LGBTQ Shifter Romance Feature: Empathic Equation by Emily Carrington #lgbtq #shifterromance #comingsoon #excerpt #rabtbooktours @CarringtonEmily @RABTBookTours @ChangelingPress

 

LGBTQ+ Shifter Romance

Date Published: July 31, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

Nootaikok is losing himself to his empathy. Can Amaruq call him back to love and to bed?

 

There’s a terrible loneliness in being surrounded by a million minds, none of which care a whit about you. With his empathic skills expanding rapidly, Nootaikok is struggling to hold onto his sanity. Only joining with Amaruq in bed play is sustaining him.

Both of them know bed play won’t save them forever. As the weight of Nootaikok’s psychic disability pushes down on him, he and Amaruq start fighting both each other and the world.

Can their love hold them together or will Nootaikok’s deception crush them?

 

EXCERPT

 

He couldn’t just hear the couple arguing in the hotel room next to the one where he lay with his mate. For Nootaikok, their anger, petty as it might seem to some, was real for them. He wasn’t quite sure what they had disagreed on. He wasn’t a telepath. However, as the hour crept on from nine to ten, their bickering increased in intensity even as their volume dropped. He read violence in the woman half of the pair’s building rage. Whoever said females were always the victims had their facts wrong.

He got silently out of bed, checking to make sure Amaruq had stayed asleep. His lover, exhausted from the psychic deluge he’d experienced over the last half dozen hours, probably wouldn’t wake if he was quiet.

Scooping up his tracker badge, which would show as police or hotel security or whatever he needed at the moment to humans, he dressed in cast-off clothing that he’d worn to SearchLight that day. Not bothering with shoes, he padded silently from the room.

The ebb and flow of their argument was cresting when he pounded on the door.

He felt their startlement and felt the relief from the male half of the pair.

She was the one who opened the door, though. “What?” she snapped.

He took in the belt clenched in her fist and the stench of alcohol on her breath. He held up his badge. “Security, ma’am,” he said. “Report was of some disturbing noises coming from this room.”

She snarled soundlessly at him, furious as a caged werewolf. “Go ‘way.”

“I can’t, ma’am.” He darted a glance over her shoulder as the man, who looked none too sober himself, drunk-walked a little closer to them. “Sir, are you hurt?”

“What’d you think I’d do? Drug him?” the woman demanded baldly.

Nootaikok felt the spike in her anxiety and met her gaze. “What did you give him?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Prove it.”

He wished he’d brought his cell phone. “I intend to.” He marched into the room, shouldering her aside almost gently. Her drunken state made her maybe more compliant than she would have normally been. Keeping an eye on the two of them, he called down to the main desk and made his report. That done, he ordered the two of them to stand out in the hallway until help could arrive.

She swung at him with the buckle end of the belt.

He caught it, the sting of the metal making him hiss. He jerked the makeshift weapon out of her hand and caught her, preventing her from falling when she staggered into him rather than let go willingly.

By the time security had arrived, he’d gotten them both to lean against the walls on either side of the corridor. The man was slumping there and the woman was glaring at him, her face alternating between fear and fury.

After they had been escorted away, he snuck back to bed. It was going to be difficult to sleep, even though the couple was gone. His empathy was fully awake now, and he could sense probably half the occupants of the hotel.

Amaruq rolled over, his eyes slitting open. “Still awake?” he mumbled.

“I’m all right,” Nootaikok lied.

His little white fib, meant only to send his lover back to sleep, backfired as Amaruq frowned at him.

“Don’t you know better than to lie to a werewolf?”

“Sorry,” Nootaikok said, meaning it. “I just…”

“Do you need me to massage your shoulders again?”

“Maybe you could just rub my back for a minute or two?” Amaruq’s touch usually helped him rest. It wasn’t magic but Amaruq’s gentleness came through in everything he did. It was difficult to dwell on all the emotions he couldn’t fix or completely understand while his mate caressed him.

That being said, what he felt still tried to invade his mind. He shoved it away over and over again until Amaruq’s fingers, digging deep, released his tension and he slept.

* * *

When Amaruq woke fully, it was morning and the clock on the nightstand told him it was a little after seven. He couldn’t believe he’d slept so long, not with Mark and Luke in peril. Still, as the guilt rose up to choke him, he forced himself to take a breath. He was managing it, he told himself, and even if he wasn’t, there was nothing to be gained from drowning in negativity.

Besides, he’d come back to the waking world with a sense of urgency and a hunch that something was about to change. He didn’t know what that meant exactly, but it definitely came from his precognitive sense, and he refused to ignore that part of himself any longer.

He rolled over to face Nootaikok, startled to find his lover huddled under the blankets. Narwhal shifters, at least from what Nootaikok had told him, were warm blooded and tended to struggle with getting overheated. His mate looked as though he was freezing. Or trying to hide.

Amaruq settled on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He wanted to reach out to Mark and get a better sense of the dragon’s location. He thought, I’ll ask him why it’s me he decided to reach out to once he and Luke are safe. For now… He dropped his shields.

Nootaikok seized his arm. “Don’t,” he mumbled.

Startled, Amaruq jumped and tried for something passing calmness. He knew he didn’t succeed because when Nootaikok opened his eyes, they were bright with anxiety. “What’s wrong?” Amaruq asked.

“Too many…” Nootaikok visibly stiffened and seemed to pull himself together. “I don’t want you reaching out to whoever’s sending you visions without medical assistance nearby.”

Amaruq nodded, his head moving on the pillow as he turned his face toward his lover. Nootaikok was still bundled up. Frowning, Amaruq said, “That’s a good point. I’ll wait until we’re at SearchLight. Now, what’s really wrong?”

 

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

Emily on Facebook

Emily on Twitter

 

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

 

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LGBTQ+ Feature: Amused & Amazed by Willa Okati #teaser #excerpt #lgbtq #romance #rabtbooktours @ChangelingPress @RABTBookTours

LGBTQ+ Romance

Date Published: July 10, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Laughter and love go together like peanut butter and chocolate for men in search of a tasty treat!

The Drag Queen of Faerie: The course of true love just won’t run smooth for hunk-next-door Will Taylor, who’s in search of that special someone. All that focused energy attracts the attention of Queen Mab’s less-well-known cousin Mabbey, the Drag Queen of the Faeries.

Valentine’s Vow: Friends and casual bed buddies Thom and Ryan don’t buy into the whole “true love” spiel. They have a good time together. Why would they want more? Luckily for this clueless pair, St. Valentine shows them how to appreciate a good thing when they’ve got it.

Independence Day: The boys are back -- and they’re at it again. Ryan and Thom have returned for some hot Fourth of July action, but their newfound romance may just hit the skids when it comes to coming out as a couple.

Straight Man and Coffee Guy: Straight Man is anything but. He just doesn’t have a sense of humor. And in a city with so many superheroes there’s no one left to rescue, his power is attracting the freaks -- like Coffee Guy from the diner across the road, who has the power of the never-ending cup. Misfits in a mad, mad, mad world, they’re pretty much perfect for each other.

 

Excerpt from Straight Man and Coffee Guy

Copyright ©2026 Will Okati

"So what would you say if I told you I was here to make every dream you've ever had come true?"

SM didn't even glance up from the magazine he was flipping through. Not that he'd been paying attention to the glossy pages. The skin magazine was designed for seriously lecherous and perverted types. Lots of pink, pouty things that kind of made his flesh want to shrivel up and his brain run away to hide. Still, better low-class reading material than none at all. Nothing else to do on the graveyard shift, was there?

"I'd ask if you were either AWOL from the City Genie conglomerate, wonder what you were selling, and pray you were the guy with the coffee I ordered --" he checked his watch -- "an hour ago."

"One out of three ain't bad." A cardboard tray smacked down on the hotel check-in counter. SM gladly abandoned his perusal of the so-called literature to reach up and grab a paper cup.

