Dark Fantasy Feature: Devil's Man by Kira Stone #excerpt #lgbtq #darkfantasy #fantasy #romantasy #comingsoon #rabtbooktours @ChangelingPress @RABTBookTours

LGBTQ+ Dark Romantasy

Date Published: April 10, 2026

Research at Loveland College has never been quite so productive...

Devil's Man: Roman vows to have Carter, a reclusive professor, one way or another. Roman's devilish scheme to seduce Carter succeeds, to the great pleasure of all involved, but their tryst ends with dire consequences. To stay alive, Roman and Carter will have to face their deepest fears.

Between the Covers: Leah has to discover why Loveland College students are obsessed with having sex in her section of the college library. Leah turns to Sam, a Campus Security Detective, for expert advice. Together they seek the truth... Between the Covers.

Mayan Destiny: Professor Patrice Valez dreams of Mayan ruins and gods of old. When she wins a grant to study an obscure Mayan temple, she's stunned, and not entirely happy, to discover her Mayan obsession has a purpose -- and a price.

Bump in the Night -- "Department of Paranormal Research." Wade's colleagues laugh at the title on his office door. But if he can debunk the ghosts of the famed Hoag Mansion, he'll finally start getting the recognition he deserves. What he finds instead are things that go bump in the night...

EXCERPT

"Over here."

There was an impatient huff before a woman said, "I thought you said you knew where it was."

Leah Spencer paused in the act of replacing a book into its proper Dewey decimal order on the shelf. She looked around but didn't see anyone. Still, the sounds of heavy breathing were coming from a nearby location.

"I do. It's right here." Teeth of a zipper were parted.

"That is not what I'm looking for." This time instead of sounding aggrieved, the female's voice dripped with amusement.

Oh, crap. Not again. Her section of the library had to be the hottest make out spot on campus lately.

"Suck me," a male voice hissed.

"Like this?"

"Oh, yeah. That's it."

He started to moan. Wet sounds slipped between the logically ordered tomes to reach Leah's ears. Her face heated, and so did her feminine core.

"Lick it."

Apparently his lover complied because inarticulate encouragement ensued. Leah considered peeking around the spines to catch a glimpse of their faces so she could give a description to campus security, but as soon as she moved, the book in her hands rasped against the ones on the shelf at her waist.

"What was that?" the woman asked, suspicious.

Leah froze, her heart beating frantically at the thought of being discovered. It would certainly get her fired if the administration learned she'd been listening to, rather than interrupting, the copulating couple. Assuming, of course, that she survived the humiliation of being labeled a sexual voyeur.

"It's nothing. Ignore it," her partner replied.

"I really think --"

He cut her off. "No one ever comes up here. No one except people like us. Might get crowded, but we're not going to get in trouble."

His partner seemed reassured by his explanation. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Safe for the moment, Leah carefully stepped out of her shoes so her feet wouldn't make a sound as she dashed down the main corridor, away from the action. Once she'd reached her miniscule office, she picked up the phone and dialed a number she knew by heart.

"It's happening again," Leah said as soon as Campus Security Detective Samuel Zheng answered.

"Damn. That makes the fourth time today."

The husky tenor of his voice jumpstarted the lust already simmering in her veins. Leah wished she were brave enough to intimately touch herself during one of these conversations. So far, she hadn't dared. But to come to the sound of his voice, to be that close to him whether he knew it or not, would be... would be... pathetic.

"Leah?"

She sighed, dismissing the fantasy and zeroing in on reality. "Yeah, I'm here."

"I'm on my way. Don't let them leave."

Right, she thought as the dial tone echoed in her ear. Even if Sam ran the whole way, it would take him ten minutes to arrive. She was a five-foot-nothing couch potato. How was she supposed to restrain two healthy adults if they were determined to go? Keep them riveted with a discourse on the finer points of fellatio?

Assuming they hadn't already left, she'd have to stay where she could monitor them. Listening to their passionate directives. Picturing them...

Enough!

As quietly as she could, Leah tiptoed back to her hiding place. Again, somehow she betrayed her presence. Damn Sam for asking her to do his job!

"There's another noise," the woman hissed. "Someone's coming."

"No one is coming but me, baby. Suck me a little harder, would ya?"

The woman chuckled softly. "Mmm, you're such a big boy. Gonna have to find something special to do for you." In the quiet, close quarters, Leah detected the rustle of fabric, followed by the snick of a bra being undone. "How about this, stud? Does it do anything for you?"

"That... is so... hot."

Images of what they might be doing flickered through Leah's mind. She closed her eyes. Their out-of-sync heavy breathing fueled the white-hot lust pulsing between her legs. She envisioned a pair of plump breasts surrounding a hard shaft, the rosy head peeking up from the deep, lily-white valley.

"Gonna let me fuck you?" the guy panted out.

"No, I want you to come like this. All over my breasts."

"Oh, yeah."

The smell of sex permeated the air. Leah's clit throbbed. She didn't want to risk moving around too much for fear of scaring them off, but she had to do something to soothe the ache in her swollen clit. Using the only option that came to mind, Leah placed a heavy tome between her legs. As quietly as possible, she ground against it so the rigid spine rode over her pussy, sending ripples of pleasure through her body.

People often teased her about getting off on books, but this was the first time she'd actually attempted it. The thought almost made her giggle, but she choked it off.

"That's it. Fuck my tits, stud."

"Gonna come," he announced.

"Do it for me. Do it now."

Leah was near the edge herself. As he grunted through his climax, Leah rubbed the book between her legs. Given the volume's size, it took both hands although she badly wished one were free to pluck at her pebbled nipples.

She'd never felt so wanton in her life. She imagined semen coating the woman's breasts, his hands rubbing it in. Her mouth licking him clean. All the while, her BOB substitute stroked her into a frenzy of wet, hot need.

"Here, let me get that." Whatever the man's offer entailed, his partner seemed to enjoy it. Her cry of pleasure triggered Leah's release. It wasn't the best orgasm of her life, but her reaction was intensified by the fact that she'd made it happen at all. In the library. Where she could have been caught at any second.

What in the hell had she been thinking?

As she pondered the depths of her recent depravity, the lights overhead dimmed for a full ten seconds, then brightened again. It signaled the five-minute warning before the staff started herding students out of Loveland College Library. Shit! Where was Sam?

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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Romance Feature: The Snob (Roosters 12) by Megan Slayer #excerpt #comingsoon #preorder #darkromance #agegap #rabtbooktours @MeganSlayer @ChangelingPress @RABTBookTours

Dark Romance, Age Gap

Date Published: April 3, 2026

Carley Mathers isn’t just the “party girl” daughter of a congressman. She’s more. But these days, in a world of fake friends, she’s determined to keep only true ones close. Because she puts them at arm’s length, her classmates at college refer to her as “The Snob.” But she comes from wealth and means -- she shouldn’t be able to mix with her bodyguard, right?

Dacre Jennings has been given the job of protecting Carley while she’s off at college. The same classmates who make light of her silence also make fun of him, too. He doesn’t care that they think she lives with the old man. He’d rather she lived with him than alone. He sees the real woman, and he’s been in love with her for as long as he’s worked for the family.

