Ryker Pre-Order Blitz #rabtbooktours

 

Erotic Romance, Age Gap

Date Published: July 4, 2025

Content Advisory:

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

Doesn’t matter that Laken is Flicker’s sister, and a virgin. I always get what I want, and Laken is mine!

Ryker: After 20 years in the military, I find myself doing my dad’s dirty work. But as the “prince” of the Hades Abyss MC, it’s expected of me. Doing a little recon in a small Alabama town should have been boring as shit, until the hot little minx I met at a bar turned my life upside down. Women always fall at my feet, but this one’s different. If I’d known she was a virgin, I might have backed away, but now that I’ve had a taste I want to keep coming back for more. Little did I realize that I’d just fucked the sister of a Dixie Reaper, and my life’s about to become all kinds of complicated. I have to wonder… had she fucked me because she wanted me? Or is it all some kind of setup?

Laken: My big brother Flicker is always ruining my fun, keeping the guys away from me, so when I finally get a chance for a hot guy to get rid of my V-card, I’m all for it. Ryker’s hot and has that alpha vibe, and the fact he’s ex-military just makes me wetter. It never occurred to me that he was a biker, or that I might have just screwed up a big deal for the Dixie Reapers. It seems my sexy Ryker isn’t just some hot military guy. No, he’s the son of the President of the Hades Abyss MC. So I hide like big brother asks me to. Just one problem… Ryker doesn’t leave, and now I’m late. How am I supposed to tell Ryker that I’m carrying his child? When life fucks me over, it does it royally.

 

EXCERPT

I threw back another shot of whiskey, and slammed the glass down on the bar top. It was my tenth. Or was it twelfth? I'd lost count somewhere along the way, but I wasn't even remotely drunk. There was a slight warmth spreading through me, but I was one hundred percent in charge of my actions. So when I slid my hand up the back of the thigh of the hottie standing next to me, yeah, that was all me. What can I say? That sweet, curvy ass of hers was calling to me.

She slowly turned her head to look at me over her shoulder as my hand slipped up farther, sliding under the hem of her too short dress. Mmm. No panties. I gave her ass cheek a squeeze and watched as heat flared in her eyes. Whatever schmuck she'd been talking to was forgotten as she turned to face me. Oh yeah. The front matched the back. Nice, luscious breasts that were barely contained by the stretchy top of her dress, and damn if her nipples weren't poking through.

"Normally a guy buys me a drink before he grabs my ass," she said.

"Guess I'm not a normal guy."

She reached out and fingered the dog tags that I still wore, despite the fact I'd been out of the service for a month. "No, soldier, you certainly aren't."

"Marine," I said.

She bit her lip and moved in a little closer. "Guess that makes you something of a badass, doesn't it?"

I smirked and squeezed her ass again. "Something like that."

She reached out and rubbed a hand down my chest, her fingers trailing across my abs and stopping at my belt buckle. I could tell she liked what she saw, and I damn sure liked the way she filled out her dress. It would look even better bunched around her waist while I fucked her.

"You're so big and strong," she said with a purr.

"Oh, baby. You have no idea."

I slid my fingers farther down the curve of her ass until they teased her pussy. She was already wet and so damn slick, and she looked like just the type of girl who would let me fuck her in the bathroom. I knew the type, and those hard nipples and wet little pussy told me that she wanted me bad enough to let me do whatever I wanted. Women tended to fall at my feet, always had, and this one wasn't going to be an exception. Kneeling was a good place for them, easier access for sucking my cock.

"Bigger doesn't mean better," she said. "It's all in how you use it."

"I know how to use it. I can make you scream my name all night long."

She shrugged. "Maybe you can and maybe you can't."

Oh, I could. It was a proven fact. Women always screamed in ecstasy whenever I was pounding into their pussies, or anywhere else I pleased. They begged me for it.

"What's your name, sugar?"

"Laken."

"I'm Ryker. What do you say we get to know one another a little better?" I stroked her pussy again, letting my fingers dip inside. She bit her lip, and a flush started creeping up her chest. I'd be willing to bet I could get her off right here and now.

"Maybe I'm not that kind of girl," she said, her voice dropping as I stroked her some more.

"Honey, my fingers are coated in your cream, right here in front of everyone. I bet I could get you so turned-on, you'd let me fuck you anywhere I pleased. Just bend you over the bar and take what I wanted." I smirked. "In any hole I wanted."

She gasped, but her eyes dilated, and I knew she'd liked the idea. Naughty girl.

 

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.

 

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North Storm Pre-Order Blitz #rabtbooktours

 

A Gay BDSM Sea Adventure Romance

 

Action Adventure, BDSM, Gay Romance

To Be Published: May 30, 2025

 

North, a rural water farmer, has come to the big citta to be trained in the art of deep-water treasure diving. A man can make enough in a season to take care of his family for years -- except as a novice and a country boy, North can't find anyone willing to teach him the job.

That is, until he finds a mentor in the wild, sexually charismatic "Storm." Storm promises to teach North everything he knows, from navigating the dangers of the hunt to submission in bed -- but only if North is willing to give himself over completely.