On his way, he spared a glance for the delivery boy. Not bad. Not bad at all. The kind of boy-next-door good looks that got his motor revving... or would if it weren't right around 3 a.m. Nothing short of an earthquake could get him excited enough to do much of anything this time of day.

He raised the lid and took a sip -- then choked. "This is cold!"

The delivery guy shrugged. "Well, you did it order a while back. Is it my fault it took this long to get away from the late-night crowd to bring the stuff over? And why did you order four cups, anyway? Have you got someone stashed under there?" He leaned over the counter, as if to check.

SM hastily knocked his magazine off into a trashcan. "No!"

"Come on, a hunk like you? There's someone under there." The coffee guy tilted up and over, resting his belly on the ledge, peeking. "Is that what I think -- no, just your shoe. Interesting. You dress like a wage slave drone, but those are some snappy sneakers."

"Sometimes I have to run to put out fires," SM replied dryly. Which was true enough. On more than one occasion, he had, especially when Combustion Man got too worked up. Oh, he didn't usually set more than the beds ablaze, but someone had to be quick on the draw with an extinguisher.

The truth was he wore the sneakers because they were comfortable, and it was one way of giving management the finger. Not that he'd admit it, of course, to a diner jockey.

He paused. "A hunk like me?"

"Well, yeah." Once he'd gotten up there, the coffee guy sat on the ledge, swinging his own sneakered feet back and forth. "You're a definite hottie. At least an eight on a scale of one to ten. Why do you think I waited to bring your coffee over myself?"

"To be annoying?"

"There is that," Coffee Guy agreed cheerfully. SM didn't see any harm in calling him that. It was neatly printed on his diner nametag, pinned crookedly on his tight-fitting T-shirt. "It's one of my better attributes."

"I'd hate to see the worse ones." SM took another sip of the brew. He blinked. "It's hotter."

"Thanks." Coffee Guy flexed his muscles. "I kind of thought so, myself."

"No, you dolt. I meant the coffee. It's not as cold anymore." SM took a careful sip and almost burned his tongue. He looked up accusingly. "Okay, give. How'd you do that?"

Coffee Guy shrugged. "It's a city full of real comic book heroes, right? Just about everyone and their brother has some kind of freaky power. I have dominion over the almighty bean, blessed be the name of Java. Behold." He pointed at SM's cup, which refilled the slight distance back up to the lid. "Talk about your never-ending pot."

"You're kidding me." SM drank again. "How'd you get a sweet talent like that?"

"As if it's special." Coffee Guy snorted. He started to flick through the check-in register. "All it gets me is the graveyard shift at a hotel diner. Or is this a motel? I can never keep it straight."

"Hotel. They have hallways and doors that open from the inside. Motels open onto the street."

"You learn something new every day."

"Keeps the brain active." SM peered at the cardboard tray with his other three, now steaming, cups of coffee. "Do you have the ability to summon cream and sugar as well?"

"Somehow I knew you'd be the kind of guy who had a sweet tooth." CG grinned at SM and reached into his pockets. "Wasn't room on the tray, but I came through in the clinch."

"Oh, God. You're an angel." SM groaned in pleasure as he cracked open two still-cool plastic cup-ettes of condensed milk and poured them in his cup. The sugar came next: three packets. "Swizzle stick?"

"They're not called swizzle sticks, moron."

SM cut CG a sharp look. "Oh, yeah? What's the right name, then?"

"Hell if I know." CG swung his legs a few more times while SM fixed his coffee to his pleasure. He even whistled a few bars of a tune, pretty badly off-key. In the middle of a bar, just as SM was recognizing the melody, he broke off to say, casually, "I kind of figured you to be the kind of guy who likes cream."

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.

 

Will on Facebook

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

 

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LGBTQ Romance Feature: Electric Boy by Nicky Silber #excerpt #comingsoon #lgbtq #romance #Rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours @ChangelingPress

LGBTQ Romance, Romantic Comedy

Date Published: July 3, 2026

In ‘80s London, the fantastical Julian Collier is a charismatic punk rock band frontman. Everyone is drawn to him, including Rahul, his best friend and bandmate, who has loved him for years.

When a mysterious upper-class stranger suddenly inserts himself into their lives, it becomes clear Julian isn’t entirely straight, and the two men struggle for Julian’s affections. But the best man might not win this fight.

 

EXCERPT

 

Hoxton, London, UK

November 1987

The Barber & Pony was a poor excuse for a pub, as far as Rahul was concerned. The ancient booths held grime older than Rahul himself. The watery draught was just this side of unpleasantly warm. The air was so thick with smoke he could have cut it with a blunt butter knife and spread it on the pub’s stale pork scratchings. Even an oblivious bystander could have told you that Rahul Chaand detested The Barber & Pony; yet he had patronised the pub every single week since he had moved back to London three years ago. Sometimes more than once a week. Three, four times even. He came because of him.

He was at the bar tonight, as he was most nights, with his skinny elbows propped on the pockmarked mahogany, and head hanging between the sharp hillocks of his shoulders. Rahul came to The Barber & Pony because it was his boozer. Rahul would have followed him to the ends of the Earth, let alone a crummy pub in Hoxton. He knew it was pitiful. There was hardly anything about their relationship that didn’t paint Rahul in a distinctly desperate shade of pathetic. He’d come to terms with that long ago. It didn’t matter to him anymore. All that mattered to Rahul was that Julian Collier was upset. And he needed to be here for him, just as he always was.

“What’s this I hear about a row?” he said in a light, unthreatening tone as he slid onto the stool beside Julian.

“What’re you on about?” He was already slurring. That wasn’t a good sign.

Julian was, by nature, a sunshiny young man with few troubles to cloud his unburdened mind. He wasn’t a rich man. He wasn’t famous. He didn’t have a particularly successful relationship and his friend group was distressingly small. But he was beautiful, fashionable, and well loved. He was passionate about music, and the fact that he both sold records and played in a band did much to nourish his simple soul. But Rahul suspected the main reason that Julian was a happy person was because he was simply born that way. He came into the world with a sunny disposition that life and circumstance had often endeavoured to strip from him.

On occasion, however, a mood as heavy and dark as a storm cloud would settle upon his narrow shoulders, usually brought on by the emotional vampire he liked to call a girlfriend. Thankfully, these sulks tended to be mercifully short, and Rahul found himself to be adept at pulling his best friend out of them even quicker.

Having gotten word from Leroy about the positively massive row that Julian and his girlfriend had engaged in, Rahul had come as soon as he was able.

“He’ll cost me customers,” Leroy, the bartender, had told him after repeating some of the choice words that had been screamed. By the time Rahul had arrived, Aisling, the “girlfriend,” seemed to be long gone, though Julian remained at the bar, sullen and unmoveable as he sank deeper and deeper into his cups. Time for the ol’ Rahul-man to shine, eh? He fancied himself the Julian Whisperer. And it stood to reason. After all, no two people knew each other as well or as deeply as they.

“C’mon, small fry,” he began with the familiar nickname, one that was his alone to use. Julian, being of average height, was short to Rahul only, who at any given moment was the tallest man in the room. “I know you and Aisling have had it out again. What’s she think you’ve done this time? Ruined the economy? Started the Cold War?”

“Can’t do anything right, as far as she’s concerned,” he pouted self- indulgently.

“Tell me about it. It’s practically every other week she’s picking a fight. I’ll never understand why you put up with her and her nagging.”

“She’s not a nag, all right?” Julian contradicted. “She’s just got a point of view. She’s a modern woman.”

“All right, all right,” Rahul backed off, sensing they had not yet arrived at the well-worn territory of slagging off his girlfriend before they inevitably made up again. “A modern woman, sure. Do you want to talk about it? What happened? Maybe talk about it back at your flat?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he continued to pout, planting himself more firmly at the bar just as Leroy passed both Rahul and Julian fresh glasses of beer. Rahul shot the bartender an incredulous look to which Leroy only shrugged helplessly and retreated.

