-fearing man. To be accused—worse, to be convicted—bore the potential for death. Earlier this year, Lord Byron himself had fled from England, fallen from his lauded pedestal and hounded by rumors of sodomy. Despite the political immunity granted by the kings of England to the nosferii, what a choice it proved: declare yourself attracted to the same sex, or declare yourself a vampire.

Yet for all the moralizing of his past, for all the strength he put into his denials, Morgan found himself continuously consumed by the desire for the sexual acts that followed a nosfera’s blood-feed. Though he could not prevent the upsurge of lust, he held it at bay, keeping his master at arm’s length and insisting another partner be ready once the feeding was done.

Despite knowing all this, despite his desires, the sight of Jeremy Colbourne’s demanding eyes and waiting lips had Morgan’s groin twitching in anticipation. It shamed him to know he couldn’t settle his feelings into the simplicity he’d known a dozen years earlier.

Colbourne’s strong hand pulled him to the down-filled bedding, sending a shiver through Morgan at the contact. Raw, sensual hunger rolled over him in waves, as the nosferii power of attraction shattered his determination with mere proximity. He swallowed, exerting as much control as he could over his physical reactions.

“You are as unyielding as ever, Holland.”

“Only in one matter, my lord. Is there someone near at hand for—after?”

A sad chuckle answered him. “Yes. My guest waits in my chambers.” Colbourne’s hand grazed Morgan’s neck, sliding sensuously along his throat. “Are you ready, Hostia Aeternus?”

The change in Colbourne’s voice indicated the time had come. Morgan looked at his master, seeing the reddened eyes, the widened pupils. A surge of desire flooded him, and he suppressed the unnatural lust. Still, the yearning to yield and be everything his master asked of him almost overpowered his sense.

Colbourne’s tongue touched his neck. Morgan shuddered, unable to prevent the involuntary reaction.

“I am hungry.” His master’s hot breath accompanied the words, while bared fangs grazed Morgan’s skin. “So hungry.”

The shivers increased tenfold. Morgan felt his control slipping and struggled to hold on to it long enough to complete the Contract. “Then please feed, my lord.” His voice had grown husky as anticipatory tremors took hold of him.

Another caress of Colbourne’s rough tongue drew an exquisite shudder. Such an intimate act, followed by an even more intimate one as the piercing bite of sharp fangs penetrated his neck and withdrew. Hot lips formed a seal around the twin wounds, and Morgan felt his groin tighten with the intense sensation of his master drawing deeply of the crimson flow.

It shouldn’t be this way, Morgan’s hazed brain insisted. Despite this, the lust bubbling up was the same as always, driving him to the brink of madness as he fought the desire. Every time he offered his blood, the yearning to succumb, to yield more than he gave—every time, it grew stronger. He wanted what he denied Lord Colbourne, wanted the carnal touch the Church deemed sinful, longed for what the courts condemned with death.

He trembled at the strengthening draw, fighting the spiraling temptation. The ache in his loins increased with every passing minute, inflamed by the chemicals hidden within the nosferii fangs. His stomach tightened against the feeling as he strove to suppress the exhilaration racing through him, starting with the fanged kiss at his neck.

Morgan shivered as Colbourne laid a hand between his thighs, stroking him, caressing the erection he couldn’t suppress. A groan escaped Morgan as the pleasure increased tenfold.

In a flash, he found himself pinned against the futon. He jerked at the feel of Colbourne’s hand fumbling with the buttons of his breeches. Heat flooded him, running straight from the hot contact to the ecstatic draw of blood from his neck. Hot, shaking with need, he pressed himself against that warm palm, his mind a blaze of passion. Colbourne moaned into Morgan’s neck, sucking harder.

“Touch me…touch me please, Morgan.”

The words slipped into his mind, jarring him from his lust. He shoved hard at the man above him, desperately building a wall in front of the invading thought.

“Get out of my mind!” Frantic, Morgan lunged upward, thrusting Colbourne away from him and wincing at the sudden, tearing sting at his neck. He stumbled forward, pressing his hands to the wounds, attempting to stanch the flow of blood.

He didn’t finish feeding, a portion of his mind whispered. He didn’t finish, and now I’m going to bleed to death.

“Makoto!” Colbourne’s panicked voice beat on Morgan’s ears with the force of a drum. “Makoto! Tasukete!”

Footsteps drummed across the floor as Colbourne’s retainer responded. The room started fading at the edges, and Morgan blinked at the bedding wound about his feet. Arms like steel trapped him, holding him up but keeping him hostage.

“You damn idiot!” Despite the angry hiss of the words, Colbourne’s voice shook. “Hold still.”

Morgan struggled against the iron grip holding him fast, while his hands were wrenched away from his neck. Colbourne’s unyielding grip held his head as the vampire leaned in to bite a second time. The pain shattered the last wall of Morgan’s consciousness, blackness overtaking him at the penetrating sting of his master’s fangs.

* * * *

Jeremy stared at Morgan’s sleeping face, the tremors of angry fear finally subsiding. He’d never before lost control during a feeding. Never. He’d been taking blood from normal humans for more than three centuries, and not once had he ever insinuated his thoughts into an unwilling Host’s mind.

Host. Hostia. The cruel irony of the title struck Jeremy more forcibly than it had ever done before. Hostia, the victim. Centuries before, it had been a word to deny the humanity of those used as nothing more than a food supply. Now, it stood as a title of respect, of importance. Hosts themselves had made it so.

When Morgan had fought Jeremy, rending his flesh beneath Jeremy’s fangs, the true meaning of Hostia had resonated in the terror shining in Morgan’s eyes. It had cut Jeremy to the quick, flaying him with the knowledge of his transgression.

But Morgan had allowed him liberties he’d denied for a dozen years. Jeremy had been pushed over the edge of reason, and he’d reached out, succumbing to a longing he’d thought he’d safely buried.

He stroked the bandages wound about Morgan’s neck. The man’s power of will never ceased to amaze him. The nosferii mind connection had originally been a means of prey control. For anyone to break free and physically pull away, as Morgan had, took strength of mind not commonly found.

A shadow shifted behind him as Makoto entered the room, a laden dinner tray in his hands. Fresh cuts of red meat predominated, lightly seared but rich with the coppery smell of blood.

