Category Archives: Teasers

Taken by the Maine Coon Teaser

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Paranormal Women’s Fiction, Urban Fantasy

Date Published: May 2, 2025

 

 

A big cat and a woman without magic could just be the right
combination.

 

Meela Durning swears she doesn’t belong in Eerie. She’s not
magical. Never has been, but she’s the child of paranormals. When
she’s forced to return to Eerie to sort out the problems from her
past, she finds a big, fluffy cat. The animal lover in her has to make sure
the feline gets home. He could be missing. Someone has to want him,
right?

Aslan Maine has known from the moment he met Meela that she was destined to
be his. He’s seen her in his dreams. When she picks him up to return
him to his rightful home, he can’t hide his secret any longer.
He’s no ordinary cat!

She can’t believe her eyes when the fluffball she rescued shifts into
the sexiest man she’s ever seen. When he offers her forever,
she’s got to decide if she deserves to be alone or to have a future
with the handsome shifter.

 

If she can survive her past, she can have him. Right?

 

Taken by the Maine Coon teaser

 

EXCERPT

“Christ, I’m tired.” Meela Durning stretched and cracked
her back. She shook her head, then closed her laptop. She hadn’t
spoken to anyone in particular. There wasn’t anyone there to hear her.
Just as well. When she’d had someone there to listen, he hadn’t
listened. Hadn’t wanted to be there, either.

She’d grown used to being alone.

Tonight, she didn’t want to be by herself. It wasn’t like she
could poof a man into existence. She’d wanted to try that for ages,
but with no magical abilities, a spell was out of the question. She supposed
she could summon one, but that only worked in her dreams and she swore it
had nothing to do with magic. Just her overly active imagination.

She shrugged, then stretched her legs before standing. The man of her
dreams might only be in said dreams, but that didn’t matter. He
couldn’t let her down that way. Didn’t have faults. He wanted to
be there. Wanted to please her. Wanted to be with her.

Unlike her ex — the rotten troll.

She sighed and pushed in her chair. She didn’t even have a fish.
She’d wanted a cat, but the building manager didn’t permit
animals that had fur. Ridiculous rules.

She checked that the apartment door was locked, then picked up her phone
before switching off the lights. She padded into the bedroom. Once she
tossed the phone onto the bed, she made her way into the bathroom. She
stripped out of her shirt, and bra, then her jeans and panties, returning to
the bedroom long enough to don her sleep shirt. She brushed her teeth, but
her thoughts turned to the man of her dreams.

She paused, mid-brushing. Man of her dreams. That sounded so silly. The
only time he’d ever appeared physically, she’d been
asleep.

A vision of him formed in her mind. Tall, muscled, but not huge…
thick dark-blond hair with just a bit of shag to it. Enough to remind her of
a superhero, with his hair blowing in the breeze. Twinkling green eyes, a
wicked smile that hinted at mischief, but he’d been a gentleman. A
dusting of hair from his navel to below the belt.

She’d never seen his cock, but she’d felt it. Heat washed over
her. She swore she’d felt his hands on her body, the way he’d
touched her and kissed every inch of her. He took care of her. Treated her
like a treasure. Like she had worth.

She knew damn well she had value. It’d taken her years to figure that
out, but now that she knew, she wasn’t about to let anyone tell her
otherwise. She refused to be a doormat again.

Meela finished in the bathroom and switched off the light before crawling
between the sheets. Something in her bed vibrated. For a moment, she thought
she’d left a toy from the night before. When a rectangle lit up
beneath the blankets, she remembered — her phone. She must’ve lost it
under the blankets when she climbed into bed. She retrieved the irksome
device and checked the notifications.

An email. Now what? She swiped to retrieve the message. Overdrawn.

“You have to be kidding me,” she muttered. She swiped to her
banking app. Sure enough, the money she’d expected to be deposited
there… wasn’t. Her ex-husband hadn’t bothered to pay
alimony. Again.

She scrubbed one hand across her forehead, then checked her texts. The
asshole hadn’t messaged her. Hadn’t bothered to let her know
he’d be a bigger asshole by not paying. She did the math in her head.
This was the sixth month in a row he hadn’t bothered to deposit the
money. The fucker.

She switched back to her banking app and shifted money from her savings to
the checking to cover her bills. Once satisfied everything would be paid out
of her wages from the software company, she brought up the chat box to her
lawyer.