Praise for North Storm

 

"Will Okati has once again written a book that will capture you attention from the first page, with the rich world in which this story unfolds and with the lava hot sensuality that the characters express. The love that these two share will leave you flushed and reaching for something to cool down!"

--Sabella, Joyfully Reviewed

 

Excerpt

Copyright ©2025 Will Okati

 

For someone who had been raised on the sea, North was beginning to hate the sight of it. Blue waters, green, aqua, all of them stretching as far as his eyes could see. He'd been rowing for two weeks now, the winds too calm for his small sail to pick up much of a breeze to help propel him forward.

Lucky for him, then, that he'd almost arrived at his destination.

Just ahead, North could see the tall, stone turrets and walkways of the Citta del'Acqua, the massive capital of his world. There were other boats not too far away, fishermen dangling rods over their sides and glancing up in interest at North, scruffy from his fortnight's travel and pale with exhaustion.

"Ho!" one of them shouted, his voice carrying across the water. "Where are you bound, boy?"

"I'm no boy!" North fired back automatically. True, he looked younger than his years, but he'd passed boyhood five years back and was fully an adult. He hated it when people thought him younger than he was.

"Oh, oh, a temper he has, a fine temper!" The fisherman and his cronies laughed. Still others lifted their heads to watch. "Well, firebrand, where are you going? Come to see the sights of the citta?"

North sailed in a little closer, careful not to lose control of his small craft and bump into one of the fishing boats. "I'm looking for the master clamsmen," he said, once he didn't have to shout. "The divers. Can you tell me where to find them?"

The fishermen laughed. "A boy from the country, come to be a diver?" One of them hooted. "Boy, have you ever been deeper than eight feet below the surface of the water?"

North stiffened. "I'm not a boy. And yes, I have been further down. Fifteen feet, last I counted."

"You'd have to go a distance more to hunt the clams," the fisherman said, his weathered face crinkling in amusement. "What are you really doing here, anyway? Run away from home, did you, boy?"

North's jaw tightened. "Just tell me where I can find the divers," he said through gritted teeth. "I'll be on my way, then."

"Why, when this is so much more fun?" The fisherman gestured toward his boat. "Come on, we've a spare rod and reel. You could help us out with the day's work, and we'd split the catch evenly. Give you a little money to help you through your first night here. Plenty of wine, song, and women, eh?" He winked and splashed his oar into the water, to the great amusement of his mates.

North shook his head. "I prefer men. And I'd rather not stay and fish." His back was still bristling from their calling him boy. "Do you know where the divers are or not?"

"Well!" The fisherman drew himself upright, as if taking offense at North's rejection of his offer. "There's no need to get all hoity-toity with me, young man. Of course I know where the divers are, but why should I tell you? You haven't earned the right to the knowledge yet."

North sighed. If this was the way they operated in these parts, he'd just as soon go home. But he couldn't, could he? He'd come to the citta for two reasons: one, to learn how to dive for the giant clams that had bizarrely migrated to his village, and two, to learn how to be a Man Hand, one of those who taught others how to give sexual pleasure. And how could he teach if he didn't know himself? "Fine," he said, taking out his own rod and reel. "If I catch a fish for you, will you be happy then? Will you tell me where to find what I'm looking for?"

The fishermen nudged each other, grinning. "A big fish," their leader clarified. "Larger than my hand, and thicker than my arm. None of this penny-ante stuff for us, thank you. Then we'll send you on your way."

"Good," North said, as he reached into his nearly empty bait bucket and pulled out a scrap of dead fish innards from the last meal he'd caught. "Storm is waiting for me. Or at least his letter said he was supposed to be."

The fisherman's jaw dropped. "S-Storm?" he asked after a moment, voice wobbling. "You're supposed to report to Storm?"

"Why?" North cast his line. "Is there more than one?" He grinned wickedly at the fisherman, who looked completely taken aback, mouth moving in a useless motion up and down. "No worries. I'll be sure to tell him what good care you took of me." He laughed to himself, softly, as the fisherman began to curse underneath his breath. No, indeed. He was no callow boy to be played with.

About the Author

Willa Okati (AKA Will) is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray cat hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for winter weather, a little more coffee, a whole lot of flowering plants and a lifelong love of storytelling. Will's definitely one of the quiet ones you have to watch out for, though he -- not she anymore -- is a lot less quiet these days.

 

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Chasing Magic Pre-Order Blitz #rabtbooktours

 

Not In Use (#1)

 

LGBTQ, Dark Fantasy, Romance

Date to be Published: April 25, 2025

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

Love -- and Magic -- find desperate lovers in unlikely places.

Chase: It is a madness that draws Chase to the Louisiana bayou, leaving his sister and his art studio behind. The fact that he longs to strip off his clothes and run naked through the swamp with the wild creatures who live there isn't his first clue that something isn't right with him... but it just might be his last.

A Painter's Price: Jason has studied the Painter for years, but when he finally meets Eric he's not prepared for the powerful erotic feelings the artist provokes in him. His need to touch Erik slowly overrides every other, until there is nothing he can do but surrender, mind, body and soul.

Rythan's Becoming: Rythan knows he must harness his sexual energy and burn through his shell to truly Become an adult. But Becoming also requires the help of his catalysts, a pair of adults he's never met, and water doesn't combine easily with fire and air. Can Rythan pass the final test and meet his Destiny?