“Time to eat, danshaku,” the samurai said, setting the tray on the small table by the chair. “You did not feed enough. Please replenish your strength with this.”

Jeremy ignored the dark look, though he did reach for the glass of brandy. “It was sufficient. I do not need to dine early.”

“I respectfully disagree.” Makoto plated a modest portion of beef and fruit. “Will you call for another Host?” Despite the words, Makoto’s voice carried no disapprobation. “It may be weeks before Holland-san is able to meet his Contracted terms.”

“I will be ready when he is, Makoto,” Jeremy answered, loath to consider anyone else. “I can wait.”

“That would be most unwise, danshaku.”

“Perhaps, but I will wait, nonetheless.”

“As you wish, danshaku.” Makoto bowed and left the room, shutting the door noiselessly behind him.

“I have no need of another Host, do I, Morgan?” Jeremy posed the question aloud, more for his own reassurance rather than expecting his Host to wake and answer. “After all, you are my Hostia Aeternus, my Eternal Host.”

Jeremy looked at the brandy in his glass, staring at the deep burgundy liquid. Sweet, yes, the thick fluid was sweet and restorative, but it was not Morgan’s blood, which had called to him from the moment they met.

“No, no need at all.”

Available now:

Blood Sworn 1: Salva Me
Bacchanal Moonlight Mating Cruises Ticket 1: Siren’s Daughter
Storm Called
An Unintended Seduction
Challenged by Love 1: Caliban
Challenged by Love 2: Narcissus
Challenged by Love 3: Vulcan
Challenged by Love e-Boxed set

Posted in Reviews

Review of King Henrys choice

Title:  King Henry’s Choice

 

by:  Emily-Jane Hills Orford

 

Genre:  Historical Fantasy

 

Blurb:  There are powers at play that continue to seek amalgamating Scotland to England – powers from the past and powers from the future. It’s the late 1800s and Queen Victoria wants more than mere access to the Scottish retreat at Balmoral Castle. But King Henry I of Scotland, direct descendent of Queen Mary Elizabeth I, the time traveling royal daughter of Mary Queen of Scots, is determined to keep Scotland free and independent and a powerful, progressive nation in its own right. The struggle to protect what is his by birthright becomes a battle that must be fought in the past, the present and the future and in other parts of the world. And, in the midst of each battle, there are choices to be made. Very difficult choices.

 

 

Excerpts:  Henry caught the piercing gaze and held it with one of his own, equally piercing. “I do dare, Madam!” He snapped back. “This is my realm. Not yours. And it never shall be yours!” He almost spat out the last few words. He was adamant to make his point: Scotland, his country, would remain free and independent, for now and forever, as his countryman’s rallying cry firmly stated.

 

“Then Isabel comes home to London with me.” The English queen sniffed in a deep breath, feigning a sense of pride being wounded. “It’s where she belongs.”

 

“I think not!” Henry held his ground, glancing first at his wife then at the English queen.

 

“Why ever not, Henry?” Bertie gently challenged Henry. “She is obviously not wanted here.”

 

“Bertie’s right, Henry.” Isabel finally spoke between sniffles and catching little coughs, feigning an upset constitution. “I should return with my English cousins. London is my home. It always has been. Not this barren, cold north land.”

 

“No!” He glared at both women, then at Bertie who had moved closer to his mother during the interchange. “The last time a Scottish queen sought refuge in England under the protection of the English queen, the Scottish queen lost her head.”

 

 

Review:  I am going to give this novel 4.0 stars.  This novel is centered on Scottish history and its battle to remain free from the English.  We meet Henry I whom travels from the 16th, 17th and 20th centuries in order to influence events that will keep Scotland free throughout history.

 

We get to meet some of the most influential people in Scottish and English history.  Such as Queen Victoria, Queen Mary, Isobel Queen of Scots, Edmund Prince of Scots, Prince Albert, Queen Mary Elizabeth, King James of Scotland and King James I of England, Henry is a strong man who does everything in his power to make sure to help his beloved country flourish.  This is helped by his ability to go into the future, and the help of the rest of the Stewart family.

 

He has a lot to think about and battle as he had uncovered a plot to kidnap his son and was forced to spirit him away to the future North America.  The reason was the fact he found that his wife and Queen Victoria were conspiring to raise his son in England and marring an English princess to combine the two countries. His fury when he finds out that his wife and Queen Victoria were plotting under his nose was horrible to see. What makes the traitors behavior worse is how James 1 tried to amalgam England and Scotland as he was both King of Scotland and England.

 

As he finds out that many of the people, he trusted are part of the plot the sadness is obvious.  The time travel is confusing at times, especially at the beginning when you are not sure what is going on.    The shift from present to past is confusing but plays a major part in the story line.

 

The characters are well developed and once you get the hand of the jumping around it’s an interesting plot line.  If the steward family can’t band together and use their time traveling abilities right, Scotland’s history would be completely wiped out.

 

An interesting book with unique

Title:  King Henry’s Choice

 

by:  Emily-Jane Hills Orford

 

Genre:  Historical Fantasy

 

Blurb:  There are powers at play that continue to seek amalgamating Scotland to England – powers from the past and powers from the future. It’s the late 1800s and Queen Victoria wants more than mere access to the Scottish retreat at Balmoral Castle. But King Henry I of Scotland, direct descendent of Queen Mary Elizabeth I, the time traveling royal daughter of Mary Queen of Scots, is determined to keep Scotland free and independent and a powerful, progressive nation in its own right. The struggle to protect what is his by birthright becomes a battle that must be fought in the past, the present and the future and in other parts of the world. And, in the midst of each battle, there are choices to be made. Very difficult choices.

 

 

Excerpts:  Henry caught the piercing gaze and held it with one of his own, equally piercing. “I do dare, Madam!” He snapped back. “This is my realm. Not yours. And it never shall be yours!” He almost spat out the last few words. He was adamant to make his point: Scotland, his country, would remain free and independent, for now and forever, as his countryman’s rallying cry firmly stated.

 

“Then Isabel comes home to London with me.” The English queen sniffed in a deep breath, feigning a sense of pride being wounded. “It’s where she belongs.”

 

“I think not!” Henry held his ground, glancing first at his wife then at the English queen.

 

“Why ever not, Henry?” Bertie gently challenged Henry. “She is obviously not wanted here.”