Eerie, Ohio, wasn’t exactly her favorite place to go. She
didn’t belong there. She had paranormal blood, but no magic.
Couldn’t conjure, summon, wake the dead… wasn’t a
shifter, vampire, necromancer, faerie… Nothing about her was
extraordinary. She’d simply been the child of a conjurer and a
celebrity psychic. All she had was her bloodline.

But if she wanted to meet with her lawyer, she’d have to go back to
the place of her birth. She’d have to head back to Eerie. Would have
to talk to Norm Slone, divorce lawyer gnome. His name had a distinctive ring
to it. No one forgot him. Thankfully, he could be a junkyard dog in the
courtroom, too.

She opened the chat box and sent him a message.

Need to meet with you. Tiernan isn’t paying alimony. Sixth month in a
row. Tired of being shafted. Help?

She hit SEND, then darkened the phone and tossed it onto the side table. If
Norm Slone had time for her, he’d let her know in the morning.
Besides, she didn’t want to give her ex any extra space in her mind.
He owned too much as it was. Some days, he lived there rent free. Those were
the days she second-guessed divorcing him. She’d loved the troll once,
hadn’t she? Thought they could make a future together, right? A woman
with no magic and a troll could make things work, in theory. The more she
considered her past, the faster she remembered the reason she’d left
Tiernan. He’d only married her under the assumption she’d
inherit money from her parents.

Wrong.

After the wedding, when he found out she was penniless, he’d walked
out. He claimed he wasn’t interested in her any longer. He had to work
late. He’d made friends with other people. Their lives were going in
different directions. Other days, he simply didn’t speak to her.

He’d packed his belongings up in the middle of the night and walked
out.

Her head ached. She’d lost a dozen years of her life to him. Years
she could’ve been happy. Could’ve been single but making the
best of her situation. Instead, she’d tried her damnedest to keep the
marriage together. Tried to make herself loveable to him again.

What a waste. He wasn’t going to love her then or now… or
ever. She had to stop living in the past and thinking about what
wasn’t going to happen in order to focus on the future — whatever
future she had.

She switched off the light and snuggled in her blankets. She might not be
living with anyone, but then again, she didn’t have to share the bed.
Didn’t have to argue with anyone. Didn’t have to explain
herself. But the loneliness overwhelmed her at times.

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to forget the day, forget her
situation for a little while. Forget her Ex. Time to dream. She loved her
dreams. Her mysterious stranger showed up when she closed her eyes.

 

 

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.

 

Author on Facebook

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Author on Instagram

 

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

 

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Diving Into the Beloved Teaser

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Poetry, Art

Date Published: 10-14-2024

Publisher: Infinite Heart Publications

 

 

The Timeless Dance of Love and Devotion

These poetic verses explore the timeless and transcendent nature of love,
where beauty and devotion surpass the boundaries of time and space. The
writer evokes a cosmic connection between two souls, celebrating love as an
eternal, infinite force that binds them together in a dance of passion and
unity. 

 

 

 Excerpt

Hands of the Clock

 

Beloved, when I’m with you

the hands of the clock tremble.

Your beauty stuns them

and their raison d’etre disappears through a crack in time

 

like the intoxicated bee whose ecstatic nectar-drinking

made him forget to fly before the lotus blossom closed for the evening.

 

I too am in No Man’s Land after tasting you.

 

Like the hands of the clock, your beauty has stopped a thing within me.

 

I only seem fit to write rogue love poems

and sing tavern songs of intoxication and wonder.

 

Please give me another job

because, like the clock hands, my own raison d’etre

 

seems lost in the crack between waking and dream,

that majestic ocean of silence

stretching past infinity—

 

holding a silly bubble afloat

until it is no more.

About the Author

Lark Compton

Lark enjoys being a hermit and staying out of the limelight.

He has been know to accidentally bodysurf with turtles at play.

He leaves them alone and they leave him alone.

Everyone’s happy.

 

Contact Link

Website

 

Purchase Link

https://mybook.to/DivingIntotheBeloved

Amazon

 

 

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Crossing Fifty-One Teaser

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Death & Grief, Parenting, Self-Help

Date Published: 06-20-2023

Publisher: Koehler Books

 

 

A week before Christmas 1951, Dr. Ralph Russell risked everything to
voluntarily enter a locked federal drug-treatment facility known as a
“narcotic farm.”