 

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

Excerpt from A Painter's Price

Copyright ©2025 Kira Stone

 

This is one fine orgy. The self-congratulatory thought filtered through Erik's lust-fueled mind as he licked expensive red wine off the impressive cock bobbing before his lips. Who his mystery lover was, Erik couldn't say. He had a nice meaty shaft, though. Not terribly long, but wide enough to split a man open. Erik's sphincter spasmed just from imagining the feel of that thick cock sliding into him.

Salty-sweet pre-cum hit his tongue. He gave his lover's ass a slap to bring forth another drop. Nectar of the gods, as far as Erik was concerned. Every man tasted different, and yet he loved them all.

"Oh, fuck me," the man whimpered around his mouthful of Erik's cock.

"Not this time."

The spirit was willing, but the body grew weak. He'd been going at it, in one form or another, for several days now. The need for a long, uninterrupted sleep gnawed at him. He was hard pressed to keep his eyes open. Silently promising to make it up to his lover later, if he remembered, Erik sucked in earnest.

His lover attempted to return the attention. Erik winced as teeth caught his sensitive skin. All the more reason to end this quickly, he decided. At the moment, this man needed more education than he had the patience for.

His lover bucked and groaned under him. It didn't take long to coax him into orgasm. Seed spilled across Erik's tongue in a honey-sweet river. He drank down every last drop, feeling it was his due for the hard work he'd put in.

Under his guidance, the man continued to pleasure him with hand and mouth. Finally a weak orgasm rolled through Erik in quiet surrender, proving he'd been right about his need for a lengthy respite. He might have stayed awake long enough to mumble a word of praise before he lost himself in the warm, dark embrace of sleep.

* * *

A cool breeze ripped through the room some time later. The long brocade curtains surrounding the bed writhed, and the firelight flickered as though it were about to die in its wake. That alone would not have disturbed Erik from his well-earned slumber. No, a great booming voice startled him out of a deep sleep.

"Since you love your art above all else, I hereby sentence you to an eternity of creation."

"What?" Fear trickled through the horrible hangover clouding Erik's brain. Though he couldn't yet see the shadowy figure standing beside the bed through his bloodshot eyes, he recognized the voice. The king's mage was not pleased, and that was never a good thing.

"For the rest of your life, you will produce some of the finest art ever created."

Well, that didn't sound so bad. Painting was, after all, his passion. "Errrr… thank you."

A sneer entered the mage's voice as he continued. "Your creative energies will be your only sustenance. You will not eat or drink or sleep. You will not be troubled by mortal weaknesses except on the one night a year when the price of being the greatest painter alive must be paid to me, a fragment of your inner spirit to be given to a vessel of my choosing. You will exist solely to create… until your soul is empty."

Now that last bit seemed a little extreme. Honestly, Erik didn't know what good his soul was doing for him, but he didn't think it would be wise to go around without one. "Is that really necessary? Painting is all I'm good at anyway."

"Painting… and debauchery. The king has lost all patience with the discord you create among his court with your callous, self-indulgent behavior. Could you not even leave the livestock alone?" the mage muttered with disgust.

"That wasn't me," Erik protested as he tried to extract himself from the tangle of limbs pinning him down. A small corner of his brain wondered again who the bed belonged to, how long he'd been in it, and if his host's largess would hold out until he had a bite of bread and cheese, maybe another mug of wine.

"Not in body, perhaps, but the act was done with your encouragement. You sow depravity into the souls of the good people of this land, leaving a trail of broken marriages and broken hearts behind. The king will have no more of this debauchery!"

"I hardly think all the consequences of the court's questionable behavior can be blamed on me." Erik looked around for his clothes, a little intimidated to be talking to the king's mage without a stitch on. However, every garment he found smelled rank with spent passion. He flipped the bed curtain over his lap instead. "I enjoy a good party. What soul doesn't? That's human nature, not a crime."

"The evidence is quite plain, and the king has rendered his judgment. He left it to me to determine your punishment. After a fortnight of observation, I see the only way to change your ways is to give you exactly what you desire."

Warning bells clamored in his head, but Erik couldn't puzzle out exactly what about that statement troubled him. "Would the king be satisfied if I left the city for a few weeks?" Surely he could convince one of the rich lords in the outlying districts to keep him sheltered and fed for a month.

"Your departure might satisfy him, but it will not satisfy me. From this day forth, you will breathe art, dine on creative passion, and survive as long as your depraved, artistic soul can sustain you." The mage's robes rippled as if an angry fall wind had whirled around him. "As I will it, so mote it be," the mage intoned with an earth-shaking power.

And, just like that, Erik's life transformed.

 

About the Author

Kira Stone has been around the block…the writer’s block, that is.

From vamps and witches to historical heroes, from futuristic scientists to paranormal corporate executives, from Canadian werewolves to off-world shifters, Kira has written about them all. Manlove has sparked hot and heavy in many of her plots, but Kira also finds a lucky lady to keep the sexy heroes company from time to time. While Scotland remains her favorite place in the world, Kira is constantly in search of new adventures to add to the creative primordial ooze where her best stories are born.