With threats on her life, Dacre refuses to let Carley be used or abused. He’ll put his life on the line for her, as long as he knows he’s got her heart as well.

EXCERPT

Carley Mathers closed her notebook and put her pen back in the front pocket of her backpack. She wasn’t a fan of taking notes, but the only way she’d keep the dates for all the paintings straight was to write them down.

“Going home to Grandpa?” Selena, one of the girls Carley thought she might become friends with, asked. “Hang around people your own age. Do some gambling. Party or something else that’s normal?”

“Would it kill you to go to the frat party?” Missy snapped. “You like to drink. Guys like you. Might get us some action and we could win some money, since you’ve got tons. You can spare some. Any of that ring a bell?”

Carley rolled her eyes and zipped her backpack. She’d had enough of those vices. It was time to grow up and settle down -- or at least take her education seriously. Growing up the daughter of a politician and influencer was bad enough, but she’d exploited her position for years.

She grabbed her backpack and turned on her heel, ignoring the women. She hadn’t come to the University of Nevada to be sucked into a gambling situation. She’d wanted to further her education.

“God, she’s such a fucking snob,” Missy said. “Won’t talk to anyone.”

“That old man is her boyfriend,” Selena said. “Probably won’t let her go out. Has to keep her on a leash.”

If they only knew… Carley left the lecture hall and met Dacre in the lobby. “Hiya, Grandpa.”

“Grandpa?” Dacre left his post by the doorway and fell in step with her. “That’s a new one.”

“Not all that new.”

“Who said it?”

She stopped near the entrance doors to the art building and nodded over her shoulder. “The two brunettes over there. They wanted me to go to a frat party and make a damn fool of myself. I’ve had it with those days.”

He held the door for her as she stepped into the early October sunshine. “It’s warmer than I thought it would be.”

“I don’t mind. I like the warmth.” She elbowed him as they walked together. “They said I’m a snob.”

“You are.”

She jabbed him again. “Take that back.”

“Sorry, but no.” He kept walking. “You don’t talk to anyone, don’t mix with your peers, and keep to yourself.”

“That doesn’t make me a snob.”

“No,” he said. “But you come to class wearing expensive stuff and not talking much. It allows people to make up their own stories about you. They know what you’ve done and expect you’ll keep doing it.”

She sighed. She’d been such a bad girl in her younger days. Younger days… who was she kidding? She was only nineteen. But in her short years, she’d drunk most everyone under the table. She’d partied more than anyone her age should’ve been doing and tried too many things that should’ve been forbidden for someone underage. Being the child of wealth meant no one kept her in line -- certainly not her parents. As far as she was concerned, her parents used her bad behavior to further their own causes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to touch a nerve.”

“It’s okay.” She shrugged. “It’s not like I can hide my past. I can’t hide my name, either. Everyone thinks they know who I am, but no one takes the time to get to know the real me.”

“You don’t exactly open yourself up to it.” He joined her at the truck. “You’re a wonderful person and cute as a button, but no one sees it. All they see is you keeping tight-lipped and away from everyone.”

“Wouldn’t you?” She fell onto the passenger seat. She waited for him to do a quick search of the vehicle before he joined her in the cab. “All clear?”

“Clear.” He closed the driver’s side door. “I don’t blame you for being guarded. I told you, it’s perfectly fine. You’ve had a lot of attention, and I get why you don’t want it.”

She clicked her belt into place. “But?”

“But you’re not going to escape it. Unless you change your name or completely change your face, you’re going to have to put up with the attention.” He put the truck into gear. “The girls said you’re a snob?”

“And wanted me to go to a party to act the fool and get them guys.” She arranged her backpack between her feet, then withdrew her phone. The device buzzed, drawing her attention. “Sorry. I won’t be your circus animal.”

“I’d like to think that’s not the case, but I’m sure it is.” He drove across the student lot. “It doesn’t help that I’m following you around and trying to keep you safe. They see me around and think I’m some kind of old pervert.”

“My grandfather.” She swiped through the screens to her texts. “You don’t look that old.”

“Grandfather?” he asked. “I’m only twenty years older than you. Yes, I could be your father, but grandfather? I’m hurt.”

“You don’t look thirty-nine.”

“Forty, but who’s counting?”

“When did you turn forty?” She put her phone down and stared at him. “Why didn’t I know when you had your birthday?” She’d been oblivious for years, but this was inexcusable.

“Two months ago.” He shrugged and flexed his hands on the wheel. “It’s okay. I try not to remember it.”

“That’s not right. We should’ve had a party.”

“You were moving into school. I had better things to do and you didn’t need to be concerned with me.” He kept driving through campus to the condominiums.

“I don’t care. I would’ve liked to have known so we could’ve had a party, even if it was just you and me.” She would’ve done something nice for him and even bought a present.

“Your father told me to keep it quiet.”

“He’s a jackass.” She wasn’t the biggest fan of her famous father. “I hate that he said that.”

“It’s okay.”

“Stop saying that.” She picked her phone up again. “This stupid thing won’t stop buzzing. I don’t have anything due or reminders set.” She’d been careful to note when she had to turn in projects and if she had tests so she didn’t blow her grade point average. She refused to keep riding her parents’ coattails.

“What’s up?” He parked in the garage of the condo they shared. “Another test?”

“Nope.” She scrolled through the message, then swiped to her email where she read the rest of the information. “Fucking hell.”

“Watch your mouth.” He put the garage door down and took the key from the ignition. “What’s wrong?”

She sighed and scrolled through the mandate again. “It would appear my father is being considered for a role in the president’s cabinet and he -- my father -- has decided to have a party. He’s dictating I show up at said party and that I wear something slinky, he says, so I can attract a husband. The president’s son will be there, as well as the son of a diplomat and some dipshit who has an artificial intelligence startup. Why is he throwing me at these men? What if I don’t like them?”

“You don’t.”

“Duh.” She turned her phone over on her lap. “He’s sending the private jet to come get me.”

“Don’t you have a test on Monday?”

“I do. Art history.” She folded her hands on her phone. “I don’t want to go, but I can’t refuse him.”

“I know.” He opened the driver’s side door. “But it would’ve been nice if he’d have told me.” He rounded the hood to her side of the truck.

“You didn’t know?”

“Nope.” He slid his phone from his back pocket. “Not a word.”

“You’re coming with me.” She insisted on it. “I’m not going if you don’t.”

“I’m not leaving you to those wolves.” He opened her door for her. “Sweets, I’m stuck to you like glue.”

“You’re good glue.” She grasped his hand and squeezed his fingers. She’d had a crush on him for years but kept that to herself. He didn’t see her as a desirable woman. She was “cute as a button.” What young woman wanted to hear that? It was a kiss of death. Like telling her she was one of the guys. She allowed him to help her from the truck, then stumbled forward into his arms.

“Hi.” He crooked his brow. “You okay?”

