Memphis Heat Preorder Blitz #rabtbooktours

 

Paranormal Romance

Date Published: August 1, 2025

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

Memphis, Tennessee. The Russian mob has declared war on the MPD, leaving a team of dead cops in their wake, and the city of Memphis caught in their crossfire.

Stakeout (Memphis Heat 1)

Jarod took a bullet to the chest. But he didn’t die. While he was bleeding out, he was bitten. By a werewolf. Now he can smell his partner’s attraction, but his bite didn’t exactly come with instructions. Two partners who always have each other’s backs share everything -- but the one thing they need to share the most.

Streetwise (Memphis Heat 2)

When Officer Butch Carson and his rookie trainee, Regan “Sundance” O’Malley, are caught between the MPD and the Russians, they have no one they can turn to but each other. The more they learn about being werewolves, the tighter their own bond becomes. And the more determined they are to stop the assassins who nearly added them to the growing list of victims.

Strikeforce (Memphis Heat 3)

Lt. Jamie Callahan’s convinced there’s a mole in their pack, and he and his new partner must figure out who set them up -- and who’s responsible for the deaths of their former lieutenants.

Takedown (Memphis Heat 4)

Two packs fight for the heart of the city. The Russian mob and the MPD stand at odds, the city of Memphis caught in the middle. The new Alphas plan to leave their enemies in the dust. But it’s their friends they should be watching out for.

When the final takedown comes, there will only be one Alpha standing.

The following excerpt contains material suitable only for readers 18+.

Excerpt

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2025 Marteeka Karland & Shelby Morgen

Excerpt from Stakeout

"You're a real asshole, you know that, don't you?"

"Yes, dear," Jarod answered with a suppressed chuckle in his tone.

She was going to smack him any moment now. "That. That right there. That's the reason you're paying alimony to two ex-wives. Fuck you and your yes, dear. I've had shorter dry spells between engagements. I. Need. To. Fuck. Now!"

"You're just bored."

Belle squirmed in her chair, practically grinding her pussy against the worn upholstery. "No shit. What gave it away?"

"Told you not to come. ADD and stakeouts don't go well together."

She pointed the butt of her service revolver at him, resisting the urge to throw it. "Somebody has to watch your back. Besides. You used to be better at keeping me distracted."

A sideways grin quirked his face. "We used to have... interesting... ways of keeping ourselves entertained, didn't we? Not exactly professional, but..."

"Used to being the operative phrase here. What the hell is wrong with you, anyway?"

"Wrong with me? I got shot, remember?"

As if she could forget. "Yeah. And by all reports you should have died. But you didn't. And ever since you've been treating me like..."

"I'm trying to act like a professional. I've been treating you like a cop. Like my partner."

He attempted to look offended at that. Nearly pulled it off. Professional, my ass. "We were a hell of a lot more than just partners, Jarod. You can't deny that."

"Yeah, well, maybe if I'd been acting a little more like a cop and a lot less like your lover, we wouldn't have been in a position where you could have gotten killed." The bitterness in his tone surprised her.

She kept her voice low and steady, bottling up the frustrated anger that threatened to overwhelm her. "I wasn't the one who got shot, Jarod."

"Could have. Could have been you first up that alley, just as easy as me. And it would have been my fault."

This argument was getting them nowhere. Damn it, she was horny as hell and he was right there! "Shut up and fuck me --" she reached for her police baton -- "Or I'll do it myself."

Binoculars focused on the dilapidated warehouse across the street, he didn't even glance her way. "Go ahead."

Did he think she wouldn't? Staring at Jarod's lovely backside, Belle unzipped her jeans and shimmied them down her hips enough to give herself access to her pussy lips. It was his own fault. He was tall, handsome, built and reasonably single, if you didn't count the excess baggage, but she still might have resisted -- if he didn't smell like liquid sex poured into a cop suit. She wanted to reach over, undo his belt, and suck his cock right down to the root. Then they'd see how professional he could be. Fuckhead.

With that thought Belle kicked the jeans the rest of the way off and switched the baton around so the handle lined up with her pussy. With one thrust she impaled herself right down to the crossbar.

Fucker. If he didn't get off on that, he was gay.

"Shit, Belle! What the hell are you doing?"

"We're undercover. Normal people do not sit in sleazy, run-down motels next to vacant buildings for hours at a time and stare at locked doors. Only reason to be here is to fuck."

As if he'd suddenly gotten into the spirit of things, Jarod reached out and grabbed her shoulders, throwing her against the window. His mouth found the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and he bit down with more aggression that she was used to from him, but she was so horny, she didn't give a shit.