Sixty-five years later, Dr. Russell’s granddaughter Debbie suffers a
debilitating crisis of identity when her father (Dr. Russell’s oldest son),
always her biggest fan, is accepted into hospice.

Debbie’s investigation into her paternal lineage reveals family secrets and
ignites her mother’s volatile outbursts, propelling her into therapy.

When therapy fails her, the grandfather Debbie never knew saves her, and
she collaborates with her dying father one last time to make her biggest
dream come true.

 

Crossing Fifty-One pulls back the curtain on the internal struggles of
midlife and provides a blueprint for redefining one’s self beyond the
constraints of addiction and dysfunctional family dynamics.

 

 

Excerpt

Chapter 1

 

Now: Christmas 2015

 

“Should I call 911?” The server smiles politely, her eyes
locked on Dad.

“Let’s give it a minute,” I respond, attempting to
project a pleasant, calm demeanor I don’t actually feel. The last
thing Dad wants is to be responsible for lunch being called off.

Miraculously, Mum nervously agrees.

Nodding, the server glides away.

Slumped in his chair, eyes closed, Dad does not move. At least he’s
not thrashing around on the floor. That would draw too much attention.

The muted sounds of conversation and clinking silverware blend seamlessly
with Nat King Cole’s “Have Yourself a Merry Little
Christmas.” The upscale St. Paul restaurant, a lovely relic of the
Victorian era, is decked out in holiday splendor, appealing to Mum’s
heightened need for that certain aesthetic. My reservation has secured us a
cozy table near the fireplace. We are tucked behind one of several
glittering Christmas trees scattered throughout the restaurant. Table
placement is key. Mum cherishes her privacy even when dining out.

However, despite all my efforts at concealment, a young woman makes her way
over to our table. “I wasn’t meaning to eavesdrop,” she
begins, “but I work in a nursing home, and this happens pretty
regularly.”

Her gentle voice calms me but glancing at Mum and seeing the fake smile she
dons like a mask, I feel my heart beat a bit faster. We have been
exposed.

The young woman continues. “One little trick I’ve learned is to
put a Kleenex or napkin in front of the person’s face to monitor their
breathing.”

I could see Dad was breathing, but now I struggle to control the slight
panic that has crept in and taken its place in my chair at our table.

I suppose there are worse ways to go.

Since Dad’s Parkinson’s diagnosis over a decade ago, I’ve
had a front-row seat to his slow disappearance. Once the buffer and the glue
for our little family, he now struggles to fulfill his most important role:
keeping Mum happy. This morning, he insisted that he could manage the
holiday lunch outing, but just getting from the car into the restaurant was
touch and go.

I exhaled once we were seated at our semi-secluded table. We ordered our
food, and Mum immediately began prattling on about how lovely everything
looked. I nodded and smiled, playing my role as a dutiful, devoted daughter.
When Mum finally paused her soliloquy, we both glanced over at Dad.

He was out cold.

That was about ten minutes ago. Or was it ten hours? I can’t
tell.

Mum keeps talking. I guess it helps her take her mind off her unconscious
husband. I keep smiling while monitoring Dad’s breathing out of the
corner of my eye. The restaurant staff hovers in as nice a way as possible.
Finally, we agree that 911 should be called.

After what seems like forever, three burly paramedics make their way back
to our table. By this time, Dad is coming around.

“What did I miss?” He smiles weakly.

His smile fades as he glances over at Mum.

“I’m so very sorry.”

About the Author

Debbie Russell

Debbie Russell is a lawyer-turned writer. She spent twenty-five years as an
Assistant County Attorney in Minneapolis, prosecuting numerous high-profile
cases—specializing in those involving domestic and child abuse. At age
fifty-five, Debbie took early retirement, giving up a full pension for the
freedom of time. She now spends that precious time writing, restoring her
property to native prairie and wetlands, and training her rambunctious
retrievers.

Debbie’s first published article appeared in the Minneapolis Star
Tribune in 2001. After that small triumph, her writing focused primarily on
legal briefs and memoranda, which were consigned to district court files.
Debbie resumed creative writing in 2014 when she began her storytelling blog
by sharing personal stories and professional experiences that touched her
life in a significant way. Her top-ranked December 2021 article for Elephant
Journal, an online journal that celebrates the mindful life is entitled
“Getting the Most out of Therapy: Easier Said than Done,” and is
partially based on events in her book.