She’d always felt a tingle when he touched her. Now, that tingle had turned into full electrical jolts. Her pussy throbbed and she longed to kiss him. He didn’t look forty. Hell, he barely looked thirty. What he did look like was sexy enough that she wanted to wrap herself around him. He was just her type -- older, tall, slightly graying at the temples, a weathered look around his eyes and just the right amount of stubble on his cheeks and chin to abrade her skin. Plus, he had killer blue eyes.

“Carley?” He tipped his head. He’d started wearing a baseball cap and zipped hoodie to blend in more with the college students. “You’re staring at me.”

“What’s not to stare at?” She stayed in his arms and sighed. “You’re…” She almost said dreamy, but that wasn’t right. He was dreamy, but he was more than that. With him, she felt safe. Respected. Heard.

“Not me,” he said. “I’m not supposed to be touching you.”

“Do you want to?” She stood and righted herself, trying to look less flustered. “Sorry. I should behave.” She grabbed her backpack before hurrying into the condo. She’d made a fool of herself and hated that she’d allowed herself to be vulnerable, even if only for a second.

“Carley.” He hurried after her. “Wait.”

 

About the Author

Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and white hot themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been nominated at the LRC for Best Author, Best Contemporary, Best Ménage, Best BDSM and Best Anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on various e-tailer sites.

When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library.

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Dark Fantasy: Elara's Silence by Gregory Lamont Brown #darkfantasy #vampire #fantasy #rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours

Dark Fantasy, Vampire Fantasy

Date Published: February 14, 2026

When a woman condemned to silence awakens centuries too early, the world that buried her begins to bleed.

Elara’s Silence is a dark gothic fantasy steeped in prophecy, memory, and dangerous desire. In a realm ruled by vampire courts, wolf-blooded alphas, and shadowed orders who rewrite history in blood, Elara Winterbourne was meant to remain sealed—forgotten, contained, erased from the future she threatened to change.

But something has shifted.

As ancient glyphs stir and old loyalties fracture, Elara’s return ignites a chain of events that reaches from ruined villages to decadent courts and forbidden crypts. Wolves sense a mate marked by fate. Vampires fear a power that can unmake their lineage. Secret societies whisper that the Gospel itself—a living force of prophecy and memory—has chosen her as its vessel.

Hunted, desired, and divided between what she was and what she is becoming, Elara must navigate a world where love can be a weapon, prophecy is a battlefield, and every choice writes a future in blood.

Perfect for readers who love:

* Dark gothic fantasy

* Morally complex characters

* Lush, atmospheric worldbuilding

* Vampire and werewolf politics

* Stories where prophecy and passion collide

 

Elara’s Silence is the first entry in a sweeping dark fantasy saga about power, legacy, and the cost of awakening what the world tried to bury.

The Gospel no longer whispers. It remembers. And it is writing her name.

 

About the Author

Gregory Lamont Brown is the founder of D & G Publishing and the author of The Hollow Gospel Chronicle, a dark epic fantasy series blending gothic horror, supernatural prophecy, vampire politics, and werewolf mythology.

Born and raised in Chicago, Brown writes immersive, character-driven fantasy that explores legacy, power, memory, and defiance. His debut novel, Elara’s Silence, launches a sweeping saga set in a brutal world of vampire courts, wolf bloodlines, shadow societies, and a living scripture known as the Hollow Gospel—a force that records history in blood and memory, and can be rewritten by those strong enough to challenge fate.

Brown’s work combines epic fantasy worldbuilding, morally complex characters, intense emotional stakes, and dark supernatural lore. Readers of gothic fantasy, vampire fiction, dark romance tension, and multi-book fantasy series will find a living mythos designed to expand across generations and realms.

Elara’s Silence is the first book in an unfolding fantasy saga where prophecy waits—and the world trembles when it rises.

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Paranormal Romance Feature: Vengeful Fire by Mikala Ash #darkfantasy #fantasy #paranormal #excerpt #comingsoon #rabtbooktours @ash_mikala @RABTBookTours Vengeful Fire by Mikala Ash #darkfantasy #fantasy #paranormal #excerpt #comingsoon #rabtbooktours @ash_mikala @RABTBookTours

Dark Fantasy / Paranormal Romance

Date Published: February 6, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Heat rages out of control as the pub burns. The only thing hotter is the woman watching the flames.

Diana Kendall just had an argument with the owner of Cornwall’s pub. Now Cornwall’s is burning to the ground. Diana’s an enigma, an artist, beautiful and intelligent, but strangely aloof. How can Mike resist? But when he wakes up the next morning, Diana’s gone.

It’s not until Mike sees a naked woman disappear into an art gallery with a wolf at her side that the real trouble starts. The woman looks incredibly like Diana. But what is the mysterious apparition trying to tell him?

Mike needs to find out what’s really going. Does Diana’s fiery past tell the story, or will he get burnt by Vengeful Fire?

 

Excerpt

Copyright ©2026 Mikala Ash

As he watched the flames, Mike wondered if Prometheus had known what he was doing when he stole fire from the gods and turned it over to mankind. Humans had been nothing but trouble ever since.

The alcohol fueled flames consuming Cornwall’s Pub were hypnotic -- mesmerizing and beautiful. They writhed in an almost sensual way. No, Mike corrected himself. The flames were sensual -- the rhythmic way the tongues of fire bent and unbent were undoubtedly sexual, as if they were alive, pyrrhic creatures in the throes of orgasm, riding the stiff wooden beams that fueled their passion. There was even a sense of playful capriciousness about the sound of splintering beams, which created a staccato beat cheekily mimicking the act -- the fucking act, the act of fucking.

Mike thought there was even something sexual about the words that described fire. Tongues of flame that licked, seething cauldrons of searing molten heat, glowing embers pulsing white hot, bursting explosions of showering sparks, inflamed… His mental thesaurus eventually failed him and he settled in to enjoy the show.

Several roof beams collapsed with a whoosh. Sparks showered the street and plumes of acrid smoke belched out of the roiling flames.

Mike looked forward to the climax of the act, when the last sinews of structure that held the roof aloft would melt, bend and break as the building collapsed completely into the smoldering debris of orgasm.

Moments later there was another explosion, no doubt the last of the bottles of bourbon, gin and scotch that had lined the mirrored bar. The firecracker bangs brought a cheer from the fickle crowd, who twenty minutes earlier had been drinking and singing within the Cornwall’s convivial walls. The crowd, Mike thought, were like jilted lovers who laughed self-consciously at the misfortunes of an unfaithful ex-partner.

Adrenaline still pumped madly through Mike’s veins as if he’d just come inside the cock-melting pussy of some stranger. He had reason. He’d been the one who’d shouted the alarm causing these rats to desert the sinking ship. Not one, he noted, had stayed to fight the hungry flames. No one had been loyal and true, though they’d drunk there, as he had, for the last several years. Ten minutes after the final climax of this act of consuming passion they’d likely be drinking at someone else’s bar. He felt unaccountably guilty, like the concerned friend who had to break the news of an infidelity. Knowing that what he did would have ramifications beyond a simple busted relationship. A step once taken…

Across from him, in the semicircle of voyeurs, stood a dark-haired girl, tall and lithe. He remembered her from earlier in the night. She was a stranger to the bar, a newbie, attractive enough to stop conversation… at least on the men’s parts and, he recalled, some of the girls too.