He yanked her head back, and his mouth found hers in a jaw-breaking kiss before he broke away, pushing her back. "You wanna play? Fine. Your turn to watch the Russians." He pulled her closer and spun her around. She braced her hands on the dirty plate glass window...

 

About the Author

Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double life as an erotic romance author by evening and a semi-domesticated housewife by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes pleasure in spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited, vulnerable heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her writings are speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning delight entwined with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying conclusions that elicit a sigh from her readers.

Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts (which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with Marteeka's latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her website. Don't forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you with a potpourri of Teeka's beloved recipes, book suggestions, autograph events, and a plethora of interesting tidbits.

 

Author Links

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

Author on Facebook

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

 

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Emergency Date Teaser Tuesday #rabtbooktours

 

(Swift Angel MC)

Motorcycle Club Romance, First Responders, Suspense

Date Published: February 28, 2025

 

 

Loyalty runs deep and secrets simmer beneath the surface in this tale of forbidden love.

 

Akira -- I’m the daughter of a Dixie Reaper, but this isn’t the life I want. I’m tired of being overprotected, and forced to follow rules I don’t necessarily agree with. The moment I laid eyes on Logan, I knew my life was about to change. I also knew I was in for a rough ride. Why? Because he’s a paramedic and part of the Swift Angels MC, and let’s just say my dad’s club functions more in the gray area. Logan is everything I’ve ever wanted in a guy. I knew we couldn’t sneak around forever, but I also didn’t count on the series of storms about to hit us head-on. Not only is my dad’s club dead set against my relationship with Logan, but my instincts are telling me something bigger is going on.

Logan -- Forbidden fruit. That’s exactly what Akira is. My VP has warned me away from her, but what can I say? The heart wants what the heart wants. No matter what obstacles we face, I’ll make Akira mine! I’ve never backed down from a fight, and I’m not about to start now. But when a string of troubling incidents seems to target both of us, I have to wonder am I the one in danger or is my sweet Akira at risk? Either way, I refuse to let them get away with it… even if it means the Swift Angels and Dixie Reapers have to work together, because there’s nothing I won’t do to keep Akira safe.

Are you ready for a suspenseful journey filled with passion, betrayal, and a fight for a love that could change everything?

WARNING: Emergency Date is Book 2 in the Swift Angels MC series. It can be read as a stand-alone, but you may enjoy the story more if the series is read in order. This is a slow-burn romantic suspense set in a small town. Guaranteed HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger for the main couple! For readers 18+ due to adult situations, bad language, and violence.

 

EXCERPT

The muggy, humid air hung heavy as I pushed my way through the oak doors of the bar. The din of conversation, the rhythmic clink of glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter washed over me like a wave. The air was thick with the scent of stale beer, sweat, and desperation, a cocktail that clung to the back of my throat.

I blinked, letting my eyes adjust to the dim, smoky interior. The bar was a labyrinth of wood and shadows, crammed with mismatched furniture and a motley crew of patrons. A middle-aged couple argued over a half-empty bottle of wine, their voices rising above the din. A group of young men, faces flushed and eyes glazed, cackled over a game of darts, their laughter laced with forced bravado. A lone man sat hunched over a glass of whiskey, his gaze fixed on the amber liquid swirling within.

My gaze drifted from face to face, searching for a familiar haven in this sea of strangers. Was I wasting my time? Akira had said she’d be working tonight. I still didn’t like the fact she’d chosen this place for employment, but I also knew her family hated it -- which was why she’d done it. There were times I liked that defiant side of her. Hell, if she didn’t act out, we probably wouldn’t be together.

I caught a glimpse of movement across the room. She was there, a vision of grace and confidence, expertly weaving through the throng of bodies with a tray of drinks balanced effortlessly on her palm. I could sit here and watch her forever. Well, maybe not. That might come off as creepy.

The way she moved was mesmerizing, each step fluid and purposeful. Her dark hair flowed around her face, bouncing with every step. I had yet to find anything about her I disliked. Okay, not entirely true. Her family left a bit to be desired, but she couldn’t control that. Besides, one of my club brothers had grown up with her in that same environment and he’d turned out just fine.

I found myself drawn to her like a moth to a flame, instinctively guiding my steps toward an empty table in her section. As I slid into the chair, she turned, our eyes meeting for a fleeting moment. In that instant, the world around us faded away. It was just her and me, locked in a silent dialogue that resonated deep within my soul. A spark ignited within me, a spark of curiosity, of desire, of something I couldn’t quite define.

“What can I get for you?” Her voice was a low, melodic murmur, a stark contrast to the raucous symphony of the bar.