 

“Bertie’s right, Henry.” Isabel finally spoke between sniffles and catching little coughs, feigning an upset constitution. “I should return with my English cousins. London is my home. It always has been. Not this barren, cold north land.”

 

“No!” He glared at both women, then at Bertie who had moved closer to his mother during the interchange. “The last time a Scottish queen sought refuge in England under the protection of the English queen, the Scottish queen lost her head.”

 

 

Review:  I am going to give this novel 4.0 stars.  This novel is centered on Scottish history and its battle to remain free from the English.  We meet Henry I whom travels from the 16th, 17th and 20th centuries in order to influence events that will keep Scotland free throughout history.

 

We get to meet some of the most influential people in Scottish and English history.  Such as Queen Victoria, Queen Mary, Isobel Queen of Scots, Edmund Prince of Scots, Prince Albert, Queen Mary Elizabeth, King James of Scotland and King James I of England, Henry is a strong man who does everything in his power to make sure to help his beloved country flourish.  This is helped by his ability to go into the future, and the help of the rest of the Stewart family.

 

He has a lot to think about and battle as he had uncovered a plot to kidnap his son and was forced to spirit him away to the future North America.  The reason was the fact he found that his wife and Queen Victoria were conspiring to raise his son in England and marring an English princess to combine the two countries. His fury when he finds out that his wife and Queen Victoria were plotting under his nose was horrible to see. What makes the traitors behavior worse is how James 1 tried to amalgam England and Scotland as he was both King of Scotland and England.

 

As he finds out that many of the people, he trusted are part of the plot the sadness is obvious.  The time travel is confusing at times, especially at the beginning when you are not sure what is going on.    The shift from present to past is confusing but plays a major part in the story line.

 

The characters are well developed and once you get the hand of the jumping around it’s an interesting plot line.  If the steward family can’t band together and use their time traveling abilities right, Scotland’s history would be completely wiped out.

 

An interesting book with unique characters and a complex plot.  If you enjoy history and time travel, this is a book for you.ee

characters and a complex plot.  If you enjoy history and time travel, this is a book for you.

Posted in Blog

World Building With Disabled Characters

World Building With Disabled Characters
A circle containing images of symbols depicting various disabilities. At 2 o'clock is a wheelchair, at 3 o'clock is a full Braille cell, at 6 o'clock is the ASL sign for interpreter, at 9 o'clock is an eye and at 11 o'clock is an ear.
This is a great topic to start off the new year. Partially because it’s something that’s been on my mind for months and partially because I’ve actually been asked by some readers about how I write disabled characters.
Number one is research. I’ve done a lot, even for my own disability, because there isn’t one right way to be visually impaired or even blind. Does light perception count as blind or partly sighted? Does seeing shapes moving through blurry space count? Does every blind or visually impaired person use braille, a white cane, or a guide dog?
This is just the tip of the iceberg. For example, when I created a visually impaired half werewolf, I had to decide where his disability affected him and where he could ignore it completely. He can see better in the dark than most visually impaired people but that’s because of his half wolf nature. He can sense the shape of a traffic jam but still needs his white cane to help him get up and down the stairs in an unfamiliar place. And of course, like some of us legally blind people, he carries the cane to identify his disability.
So, research it. Discuss it with forums on FB or do research other places online or in the library.
Number two is balance. No one is only one aspect of themselves. I’m not my disability. But it is certainly part of who I am.
For example, I’m not single because I’m blind; do not ever make that assumption. I’m single for many reasons, and, yes, some people have rejected me out of hand because of my impairment. However, these are the exception to the rule. Assuming my blindness is the cause of my singlehood assumes all other people are assholes who can’t see past the surface. That doesn’t do justice to the great diversity out there.
Number three is please, oh please, don’t cure your disabled character at the end of the story unless you have a damn good reason. And their wanting to be “normal” or whatever you want to call it is not a good enough reason. I’ll never forget the author who healed the blind hero’s eyesight miraculously at the end of a Regency novel. I have never picked up another book of theirs, nor will I do so.
And, number four is, quite simply, don’t treat your disabled characters as either “inspirations” for the ease of that trope or as “victims” for a similar reason. Not all blind people are nice, kind, responsible, brilliant, or beautiful. And certainly not all of us are brave beyond measure. We CAN be those things, and I’ll never deny that side of the coin either. I’m moved by the bravery of Helen Keller, but I remember also that she had unpopular political views and that she was, supposedly, a brat as a child.
If you want to learn more about disabled characters, seek out books where they are the hero or heroine. Here are some of mine:
Wanderer’s Rest/Wanderer’s Haven: A duet about a hawk shifter who has prosthetic legs and has to use a wheelchair when one of his legs is crushed by a car. Wanderer’s Rest
Hunter’s Claim, A Very (Psychic) Christmas, My Two Front Fangs: These three novels star my first-ever disabled werewolf, Charlie McLaughlin. He’s visually impaired and is a great role model for anyone going through hard times. Not because he’s disabled…but not ignoring his impairment either.
Hunter’s Claim
A Very (Psychic) Vampire Christmas
My Two Front Fangs

Heartwood 1-3: Coming out in 2020, the gay contemporary romance about a sheltered nineteen year old and the world-wise, and slightly jaded, nineteen-year-old blind guy who loves him. Aidan grew up away from home, at a school for the blind. When he’s forced to come home and finish his schooling there, he learns all sorts of secrets about the hometown in which he was born and never lived.

Posted in Books

Beyond Justice–Spotlight on Bianca Sommerland and Tibby Armstrong

Today, features best-selling, author Bianca Sommerland, sharing her latest release, Beyond Justice, which has been co-authored by Tibby Armstrong. This is book 2 in The Asylum Fight Cub series. Please enjoy the excerpt below, and you ‘ll find a promo for what’s next in the series, and a link to Bianca’s website. Happy Holidays to all readers and fans!