The pulsating conflagration illuminated her pensive face. She had striking features; high cheekbones, full lips, large dark eyes and long straight ebony hair that reached her waist. She seemed strangely familiar but he couldn’t place her. She wasn’t someone overtly famous, someone who was always in your face like a movie star. More likely she was a lingerie model or perhaps he’d seen her in a TV commercial.

His interest in her had been heightened, of course, by the ruckus she’d caused. An argument with the manager of the place, that stuck up prick Cornwall himself.

There followed a brief, angry exchange with the bouncer who’d been instructed to escort her furious body off the premises. Mike had left his seat to go to her assistance but she’d been too quickly ejected and by the time he’d reached the street she’d gone.

She’d returned an hour or so later, just before he raised the alarm about the fire. He noticed she’d come in the side door that led from the alley. Her serious and cunning expression reminded him of a jilted lover who can’t resist sneaking into the ex’s bedroom. The scene of so many orgasms; where so much cum had been ejaculated, spilled, and swallowed. Just once more to lie on the sodden sheets of love.

Mike made a decision and moved between the drunken observers and stood beside her. Amazingly, despite the choking, plastic laden smoke that swirled around them, she smelled of… oranges.

“Hi there,” he said.

“Do I know you?”

She hadn’t looked at him. Her eyes were fixed on the firefighters, those modern knights with watery lances who battled the angry chimera; the mindless fire-breathing beast.

“No. I saw you earlier when you had a row with that prick Cornwall.”

“So?”

“I really don’t think you should be standing here. The fire chief will tell the police that the fire was deliberately lit. The police will then interview the staff and they’ll describe you and they’ll see you here watching the place burn down. Not a good look.”

She turned to face him then, dark eyes sizing him up. The rippling flames were reflected in them and he found himself lost in those glowing embers, looking for his silhouette.

“What do you have in mind?”

Infidelity, a sweet, sweet friend. “The smoke has made me thirsty. I know a bar across town that’s not so… hot.”

Her full lips curled into a smile. One last look at the inferno and a shrug as if it didn’t matter anymore. The deed was done. “Lead the way.”

Mike took her arm in his and pulled her gently through the swelling crowd, now ten deep. The Cornwall had been popular and would, no doubt because of its prime location, be rebuilt and open for business within six months. Bigger and better, like a whore returning to her favorite corner after a boob job.

The Glass Half Full was a pretentious little dive frequented by philosophy students. Mike liked it. Some of the regulars even knew his name. She gave it an appraising glance through the frosted windows before nodding and following him in.

“What do you do?” she asked once settled on a high stool at a round pedestal table.

Mike couldn’t help but notice how her full breasts rested on the tabletop. “Webpage designer. And you?”

“Student. Art.”

“I guessed it.”

“And how did you do that?” she said tiredly.

He lowered his eyes to her hands. “Paint on your fingertips.”

She laughed and the pure tones resonated playfully in his ears. “I could be a house painter.”

“Interior design?” he countered.

“Renaissance art.”

“Ah, ceilings. Just as good. Forgive me, but I may not know art but I…”

“… yeah, yeah, don’t say it.”

He took a sip of his beer but couldn’t take his eyes off her. He felt strangely comfortable being with her. No nerves at all, which was unusual, given the circumstances. He was, after all, sitting with a stunningly beautiful woman who he desperately wanted to fuck.

Usually, whenever he was alone with a new girl, he had butterflies the size of eagles flying out of formation in his stomach. “I was in the art gallery just the other day,” he said suddenly to fill the silence. “And I realized the thing about reality is that it’s, in fact, an illusion.”

He shuddered inside. What an incredibly stupid passé thing to say. She’d think him a pretentious prat, which was precisely what he was at that very moment.

She lent toward him, unaccountably interested. “How so?”

“Well, meaningless rays of light enter our eyes and excite some neurons. Neuro-chemicals jump across synapses. These excite more neurons. A pulse of electrical current travels to the next synapse and so on until eventually our brain sorts them into some sort of matrix we can consciously interpret.”

Her nod of interest urged him on. “But it’s an illusion, something our brains make up. It’s all a fiction. There are gaps, things we don’t see, because of lighting or perspective. Our brain fills in those gaps with assumptions and pre-conceived ideas. We see what we expect to see. Due to our common brain structure and culture we fill the gaps the same way and the result is we all share the same illusion.”

She licked her bottom lip and for a moment he lost his train of thought.

“Like a mass hallucination?” she prompted.

He nodded, grateful for her lifeline. “Something like that. I know it’s been said before. It’s hardly an original thought, but it struck me there in the gallery and for the first time I knew what it meant. There was this painting…”

“How unusual to find one of those in there.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously in the Glass’s dim lighting.

He smiled back. He knew she wasn’t being sarcastic, only getting into the spirit of the absurd that seemed to have fallen about him this evening. He actually liked her. “That’s what I thought,” he said, joining in the fun. “This particular painting was just a mass and swirl of fine lines in blue ink. The title of the painting was “Stand Back,” so I did. And the lines resolved themselves into a face. It was the artist resting her head on her forearm while she drew her own face while looking at a mirror. It was quite brilliant, but it showed me that reality is perception, excuse the cliché. That an alien being seeing that painting, having not seen anything else from Earth, would just see some fine lines in blue ink.”

“And apart from the face, what else did you see that an alien would not have?”

“Emotions are hard to judge.”

“Try.”

He put on an aristocratic English accent. “It’s like looking at paintings from the eighteenth century, don’t you know.”

He saw her lips tighten as she suppressed her laughter. “I don’t.”

“I can see what they have painted -- that shared human knowledge again. But not what’s going on within the minds of the people depicted even though they’re only a few hundred years in the past… because their world view is completely different from ours… they’re an enigma.”

“The girl in blue ink,” she said slowly. “Is she an enigma?”

 

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.

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LGBTQ Fantasy Feature: Tilthos Pack by Emily Carrington #excerpt #comingsoon #lgbtq #fantasy #rabtbooktours @CarringtonEmily @ChangelingPress @RABTBookTours

LGBTQ, Dark Fantasy, Shifters

Date Published: January 16 2026

 

Lovers who have stood the test of time find themselves on unsteady ground. Can their love prevail despite the terror working its way through the pack?

 

Wedding a Genie: Mark and Luke are getting married… or are they? Mark’s pride may not allow him to show how he feels to a roomful of his nearest and dearest.

The Mating Ceremony: Ethan and Jeremy have been forced into a mating ceremony. Can their love survive their pack traditions?

The Separation: Separated by hundreds of miles and a promise, Charlie and Luis long for each other. Will their love survive?

A Solstice Sundering: When Ethan is ordered back to the pack, his strained relationship with Jeremy comes to the forefront. Can they weather this storm?

Uncertain Foundations: Lovers who have stood the test of time find themselves on unsteady ground. Can their love prevail?