Rahul sighed and tried again. “Fine. We’ll stay right here. As long as we talk. You’re good at talking, Julesy. That’s what draws people to you. The Talker Extraordinaire, that’s what they call you. Silver-tongued. Couldn’t shut you up if I tried.”

“Wouldn’t let you try. I’d be too busy talking.” A smile threatened to break free, like the sun peeking out behind clouds. “You’d try to get a word in edgewise and bam, there I’d be, gabbing away.”

“Gabby Gabber. Gabriel Gabber to your friends.”

Just as Julian seemed ready to add another rung in the ladder of nonsense, his smile disintegrated like a sandcastle in the surf and the dark mood retook him. “She hates it when I talk like this, you know? Says it’s stupid. Maybe she’s right. I really am quite stupid.” His long, pale fingers fumbled out a cigarette, and, failing to find a lighter, let it hang limply from his lips.

Rahul sipped at his beer to cover his profound disappointment. He’d been so close to lifting his friend out of this funk. His fight with Aisling must have cut him deeper than he’d realised. They fought frequently, breaking up every other week only to make up again, but the fights seemed to Rahul to always be superficial things -- who left the toilet seat up and who used whose hair spray -- and the rows were just as easy to overcome as a result. Rahul blamed Aisling, mainly. Julian was as amiable as a fluttering butterfly unless he was provoked.

“She never did,” Rahul exclaimed, aghast. “Did she really say that?” And, in a softer, more serious tone, “You’re not, you know. Stupid.”

“Must be. Else why would I keep making her mad?”

Rahul took pity on him and finally extricated his own lighter from his jacket pocket, lighting Julian’s cigarette for him.

“Because she’s horrendous,” Rahul answered the rhetorical question. “And nothing could ever make her happy. Even you. Now why don’t you tell me what really happened, eh?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Sorry?” Rahul’s face scrunched in confusion, pausing with the glass halfway to his lips.

“S’your fault, innit?” Julian grumbled, pulling his own lukewarm pint closer. “Me and Ash falling out. She was right. It’s always your fault.”

Rahul knew he shouldn’t take it personally. These were the aftershocks of his row with Aisling. But he couldn’t help the curiosity that welled within him. “How is it my fault exactly?”

“Aisling and me’d be married already if it weren’t for you being all… third-wheel. Always getting in the way.”

The words hit him hard and sharp in the chest, threatening to puncture his heart. He doesn’t mean it, he tried to convince himself. He’s smashed. Aisling’s upset him. He’s just having a bit of a tantrum, that’s all. It was with great effort that Rahul trampled the well of emotion threatening to bubble over and plastered on a placid smile beneath his moustache.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Do too. I use up all the good part of me on you, and then I’ve got none left for her.”

“You’re talking nonsense, Jules. Obviously you’re upset. I can see that. Let’s just get you home and we’ll talk about it like adults.” He wrapped his fingers around Julian’s upper arm, but the shorter man shook him off, swaying dangerously on his stool as he did so. He turned eyes on Rahul that burned blue as an electrical fire.

“That’s just it. You’re always trying to control me. You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you? Just ‘cause you went to your fancy uni and I stayed back here. Just cause your dad owned shops and I never even had a dad.”

“How could you think that I…” Rahul trailed off, shocked into silence. He had never, since he’d met Julian as a child, thought himself better than him. They both came from nothing. It was one of the founding principles of their friendship. And they still had nothing. Nothing but each other. Julian knew this, consciously. This wasn’t him talking, it was the booze, and Rahul had to keep that in focus before he lost his temper.

“Look,” he began slowly, carefully metering out his words. “You’ve had a long day, yeah? I know I’m around a bit more than I ought to be sometimes, but that’s because I’m taking care of you. You know that. Mel knows that. She asks me to take care of you. I’m sorry that Aisling has a problem with it, but that can hardly be helped. Next time you see her, tell her I’m sorry. Now. Why don’t you come with me and we can forget all about it, yeah?”

He reached for Julian again but this time Julian’s hand struck first, finger extended into a sharp point that thrust into Rahul’s chest like a very entitled dart. He poked him. “No. No no no. You listen to me,” Julian slurred. His blue eyes that had once burned were now melted back into glassy puddles that couldn’t quite focus on Rahul. “You don’t come in here like a… a… a jumped-up ponce with an anaemic caterpillar on his lip and tell me what to do, yeah? I’ll leave when I wanna leave. And you don’t control me, like Ash says. I’m my own man. I do what I want.”

Rahul flinched from the poke as if he’d been pushed. Anger surged in him like an ungrounded electric current. He chugged the remainder of his pint to keep his ire from boiling over and slammed the empty glass down on the counter. The resentment from years of Julian taking their friendship for granted began to rise to the surface. It was with monumental effort -- a deeper tribute to his love for Julian than Julian would ever know -- that he reined that rage into a dull simmer, something that would burn but wouldn’t scald. But even the bravest of wounded animals still lash out.

“You do what you want, eh?” Rahul snapped. “Or you do what Aisling tells you?” It wasn’t fair, of course, but hurt people hurt people, or so they say.

“Least I have somebody who tells me what to do.”

Rahul’s chest tightened. Julian clearly wasn’t playing fair either.

“I’d rather be alone than shackled to that girlfriend of yours,” he ground out.

“Or you’re just jealous.”

“Or you’re just an entitled little twat that can’t tell when someone’s trying to help him.”

“Trying to help me? Some help. Who asked you?”

“No one. You know what? Absolutely no one.” Rahul threw up his hands and stood, his heart pounding in his ear. He and Julian hadn’t fought like this in… he could scarcely remember when. They hadn’t even fought like this back when they’d… Well. Back then. Pulse thundering, he donned his coat and took off for the cold, drizzly London streets, not stopping to check if Julian was following him.

He still felt himself choke with guilt, however, when he made it halfway down the street and realised his friend had stayed behind. He would be fine. Right? Surely he would be fine. He’d been drunker than this on his own and made it home all right. He’d be fine… Wouldn’t he?

No, it wasn’t Rahul’s problem. If Julian wouldn’t let him help, then there was nothing for it. He couldn’t help someone who refused to be helped. Until he begged Rahul’s forgiveness and of course Rahul buckled like a flaccid accordion. Like he always did. Because it was Julian. And he was Rahul. And that’s how they worked. Or didn’t.

 

 

About the Author

As a queer, nonbinary, person of color, Nicky Silber has made it their mission to bring diversity into all of their creative outlets. Born in New York, raised in Mexico, they studied fine art in San Francisco and have worked in the video game industry since 2012. They currently live in the wilds of North Carolina with their young son and too many pets. Their only two goals in life are to continue to tell queer love stories and, to a lesser extent, finally knit their own sweater.

 

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LGBTQ MM Romance Feature: Zephyr by Mychael Black #teaser #excerpt #lgbtq #mmromance #fantasy #comingsoon #rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours @ChangelingPress

LGBTQ Romance, Romantasy

Date Published: July 3, 2026

A one-night stand changes Aaron and Zach’s lives forever.

 

Aaron Pryce has lived a reclusive life for centuries, content with his dogs and his cabin. A one-night stand, however, sends his comfortable existence into a whirlwind. He’s the best candidate to take over the former House Zalis, but nothing is ever easy. When he visits the compound, he gets the shock of his life.

Zach Cane couldn’t get the man he’d spent one night with out of his head. So imagine his surprise when they meet at Saridan Tower weeks later. As they work to navigate a new relationship, old secrets from Aaron’s past come to light… none of them good.

 

WARNING: Depictions of domestic violence, child abuse, violence, and strong language may be triggers for some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

EXCERPT

“There is no way in hell I am going to take over an entire house.”

The words -- my words -- still rang clear in my head. Two weeks had passed since that conversation with Raphael Santos. I had been very determined to nix the idea completely, but a tiny glimmer of “what-if” lingered. I also couldn’t fathom the work needed to run what was left of House Zalis now that its founding leader, Ivan Zalis, was dead.

Raph had been right, though. The house needed a magic user to run it. I wanted to kick myself for even thinking about it.