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The Abandoned Theater Pre-Order Blitz #rabtbooktours

Book One of the Alderland Series

 

Middle Grade Fiction

Date to be Published: 05-01-2025

Publisher: Our Street Books

 

Deep in the woods of the Winnodov property sits the abandoned theater. Something mysterious happened during the last performance there - the same night Mr. Winnodov disappeared.

Eight years later, it’s happening again. A group of mischievous teenagers sneaks into the theater. And now, one is missing.

When 12-year-old Beth Shoner learns who the missing teen is, she sets off with two friends to find him. But what they discover is more astonishing than they could ever have imagined.

Early Reviews

5 stars - “Absolute gem of a read that had me hooked from the first page. A thrilling, magical adventure with a touch of danger.”

~K.L, Netgalley

5 stars - “Genuinely brilliant tale filled with lush imagery and fantastical settings. Wonderful fantasy adventure. Very highly recommended.”

~A.S., Readers Favorite

5 stars – “What a compelling and engaging read. Action-packed, magical, and entertaining. A must-read middle-school/YA fantasy read.

~A.A, Author

5 stars - “Masterfully weaves suspense and wonder, keeping readers on edge with unexpected twists and a richly built setting.”

~Kids World book blog

5 stars – “Novel is wonderful, whimsical and beautifully crafted. A spectacular read for people of all ages.”

~T.C., Goodreads

About the Author

Dana Robertson lives in Oshawa, Ontario, Canada. She writes fantasy, mystery, science fiction and middle grade fiction.

 

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Earth's Passion Pre-Order Blitz #rabtbooktours

LGBTQ, Dark Fantasy, Steamy

Date Published: April 18, 2025

 

As their need for each other grows, so does the danger.

Kailee and Tom are falling for each other, but their secrets continue to come between them. Kailee’s afraid to show her physical scars, while Tom dreads his lover will discover the power those he still calls Master and Mistress hold over him.

Dragon and werewolf must join together in every way to defeat those who would dominate Tom and kill Kailee.

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

 

 

EXCERPT

Kailee had been lying next to Tom for close to twenty minutes. Her new dragon lover was fast asleep, and she knew she should be resting too. Instead, she was filled with joy and an incautious sense of promise that she hadn’t felt in years.

Tom rolled over, draping his arm over her waist. Kailee wriggled a little as the urge to pee made itself known. A deeper craving drew at her also.

“Are you okay?” Tom mumbled. Then he stiffened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” He pulled his arm off her.

She turned over, snuggling in close. “I like it when you touch me. I just… I need to get up and use the bathroom.” It was true, but her ulterior motive was to take so long that he fell back to sleep, and she could go outside.

“I’ll wait up for you,” he said, slurring his words a little.

Kailee kissed his temple. “Go to sleep. I’ll be back in a moment.”

His eyes were already closed. As she watched, he lost the tension in his limbs and the worry lines on his face smoothed out. He began to snore.

She waited another five minutes, to make sure he was well and truly under. He’d had a sucky, hard life and she thought he hadn’t probably slept well for large parts of it. Knowing he was safe here, that she would protect him, made her smile.

She got up, padding to the bathroom after putting on the clothes she’d worn before they made love. Once in the bathroom, she unzipped her jeans. As much as she felt one hundred percent female most of the time, she still enjoyed the simple pleasure of peeing while standing up.

When she was finished, she flushed, zipped up, and washed her hands. Then, moving silently, not wanting to wake anyone up because this pack already knew everyone else’s business as it was, she went to the mudroom, put on her boots, and made her way out of the back door into the gloriously dark night. It was a waxing crescent moon tonight, about four days from the first quarter, and with so little light coming from that celestial orb, the darkness was close as a passionate lover, full of kindness. Like Tom.

She wrapped her arms around her chest, which was flat without the boobs she usually wore. That felt a little awkward but for this one moment, she was able to dismiss the feeling. She’d needed to embrace herself for pure joy’s sake. She’d been so very alone for damn near half her life, relying on gentleness and understanding from those who were either hired professionals or simply much older than she was and thus not quite as in touch with their wolflinghood as she could have wished. Maybe it was foolish to assume someone closer to her own age would have “gotten it,” her experiences and suffering. Still, because Tom understood, and only after so short a time, she thought the idea had slight merit.

Wanting to make some sort of noise to express herself, she began to sing. It was a simple song in Werewelsh, her first language. She’d grown up surrounded by the language developed by werewolves for their own kind, and although other people spoke it now, it remained mostly shared among the ones who had to change at the full moon. Werewolves largely did, though, and she was, first and foremost, a wolf.

She translated in her head as she sang, loving the poetry even though it didn’t rhyme in English.

Moon of darkness, moon of light,

Moon of power and strength.

Moon of my heart, full and wise,

Be with me tonight.

Probably, she thought as her joy crested but didn’t recede, I’m being foolish. He hasn’t even said he loves me.

That was true but what made her heart sing was a simple truth, not complicated by whether Tom wanted to be her mate or not. “In all honesty,” she whispered to the night that seemed to be listening, “I never thought anyone could see past my scars and love me anyway.”

All right, so he hadn’t actually seen her physical scars, her dead name carved into her chest with a silver knife and made to stay because of silver powder. She hadn’t been quite that brave. Still, Tom knew she had a reputation, that she’d killed, and he hadn’t pulled away. Wasn’t that worthy of ecstasy?