Excerpt from Wedding a Genie

 

Mark paced. He was dressed, finally, in his coat and tie, his hair tamed. He looked almost the same as he did every day for work, except this was a tux, not just a suit. And it wasn’t black, like the majority of his dress clothes. Luke had picked out a soft brown garment that complemented Mark’s deep tan and his dark brown hair. The tie he wore was the same blue as his eyes. The tie clip, which he hadn’t even known was a thing until Luke produced it, was golden and in the shape of a dragon.

He looked good.

But he longed to rip off all his clothes and go for a swim in the Gulf of Mexico.

Someone knocked on the door to the “groom’s” changing room on the boat he and Luke had rented for their wedding. Mark quit pacing and forced his hands not to shake. “Come in.”

His brother, Jonathan, stepped in and shut the door. “Are you all right?”

Mark scowled. “Why?”

To his surprise, Jonathan didn’t snap right back. “Because I was nervous as hell when I got married to Becca,” he said quietly “And you haven’t known Luke half as long as I knew Becca before I proposed.

“Besides, Mark,” he added, “I know you. Making a change like this is difficult at the best of times and you’ve just been promoted. You’re trying to get your feet under you.”

Mark let out a long sigh. “You’re right, I’m nervous. I love him, I want to be with him for the rest of my life. Why am I so jittery?”

“Like I said, it’s a big change.” Jonathan turned for the door.

“That’s it? You’re going to come in here, confront me about my nerves, and then just walk out?”

“You’re calmer now,” Jonathan pointed out.

Mark huffed a laugh. “I still want to go for a swim in the gulf.”

“As long as you get back here in time to dry yourself off, I don’t see why that’s a problem. It’s almost an hour before…” Jonathan tilted his head and said, “Or maybe Luke’s presence would help.”

Mark’s tension rocketed up from a five all the way to a ten. “Luke?” he squeaked.

Jonathan left the room and Luke stood in the doorway with two tall glasses in his hands. “I know we’re not supposed to see each other before the wedding,” Luke said, sounding apologetic. “But do you mind if I come in?”

Mark took two steps back and gestured his soon-to-be-husband inside. Luke used his magic to close the door without touching it.

“Showoff,” Mark teased weakly.

“Genie prerogative,” Luke answered. He took a sip from the glass in his left hand and offered Mark the other one.

It was a rum and Coke; Mark sensed that even before he could smell the contents. Luke knew what relaxed him. “You could feel my agitation all the way from the other side of the boat, huh?” he asked as he sipped. And then took a little more because Luke just made this particular drink so perfectly.

Luke, being a genie, Mark’s former genie, had a connection to Mark’s emotions. Sort of like the telepathic link Mark had to Luke, although in that case it was because of Mark’s dragon genetics. For Luke, it had everything to do with the rules that governed his species. Or at least that was what he and Mark had decided. Probably, if SearchLight ever chose to study genies more thoroughly, they would find a different, or at least more exact, answer.

Luke nodded, his golden eyebrows drawn together in a worried frown. He set his glass on a handy table and crossed to Mark. “What’s wrong?”

Damn, but Luke looked good. Mark traced the lapel of his lover’s tux. Brown, like Mark’s, but a lighter shade. Luke had really coordinated everything. “You look like a sex god,” Mark murmured.

That got him a brief smile but then Luke’s serious expression returned. “Talk to me, my Mark. What’s making you so jumpy?”

Mark didn’t know how to lay hands on the source of his nervousness and so he simply shook his head. He, too, set his glass down and wrapped his arms tightly around Luke, resting his cheek against his lover’s shoulder. His whole body wanted to shake and he held it at bay. He felt so safe in Luke’s embrace.

“Okay, so this is helping,” Luke correctly interpreted. “I can just hold you during the whole ceremony if you want.”

Mark tensed. “I don’t want…” He stepped back.

The look on Luke’s face was that of a stricken calf.

Mark hugged him close again. “It’s not you, it’s me, and I know that sounds like a crock of shit but…” He rubbed Luke’s back. “Please understand… I’m sorry… I don’t know how to explain but I’m so sorry…” He let his words fade away as Luke placed a gentle kiss on his hair. Mark couldn’t help thinking he shouldn’t feel this way, not when he was the head of a whole damned department, he’d known Luke for three plus years, and he all but worshiped the ground his genie lover walked on. Why was he feeling so defensive?

“I’m feeling vulnerable,” he whispered as the truth made itself known.

Luke’s voice in his ear was unfailingly soothing and warm. “If you want, we can postpone or…” His swallow was audible in Mark’s ear.

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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Dark Fantasy Romance Feature: The Dhampir by Angela Knight #excerpt #dark #fantasy #comingsoo #romance #rabtbooktours @AngelaKnight @changelingpress @RABTBookTours

A Destined Mates Vampire Romance Novella

Dark Fantasy Romance

Date Published: January 2, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

An ancient vampire, Hunter can command any woman he wants -- except the one woman he needs. His mate.

Genevieve Drake is a Dhampir -- half vampire, half mortal, born and bred to be the perfect complement to her vampire mate, like those of her family for sixteen generations. Instead, she chose to become a cop. Three months ago she survived a vicious attack by a psychotic ex that left her with psychic scars and a desperate need for a new line of work. Time to rethink her future.

Hunter is tall, dark and handsome -- and very, very powerful. He’s also been waiting for Genevieve. She was just eighteen when he had a vision that they’d one day become lovers. He’s been biding his time ever since. But Genevieve’s experiences have left her unable to trust any man, even Hunter.

If he wants them to have a future, the vampire will have to find a way to banish her ghosts…

Excerpt

Copyright ©2026 Angela Knight

The vampire's bodyguard was sloppy when he searched Genevieve Drake. He missed at least three places where she could have stashed weapons. Would have stashed weapons, if she hadn't been going to an interview for a job she desperately needed. To add insult to injury, he smirked up at her when he crouched at her feet to pat her down, hands lingering on her thighs and calves.

Genevieve gave serious thought to kneeing him in the jaw.

Finally, after a last knowing leer, the guard ushered her into Hunter's sprawling office, then closed the heavy double doors and left them alone.

"Ms. Drake." Tall, radiating a power that made her Dhampir senses vibrate like harp strings, the vampire stepped around his big rosewood desk to shake Genevieve's hand, his grip careful and warm. His touch sent a flush of magic radiating up her arm. Her mouth went dry, and she felt her nipples peak. "It's a pleasure."

Her body's intense response surprised her. She'd felt dead from the neck down for months. "Please call me Genevieve, Mr. Hunter." Not Genny. Never Genny. Smiling up at him, she used all her years undercover to keep her expression no more than pleasantly professional.

"It's just Hunter," the vampire said in a black velvet purr of a voice. He gave her a slow, white smile, his eyes the sharp and startling blue of an arctic wolf. His features were starkly masculine, with a long swoop of a nose and a broad, square chin. His hair was thick and black, just long enough to touch his collar.