Excerpt:
Curtis’s expression darkened, flattening the peaks of his upper lip. He leaned in, to brush his thumb over Reed’s lower lip and examined the sticky residue. Brought it to his mouth and sucked it from his skin. Pushing away from the breakfast bar he went to flip his pancake onto his plate and returned. Tapped two fingers under Reed’s chin to close his mouth. “Eat up.”
Eat. Yeah. He should eat. Then his brain might start working again. He cut another big piece and focused on finishing his breakfast.
“So…” Considering his fork, Curtis chewed and swallowed. “You like the hardcore stuff, or you think it’s the only way to give up control?”
Blinking at the other man, Reed almost choked on the piece of pancake in his mouth. He ducked his head as his cheeks flamed. “Dude, me and you…we don’t talk about this stuff.”
Curtis frowned, head canted, seeming to rifle through his brain for some piece of information, then nodded when he found it. “No, I guess we haven’t. But if you want to, I don’t recall being told I’d be gelded for crossing that particular line.”
“I…” Reed set the tines of his fork against his lips, touching his tongue to it as he stared at the wall over Curtis’s shoulder. “I like letting the Dom decide. Once he does, the rest is easy. Never lasts long enough though.”
“Sounds like the headspace you’re after has very little to do with pain and everything to do with how long you’ve negotiated to give that control over.” Curtis met his stare, unflinching, pushed back his plate and leaned in on his forearm. “It’s not as easy as you’d think to maintain, but when done right it can be pretty amazing.”
Reed nodded slowly. “In case you missed it, I’m more trouble than any Dom wants to take on. But it’s better that way.” He shrugged, picked up his plate and Curtis’s, and brought them both to the sink. “I get to enjoy a bit of everything. And no one’s gotta deal with me being…too much.”
“Is that what’s rolling around in that pretty head of yours? That you’re either not enough or you’re too much?” Curtis had moved behind him. Close behind him. “From where I stand, you’re the Goldilocks of submissives, Reed, and anyone who makes you feel any less isn’t half the Dom you think they are.”
Curving his hands over the edge of the sink, Reed shook his head. He should not be having this conversation. Not with Curtis, of all people. He was still too messed up from the scene which had left him wide open and vulnerable. He’d gotten away from Kovit and Lawson without letting his issues bleed out all over them.
He had to find a way to do the same with Curtis.
His throat tightened as he let out a soft laugh. “I’m the perfect sub. For one night. That’s how I like it. You gotta stop seeing me as some poor…kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing. I’m a big boy, Curtis.”
Curtis’s hand encircled Reed’s upper arm, tugging him around. “You think that’s what I’m thinking about right now? That you’re a kid? If so, I need to go to jail.”
“For what? You’ve been the perfect ‘Daddy’.” Reed really needed to shut up, but he’d already stepped over the clear line Curtis had drawn long ago. He couldn’t seem to retreat back to the place he’d been assigned that night he’d been dragged home. Covered in glitter, still feeling the rush from the eyes of the crowd on him as he’d danced. The heat that spilled through him when Curtis gave him that look brought him even higher. As though Reed had given those strangers what belonged to him. Reed’s jaw tensed. “If you’re talking about that one time that shall-not-be-discussed, it was a punishment. One Noah should’ve probably given me so you didn’t have it hanging on your conscience.”
Curtis’s eyes had closed partway through Reed’s speech, but they opened now. “I assure you, the pleasure was all mine, brat. And if you had a lick of sense, you’d stop baiting me to do it again now—because I’m certain you’d like to be able to sit in the next decade.” He lowered his lips to Reed’s ear. “I suggest you rethink some things about me, and about you. Because the next time you come to me wanting to be taken in hand, I will gladly oblige.”
Pushing away from the counter, he stepped back, giving Reed room to breathe.
Damn it, why did Curtis have to go and say…all of that today? Today, when Reed had no idea what to do with the implication of his words. Eyes burning, he hugged himself. The very thing he’d wanted more than anything, right there, while the marks from another man still covered him.
“Shit.” Curtis swore softly, reached for him and pulled him in. Cheek resting on Reed’s head, he sighed. “I don’t know how it is I keep fucking up with you but trust me when I say that I don’t want to hurt you.” He laughed, a rough sound. “Not like that. I miss you and me. So, yeah. You name what you want—what you need—and I’ll try to be that for you. But…” Leaning back, he brushed Reed’s forehead with his lips. “Try to remember, I’m fighting with one hand tied behind my back.”
He really didn’t get it. But maybe that was Reed’s fault too.
Tracing his tongue over his bottom lip, he tipped his head back. Despite the pain, having Curtis’s arms around him felt good. Like all the broken pieces were being held together by the other man’s strength, so he didn’t have to cling to them alone.
His lips curved slightly. “You might wanna figure out how to untie it then, ‘cause I’m not gonna ask.” He met Curtis’s eyes. “You’ll know.”
Curtis’s gaze dipped, his attention fixating on Reed’s mouth. Unwrapping his arms from Reed’s body, he brought one hand to the lip of the counter and the other to cup Reed’s face. Lowered his mouth with excruciating care and whispered, “I’m going to hell” against Reed’s lips.
Reed grinned, flicking his tongue over Curtis’s bottom lip. “Not quite yet.”

Excited? Like what you’ve read? Here is the promo for the next novel in the series, Flawed Justice.

More from Bianca Sommerland: http://www.asylumfightclub.com/

Posted in Interviews

World Building With MD Stewart

What Follows is an interview conducted by Emily Carrington with Sci-Fi/Romance author, MD Stewart.

Emily: the Internet is flooded with world building techniques. What we are here to find out today is how specific authors create their universes.
Emily: what is your main genre?

MD Stewart: I primarily write Science-Fiction romance and Paranormal romance. I have a few unfinished books in my files that are contemporary romance, but my imagination just won’t let me have a “normal” universe! I write all types of romantic partners too; male/female, male/female/male, male/male/female and most recently all male/gay romance.

Emily: what do readers expect from this genre?

MD Stewart: Well, from Sci-Fi romance, I think they want to see aliens, space travel and of course love between races. They want the couple to overcome differences between cultures or issues of prejudice against “aliens”.
In paranormal romance, I think readers want to see magic or strange creatures and how every day humans deal with finding out another world exists beyond what they’ve known their entire lives. Do we see movies and read about vampires? Sure, but do we really think they exist? No. So what happens when someone is confronted not only with the knowledge that they are not only real, but they are attracted to one? Shapeshifters are another enigma that I love to explore. In my Paranormal B&B series I try to bring in different types of supernatural creatures. Ghosts, Psychic Vampires, Incubus, Angels, Demons, Hellhound Shifters, Trolls, the list goes on.
In both genres I think readers want characters they can relate to and care about.