She closed her eyes and resumed her singing. Now she sang a song of how the sky so loved the moon that he bid her to cross from one edge to the other so he might admire her beauty. The moon’s response Kailee sang too, reveling in the way the moon demanded something in return: to see the stars scattered before her like diamonds.

Once again, her joy crested until it filled her chest. She broke out in a light sweat. That was when she became aware that the exhilaration she felt wasn’t hers alone.

Wary because she’d been influenced by outsider forces before, although less directly or psychically, she mounted her defenses and scanned the area with her telepathy, seeking the source of the external, pushy force.

At first, she felt nothing and no one. Widening her circle of ability, she fumbled in the darkness of the in-between that existed in the psychic world. Reaching, reaching, she felt a half-familiar mind.

About the Author

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender women’s speculative fiction. 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. And in the contemporary world she’s named “Sticks & Stones,” Emily has vowed to create small towns where prejudice is challenged by a passionate quest for equality. Find her on Facebook at Shapeshifter Central or on her website.

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Earth's Craving Pre-Order Blitz #rabtbooktours

 

LGBTQ, Dark Fantasy, Steamy

Date Published: February 21, 2025

 

 

When werewolf and dragon meet, will their need for each other defeat all their well-intentioned plans?

Tom, a land dragon, is so large he’s earned the nickname “Earth.” His dragon herd takes advantage of him until he’s sold to a pair of basilisks. Unfortunately for them, Tom’s mating plans don’t include repopulating the basilisk species. Time to make his escape…

Kailee, psychic disaster and frightened “rehabilitated” werewolf, is new to adulting, but she’s been through enough to make her a force to be reckoned with. Transgender, she is burdened with not one, but three psychic abilities. The overabundance of power tends to make her a little off-balance…

Will Kailee be able to protect Tom from those hunting him? Can Tom learn to trust? Or will their need for each other defeat all their well-intentioned plans?

 

 

EXCERPT

Tom fled through the forest, staying low to the ground, or as low as a person who stood over six feet could manage without crawling. He needed to keep his feet because --

He flashed back to when the matriarch had cut off his left foot to keep him from escaping again. It had grown back, of course. He was a dragon. Still, it had hurt, and he sometimes woke in the middle of the night with phantom pain reminding him how he’d suffered.

He didn’t have a very good sense of direction, but it was a sunny day, early in the morning, and the sun came up in the east. So, just as long as he kept the sun on his left, he’d assumed he’d be generally heading south. Out of Canada. He’d grown up here but all he knew about the country where he’d been imprisoned was that it was north of the United States.

He was grateful his shedding was over for another six months. His escape would have been impossible while he was struggling through the twice-a-year loss of his scales.

He heard other dragons flying above him and huddled against a tree, hoping the darkness of his skin would blend with the shadows. He wasn’t exactly dressed for a late December winter when the temperatures around Nova Scotia lingered just above freezing most days. He wouldn’t freeze to death… probably. As long as he kept moving, he’d be all right. Just now, though, stillness was required. He shut his eyes, fearing that his anxiety had turned his irises yellow-green. They might be spotted by someone with a searchlight.

He wondered briefly if the female dragons had employed some of their males to help. Most of the males were treated better than he was, although not equal to the females. The large majority would do as they were told because they weren’t required to stand stud all year, just when the females wanted them.

Probably most of the other male dragons were grateful for his existence. He was an anomaly, but one that the females liked. Bigger and stronger than any other dragon he’d ever met, he’d been conditioned since birth. He’d been born larger and the hopes for his future progeny had been high. Hell, they were still high even though only about one third of the dragons he sired were of greater size when they were born. He’d only been at this enslavement stud service for a year and a half, so none of his children were more than a year old.

It was as if, when the dragons and werewolves had split off from their basilisk parentage, they’d been cursed to all stand at the exact same height in either human guise or scaly form. Five feet, ten inches was the height of almost every other dragon he’d heard of when they walked on two feet. With their talons and tails, they stood eight feet tall.

Tom was six-two sometimes, and others, he was ten feet tall. Being larger than most dragons should have been an advantage. Having increased strength could have helped if there weren’t so many damn males and females alike ready to take him down.

The sounds overhead faded and he hesitated, not wanting to leave his hiding place. Yet, what good would it do him to stay here? They’d send out hunters on foot if necessary.

So, biting his lips almost hard enough to draw blood, he crept away from the tree and started running again. He skirted around a meadow and kept going, adrenaline making him thirsty even as it lent his muscles endurance.

The sun had been up for an hour before he judged it safe to stop and drink. He’d been hearing a river nearby for about the last ten minutes and that burbling, overly cheery sound made him long for water.

He broke from the game trail he’d been following and found an offshoot that led in the correct direction. When he came upon the river, he was relieved to see a rocky bank where he could get right down close to the water and drink his fill.

He crawled to the edge of the river, listening hard. He heard nothing except the twittering of birds and the chittering of squirrels. Well, and the rushing of the water, of course. It was a deep stream, not quite the river he’d been envisioning based on the amount of noise it was making. He slipped his hands into the icy cold water.