He gestured her away from his desk toward two armchairs that sat facing each other. Just beyond the chairs, a plate glass window ran the length of the room. Sixty stories below, the glittering glory of Atlanta spread across the night.

As Hunter ushered her to the chairs, Genevieve studied him. If anything, the vampire was more impressive than she remembered. Easily six-foot-two, he had a powerful build that made him look like a warrior even camouflaged in black Armani. His tie was a splash of crimson against his white shirt, while cufflinks of onyx and gold adorned his French cuffs.

"It's good to see you again," Hunter said as they sat. The chairs were positioned so close, their knees almost touched. It was not exactly the arrangement she'd have expected for a job interview -- but then, this was not a typical job interview. "You were what -- fifteen? -- when last I saw you."

"Sixteen," Genevieve corrected. And madly infatuated with you. But that was something she had no intention of sharing. And anyway, it had been fourteen years ago.

Before Gary. Before she'd been left bleeding in a dirty alley with the last of her illusions in shreds.

Hunter probably knew about her painfully intense crush. Probably knew about Gary, too, for that matter. As her father always said, you can't hide anything from a vampire, so don't even try. "It was good of you to grant me this interview."

"Not at all. I need an assistant, and you have excellent qualifications." He watched her settle back into the chair's soft wine red leather. His gaze sharpened. "Something concerns you."

Genevieve hesitated, caught between her desire not to offend and her sense of duty. She needed the job, but her family had been Dhampir for sixteen generations.

Duty won. "Your bodyguard was more interested in feeling me up than in making sure I wasn't armed. I could have knocked him cold at least twice. In my opinion, he constitutes a security risk."

Hunter lifted a cool black brow. "He's a former Navy SEAL."

"And a current idiot."

"You are blunt, bordering on rude." Hunter smiled, satisfaction in his eyes. "And every bit as fearless as I would have expected of Tommy Drake's daughter."

She relaxed back into her chair. "Well, that's a relief."

"That I took the criticism well?" His arctic eyes heated to burning blue as he watched her cross her legs. Her knee inadvertently brushed his, and the contact sent magic flaring up her thigh. Straight into her sex.

She tried to ignore the pulse of erotic heat that flared low in her belly. "No, I'm relieved you ordered your man to play the fool to test my honesty. I'd hate to think you'd hire someone that sloppy."

The vampire laughed, a deep, masculine rumble, seductive and warm. "No, I have not survived three hundred and forty years by surrounding myself with sloppy bodyguards. And there've been times even careful ones..." Hunter stopped and rolled his powerful shoulders as if shrugging off a painful memory.

"Sometimes it doesn't matter how careful or well-trained you are." Genevieve's voice dropped to a whisper. "Especially if you're betrayed."

He studied her, going still as a predator. Seeing too much. "The scars from betrayal go to the soul. And they never quite fade, do they?"

"Not so far." Genevieve forced a smile and deliberately sought to turn the conversation back to business. "What are you looking for in a personal assistant?"

You, Hunter thought.

 

About the Author

New York Times best-selling author Angela Knight has written and published more than sixty novels, novellas, and ebooks, including the Mageverse and Merlin’s Legacy series. With a career spanning more than two decades, Romantic Times Bookclub Magazine has awarded her their Career Achievement award in Paranormal Romance, as well as two Reviewers’ Choice awards for Best Erotic Romance and Best Werewolf Romance.

Angela is currently a writer, editor, and cover artist for Changeling Press LLC. She also teaches online writing courses. Besides her fiction work, Angela’s writing career includes a decade as an award-winning South Carolina newspaper reporter. She lives in South Carolina with her husband, Michael, a thirty-year police veteran and detective with a local police department.

 

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Dark Fantasy Romance Feature: Incubus by Jonathan Wright #excerpt #comingsoon #preorder #dark #fantasy #romance #rabtbooktours @ChangelingPress @RABTBookTours

 

Dark Fantasy/Horror Action Romance

Date Published: December 23, 2025

Publisher: ‎Changeling Press LLC

Life -- and love -- with a man who fights nightmares is bound to be… different.

Smart, capable, and lethal, Sarah Fenton never needed rescuing -- until she met Joe Horn and his horrifying nemesis, the muck-drippy-thing. Together they defeated that nightmare, and for the first time in decades Joe could stop running.

In the process, Sarah discovered her weakness -- Joe. The hard-as-nails woman becomes Joe’s willing sub -- his slave girl. Joe is a perfect Dom, but Sarah has even darker fantasies -- lurid, sensual and totally submissive. Sometimes, they even come to life.

Now one of them is stalking her, and she feels the awful temptation of nightmarish pleasure. The darker the fantasy, the more intense the pleasure. Pleasure stronger than any drug. Pleasure that threatens to drown her. The pleasure of surrender… to an Incubus.

Warning: This is a Razor’s Edge Erotica short story. Expect limited plot and character development, and lots of heat. If you’re looking for a lengthy plot driven erotic romance, this is not it!

Excerpt

Copyright ©2025 Jonathan Wright

Jongo infested her fantasies, dark, muscular, commanding. Sarah masturbated three or four times a day thinking of him coming to take her, dragging her by her hair, stumbling naked from the house, immune to his kicks and punches, honed by years of training that would kill an ordinary man.

Not ordinary, Jongo. Not him. No. Her struggles only fed his burning hunger. And hers. As now. As naked as she was, his huge cock throbbing and bouncing as he walked, his grip was casual, yet inhumanly strong.

Stronger even than Joe, whom she had called Master more often than not. But this wasn’t really about Joe…

* * *

Exhausted, struggling to keep her feet as she stumbled, Sarah gave up, then was dragged, then followed him limply, his grip in her thick hair making her walk head down, like a slave, cursing, then crying, then sobbing… please, please, please.

Please, what? The demon’s strength, already huge, increased as he stepped out of the trees onto the beach. As his foot touched the water, he dragged her upright until she stood with her head tilted back, staring up at him. He pushed her away, his hooded eyes nearly invisible in the shadows of the moon. “Kneel.” He grinned as he stroked his cock with his free hand.

Sarah stumbled and fell into knee-deep water. Rising, sputtering as water streamed down her body, defiance failed her; words choked her. She breathed heavily, staring at his cock.

“Recall how I took you before, so easily, wrapping you in my vines, my seaweed, stroking your hungry body until you begged me to take you. How I made you scream my name.”

Her legs quivered. She wanted to curse him, scream for help, for Joe to… rescue…

Sarah had never in her life needed rescuing. Except for one time…

* * *

The wind sucked her along the dirty cement floor, into the waiting maw of that THING, the muck-drippy-thing, as she steadied the pistol and emptied the fourteen-round clip into its indescribable excuse for a face as the spindly spider arms reached for her…

Then Joe was there, grabbing her by the collar and pulling her back. Stronger than any man she had ever known. Pulling her back from the edge. Saving her.

* * *

Sarah hadn’t felt weak. Not then. Not like she felt now.

Weak. So weak. Why do I feel this way? Jongo is a monster, a creature from the icy black depths of the harshest place on earth. Why do I feel so fucking hot?