Swift on the heels of that came the reminder that it wasn’t just me and the pups now. Although we hadn’t talked about the future during the past couple of lunch dates we’d had since our unexpected meeting at Saridan Tower, there was no denying Zach Cane and I were mates. I had known that first night, when a few hours of insanely hot, quasi-anonymous sex had sealed my damn fate.

I didn’t know if Zach had any clue what we were. Surely, as an alpha, he did, but he hadn’t shown any indication that night or any time since. I certainly hadn’t told him either. I was still struggling with it myself. I’d spent my entire life torn between hoping for my fated mate and praying I never found him. I put the blame squarely at my parents’ feet, too. My alpha father, Stefan, had been a narcissistic asshole who’d used his magic to cause trouble for just about anyone he met, and my omega stepfather, Martin, had despised him for it. I’d been hidden away by him in hopes that my own magic would never be an issue. Hell, Martin had forced me to live as a laicas, a commoner. When he died, though, all bets were off. That’s when I began honing my skills as an Incantas. But watching my folks’ marriage deteriorate, magic or no, soured me on relationships.

Then Zach waltzed into my life.

Barking from inside the house snapped me back to the present. I realized I’d been sitting in the truck for longer than intended. I got out and grabbed the bags of dog food. As soon as I stepped into the house, all four pups swarmed me as if they’d been starving.

“It’s only been an hour, you idiots,” I said with a laugh.

I set the bags down and sat on the floor to get kisses and tail-smacks in the face. I never really intended to have this many pets. I’d started with one, then came another. Then I rescued two more. Now I couldn’t imagine life without my furbabies.

“Okay, okay,” I said as I stood. “Let’s get you nutcases fed.”

I picked up the bags and headed for the kitchen. The cabin wasn’t huge, but it suited me perfectly. I spent the majority of my life here after Martin whisked me away once they split up. Growing up, I hated the isolation, but, over time, I soon preferred it to the city and being around other people. I still had an apartment at Saridan Tower, but this was home. Just me and the pups.

My phone rang as I started filling the four food dishes. I answered it and put it on speaker.

“Hey.”

“Got a minute?” Deacon Saridan asked.

I glanced over at the phone and inwardly sighed. I had the feeling I knew what this was about. “Sure.”

“I’ve been in talks with Javier Torneau. We agree that, while the former House Lorthaen should be dissolved completely, what remains of House Zalis is simply too important, magic-wise. That said, they need a leader.”

“Fuck,” I grumbled. I sat down at the dining table and sighed. “Deacon…”

“I know it isn’t something you really want, but you’re the most obvious choice,” my half-brother said. “You’re one of the strongest Incantas in this area.”

“I don’t want to lead.”

“That’s precisely why you’re the best choice,” Deacon countered. “You’re not the type to let any sort of power go to your head.”

I grimaced. “That’s what Raph said. Have you two been talking?”

Deacon chuckled. “Perhaps, but we’re right.”

“You’re also an asshole,” I muttered. “Both of you.”

“So I’ll see you this afternoon then for a meeting? Say… two?”

“Ugh. Fine. Jackass.”

Deacon laughed. “See you then.”

We hung up, and I dropped my head to the tabletop, tempted to bang it a few times for good measure. Yes, I knew they were right. Ivan Zalis had been a Spiritori, but his death left a lot of good magic users in limbo without a leader. Magiens, Incantas, even a few Spiritori made up what had once been House Zalis. That much firepower, so to speak, couldn’t be unchecked and left to float around without direction and someone to watch them. An Incantas could also weed out the undesirables from the ones who just wanted to live without trouble. Much like myself.

When my phone pinged with a text, I half dreaded looking at it. I did, though, and couldn’t help but smile. Despite the mates issue lingering like an elephant between us, seeing Zach’s name pop on my screen made me ache with a hunger I hadn’t felt for anyone before meeting him.

Got any plans this evening?

 

About the Author

Mychael Black has been writing professionally since 2005. He writes gay romance and erotica, but also het romance as Carys Seraphine and queer fantasy as Katherine Cook.

He's an avid PC gamer with a love for RPGs, a horror fanatic, and a fantasy nut. He also has a weakness for anything relating to skulls, dogs, and Spongebob Squarepants.

Mychael lives on the Eastern Shore of the US with his family. He loves to hear from readers, be it via email or Facebook.

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LGBTQ+ Erotica Feature: Willing Captive by Ashlynn Monroe #excerpt #comingsoon #lgbtq #bdsm #erotica #rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours @ChangelingPress

An LGBTQ+ BDSM Sci-Fi Romance

Date Published: June 19, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press 

"Humans are a legend. They don't exist."

When Lord Xev and his lover, Ra, leave their home in search of a woman to bond with them, they know exactly where to go. Risen Outpost is the most lawless place in the galaxy, and Pale Moon Auction House offers the finest sex slaves on the market. What the Zaronians don't expect is to find one of the legendary humans for sale to the highest bidder.

Kirin Ellison doesn't know what's happened to her. The shock of discovering aliens exist is bad enough, but realizing they plan to sell her as a sex slave is far worse. Kirin watches the other women preening and displaying their attributes, begging to belong to someone, with growing alarm. She wants her freedom. At least she thinks she does --- until one touch from Xev and Ra enslaves her in a far more binding way than a simple exchange of a currency could ever manage. She longs to feel everything the strange beings have to offer, but unless Xev is willing to make a sacrifice of his own, she dare not let him capture her heart.

 

 

Excerpt

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2026 Ashlynn Monroe

Music reverberated through Kirin Ellison's Mazda as she drove down the lonely two lane country road. Humming along to the radio, she glanced up at the sky. The black velvet above was dotted with stars. In the city, she never really had the chance to see the night sky -- the view here was breathtaking.

No one was expecting her back in Chicago until tomorrow. She didn't need to rush. Her camera lay on the passenger seat beside her. Pulling over onto the gravel shoulder, she parked next to a fenced pasture.

The warning bell dinged as she carefully pulled out her beloved equipment. Wedding and graduation photography paid the bills, but she couldn't escape her true calling -- she felt drawn to beautiful panoramic landscapes.

Kirin looked up at the silky night sky and began to visualize the shots she would take. The rural beauty was exactly what she wanted. These prints would sell fast in the city.

Chuckling to herself, she shook off the feeling that she was being watched. "I've been in the city way too long," she muttered as she made sure the tripod was stable.

A sudden flash to her left made her straighten and turn. She gasped as three bluish-green lights hovered in the air.

"Oh my God!" Kirin's hands shook as she began frantically snapping pictures. Kirin focused intensely on the lights. She wished her camera had video capability. She expected the hovering lights to fly away, but they didn't. These prints were definitely going to be a moneymaker.

The lights suddenly catapulted forward and to her horror, they now hovered directly over her car. Her courage held her for only three more shots before her shaking hands managed to free the camera from the tripod. Snatching up her equipment, she rushed back to the car, but froze when a bright light illuminated the area around her. Her eyes widened as the car levitated off the ground. The pulsating yellow light was actually pulling the Mazda skyward.

Kirin bit her lip and stumbled backwards. She had no interest in finding out where her car was going. Her foot slipped on the dew-damp grass and she tumbled backward into the darkness. Pain radiated through her head and her teeth clicked as her jaws snapped together. She blinked up and the darkness vanished. She lay bathed in bright yellow light. Something trickled down her neck and she realized she was bleeding, but that was the least of her worries right now.

Blinking rapidly, Kirin tried to clear her vision, but the lights went in and out of focus. She felt her body lifting. "No," she moaned.

Unconsciousness claimed her.

When Kirin next opened her eyes, she blinked up at a bright light. She tried to swallow but something was down her throat. Soft plastic cradled her nose and mouth. She looked down her nose at the strange mask. The effort gave her an intense headache and she tried to groan, but the tube down her throat didn't allow the sound to come out. She lay in a warm cocoon, perfectly cradled in softness. To her horror, she realized she was naked. She tried to move, but she couldn't. The paralysis was surreal. Her vision was blurry and she blinked rapidly, but it didn't seem to help. She felt as if she were floating.