Hands seized him roughly by his hair.

Without thought, he shifted to his scaly form to lose that grip. His clothes, rags now, fell away as he tried for the sky.

Three dragons, brown and orange, like him, male, like him, each two feet smaller, crashed into him. From below came a howl of triumph and something sharp sliced through his wing’s membrane.

He screamed as he fell.

About the Author

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender women’s speculative fiction. 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. And in the contemporary world she’s named “Sticks & Stones,” Emily has vowed to create small towns where prejudice is challenged by a passionate quest for equality. Find her on Facebook at Shapeshifter Central or on her website.

Contact Links

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

 

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Raincatcher Pre-Order Blitz #rabtbooktours

Sci-Fi Romance, Multicultural & Interracial

Date Published: January 24, 2025

 

2147: Pollution has poisoned the earth, the seas and the air. Fresh, clean water is as precious as gold.

 

Rauni’s Mistress (Rain Catcher 1)

In the squalid red light district of Hobart Town, Roxy Talia earns her living as a porn star to make ends meet. Tobin Kane follows the monsoon rains across the ocean, collecting precious fresh water before it falls into the polluted seas. He and his crew have been blackballed within the industry. Tobin is determined to find a way to keep his beloved ship, the Rauni. That involves Roxy, the sexy vixen who holds the key to saving his future and has been the star of his lusty fantasies for years. Tobin will do whatever it takes to keep his ship -- even if he has to kidnap Roxy to do it…

 

Aqua Vitae (Rain Catcher 2)

When Audrey Purcell’s lover Kirk disappears in the aftermath of a bomb blast, the bittersweet experience transforms the shy, bookish girl into a brazen and reckless risk taker. Each shore leave sees her swimming in alcohol and rejoicing in one-night stands -- her latest fling being Joachim Muller, a navy commander with a body to die for. Her career takes a great leap forward when she’s given command of a derelict rain catcher, the Aqua Vitae -- but her success comes with a price. The echoes of her painful past clash with the promise of the future, threaten her lifelong dream with destruction.

EXCERPT

Excerpt from Rauni's Mistress

With wide eyes and a madly beating heart, Roxy Talia watched the tall, good- looking stranger enter the crowded hotel bar.

He was absolutely perfect.

His crisp uniform proclaimed him to be an officer, non-military, a merchant mariner of some sort. Standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the street lights, he presented an imposing figure, broad shoulders, trim waist, nicely shaped legs. Once he'd removed his face mask, he'd scanned the dimly lit bar room with barely disguised distaste. His chiseled features wore a sad, resigned expression.

When his dark, intense eyes settled on her where she sat at the bar and the spare stool beside her, Roxy's heart fluttered. Her nipples had hardened the instant his eyes met hers. That warm feeling in her belly she'd thought she'd never feel again washed through her like a spring tide.

He fit her needs exactly, but what was it about him? Her response was as bewildering as it was desired. She'd often thought these last few years that she'd become anesthetized to good-looking men. After all, she had her pick yet here he was, the man she had assumed didn't exist, shattering her jaded expectations.

He strode toward Roxy, fixing her with an unwavering gaze.

Roxy gasped, and her sudden intake of breath surprised her. She was actually nervous at the approach of this man. She took a deep breath to calm herself and tamped down the fear that her disguise was not good enough.

That afternoon, Roxy had taken considerable steps to prepare her deception. She'd dressed in a conservative business suit with a white blouse and knee-length gray skirt. She'd chosen platform stilettos to give her height, a tight bandeau to minimize her bust and a platinum wig to disguise her natural jet hair. For her face, she'd applied ivory foundation and powder to hide her golden skin, blue lipstick to alter the line of her lips and a fake mole on her right cheek. To hide her trademark green eyes, she'd inserted blue contacts and added azure eyeliner and turquoise shadow to alter their shape.

The hodgepodge of styles, business and tart, created a jarring amalgam of looks that would confuse any observer. At least that was what she'd intended. She believed herself to be unrecognizable and the three drunks who had tried to pick her up so far tonight hadn't seen her for who she truly was.

This man, however, was sober. It would be the test of her preparation and acting skills to fool him. He towered above her, his face impassive, his attitude commanding. "This seat taken?"

His voice was like honey. It flowed into her ear like sweet syrup, warming her all the way down to her fluttering belly.

"No," she said. The voice she'd decided on was deeper than her own, husky with a faint European accent to hide the Australasian nasal twang. She'd been practicing all afternoon, intending it to lead any listener to think she was just another environmental refugee trying to fit into Hobart Town and not quite succeeding.

The officer sat down. There hadn't been even a flicker of recognition. If anything, he displayed total indifference.

Roxy relaxed. Surreptitiously she gazed at the stranger in the bar's mirror. In between the bottles of imported and domestic Aqua and Hydra water and the ubiquitous range of Gills Beer, she considered his heavily defined features, trying to get a handle on his personality, as if facial lines told you anything about the inner workings of the mind.

His ebony skin, wearing the sheen of perspiration which was unavoidable in Hobart Town's enervating humidity, glowed in the bar's dim lighting. His short, black hair was closely cropped, exposing a nicely shaped skull. His face was heavily textured and seemed to attract the shadows.