She stroked her clit with one hand as she slowly sank to her knees in the warm, swirling water. She spread the fingers of her other hand and teased her nipples, shivering as she imagined being held against her will in the depths of his lair.

“You are helpless,” Jongo told her. “Helpless.” A ritual. A spell.

Yes. Helpless! Helpless! I am helpless! Her mouth fell open. She arched her back, presenting her full tits.

I have to stop. I have to be strong! “No!” she gasped in a purposely seductive parody of defiance. Wait. Purposely? Like I want this?

Jongo grinned and said nothing, continued stroking his cock. His huge, erect cock. She couldn’t stop looking at it. At him. I love cock. I love it. Joe says I’m a cock-hungry slut. I get wet when he whispers that to me.

Helpless… His voice faded, still there, still commanding. She came with a short, harsh cry as the orgasm claimed her.

Jongo laughed. “You have already surrendered. Do as I command! Keep stroking yourself!”

She did. I can’t stop. I can’t disobey him. It feels so good to obey. I want more!

“Think how my hard cock will feel in your hot, wet cunt. You will beg for it. Beg for it, woman! Beg for my cock! For when you do, when I plunge into you, you will be mine. My slave. Forever!”

Sarah came again, moaning this time, closing her eyes and thrusting hard, pushing her fingers deep into her soft tits. “Yes! Jongo, fuck me! Yes! Make me your slave! Make me your slave!”

She dropped back into the water as he fell on her, forcing her legs apart, driving his cock into her, driving her will deep down into the chill, black depths of his domain where it dissolved like tendrils of ink. She wrapped her legs around him and thrust mindlessly, screaming as she came and came and…

* * *

Sarah lay on the table on the veranda, sweating, her tits heaving, her knees spread, hips moving rhythmically up and down in time with her frantic thrusts as she came for the fifth time. “Ah, fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” She rammed the dildo into her cunt one final time before slowly drawing it out. Her whole body quivered, drenched in sweat, as she lowered her legs and stretched, groaning.

“Well, I think you must clean off that table before you use it for anything else.”

Sarah gasped in shock, but without shame or embarrassment.

Belle stood not three feet away, a gorgeous Jamaican woman of medium height and surpassing curves, dressed in paint spattered clothes and carrying various implements of artistic creation. “You missing your man Joe? He’s only been gone a day.” Belle arched one elegant brow for emphasis.

Sarah dropped the dildo and draped one arm over her sweaty face. “You have no idea…” Joe liked to watch her fuck herself like that. Imagining him doing so made it hotter for her.

Belle chuckled and began setting up an easel. “So hot for your Dom, you maybe forget we had an appointment to paint those luscious curves?”

 

About the Author

Jonathan Wright retired to the northeast, where he is surrounded by family and trees in about equal numbers. In his free time he enjoys thinking up erotically terrifying situations for his characters, who insist they don’t like that sort of thing. When he isn’t writing about slavering fangs in the dark he does weird-ass paintings.

He has a daughter who will admit to the relationship under duress. He puts up with her because she makes great cookies.

We don't know why she puts up with him.

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LGBTQ Dark Fantasy Feature: Convention of Dragons by Emily Carrington #excerpt #teaser #lgbtq #dark #fantasy #comingsoon #rabtbooktours @CarringtonEmily @ChangelingPress @RABTBookTours

 

LGBTQ, Dark Fantasy, Polyamorous, Shapeshifters

Date Published: October 31, 2025

When duty calls, where will the heart go?

Joel’s twin has been hurt, and Joel decides to stay with him rather than join his new lovers across the sea. But fate, and a serial killer, have other plans.

Parisa and Noah are drifting apart and without Joel they might lose everything they’ve built.

Can this new throuple fight together to win their happiness or will evil triumph?

EXCERPT

 

“Hooo-elll…”

It was Parisa’s voice, but he couldn’t touch her physically or telepathically. All Joel’s senses were blurred.

Joel wasn’t sure if he’d passed out, but everything was foggy. Not dark, since he had no concept of light beyond the meaning of the word, but misty. It was like the fog that clung to his face and arms, to his hearing and sense of smell when he’d visited England thirty years ago. He’d never forget that sensation of everything being muffled. The sound of his own voice had been right, but the tapping of his cane tip on the cobblestones in London had been oddly removed from the rest of him. He’d actually fallen a couple of times in London, not because he couldn’t feel the ground but because he had tried too hard to rely on the sound of his cane to tell him the depth of things like cracks and steps.

Now, although the sense of being wrapped in cotton persisted, he felt even more cut off from the world because he was really two people. He couldn’t attend to his own movements or speech while living in Jules’s head. Especially not when Jules was so distant from the world. His whole spirit seemed caught up in confusion and fear. So although Joel and Jules sometimes lived in each other’s heads for brief moments, there had never been such a fundamental separation from physical reality.

Dimly, he could feel a hand caressing his face. He tried to reach up and catch those fingers, but his arms felt like they weighed a hundred pounds. He attempted another connection with Jules, one that would allow him to communicate more than just his confusion and to feel Jules’s sense of dislocation. That, too, failed.

Someone spoke then, their voice cutting through the fog. “Joel.” It was James, the dragon guarding him. “Joel, come back. Follow me if you’re turned around.”

He clung to those words and finally managed, by trailing after them in the psychic world, to reestablish himself in the realm of touch, hearing, and scent.

The person caressing his face paused and Parisa asked, “Can you hear me, Joel?”

“Yes,” he croaked, his throat dry.

“Drink,” she answered, and he opened his mouth, unsure if he would feel a glass against his lips or her cupped hand. He registered the water as cool and drank as palmfuls were brought to his lips. From where he’d heard Parisa’s voice, he’d expected the water to come from another angle. Maybe Noah was actually giving him the refreshing liquid.

“James?” he asked between mouthfuls.

“He’s not here,” Parisa said, “although I heard him too. It was like he somehow tapped into a telepathy that could be carried to more than one person.”

“Are either of you hurt?” Joel asked.

“No,” Parisa answered after a moment. He wondered what caused the hesitation. Then she explained. “Noah is shell-shocked, I think. He’s --”

“I’m fine,” Noah said firmly. “Just… sorry about…”

Struggling to raise his head, Joel felt hands tighten on his shoulders. He fought down the instantaneous panic that clawed at his throat. “Unless there’s a reason for me to be lying on my back,” he said as gently as he could manage, “I’d rather sit up.”

The hands released him and as he sat up, crossing his legs, he felt Parisa’s breath on his shoulder blade. He was still naked. He shivered and instinctively pulled his legs up to shield his stomach and softer bits. He wasn’t afraid of Parisa or Noah, but he felt vulnerable. “What happened?”

“There was an explosion,” Noah said, and he did sound a little shocky because his voice trembled. “Over at the other house, we think.”

“Definitely not here,” Parisa put in. “Do either of you need a towel? There aren’t robes in here, and I don’t think we should leave the bathroom until we get the all-clear.”

So, that was why his bare butt was on tile. “Did you two carry me in here?”