Emily: in terms of world building, what do you bring to this genre that is different or the same as readers’ expectations?

MD Stewart: I love to reimagine the backstories of creatures we all have read about; change it up. We all know about vampires, they’ve been written about forever. But what about Psychic Vampires? Creatures who need the emotional energy of others? They aren’t “created” like Sanguine Vampires where they’re turned by a bite and take in blood of a vamp. Psychic Vampires are born like any other human but they are born with a hole in their aura and need to syphon excess energy from humans to refill their own drained soul. Without that recharging, they’ll wither away and die. That is different and that is my character Killian in Born an Empty Soul. I’d like to think my imagination builds a Universe that has unique characters with unique abilities. I hope it gives the reader something different they can enjoy.

Emily: what world building went in to your latest release?

MD Stewart: My latest release, Born a Halfling, is the fourth book in my Paranormal B&B series. Along with characters I hope my readers have come to care about, I introduce a former Marine who was injured in Afghanistan and found his healing through Drag. Since it’s my first MMM romance, I needed to build a relationship between my three guys that was believable. One man is a security guard that met Michael when they were serving in the Middle East. One is the title character, a half-demon/half-angel who knew Michael all through childhood into early adulthood through their shared dreams.
I also needed to explore the Cross Roads, the world beyond ours where supernatural creatures live and where humans go to be escorted to heaven (Rest) or hell (Hellfire Lake). I’ve spoken of it and shown small glimpses of it in previous books, but do so more in ‘Halfling’ and even more will be revealed in the next book, Born a Demon.

Emily: please check out the latest release below:


https://barnesandnoble.com/w/1133620135
https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/born-a-halfling
https://books.apple.com/us/book/id1480320615
https://www.changelingpress.com/born-a-halfling-paranormal-b-b-4-b-2923

Posted in Reviews

Carnivora #1

Author Lea Bronsen will be featured today, with a preview of her new crime novel, ‘Carnivora’, which is both socially relevant and a fast-paced thriller. In her own words, Lea explains what draws her to this genre, and how she hopes to affect and satisfy readers.

Hi, and thank you for having me on your blog!

I’ve always been fascinated by dark psychological thrillers that mess with your mind and keep you on the edge of your seat. I toyed with the genre writing my debut novel Wild Hearted, but labeled it a crime drama. Its sequel, Carnivora, evolved over six years to become a full-blown hold-your-breath thriller that deals with grave issues such as kidnapping, child sex trafficking, and self-harm.

Telling five parallel stories with as many voices, it gives you the perspectives of a police informant, a hunted gangster, a mad avenger, an inconsolable girlfriend, and a psychotic kidnapper. I pull no punches weaving these stories, so be prepared for a dark, gritty, and graphic read – a little dirty on the erotic side – that I hope will play with your strings and stick with you for a long time.

Please note that this is part 1 of Carnivora and I am currently working on parts 2 and 3, so if those cliffhangers at the end are killing you, don’t despair. The continuation is right around the corner!

Carnivora Part 1

Excerpt

“Time to change your bandage again,” the nurse mutters, voice cool, and pulls my orange-colored sleeve up to the elbow.
She unrolls the long strip of bandage from my wrist and tugs at one corner of the gauze plastered on my wound. It sticks as if glued to the freshly grown skin, and instead of removing the gauze carefully, she tears if off hard, discharging pain through my arm, wrist-to-shoulder.
I open my eyes and lift my head off the pillow. “What the fuck are ya doing, trying to reopen the wound or something?”
“Like you care.” She stops pulling and glares, gauze between her fingers. “I can see who you are inside. You’re playing tough, aren’t you, bad guy? But you can’t fool me.”
“Shut up.” I lay down again, huffing, and stare at the white ceiling above me with its rows of long neon lights.
“You’re a good man.”
I glance back. “I said, shut the fuck up.”
Her eyes shine. She rips off the remaining gauze, ignoring my grunt of pain, and throws it in a bin. “Look.”
No fuck.
“Look at it,” she insists, voice low and demanding.
No. I know what I’ve done, and I can imagine what it looks like. A six centimeter-long deep, reddish, scratched-up ridge along my artery. Layers of skin, fat, meat, and whatnot must be visible and sweating a pinkish liquid from the reborn pores. I don’t need to see it.
I guess the girl wants me to be so horrified, I’ll never attempt suicide again. That’s right. She wants to shock me into acceptance.
You gotta be fucking kidding me, little thing.
She shakes her head. “I don’t understand why they gave you the life sentence.”
“You mean they shoulda given me the chair?”
Instead of responding to my sarcasm, she pivots to look up at the clock and widens her eyes as if realizing she forgot an appointment. Face tense, she returns to her work, applies some cool, gel-like liquid on the wound, and bandages it with quick routine moves.
What’s up with her? In my three days in this woman’s company, I’ve noted the things that make her tick. Maybe she’s upset because I’m leaving the infirmary soon. Earlier, she said she didn’t know when I’d be ready to go back to my cell. She probably knows now, but doesn’t want to tell me.
The door opens. She jumps.
A uniformed guard pokes his head in, checks the small room, and exits.
She seems frozen in place, features tense. Staring ahead and taking deep breaths as if trying to regain composure.
I cock my head a little. “What’s going on? They gonna transfer me?”
She visibly swallows and fixes her gaze on some point on the wall.
I snicker. “Are you sad ‘cause I’m leaving?”
Ha, I can be so ugly, when the girl clearly likes me.
As she sits there avoiding me, I take the time to check out her tits, and drink in the amazing sight of their pressing against her green blouse with each breath. She doesn’t have a name tag. Come to think of it, none of the personnel do. Evidently, so the inmates can’t identify their ‘caretakers’, and should they by some miracle leave the premises, track them down.
I nod to her blouse. “What’s your name?”
She twists back to me, brows raised, before shaking her head. “I can’t tell you that.”
“C’mon, I’ll never see you again.” I grin, then add with an ironic snicker, teasing her, “They’ll never let me slash my wrists, or hang myself.”
She looks away and busies herself collecting the medical stuff, throwing a quick, almost invisible glance to the door. What the hell is making her so nervous?
Coldness fills my chest. Something’s up.
“Come on, Babe,” I coax with my most gentle, sensual voice, wanting to buy time. “Tell me your name.”
“Why?” she whispers, fidgeting with the roll of bandage.
“’Cause I want a name to your pretty face when I jack off in my cell.”