"I'm Tobin," he said and she jumped in surprise.

He was staring back at her reflection. "I'm Su Sha Xie," she said, quickly adopting the name of her worst enemy in kindergarten, a petulant little girl who once had stolen her crayons.

His dark eyes narrowed. "Funny, you don't look Chinese."

"It's a long story."

Tobin signaled to the barman. "I'm not into long stories today. Want another?"

"Why not?"

He fished out his card, scowled and flicked it to the barman. "Wanna sit?"

She followed his gaze to a newly vacated table in the corner. "I thought we were."

"Something more comfortable."

"I'm not a hooker," she said.

"I didn't think you were." He stood up and waited, looking down at her. "Coming?"

Tobin's self-confidence was staggering. Then she figured out what it really was. He didn't care if she came with him or not. She was just a woman to him, one of thousands out on this hot Hobart night. Roxy quelled her momentary annoyance by reminding herself that this was exactly why she was here in disguise. She wanted, for once, to be just an ordinary woman.

"Sure."

The barman returned with two beers. Tobin took his card, picked up the bottles and, weaving through a group of drunken marines, strode over to the table.

Roxy followed. The view of his physique from behind was as impressive as from the front. His broad shoulders gave way to bulging biceps which were barely contained by the short sleeves of his shirt. He sported a trim waist, slim hips and oh so tight buns atop sturdy but shapely legs. The musculature of which screamed both stamina and strength.

Roxy approved. Unlike the men she knew, Tobin's body lacked the artificial contours gained in the gym. He was used to real work, and hard work at that.

Tobin sat down without waiting for her. "I meant it. I'm not a hooker."

"I believe you." He took a swig of his beer, his eyes fixed on hers. "I'm not looking for a hooker."

"What are you looking for?"

He took a swig of beer and motioned to the chair.

She sat.

"So, keeping it short, what's your story?" she asked finally, putting an amused tone in her voice.

He looked into his beer. "No potted histories, please. Let me tell you who you are and then I'll tell you who I am."

Her heart stopped. Damn it, he'd recognized her after all. She'd hoped she could have at least one encounter with someone who didn't know who she was. Her anticipation of the night she'd planned collapsed and the despair in the bottom of her chest stirred.

"We are two of a kind," he said slowly. "You tell me you're not a hooker, I say I believe you. Then you tell me again to make sure. You are balancing on stiletto heels to make you appear taller than you really are. You are wearing an appalling wig and, geeze, to apply all that makeup you must have used a bricklayer's trowel. So, I'm assuming you don't want to be recognized."

His eyes trapped her in an inescapable gaze and she felt like she was falling into their dark depths. Within her chest her heart thudded like a prisoner beating against prison bars and in her ears, her blood roared. She could barely breathe waiting for him to say her name and shatter her desire. She so much wanted this stranger not to recognize her.

"You don't want to be recognized," he repeated. "Well, that's fine by me. I don't want to know who you really are, and I'll believe whatever you tell me."

Confusion roiled inside her mind. What game was he playing? Did he recognize her or not?

Roxy cleared her throat. "You said we are two of a kind."

"Well, you see, Su, I don't want to be me tonight either. So the reason I'm here, in this bar in this dodgy hotel in this stinking rotten town, is to be anyone but me, okay? Like you, I want to be someone else, if just for the night."

 

About the Author

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.

 

Author on Facebook

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

 

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Parson Pre-Order Blitz #rabtbooktours

 

(Scorned Devils MC 3)

MC Romance

Date Published: December 20, 2024

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

Building a hundred walls will not prevent Parson ripping away each brick to get to the man who is his.

Parson: Raised in a religious family who accepted Parson’s homosexuality, he struggles to understand Langston Gillman’s inability to embrace who he is, what he feels. Pars put off patching with the Scorned Devils MC in fear of losing his lover. Never again. Parson will patch with the club and he means to have the man he desires. Pars vows to pursue Lang until he stands vulnerable and ready to surrender.

Langston: Bullied as a child, Langston has reached the age of fifty-two loathing his gayness. He navigates life by planning every moment of each day. Still, occasionally he is unable to rid himself of his need for a man. Unfortunately, Lang desires bad boys. When one particular bad boy rides into his life on a Harley, his presence leaves Lang confused and angry. Langston finds himself yearning for more with Parson. Problem is the biker not only refuses to cut ties with Scorned Devils, the local MC, he will not be hidden by Langston.

Rules are made to be broken, and Parson will not live his life in denial. He intends to turn Lang’s world upside down, no matter the consequences.

Excerpt

Copyright ©2024 J. Hali Steele

 

Parson

 

Calmness was the keystone of Parson's life.

Today he sat beside his cousin, Mark, in a pew near the back of The Church of the Trinity Episcopal church, praying to find rekindle that trait. "I'm not asking for confession, and I don't need a priest."

Mark Turner was a deacon and while he could hear confession, only the priest could give absolution. Parson didn't need that. "I'm not seeking the sacrament, because I've not done anything I regret."

The deaths of the Bayside Specter president and VP had been a necessity, a matter of survival, and Pars experienced no remorse over the sordid affair.

"Good, because Father Tyson is preparing for Sunday service." Mark stared. "What do you want, Randall? Sorry, you prefer Parson."