Vaguely, she wondered if she'd been drugged.

A dark shadow blocked the light to the left and she tried to focus on what -- or who -- it was. Her eyes widened and she tried to scream. Being immobile added a sharp bite to her terror. The creature was tall and blue. It had tentacles jutting out of its rather large head, and it didn't look happy. Coming closer, it made some sort of gibberish noise and ran its hand down her arm, then her hip and leg. She shuddered. Something moved in a blur to her left and she felt a quick stab of pain before her eyes fluttered closed and darkness dragged her back into oblivion.

* * *

"This trip has been long overdue, my friend.. The burden of politics wearies me," Lord Xev muttered. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

The male between his legs took his cock into his mouth and bobbed his head passionately up and down on Xev's shaft. Xev watched Ra's devotion through his long lashes. Long, soft blond hair brushed Xev's thighs. Eyes half closed, he stretched his arms across the back of the divan.

The crowd bustling about the tavern and the buzz of voices only made Ra's fellatio more erotic. His companion made a loud popping noise as he pulled his mouth away from Xev's erection. Ra's big blue eyes gazed up at him adoringly. Xev could tell he wanted to say something.

"You may speak," he graciously offered.

"You are right, my lord. I have felt the burden of hiding my affection for you. I lust for you, my lord. Every time I am in the room with you, my cock aches for your touch."

Xev smiled down at his lover. He cared deeply for Ra. Their friendship, and Ra's servitude, had grown into a comfortable pattern, but something was missing. They both agreed on that point. "I understand, my friend. The Order would never accept our bond. Here we are free, but you know I can never leave the Order, even to delight in the debauchery of the fringes. This is just a short trip. We will return."

The glimmer of hope died in Ra's beautiful eyes and he quickly lowered his head and kissed Xev's balls. When Ra glanced up, tears shimmered in his eyes. "I know your place, my lord, even as I know mine, but one can dream."

About the Author

Ashlynn Monroe is a busy working mom. She loves her kids and family. Her greatest joy is creating stories to entertain others, and she hopes they bring a little more romance into the world. She's been writing since her teens for her own enjoyment but decided in her thirties to share her imagination with readers. Ashlynn enjoys biking, camping, reading, video games, and filling her home and life with love. If she's not working or chasing children, you can find her daydreaming up her next tale of romance. 

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LGBTQ Romance Feature: Pridelands by Jade Buchanan #comingsoon #lgbtq #scifi #paranormal #romance #excerpt #rabtbooktours @changelingpress @RABTBookTours

An LGBTQ+ Sci-Fi Paranormal Action Romance

Date Published: June 12, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Stranded... on Earth. Thrust together by fate, can these offworlders find a way to connect?

The Pridelands 1: Darren’s Surprise

Darren is looking for his brother, but he ends up finding something a little more alien. Durai has come to claim his mate. He won’t let anything get in his way. Not even Darren.

The Pridelands 2: Zula’s Stand

Jai realizes he’s found two people that complete him. Only, one wants nothing to do with him, and the other claims he’s only interested in women.

The Pridelands 3: Sheer’s Choice

Jai’s sister, Rabi’a, isn’t going to sit down and let any man determine her future. She has claws of her own, and Tigris Sheer Ma’at and Leo Rais Steinsson are about to feel them.

The Pridelands 4: Griffin’s Joy

Griffin and Mazin have finally found a woman who completes them both. All they have to do is seduce her. Easy, right? Not if Joy has her way.

The Pridelands 5: Khalid’s Challenge

Khalid Steinsson and Pran Devan were once deeply in love. It will take something monumental to bring them back together.

The Pridelands 6: Achan’s Peace

Achan’s nightmares won’t let him move forward. Hunter Miles needs to be able to express his love for Achan. Tafa Morn never expected to find two wounded souls that needed his particular brand of care. Now that he has, he doesn’t plan to let them go.

Publisher's Note: The Pridelands Box Set contains the previously released novellas Darren's Surprise, Zula's Stand, Sheer's Choice, Griffin's Joy, Khalid's Challenge, and Achan's Peace.

 

Excerpt from Darren's Surprise

Copyright ©2026 Jade Buchanan

Stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, he surveyed the loft. A bunk bed was sidled up against the wall beside him. A single bedside table was arranged on the side closest to the stairs, nestled between the dresser and the bed. A large area rug was the only decoration in the middle of the room. Across from it, a very small double bed was set up, the covers strewn about as if a wild animal had slept there the night before.

He tensed, spying the results of his late night.

Sheets of formerly white paper littered the floor. Sketches covered the three walls. It appeared as if he'd gone on some drawing binge last night.

Picking up one piece of paper, he studied the drawing. Anthropomorphic cats sprawled along the page. A head here, a hand there, a full body just barely traced out.

The next sheet he picked up had the same theme as the first. On this one he'd focused on an ear, the pointed tip, the hint of fur shading the delicate slope. He'd drawn the ear from the front and back and every other angle he could possibly imagine.

The next sheet portrayed various tails, some rough and some more detailed. There was one covered in crescent shaped spots, and another that had a hint of stripes.

Every sheet he picked up had the same theme. He'd even used up several sheets just drawing eyes. The corners tilted up in amusement, narrowed with heat, wide with surprise.

Turning his attention to the walls, he realized he'd gone into even more detail here. A planet was stretched above his dad's bed, hints of trees and mountains sketched out in minute detail. Around the planet, he'd obviously started and halted several prototypes, because small shadows of round globes circled the larger shape.

He had no idea where he'd gotten this inspiration from, but he wasn't going to complain. It was some of his best work recently. Apparently he only needed to come out to Bumfuck, Nowhere, to get plenty of material for his next project.

The bunk bed wall and the wall by the stairs were covered with various drawings, some of his past work that had been up for years. He'd done that over a decade ago. It'd been so long he barely noticed it anymore.

Darren scratched his belly, looking down at his chest covered only by the freckles he'd cursed since junior high. He was barefoot, his feet peeking out from under the worn and faded jeans. They were a size too large on him -- courtesy of his rebellious teenage years when he'd been in love with a certain rapper/male model. God, that man was gorgeous. Darren sighed in remembrance. He'd jacked off on more than one occasion to pictures of the underwear model.

Hell, at least his own tighty-whiteys weren't showing above the waistband. Come to think of it, he wasn't wearing underwear. His pants were in danger of falling completely off, hanging precariously from his narrow hips. Darren sniffed, trying to remember when he'd last had clean clothes. The jeans he'd originally found in a forgotten cupboard set along the wall beside the stairs. He hadn't realized he'd left clothes behind but he was grateful for it when his previous jeans just about stood up and demanded to be washed.

Making his way down the stairs into the main room of the cabin, he looked around to see what kind of trouble he'd gotten into out here. His dad was going to tear a strip off him. He was still mad about the two walls in the loft, and Darren had done that in his teens.

Directly across from him were more anthropomorphic cats, drawn up and around the front door. Hell, he'd even drawn on the back of the door itself. He was so screwed when his dad saw this.

Cats of every species… some covered in stripes, some in spots, some furry with tufts of fur along their cheeks. The majority of them resembled lions, though, sleek and beautiful cats. With one single big cat front and center dwarfing the others.

Make that cat men, since every one of them was anatomically correct, especially the large lion creature in the center of the wall. He blinked, impressed despite himself. He'd definitely been more than generous when he'd been shading in the cats' nether regions. Good on him, it'd obviously been way too long since he'd been laid.

No way would he get away with that in a movie. Lordy, he still considered himself lucky every time he got a job on another film. The last thing he needed was for some bigwig to see this display and he'd be laughed out of Hollywood for being a perv.

Not that there weren't a fair share of pervs in Hollywood, but he prided himself on being above the rest of the riffraff.

He turned to view the wall to his left, behind the ragged couch. The two windows interrupted the mural, but it was still impressive.