About the Author

Lea Bronsen likes her reads hot, fast, and edgy, and strives to give her own stories the same intensity. After a deep dive on the unforgiving world of gangsters with her debut novel Wild Hearted, she divides her writing time between romantic suspenses, dark erotic romances, and crime thrillers.

Posted in Reviews

Review of Trail of Secrets

The Tour Banner

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Title: Trail of Secrets

By: Nora LeDuc

Genre: Mystery

Blurb: Who killed the vivacious, Emily McGuire and laid out her body at the water tower? Orderly, rule-follower Mia McGuire is the least likely person to answer this question. Mia’s life has taken a downward spiral with her sister Emily’s murder, the breakup with her boyfriend, and losing her editing position. But when the homicide investigation crawls, Mia can’t stand by doing nothing. She hires the problematic Lucas Davis to help her find the truth.

After suffering trauma from a shooting on the job, Lucas Davis resigns from the local force. Once known as a daredevil in his small Florida town, he has become an embarrassment to his dad, the police chief. When Mia offers him investigative work, he quickly accepts the job to prove he still possesses the skills and guts to solve the case. Together, these two unlikely sleuths form an intimate bond and are determined to beat the odds. They set out to bring a terrifying killer to justice before he targets them next.

EXCERPTS: “Mia?” A deep male voice shouted to her.

She turned to the sound of the voice. Lucas Davis was striding to her. He was here too? The tall, blond-headed man paced to her in a hurried power gait. Mia blinked, trying to adjust to the fact he wasn’t in her imagination.

He stopped a few feet from her. “We meet again. I’d say it’s my lucky day.” His playful tone eased the ache of tension vibrating in her skull. His eyes were warm.

The tightness in her body drained away. She tilted her head. “You don’t have a clone that was at the station earlier, do you?”

“I’m the one and only. It would cause a lot of gossip in Star Pointe if I had a twin.” A hint of mischief curved his mouth slightly upward.

She’d been talking and thinking about him yesterday and today. Now he stood in front of her—a second time. It was like she kept wishing him to appear. Gram’s words floated into her mind. That boy could be the poster child for lack of common sense.

Had “the shooting” changed him? His overgrown hair and cutoff shorts fit the casual look of a perpetual beach boy. He was lean and trim, probably from his training in law enforcement. Although his sturdy six-foot-plus frame reminded her he’d been into lots of sports in school. “Are you here to surf?”

Rating: 5.0 Stars

Review: The McGuire women’s’ life changes forever when Mia takes her dog Zsa Zsa out and Mia sees something by the water tower on their property and dread fills her as she recognizes a body. What shocks and horrifies her is finding out the dead body was her beloved younger sister. The author does a great job of showing the chaos surrounding the scene and how each family member reacts to the news. Her grandmother shuts down and Alana decides to take charge, keeping on the chief of police to find the killer, giving Mia a gun for protection and having a bodyguard driving with her everywhere.

It was enjoyable watching Mia pull herself together and take care of their safety and deciding that it would be better if she investigated the details herself. Especially after the first interview with the Chief, even when she gave him two names of Emily’s recent ex-boyfriends, she got the feeling that he didn’t’ take her seriously. She grew into a strong, opinated woman who learned that being in the background isn’t always the best thing. I enjoyed the interactions between Lucas Davis, the Chief’s son and herself. He takes everything she says and the small clues and hidden witnesses seriously. Mia had always felt safe with him, even when she was young. She has always seen him as a man who could solve problems, for example, when she was young, he would be the one to fix her bike.

It’s obvious he’s a man of action and even though his reputation is in shreds, he takes it upon himself to improve their house security He brought and installed cameras around the house and installed everything and showed Mia how to use it. He would not take any payment, so Mia decided to take him to breakfast.

Their relationship grew even as the case heated up. Lucas could not keep his mind off of her and her safety. She feels incredibly safe around him, wanting to be around him when things become too much. I was suspiciousof Emily’s last boyfriend Chris Green as he acted oddly, he would yell at Mia as he was mad since his name was given to the Chief as a suspect. As he kept coming around, the chief made sure he never came again. Lucas loved how much energy Mia was putting into the case, interviewing but he was framed when Emily’s cell phone case was left in his hotel room. The poor man suffered through a hard interview partly because the police no longer trusted him and it was found out that Emily called him the day she was killed.

Another person that sent shivers down my spine was Alana’s husband as he became combative towards Mia. For example, during the party and cornered her in a room. Things pick up after that since they found out that Emily was poisoned with ketamine, a drug that was used a anesthetize animals. Tit was strange because this was another attempt to frame someone.

The The ending was extremely interesting when we find out who the killer was the author did a great job of hiding who it was, although toward the end with small hints.

I found the plot well done with no places that didn’t make sense. The relationship between everyone was in depth and like life they are messy and tangled. Unlike many mysteries, I had a hard time figuring out which person actually committed the murder until close to the end, with small clues starting to add up. The perpetrator was someone that never crossed their mind.

This is a novel that shows that a family can pull together under horrible circjumentances. It also shows that people can grow and change with each life experience. Love can be found in the strangest places but the support is desperately needed.

Giveaway Information and RaffleCopter Code:
Nora LeDuc will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

Enter to win a $25″ rel=”noopener” target=”_blank”>Raffle Website

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Nora grew up in rural New England where she currently lives with her family. She enjoys visiting and spending time with her friends, the Winettes, in Florida, where she continues to write. Trail of Secrets is her sixteenth book. Her next story is already in progress.
You can find Nora on Amazon, Goodreads, Facebook and her website: Noraleduc.com. She also contributes to the Romance Gems’ Blog every month

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Buy on Amazon

Posted in Books

Coming Soon: Practical Difficulties (Lady Troubles 2)

For today, here is an excerpt from my upcoming novella, ‘Practical Difficulties’. This is installment two in the ‘Lady Troubles’ saga. Below is the novella description and an excerpt for readers to enjoy. When finished, my latest work will be available to buy on www.changelingpress.com

Maxine, a trans male-to-female werewolf, is struggling to get beyond her grief over the losses she suffered in her past. Now her mate, Sonya, is pregnant. When Maxine’s ghosts rise to break the new lovers apart, they have more help than they need from her pack.