I fought back a smile. Even in this place, we had to be careful. The last thing I needed was word getting back to the Dixie Reapers that a Swift Angel was sniffing around one of their girls.

“A beer, please,” I said.

“Coming right up,” she replied, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes.

As she turned to leave, I couldn’t help but watch her every move, memorizing the way her body persuaded with each step, the way her hips swinging in a subtle rhythm speaking of a hidden sensuality. There was something about her, an aura of mystery and resilience that captivated me. I’d seen countless people in this line of work, but there was something different about her, something that set her apart from the rest.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a glass being placed before me. “Here you go,” she said, her voice soft yet assertive. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thank you,” I replied, my gaze locked on hers. I saw a glimpse of the woman beneath the surface, a woman who was both strong and vulnerable, confident yet enigmatic.

She held my gaze for a moment, her eyes searching mine with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. In that one look, I could almost hear all the things she wanted to say, but didn’t dare. Not while we were in public. With a slight nod, she turned and walked away, leaving me with a head full of questions and my heart pounding with a newfound rhythm.

I took a long sip of my beer, the bitter liquid doing little to quench my thirst. Probably because I hadn’t really come here for the beer.

As I watched her work, I felt a pull, an inexplicable connection drawing me to her, a sense of destiny I couldn’t ignore. Which was why I’d come here looking for her. I couldn’t take her on an official date, so I’d content myself with drinking a beer and watching her work. Even if my club brother, Dawson, had warned me away from her.

Akira.

From the first moment I’d laid eyes on her, I’d been captivated. Not a day had gone by without me thinking of her. It had only taken a few conversations before we’d exchanged phone numbers. Now we talked pretty much every day and met when we could.

My nape prickled, as if some sixth sense was telling me something was about to go horribly wrong. My gaze swept the room and landed on a man at the bar. He wore his too-many-drinks like a badge, his movements jerky and voice too loud.

I watched Akira approach, her steps measured, her voice a low murmur lost in the rising tide of noise. The firmness in her stance spoke louder than words. His lips twisted into a snarl as he leaned closer to her.

I’d seen these situations turn on a dime, and I wouldn’t let her become collateral damage. I braced myself, ready to jump to her defense at any moment.

But Akira stood her ground, chin jutting out in defiance. Her voice, though quiet, held an edge. The man’s face twisted, hand rising like a hammer about to fall. I was already moving, my feet eating up the distance.

Then, the unexpected happened. His hand, a fleshy claw, clamped onto her backside, digging in like a tick. Better than him hitting her, but… a red haze flooded my vision, as fury I didn’t know I possessed boiling over.

I was there before I registered it, pure instinct propelling me forward. The need to protect, to shield, eclipsed everything else. My path through the crowd was a blur.

As I reached them, I saw the fire in her eyes, the tight set of her jaw as she turned, ready to unleash her own storm. In that moment, I knew she could handle this, but the primal urge to intervene was a tide I couldn’t hold back.

My hand clamped onto his wrist, my grip like iron. I’d promised to heal people, to help, but right now all I wanted to do was beat him senseless.

“Don’t. Touch. Her.” I narrowed my gaze at him.

He stumbled back, eyes widening. My face must have been a mirror reflecting the inferno inside. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come, my expression seeming to silence him.

“Get out,” I said. “Now.”

He hesitated a moment, then thought better of it. A muttered curse, a toss of bills onto the bar, then he turned and walked away.

I turned to Akira, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. “Are you okay?”

Her eye held a spark I couldn’t decipher. “I had it under control.”

“I know,” I said, the adrenaline receding. “But I couldn’t just stand by.”

Something flickered across her face. She studied me, a long, searching look.

“Thank you,” she whispered, the words barely audible over the bar’s murmur.

I nodded, the tension slowly draining from my limbs. “Anytime.”

The music and chatter resumed at its previous volume, but I blocked it all out. Akira turned back to her work, her movements jerky and tense. I could see the way she held her breath, the way her shoulders were hunched.

I wanted to just leave her be, but my feet moved toward her.

About the Author

Harley Wylde is an accomplished author known for her captivating MC Romances. With an unwavering commitment to sensual storytelling, Wylde immerses her readers in an exciting world of fierce men and irresistible women. Her works exude passion, danger, and gritty realism, while still managing to end on a satisfying note each time.

When not crafting her tales, Wylde spends her time brainstorming new plotlines, indulging in a hot cup of Starbucks, or delving into a good book. She has a particular affinity for supernatural horror literature and movies. Visit Wylde's website to learn more about her works and upcoming events, and don't forget to sign up for her newsletter to receive exclusive discounts and other exciting perks.

 

Author on Facebook, Instagram, & TikTok: @harleywylde

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

 

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