A massive warship sat high within a galaxy of stars. He'd paid special attention to each constellation, meticulously drawing every tiny detail.

This was by far his best work.

The warship was shaded intricately with blue ink, each hatch set apart from the sleek lines of the ship. What appeared to be weapons stood out from the simple style of the rest of the craft, bulging along the sides and at the front. The entire top of the ship was open, the hint of glass reflecting back at him. Shapes were present behind the glass, but he couldn't quite make them out.

"Not bad," he murmured. "A race of alien beings inhabiting a large planet. A ship carrying space explorers from Earth crash lands. Suddenly the cat-like aliens take the humans prisoner, binding them and using them as slaves."

He snorted, laughing at himself.

"Yeah, sounds familiar. Planet of the Apes, anyone? Strike one for Darren. Although it wouldn't be too bad to be used as a sex slave by some of these big guys. Talk about wishful thinking."

 

About the Author

Jade's writing is as eclectic as her reading tastes, with over thirty five erotic romance stories currently published. She has been known to accept writing challenges from friends and family just to see their reactions. Jade is a firm believer that love and romance are universal concepts, no matter a person's gender identity or sexual orientation.

Originally from Northern Ontario, she's lived in British Columbia and the Sultanate of Oman in the Middle East. Jade currently lives in Calgary, Alberta where she's hard at work on her next story. Jade loves to hear from readers!

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LGBTQ Fantasy Romance Feature: Silver Spider by Lena Austin #fantasy #lgbtq #romance #excerpt #comingsoon #rabtbooktours @ChangelingPress @RABTBookTours

A Paranormal Murder Mystery Romance

Fantasy / Romance / LGBTQ+

Date Published: June 5, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

The secretive Duke of Aberystwyth has invited Madge Majesty to a murder mystery party, but he's the first victim!

Madge is a harpy, mystery writer, and amateur sleuth with a nose for murder. At her side is her faithful chauffeur, Hayden, who is a telekinetic ex-thief -- and a confirmed bachelor.

Now it's up to Madge to solve the whodunit. Her suspects are a motley assortment of inverts and very nervous heterosexuals, all of whom have more than just their sexual foibles to hide. Is it the cross-dressing vampire, the packless werewolf, the voyeuristic doctor, the gargoyle majordomo, or the promiscuous man who seems bent on getting everyone into his bed, including Hayden?

Excerpt

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2026 Lena Austin

"Madame?"

Madge Majesty looked up from her study of the papers spread on her lap and across the seat of her beloved 1912 Rolls Royce Silver Ghost Limousine. "Yes, Hayden?"

"Madame, Dunraven Castle is but perhaps half an hour away. You requested a warning." Hayden had lasted years longer than any of her other drivers, so he knew he was liked, but wasn't fool enough to take advantage of that knowledge. Harpies were not creatures to take lightly.

"Hmm. So I did." She gathered up her papers and stuffed them into her leather case. Wearily, she pulled on the gloves she'd laid to the side and put on the ridiculously large hat with an immense array of feathers decorating it. "There. I'm properly adorned." She huffed out an unladylike breath, as much as her corset would allow. "I'd give a great deal to be back in Greece where the fashions were sensible."

Hayden quirked a smile at her. "But not warm, Madame. Wales in winter is considerably chillier." As if to emphasize his point, the wind rattled the Rolls with no respect for the craftsmanship that went into it.

"I'm very sorry I agreed to be the Duke's hostess for this mystery party. Why didn't I refuse and stay in our lovely townhouse in London, where I could enjoy a party or write as I pleased?" Madge rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Ah, well, what's done is done. We'll make the best of the weekend and be toasting our toes in front of the home fires soon enough."

"I've never been to a mystery party, Madame. How does one throw a party for a mystery?"

"Very simple. It's all in this box." Madge patted the locked strongbox beside her. "There are clue cards and the basic plot for me to follow. This one is perfect for a winter game, called The Santa Clause. Who wouldn't love to murder a solicitor or two now and again?" She shrugged. "I certainly would, upon occasion."

Hayden retreated into silence and returned his attention to maneuvering her precious new car through the few treacherous roads that Wales bothered to have at all. The ex-thief was not fond of anyone who had anything to do with the law. He was officially rehabilitated, but a mere ten years of service as her driver didn't negate a lifetime of running from authority. An extremely careful and quiet man by nature, he was -- in Madge's opinion -- the perfect companion, much better than a twittering peahen of a lady's maid.

The car lurched and slid to one side on a patch of icy mud, throwing Madge against the door. She bore it in stoic silence. Hayden wouldn't understand how much they needed the money provided by this weekend of enforced merriment. Everyone was writing books in this day and age, and she wouldn't say the money she earned was paltry, but it certainly didn't allow for a lavish lifestyle. In fact, if the truth were known, Hayden was the only employee she could afford. Thus, while on their jaunts -- often paid by those who wished for a bit of fame and glamour to rub off on them -- Hayden served as chef, chauffeur, lady's maid, and man of all work.

Since it suited her to be knowledgeable about subjects many men hadn't even the stomach for, Madge pulled out of her case one of the few books where the great Sigmund Freud appeared to change his mind on the subject of anxiety and inhibitions. Madge grinned to herself. She did love humor, especially when humans meant to be serious. "Of course we all have inhibitions, moronic little man."

Her mumble caught Hayden's attention. "Why do you bother with that mumbo-jumbo, Madame? He thinks everything has to do with sexual congress!"

"Hmm, yes, well, he does have certain prejudices, doesn't he? I'm not aberrant because I enjoy sex, and I seriously doubt the way your mother changed your nappies has anything to do with your homosexuality. Do be forgiving, dear. He's hopelessly addicted to cocaine, and trapped in a repressed society."

Sadly, everything she said was true. "You'd know more about repressed societies than I, Madame. I'm only a poor human, after all." Hayden gave her one of his infamous Mona Lisa smiles -- a smile that showed no teeth but implied much more than mischief while keeping well into propriety. Bless him, he never stepped a toe out of line publicly, unless called upon to do so.

Madge, on the other hand, had no compunctions about showing her fangs, even when she covered her retractable dagger-like talons with silk gloves. The pointed ears peeking out of dark curls and her Grecian looks marked her as a foreigner in a land notable for its snobbery, but Madge saw no need to bother hiding herself. Well, all right, she hid the wings. Blasted things got in the way if she didn't, but that was for her convenience and not propriety. She was what she was -- an expatriate harpy who told a good story and occasionally found cause to use her bloodthirsty nature to solve a mystery.

The irony was, no one ever thought to accuse her of the murders because harpies weren't known for subtlety when it came to killing. Madge acknowledged the legend with twisted lips, and didn't bother to remind anyone that she was free and no longer the slave of the Furies.

Framed by snow clouds the color of a pigeon's breast, Dunraven Castle hove up from the surrounding hills like a fairytale. Beautifully situated and scrupulously maintained by a trust none of the Duke's wastrel ancestors could touch, it was a welcoming sight in the gathering gloom of dusk. Thanks to the road conditions, if you dared call the deeply rutted mud tracks by the same noble word the Romans used for their craftsmanship, they were hours late. They'd missed tea in their haste to make up time, and now her stomach rumbled audibly. "Have we time for a biscuit, Hayden?"

"Was that your stomach, Madame? Surely I thought we were about to have a storm." Hayden pretended to study the sky very seriously. At the same time, his hand reached back imploringly. "I'd love a bikky, thank you. No doubt I've missed the servant's dinner, and I've no mind to make do with a bit of cold chicken and some bread until morning."

Chuckling wickedly because he knew she always insisted he sit with her at table, forestalling any foolish matchmaking attempts, Madge handed him a large shortbread biscuit from her hamper, and they munched companionably. Finally, the car traversed the bridge atop the dry moat and passed through the portcullis into the courtyard of Dunraven.

"Just do me one small favor, Madame?" Hayden did not move from the seat to open her door.