Sonya’s starting to wonder whether Maxine’s loyalties lie with the wolf pack she’s been with for decades, or with her new mate. It’s beginning to look like sabotage from all quarters. How can a new couple stay together, especially with pups on the way?

Excerpt:

Practical Difficulties (Lady Troubles 2)
Emily Carrington
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Emily Carrington

Sonya Johnson stared at her clean pad, scowling at its whiteness against the cocoa dark of her thigh and the pale mauve of her panties. Her period should have started four days ago. Granted, she’d stopped taking her birth control after she’d forgotten to take it for three days back in late September. But was it too much to ask that her slip wouldn’t bring on pregnancy? She was a damned doctoral student and working a full-time job.

“Please, God,” she whispered. “Let it just be late. I do not have time for this right now.”

She shivered as a blast of air conditioning rushed across the back of her neck. Maybe it was time to grow her hair out and screw the cuteness of her current kinky-haired bob.

I’m a medical technician. I know enough about the human body to get this message: either stress is delaying my menstrual cycle, or I’m pregnant.

She cursed her mate before she could stop herself.

Sonya sighed, flushed the toilet, and pulled up her panties and shorts. It wasn’t Maxine’s fault, even if she was a trans werewolf and still had a dick. They’d both thought Sonya’s pill would take care of things. They’d briefly discussed using condoms too, but Sonya privately thought at the time that that was overkill. Maxine liked teasing herself with a condom now and then, but as a form of birth control, they were weren’t all that reliable.

They only succeed sixty percent of the time… but maybe I should have banked on that extra sixty percent.

She made an exasperated noise, very quietly.

The only thing that is Maxine’s fault, partially at least, is how infrequently I see her.

She’d long ago stopped tripping over the idea of calling Maxine, a male-to-female transgender werewolf, “she.” Not even thinking of her mate’s cock, as she did often while masturbating, could cause her confusion. Maxine was so utterly female, mind and spirit, that male genitals couldn’t change her essential nature.

Sonya walked into the bedroom she and her mate shared and went to her side of the wall-length closet. She took off the striped shirt she’d been wearing and put on a sweater with a cowl neck. It was a soft orange that complemented her medium brown skin tone and had the added bonus of clinging to her curves in all the right places.

Too bad Maxine isn’t here to appreciate it. She sighed noisily and then covered her mouth and glanced around, almost expecting half a dozen werewolves to pop out of the woodwork and ask her what was wrong. She kept her SearchLight-won shields in place most of the time, and her lips shut almost as much, but she still felt as if the whole darn pack could read her like a book.

Those shields were something she’d picked up at the academy in DC, learning them from the parapsychology teacher. She didn’t use them much at work, at least not when she was relaxed and in her own domain — the medtech department. But with all the psychic powers boasted by the members of her new eros pack, she felt on edge if her mind wasn’t guarded.

Shaking her head, grimacing as she thought of how paranoid she’d gotten over the past two weeks, Sonya headed into the living room to sit at the desk Maxine had bought her as a mating ceremony present back in late September. It was now the first week of October and she did not need to be worrying about pregnancy when her first dissertation defense was happening in less than seven days and she hadn’t seen her mate for more than a few minutes at a time since they consummated their relationship.

And while that was the worst of it, not being with her mate, her third problem was almost as pressing: three of the werewolves in her new pack were openly hostile toward her. Oh, not where Maxine, who outranked all of them, could see, but whenever they caught Sonya alone…

Oh, stop thinking about it all in such negative terms. They’re just pests. And as for Maxine, she sleeps here every night she’s in town, doesn’t she? You’ve made love four times so far. That’s good for two weeks’ worth of living together, isn’t it?

Well, actually, no. Sonya had gotten the impression from listening to her friend, Luke, talk about his early relationship with his husband that sex every day wasn’t uncommon. In fact, the only time her genie and dragon friends hadn’t managed sex at least three or four times a week was when Mark, the dragon half of the pairing, was in crisis.

Was Maxine in crisis?

Posted in Blog

Blog Request: Wire (Dixie Reapers MC)

WIRE (Dixie Reapers MC) by Harley Wylde
Published by Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Release Date: October 11, 2019
Genres/Themes: MC Romance, Erotic Romance, New Adult, Interracial/Multicultural, Suspense

Lavender: My parents weren’t the type to win any awards, but I did learn a few things. Like how to read lines of code and get through the backdoor of pretty much any site or program. I also learned about the man my mother had dated when she’d met my dad, someone who has intrigued me for years. I never thought I’d get the chance to meet him, until my parents end up dead and I can’t think of anyone else who might be able to help. I know too much, know my parents’ deaths weren’t an accident, and now I’ve been targeted. If the infamous Voodoo Tracer can’t help me, then I’m screwed.
Reality is so much better than fantasy, and with one look, I know the reason I haven’t dated is because I was waiting. For him.
Wire: I never really expected my past to come knocking at the front gates, nor did I expect it to be in such a sexy package. Lavender isn’t what I’d call a siren, but with her glasses perched on her nose, her messy hair, curvy figure, and adorable tees, she’s exactly what I want and don’t need. A nerdy, geeky, super-intelligent woman who craves me as much as I crave her. So I did what any man would do… I claimed her. Now she’s mine, and if an enemy from my past thinks he can hurt her, I’d like to see him try. He might have killed her parents, but I will destroy anyone who tries to take her from me.