Again, there was that momentary pause. Then Parisa said, “I helped Noah and carried you, yes.”

Their location made sense even if nothing else did. As far as Joel knew, the bathroom might be the only room in the smaller house without windows.

Not like the one that had blown inward, injuring Jules.

He shivered as that realization, sent by his twin, hit him. Jules didn’t actually know it had been a window, but he’d had glass taken out of his arm so he’d made an educated guess. Joel said, “Soon as we can, I need to get to Jules. Something’s seriously wrong with him.”

“Can you feel him?” Parisa asked, her hand warm on his back.

“Not now but…” He shivered again, unable to help himself. “He was muffled, or that’s what it felt like. Like having your head wrapped in a blanket.”

Noah began, “Did he --”

Someone interrupted, throwing open the door. “Here they are,” said James, his voice tight.

“Good,” said a voice that came out slightly tinny. “Help is on the way but it’s a good hour out. See if you can move them to this building.”

“Will do.” James crouched, his voice coming from off to Joel’s right. “Are any of you hurt?”

Joel shook his head. “I’m fine. It didn’t happen here.” He reached out toward James’s voice, but Parisa caught his hand.

“Agent Tavery,” she said softly, “you’re bleeding.”

 

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.

 

Author’s Website

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M/M Fantasy Feature: Kuro by Ana Raine #dark #fantasy #mm #lgbtq #preorder #comingsoon #rabtbooktours @AuthorAnaRaine @ChangelingPress @RABTBookTours

 

Jack-O-Lanterns (#7)

Dark Fantasy / M/M

Date Published: October 17, 2025

Publisher: Changeling Press

When Preston saves a black cat everything he knows about life and demons is going to be questioned.

While shopping for candy for his friend's Halloween party, Preston saves a strange black cat from a group of teenage boys. Overcome with a desire entirely new to him, Preston takes the black cat home and discovers things are not always what they seem, especially on Halloween.

The cat, a demon named Caleb, has been searching for his mate for months and can't help but be fascinated with sweet Preston. He's determined to drag Preston down to his home in the underwater demon world.

Now Preston must choose between his mortal life, or one full of demons -- and love.

Praise for Kuro

"I'm the kind of person that loves a well-paced erotic story to sweep me away from a long day and this one is perfect for that sort of occasion. I find it to be a fantastic read, a quick one, and well written."

-- 4 Stars from Eric, MM Good Book Reviews

Excerpt

Copyright ©2025 Ana Raine

 

"Will you bring some candy for tomorrow?" Jackie's voice was desperate. Before Preston could answer, there was the sound of crashing glass on the other end of the phone.

"Are you all right?" Preston asked his oldest friend. He somehow managed to balance a plate of leftover salad with a cup of almond milk while keeping a good grip on his cell. "What are you doing?"

"Getting ready for the party tomorrow. Or trying to."

"And that involves breaking glass?" Preston smiled. Although Jackie and he had both majored in dance in college, Jackie was anything but graceful.

"No, dummy, it involves me trying to get these crystal dishes I got from my mom to all fit on the table."

"Crystal? Sounds... extravagant. For a Halloween party."

"Look, this is like the fourth Halloween I've been alone. Time to step it up."

Preston sighed. "Okay." He slipped out of his dance pants and pulled a pair of jeans over dark briefs. "What do you need me to bring?"

"Candy. Whatever kind you want. But not cheap shit -- that makes me sick."

"I'm on it."

The wind was colder than Preston had expected. His windbreaker was thin and cheap, more of a decoration than an actual coat. It didn't do much to keep him warm but this was the perfect opportunity to save money on gas. He was between productions, so he needed to save money any way he could. Leaving the car parked in front of his apartment, he walked down the street.

Jackie's request was going to be hard to fill. There were only yellow sale signs where piles of candy should have been. Luckily there was one large bag of chocolate bars, which he grabbed. Narrowly avoiding a collision with a young couple, he felt his cock twitch, sending shivers of anticipation down his spine, almost as if he had a tall, handsome man to go home to... He'd watched too many vampire movies with dark-haired, blue-eyed heroes. Why else would he be getting so hot in the grocery store?

There were hardly any cars in the parking lot.

"Get it," a voice shrieked so loud the plastic bag Preston had been holding fell to the ground when he flinched.

Toward the end of the parking lot, besides a clustering of trees, he saw a group of teenage boys. Preston could make out three of them, all tall and gangly, but a fourth stepped back as Preston neared the group. "What are you..."

"Get out of here, man," the one who had just stepped back ordered. He had dark, pinched eyes and a glance that made Preston's blood boil.

Although Preston wasn't one for fighting, the urge to find out what the teenagers were doing was stronger than any emotion he'd felt in a while. "I asked what you're doing."

"Just havin' fun," one of the other teenagers jumped in defensively.

Two of the four teenagers were quiet, quickly dropping large sticks onto the pavement.

"Isn't there a curfew tonight, guys?" the young man nearest to the woods asked, moving away from Preston.

The tallest of the teenagers took a step back, revealing a large black cat, sitting on its back legs but with an apparent twist in its front leg.

"How could you do this?" Preston asked, brushing past the young men. "This is just wrong."

"Whatevs."

Preston scooped the cat into his arms. The cat was so heavy he had a harder time straightening up again. "Gosh, you're big. And black." The cat reminded him of an anime cat -- bigger and blacker than anything he'd ever seen before. "I think I'll call you Kuro."

The cat swished its head from side to side, glancing back at the retreating backs of his tormenters. Purple eyes, outlined in a deep black that was different from the shade of his silky black coat, stared at Preston. The gaze was penetrating and unearthly. Preston's knees began to tremble. Even his arms were shaking as Preston held the cat close to his chest. He fumbled to pick up the plastic bag, missing the handle because the cat's gaze was so consuming.

Sexuality was running rampant through his veins. He felt like he'd eaten drug-laced candy and was swimming through a current, trying to make sense of reality again. Get a grip, Preston chastised himself.

Maybe that hadn't been enough, which could explain his sudden feeling of fatigue. But there was stunning need to find release. His legs prickled and because his eyes flickered so quickly, there were dark patches clouding his vision.

The cat meowed in his arms, but didn't try to escape. Once Preston entered the glow of his brightly lit street, he was sure that the cat was safer, but the thought of releasing the dark fur pushed a feeling of tremendous pain through his chest.

"I'm not allowed to have pets," Preston said softly, snaking a hand around the bag of chocolate so he could pet the top of the cat's head. The cat had his eyes trained on him. "We should get you to the vet to fix that leg. Although I think we'll have to wait until tomorrow." The cat's purple eyes were unnerving, but he couldn't chase away the intrigue...

 

About the Author

Ana is still figuring out what she wants to do with her life, although social work seems to be the most likely. Her best friends are a box of chocolate and her kitten who always sit beside her while she writes. When Ana was in high school, she often wrote about the LGBT community, but now her work is less...innocent. Ana enjoys writing anything and everything, including BDSM, dragons, shifters, magic, and more.

Twitter: @AuthorAnaRaine

Blog: anarainebooks.blogspot.com

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

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