"So serious! Very well, what is it?" She thought she knew, but made him ask.

"Let's try not to let this weekend become a real murder mystery?" His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, and she imagined under the proper driving gloves of his profession, his knuckles were white. Poor thing, he really had suffered at the last mysterious weekend, and had ended up incarcerated for three days until Madge had proven to everyone's satisfaction that another had committed the deed. For poor Hayden, it had been a truly miserable occasion.

Madge patted his shoulder. "Buck up, Hayden. I'm planning nothing more than a game all weekend. After all, what could happen in the Duke's presence?"

 

About the Author

Someone cursed Lena Austin with "may you have a life so full you'll have many tales to tell your grandchildren." Lena's a "fallen" society wench with a checkered past. She's been a licensed minister, hairdresser, Realtor, radio DJ, exotic dancer, telephone service tech, live-steel medievalist swordswoman, BDSM Mistress, and investment property manager. Not necessarily in that order. She never finished that degree in marine archaeology, but did learn to scuba -- she's got a lifetime of "Research material!"

Hey, why waste these stories on kids who won't listen anyway? Writing them down is a nice way to spend her retirement. What? You expected an ex-BDSM Mistress to take up crocheting or something?

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Gay Historical Romance Feature: Dona Nobis Pacem by Will Okati #excerpt #teaser #comingsoon #mmromance #lgbtq #romance #rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours @changelingpress

Historical Gay Romance

Date Published: May 29, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

Dona Nobis Pacem. God Grant Us Peace.

 

Voiceless Donnell and defrocked priest Nathan are outcasts and strangers at the turn of the century. Despite his handicap, Donnell has made a life for himself as a businessman and owner of a saloon. His heart goes out to those whom life has dealt an unhappy hand. When Nathan arrives in this former gold-rush town, horsewhipped and ill to the point of collapse, Donnell is the only one to offer help.

Barely ordained before being accused of unnatural desires, Nathan has been sent to travel a faux road to Damascus as penance. He did not expect to survive the trek, and longed for the peace he might find when his body gave up the fight.

He never expected to meet someone like Donnell. Despite his lack of voice, Donnell is the teacher Nathan has hungered for all his life, and the lover he never dared seek out. Triumphing over a lifetime's worth of threatened damnation will not be easy to overcome, but Donnell's not giving up. The passion they share is what both men have always craved, but never found. When they're discovered, standing together is the only thing that will save them both.

 

EXCERPT

 

In a fit of optimism, some enterprising settler twenty-odd years ago had named this patch of land "Shady Grove." The name hadn't stuck longer than the first summer, arid heat scorching the life out of anything the daft fellow had tried to plant, and carrying away his wife and children.

After that, or so the story went, the settler had cursed his homestead with the new name of "Hell."

When gold was found not far west in a puny stream, the name changed yet again to "El Dorado." Though that lasted no longer than the rush of miners who picked, panned and mined away most of the precious metal.

When the gold was mostly gone and civilization caught up with the roughneck men who'd blazed through in search of riches, there came bankers, lawyers and doctors, along with their pretty wives and dainty daughters. Amongst themselves, they'd formed a quaint city council, elected a mayor, nominated a marshal, and rechristened this hole in the ground as "Nazareth."

Those whose tongues weren't corseted by the niceties observed in polite society still called the former boomtown "Hell."

As for Donnell, he called it home, and had since the day he was born, a silent infant who'd opened his mouth to wail, but made almost no sound, not then and rarely ever afterward. The best he could manage was a sort of scale of breathing -- a whistle, a shush, a sigh. He'd never spoken a proper word. At least his hearing was top-notch.

Music was Donnell's voice instead, tickled out through the ivories of the old upright piano he'd paid a considerable sum in gold dust to have shipped from Chicago. Within the safe haven of Treighton's saloon, Donnell had placed that piano facing the street, where he'd have a fine view through the mosquito netting over the window when he played.

He could arrange Treighton's however he wanted, no questions asked. Owner's rules and that owner would be him.

Music wasn't his only skill. He was a favored son of Lady Luck, and the cards danced to his tune. Those who thought a mute man was simple, and an easy cheat at faro, often found themselves losing big.

He'd given up the game after winning Treighton's, though. No sense in pushing his luck too far.

A man who'd call himself satisfied with his lot in life, Donnell caressed the piano keys, a jingling tune flowing smooth and sweet as quality whiskey under his mastery of the music. He let the corner of his mouth quirk upward with dry humor. Many were they who'd claimed the son of a whore, muteness aside, would never make anything of his life. They'd been wrong, too.

Did they accept his good fortune with grace? Hell, no. The "proper" folks of Nazareth scorned him still, and always would. Too good for the likes of him and his saloon.

Thank God for sinners, eh?

* * *

A sudden clamor rose from the dusty, uneven street outside, usually quiet and deadly dull during the morning hours while laborers and leftover miners toiled, polite society occupied themselves with polite works, and gamblers slept off their night's fun. Attention captured, Donnell peered through the mosquito netting over his window.

Soon enough, the source of the commotion came into view. Donnell raised one eyebrow, intrigued. A tall, lean man, far too thin for his height. He was dressed in the tattered remnants of a once-respectable shirt, now missing its collar and cuffs, and formerly sturdy denim trousers, with no hat on his head nor shoes on his feet nor a coat on his back. Bleached-out hair stringy from lack of washing and long enough to be caught up in a queue hung over his face and tangled across his eyes.

Donnell leaned forward, instantly captivated. He'd never seen the equal of those eyes, their color distinct even at this distance. Aqua blue, the shade of summer skies, dulled by hunger and pain, but no less remarkable.

In point of fact, were he to be cleaned up and provided with a few good healthy meals, Donnell guessed this young man would easily steal anyone's heart away. Not least of all his.

Not that anyone knew about his preferences. It was safer that way. He came in for scant questioning about his lack of female companionship, as most thought if his tongue didn't work then neither would his cock.

Donnell abandoned those thoughts and focused on the beautiful -- yes, beautiful -- young man instead, a far more pleasant diversion. He'd no stubble on his cheeks or chin, both badly sunburned. Young, then. Tall and gangly enough that at a guess Donnell would have put him in his late teens, no more than twenty, not so far Donnell's junior.

A man could make quite a lot of himself in twenty years plus change. He could raise himself a fine establishment like Donnell's, or he could end up staggering filthy and starving down a dusty, badlands street with children and bad-tempered dogs jeering him every barefooted step of the way.

Donnell frowned when the young man staggered, swaying alarmingly before righting himself. That didn't seem to be clumsiness, but rather weariness. Perhaps illness?

"Drunk," Bettina sniffed, peering past Donnell. She might work in a saloon, but she had no patience with men who behaved badly when they'd had too much of the grape and grain. She didn't scold like the holy men, no, she tore strips off their hides and nailed them to the wall, and they loved her for it.

Barely hearing her, Donnell continued to track the man's progress. Seeming to ignore the rabble jeering at him, he came to a stop and stood up as straight as he could, attempting to brush dust, mud and worse off his clothes, smoothing them down. He dragged his hair out of his face with hands that shook minutely and gazed up the length of the street still to go.

The quiet despair in his eyes struck a chord in Donnell's heart, reverberating with a sense of hollow misery. Here was a man who'd fallen as far as he could go, with a trail of heartbreak behind him that stretched out for as many miles as he'd walked.

Donnell sat back and drummed his fingers on his knees. Poor bastard.

Enough kind souls had helped Donnell in his day. He owed this poor fellow no less.

 

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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LGBTQ Romance Feature: Tales of the Quiet Kitty by Camille Anthony #teaser #excerpt #lgbtq #fantasy #rabtbooktours @changelingpress @RABTBookTours

Sci-Fi Fantasy Romance, LGBTQ+

Date Published: May 15, 2026

These futuristic sci-fi tales are anything but quiet.