"Right. Nothing, man. I'm torn about the relationship I'm in. Or was in."

"You're not living with -- what's his name, Langston? -- anymore?"

"No." Pars had done the one thing Langston Gillman would never accept. "He's being unreasonable."

"Have you spoke truthfully with him regarding your feelings?"

Mark was aware -- hell, the whole family knew -- Parson was openly gay. None held his relationships as a sin, believing his love life was between him and God.

"Does he know you love him?"

"No." Parson twisted on the hard bench to better see Mark. "What makes you say that?"

"Lord help me. You're thirty-one and you've never been in a relationship this long. What else could it be?"

Parson ignored Mark's comment because, damn, Parson hadn't thought about that. Yeah, he cared greatly for Lang, but love? "He kicked me out."

"Let me guess -- because you belong to the motorcycle club that runs around, or as some believe, runs, the city of Coatesville."

"He doesn't like that I'm a member of the Scorned Devils MC, but I can't allow him to dictate who I can hang out and be friends with. Because of his feelings, I put off patching." Parson picked at his fingernails. "Done playing games. I am who I am. Patched last week."

"I see."

Sunday parishioners started entering. Parson still needed to see Dread and talk about meeting with the city officials at Cutters tomorrow regarding plans for the Christmas toy drive. "Hey, thanks for letting me vent."

"Wish you weren't an only child." Mark sighed. "Not sure I was much help, but if you ever need to talk to someone aside from..."

"They're my brothers, Mark. They'd never see harm come to me."

"That's what concerns me. What lengths would your brothers go to in keeping you safe? I'm not blind to what happens with motorcycle clubs, Pars." Mark stood. "I've heard about unsavoriness taking place in our community."

Talk of the Specters' bikes being destroyed at the Midway and rumors behind the incident had finally died down. There were other disputes, and if the perpetrators were wrong, yeah, they got beat down. Without knowing what his cousin might have heard, Parson couldn't claim all the stories were lies. He wasn't going to get in to it now. Glancing down at his watch, Parson headed for the door. "Damn, Mark, I gotta run."

When Parson reached Hell's Lair, the gate sprung open immediately. Damn Spinner, anyway. He was always on the computer, watching the comings and goings of everyone. Shit, it was Spin's turn to keep an eye out for unusual activity around the Scorned Devils MC compound. Spin hadn't come back to his place last night which, meant he'd camped out in the loft. As annoying as Spinner could be, he kept Parson's thoughts from drifting to Langston.

Parson spied Dread with his feet propped on the desk as he entered the office. "Hey, man. What's up?"

"Nothing much." Dread scrutinized Parson. "You're early for a Sunday."

Pars usually hit the clubhouse after church. Today, he'd skipped services. "I was hoping to talk to you before you got busy." Sitting across from Dread, he sighed loudly. "Is there another place we can hold meetings with the city council?"

"For years those fuckers have let us do the all the organizing for this event. Mostly they sit at meetings pretending they want to be there. They take credit at the end of the parade when all we get to say is -- Santa Claus has come to town." Dread studied Pars. "Hey, it's for the less fortunate children. Shit, we're the local MC some of those same members would like to see disappear. Don't really want them in my restaurant unless they're paying customers, but it is what it is, Pars. Sure as hell not having them here if that's what you're insinuating."

"Wouldn't expect that, but there are other places in town."

"None I want to be involved with."

"Look, Dread, Cutters is..."

"Langston is off on Sundays and Mondays. You won't have to deal with any shit."

Parson's chest deflated when he relaxed against the chair back. He wasn't sure Dread noticed. "Great."

Standing, the VP walked to the office door and closed it. "No need for everyone to hear your business."

Fuck, Pars was going to get an earful.

"I don't know what happened and I don't really give a damn. I know Langston's been a prick this last month." He stood right in front of Pars. "I see the fire in your eyes but I'm not the one you want to go toe to toe with today, or any day, about me calling a prick a prick. He's been hell to deal with." Backing up a step, he glared. "Fuck Langston. Or don't. Whatever you choose, straighten your shit out because not every meet will be held on Monday. We have to consider the needs of a lot of people. If you can't handle this, let me know now."

"I got this."

"Perfect."

Pars got up to leave but Dread stopped him. "Another MC is joining us. They don't have a drive where they are."

"Who?"

"The Immoral Sinners out of Harrisburg."

"Don't know any of them well, but I do hear they are unruly as hell."

"Yeah, I know. They're small, but troublesome."

 

About the Author

Growl and roar -- it's okay to let the beast out. -- J. Hali Steele

J. Hali Steele wishes she could grow fur, wings, or fangs, so she can stay warm, fly, or just plain bite the crap out of… Well, she can’t do those things but she wishes she could!

J. Hali's a multi-published Amazon bestselling author of Romance in Paranormal, Fantasy, and Contemporary worlds which include ReligErotica and LGBTQ stories where humans, vampyres, shapeshifters and angels collide -- and they collide a lot! When J. Hali’s not writing or reading, she can be found snuggled in front of the TV with a cat in her lap, and a cup of coffee.

 

Author on Instagram/Facebook: @jhalisteele

 

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

 

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