Get it at Changeling Press

SNEAK PEEK
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Harley Wylde

Lavender
The infamous hacker, or more accurately cracker, Voodoo Tracer, hadn’t been all that hard to find. My mother had always said if anything happened to her I should track down the guy she’d dated before marrying my dad. I’d heard the story a million times, about how they’d all been friends but she’d fallen for Dad and hurt the guy she’d been dating. He’d left and never returned. Mom had lost track of him, but it hadn’t take much digging for me to find his current location, which told me he wasn’t really hiding. A guy like him didn’t leave a door open unless he wanted someone to use it.
While my mom and dad were hackers and worked for a lot of companies, trying to find the weak spots in their security so the companies could improve them, men like Voodoo Tracer took advantage of those weak spots to get whatever information they wanted. Mom had never approved of Voodoo’s need to crack government and banking sites. From what she’d said, back then, he never took anything vital. He’d mostly done it because he could. I couldn’t say for certain what he’d been up to lately.
I didn’t really walk either path, but tended to dabble a bit in both. Like the infamous Voodoo, I mostly liked to see how far I could get somewhere I shouldn’t be. If I were as nice as my mom and dad, I’d then turn that information over to the companies so they could keep other people out. Then again, they weren’t exactly paying me for my help, so why give it? I wasn’t an angel by any means, but I wasn’t precisely a devil either. I operated in those murky shades of gray.
I’d known how easy it would be for some to trace my phone, or the built-in GPS on my car, so I’d left both behind. The bus hadn’t been the most comfortable option to ride to Alabama, and I’d paid cash so there wouldn’t be a credit card trail, but now that I was here, I had to wonder if I’d made a huge mistake. The walk to the Dixie Reapers compound wasn’t that far, but the place seemed a bit imposing as I approached the gates. I’d walked what felt like miles of fenceline, although that was surely not the case. Razor wire topped it, and I had to wonder just what they were trying to keep out. Or was it more what they wanted to keep in?
The guy standing guard didn’t seem much older than me, and I noticed the way he scanned me from head to toe. I probably wasn’t the type of woman who typically came to this sort of place. My Converse were well-worn, my jeans ripped along my thighs and knees, and I had on my favorite Dark Crystal T-shirt, which had faded over time. I hadn’t thought much about my appearance and had tossed my hair up in a messy bun. With my thick-lensed glasses perched on my nose, I probably looked like I should be in school right now. If it weren’t for my curves, I’d never pass for my real age.
“You must be lost,” the man said, then pointed back behind me. “Town is back that way.”
“I’m not lost.” I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder. “I’m here to see Voodoo Tracer.”
The man stared and rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “No one here by that name. So I think you really are lost.”
My brow furrowed. I’d assumed his club would know him by that name. From what little research I’d managed before taking this trip, I’d learned that some clubs preferred to use a road name and kept their real names private. If Voodoo followed that belief, this guy may not know his birth name. It was foolish to think whatever the club called him would be the same name he went by when he was cracking codes.
“Hang on. I have a picture, but it’s really old.” I slid the strap off my shoulder and dug in my backpack. I withdrew the picture of Voodoo with my mom, Seraph, and my dad, Doc Paradox. I’d stared at this picture a lot over the years. I’d found it shoved into a box in the top of Mom’s closet a while back. The ginger-haired young man had drawn my attention. He couldn’t have been older than sixteen or seventeen at the time it was taken, but even back then he’d been more than just cute. I knew he’d be my parents’ age now, but I’d often wished I could meet a guy like him.
Showing the picture to the guy, his eyes went wide.
“Holy shit, is that Wire?” he asked.
“Um. Maybe. I don’t know his club name. I only know his hacker name.”
The man nodded. “That would be Wire, then. I’ll have to call him down here. I’m not letting you in uninvited. You don’t exactly look like the type to party at the clubhouse.”
If that was code for sleep with random men, then no, I wasn’t. Not even a little. I took a step back as he made his call and took the time to check out the place behind the fence. There was a building with Dixie Reapers across the top in neon letters, and a lot of houses down either side of the road. As I strained to get a better look, I thought I saw a playground, but that was ridiculous. What type of biker compound had a playground? The fatigue must be getting to me. It seemed I was now hallucinating.
“He asked who else is in the picture,” the guy said.
“Tell him Seraph and Doc Paradox.” I swallowed hard. “They were my parents.”
He relayed the information, and I hoped that Wire would come and hear me out. If things had really ended as badly as my mom had said, then he might refuse to see me. She’d not gone into a lot of detail, just said she’d picked my dad over Voodoo. Knowing my mother, there was a good chance she’d omitted part of the story. Coming here was a gamble I’d been willing to take. Whatever Mom and Dad had been into, it had gotten them killed. Thanks to me nosing around, I now worried that I might meet the same fate. I didn’t know anything about the man Wire was now, but the kid who had grown up with my parents had been the type to help those in need, even if he hadn’t done it the legal way. I was counting on that still being true.
The rumble of a motorcycle started out faint and then got louder. I saw a rider with copper-colored hair approaching from down the road and as he came to a stop on the other side of the gate, my heart flipped, flopped, then took off at a gallop. Holy hell! Mom had thrown over this guy for my dad? What the hell had she been thinking? He didn’t even remotely look like a hacker. Nor was he the gangly teen from the photo I’d brought. Yeah, he’d been handsome back then, but now? Shit. I was almost certain my panties were getting wet just looking at him. His heather gray tee stretched tight across his broad chest, and the leather cut just added to the sex appeal. The denim hugging his thighs was as worn as mine, with a few well-placed holes, and did nothing to hide how muscular he was, especially for a geeky computer nerd.
Definitely nothing like my dad. I’d loved my father, but time hadn’t been kind to him. He’d had lines around his eyes, and what my mother fondly called his spare tired around the middle, from long days and nights at the computer. This guy didn’t have that problem. Hell, he didn’t even look my parents’ age.
Wire swung a leg over his bike and came closer, removing the sunglasses that had shielded his eyes from me. Green, and so damn pretty. It was a sin for a man to have eyelashes that long and thick. Dammit. My nipples were getting stiff. I swallowed hard, wondering why my body was betraying me. I’d never had a physical response to a guy, even when I thought they were hot. Until now. The beard covering his jaw made my fingers itch to reach out and touch it. Would it be coarse or soft? I’d always had a weak spot for gingers, and he had to be the sexiest one I’d ever seen.

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About Harley…
Short. Erotic. Sweet.
Harley’s other half would probably say those words describe her, but they also describe her books. When Harley is writing, her motto is the hotter the better. Off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can’t deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you’ve come to the right place.
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Jewish Water Dragon

😘😘Giveaway📚📚

Dragon in Training 2: The story of a gay Jewish water dragon and how he copes with going home for Yom Kippur.

Running until Yom Kippur, which, this year, falls on October 9th:

Leave a comment about what kind of dragon you would be: water, land, or ice or…

Or all three. Winner will be drawn on Yom Kippur.

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