Board the Quiet Kitty Waveship and travel with Brant Sel, a Sh'Bahkyr Tygyr and his crew: Bevel-leveB, a Medusoid Jenari with a sentient cock, and Willa, a Sprite from the wounded planet Sparkle.

Brought together by fate, these three have common goals -- to rescue and gather their lost peoples so they can take down the corrupt, brutal Corporation, run by the most evil beings in the three Galaxies... Humans.

Publisher's Note: This box setcontains the previously released Quiet Kitty novellas Under the Cat's Paw, Dancing with the Devil, Holiday Dreams, Naked Secrets, and Cat Scratch Fever.

 

 

EXCERPT

 

Excerpt from Under the Cat's Paw

The door opened and the sensor controlled walkway winked out beneath her weighted feet. Almost sorry to reach her destination -- she so rarely had a chance to see daylight -- Willa plodded heavily into the interview room, her small ankles locked into a pair of slaver's cuffs. Head down, neck bowed, she flicked her eyes about in quick, furtive forays, taking in the room's sparse furnishings: a six foot long cushioned slab and a straight-backed, armless chair. Noting the absence of tweezers, whips, electronic probes and other sadistic devices with a thankful sigh and a renewed sense of hope, she dared to sneak a quick glance at the room's other occupant, determined to somehow influence him to take her with him. A harsh, swift breath lifted her full breasts and set her covering plumes to fluttering.

Before her stood a grey-skinned bi-pedal Being lounging at ease, his long slender hands resting on the upper horizontal bar of a tall-backed chair. He faced her, his nude body -- tall, slim and muscular -- displaying a total lack of self-consciousness. A thick mop of unruly platinum hair waved in the brush of an unseen -- and unfelt -- breeze, falling over his forehead to obscure his sightless silver eyes. His mouth hung open, allowing a nineteen-centimeter tongue, coated with cilia, to protrude slightly.

She identified the Being as a Jenari. A member of a race powerful enough to stand up to the Corporation, his kind usually did not travel in Corporate Space. Jenari rarely mingled with other races, remaining a mystery rarely seen among the Corporation's citizenry. Because of this much speculation abounded regarding their peculiar genetic makeup.

She had heard enough about the genetically blind, Medusoid race to know the Jenari's tongues served as their true "eyes." With their tongues, they "tasted" the air, able to sense their environment more accurately than could most sighted persons.

Currently, the naked alien appeared nonchalant and relaxed. His posture broadcast his sense of control, his power over her in this private chamber, obviously unaware how easily that privacy -- his privacy -- had been breached. The so-called secure interrogation cubicle was anything but, her master having ordered it wired for video and sound, rendering it accessible and easily monitored by him.

The Jenari cocked his head toward her now, giving the impression of eyeing her askance, locating her so accurately, she almost doubted his sightlessness.

"Sso... you are Willa. Your masster tellss me he hass had you trained ass a SSexengineer... capable of keeping a Dinyar-classs Wavesship and a medium number of crew in tip-top orgassmic condition."

The male's sibilant words slid from his lips. He framed his sentences oddly, their cadence broken and rendered choppy by the repeated extrusion of his tongue. The cilia laden appendage darted out between every several words, sipping the air in her direction.

"You look much too fragile for ssuch sstrenuous work. A female of your delicassy sshould be cossseted and cared for... your cunt well conditioned with frequent usse... your ssweet cream churned with a long thick sspoon..."

Willa felt the Jenari's thick voice, his dulcet tones, flowing over her, calming her jangling nerves. Her pussy, long denied any easing, dewed in response to the pictures his words painted. A strong compulsion beat at her, making her want nothing so much as to loll at his feet in adoration.

Strange, how clear his words are, given that he speaks using that crowded appendage... Oh, Drasarka -- not so strange when he is attempting to mind-thrall me!

"Sparkle!"

With a negating shake of her head and an inward surge of disgust at the endless power-games of males, she threw up her mind blocks, easily winning free of the subliminal influence. Angered beyond thinking, she verbally blasted the alien, incensed he would try such a trick on her. "Your mind speak will not work on me, Jenari."

She tossed her head, meeting his renewed mental challenge with a sneer. "I am a Sprite. I cannot be compelled by your voice, nor can your honeyed words thrall me."

The alien's wide mouth spread in a practised movement that aped a smile. "You are a fressh ssassy baggage! I can ssee why your masster ssayss you invite beatingss, sslave!" His lips closed in a thin line, concealing his tongue.

She cringed, damning her mouth and her loss of self-control. By Sparkle! When would she learn to keep her comments to herself? What would she do if her unruly anger lost her this chance of escape?

It had taken too long to convince her master she truly wished to serve his plans by spying for him. She had spent the long, grueling years learning about ship propulsion units, drive flux capacitors and other diverse technical entities for just such a chance as this: escape. During that time, she'd swallowed her gorge and taken the physical abuse and so-called sexual cruelties Lord Avron had doled out, never letting on how his milder tortures ignited her carnal hungers. She'd only slipped up once, but that lapse had proven costly.

Avron had somehow learned she needed his release -- any partner's release -- inside her, needed the life-giving fluid of come washing the walls of her sex in order to flourish and grow a healthy set of pinions and fronds. Since that time, he'd kept her at the minimum edge of physical and psionic sexual starvation, taking pleasure in gauging what lengths she would go to, the degradations she would endure in order to receive a few drops of come.

Years of maneuvering, of posturing and subterfuge had paid off. Lately, unrest and political furor had escalated within the Corporation. Due to financial setbacks and personal miscalculations, Lord Avron had lost respect among his peers. The other Corporation Lords, like canker-phish -- more deadly than the great blalor-sharks of Trofu that devoured their own young -- hovered about, sniffing around his weakness, waiting for his failure. Her master had been forced to regroup, jettisoning some of his plans for advancement just to maintain his present lofty position among the powerful despots.

Unwilling to go outside his private power base to obtain help and whatever information he sought, it had been easy to convince him of her willingness to win the position as Sexengineer aboard the Quiet Kitty Waveship and garner information from its crew to transmit back to him. Why he had become obsessed with this vessel, she neither knew nor cared. All that concerned her lately was finding her scattered people. Sparkle called for her and its other children, its summons an imperative she could not ignore. Time was fast running out for her. If she messed this interview up, she knew Avron would kill her.

Belly roiling with resentment, she averted her face to hide her grimace and abased herself before the alien -- probably her last chance at freedom. "I offer apologies to you, Gentle-Being. I beg you to take no offence."

"Be at easse, Ssprite. I tesst all who sseek to sserve aboard my vesssel. No one sso eassily controlled iss welcomed aboard my Quiet Kitty. Let uss begin anew..."

One long arm extended palm up, in the manner of greeting peculiar to her slavers, the alien stepped from behind the chair, unerringly approaching Willa. "I am Bevel, masster of the Quiet Kitty Waveship."

She choked, eyes riveted in desperate immediate hunger to his newly revealed sex. Obviously, her information loop had seriously failed to include some pertinent data...

Standing before her, hands extended, awaiting her acknowledgement of his greeting, the alien was an impressive sight. Or rather, the impressive sight was his more than ten inch penis swaying lazily between his grey muscular thighs. A darker grey than the rest of his skin, the Medusoid cock undulated back and forth, its serpent-like moves hypnotic, compelling, drawing her fascinated gaze.

 

About the Author

A funny thing happened on the way to the grave... In 2006, Cammy was diagnosed with Pulmonary Sarcoidosis and given two weeks to live. She promptly discharged herself AMA -- Against Medical Advice -- since, as she stubbornly informed her doctors, she could die at home far more comfortably than at the hospital. But then... she got an idea for a new story. Then another, and another...

Fifteen years and dozens of fantastic tales later, Cammy passed quietly in her sleep, at home, as was her wish. We miss her. Her work lives on, and we hold her in our hearts. Cammy decided many years ago that upon her passing, she wished to donate her royalties to The Quiet Kitty fund, which helps authors with emergency medical expenses. We do, to keep her in our hearts and minds.

 

Find Camille’s other works at Changeling Press

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