Debbie’s award-winning book, Crossing Fifty-One: Not Quite a Memoir, was
released in June of 2023. In 2024, she became a regular contributor to the
Minnesota Star Tribune, writing about criminal justice and adjacent
issues.

 

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Twitter

Blog

Goodreads

Instagram

 

Purchase Links

https://mybook.to/CrossingFiftyOneBook

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

iBooks

 

 

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Azrael Teaser Tuesday

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Devil’s Boneyard MC (#13)

Romantic Suspense / MC Romance

Date to Be Published: April 25, 2025

Publisher:  Changeling Press

 

 

Sometimes, to find yourself, you have to get lost in the shadows. Are you
ready to embrace the darkness?

 

Zara: My mother vanished without a trace, and no one seems willing to help.
Except for one enigmatic figure whispered about in hushed tones: the Angel
of Death, Azrael, a guardian of justice who ensures bad men meet their fate.
I set out to find him. I didn’t count on finding him to be the sexiest man
I’d ever met, or falling for him. In his arms, I find an unexpected
sanctuary. I should be terrified of his violent world, but he offers me
safety and ignites a passion I’ve never felt before.

Azrael: I live in the shadows, doing whatever I must to protect those who
have lost all hope. It’s no place for a woman. Then I met Zara.  Her
fierce spirit and unwavering courage break down my walls. I’ll stop at
nothing to bring her mother home, even if it means I leave a trail of bodies
in my wake. For Zara, I’d do anything, even walk through hell itself. I
never wanted to fall in love… but now that I have, I’ll do anything to
keep my new family safe. I’m the monster who hunts other monsters, the one
who defends those who can’t protect themselves. Now I need to make sure that
darkness doesn’t touch those I love, or die trying.

 

Lose yourself in a world where love conquers fear, and courage fights
against the darkness.

Azrael paperback

Excerpt

Copyright ©2025 Harley Wylde

 

I grabbed some paper towels and wet them, wiping at the blood spatters on
my shirt. Better to have a wet shirt than one covered in red. When I was
done, I washed my hands once more then dried them. As I stared at my
reflection, I tried to see my mother in me. I’d never known my dad,
but I liked to think I didn’t have a damn thing in common with
him.

My mom been dead a long-ass time. Cancer took her slow, gave me time to say
goodbye but not enough time to become the man she’d wanted me to be.
College educated. Safe job. Family.

“Sorry, Mom,” I whispered. “Didn’t quite work out
that way.”

Instead, I’d found the Devil’s Boneyard. Or they’d found
me. Stripes had seen something in me. Potential, he called it. Cinder had
given me purpose. The club had given me family.

Would she understand? I’d like to think so. Mom had been pragmatic
about the world. “Sometimes good people have to do bad things to
protect what matters,” she’d told me once, after I’d
gotten suspended for breaking a bully’s nose. She hadn’t
approved, exactly, but she’d understood.

The men in that alley weren’t good people. They would have brought
poison into our town, destroyed lives, all for profit. I’d stopped
that. Three lives against how many I’d potentially saved?

The math made sense to me, even if it wouldn’t have to her.

I checked myself in the mirror one more time. No visible blood. Nothing to
attract attention. I ran my fingers through my hair and practiced looking
normal. Not too hard. I’d gotten good at it over the years.

Before leaving, I wiped down everything I’d touched. The
Devil’s Boneyard had friends in the police department, but certain
habits kept you alive in this business. Attention to detail. Never get
sloppy.

I unlocked the door. The attendant glanced up as I passed, his gaze moving
over me in assessment.

“You look better,” he said, voice gravelly from years of
cigarettes.

I stopped. “Better than what?”

He shrugged. “Than when you came in. Like maybe you found what you
were looking for.”

Something about his stare made me take a closer look. The tattoo peeking
out from his sleeve wasn’t just any ink. I recognized the style.
Prison work.

“Maybe I did,” I said carefully. “You work here
long?”

“Long enough to know when to mind my own business.” He tapped
his finger against the counter. “Long enough to know what kind of men
come through here needing to clean up.

I felt my muscles tense, ready for trouble. “That right?”

He nodded toward my cut. “Devil’s Boneyard. You boys do good
work. Kept my sister’s kid off the shit when the Undead Serpents were
running it through here. I respect that.”

I relaxed slightly. “Just doing what needs doing.”

“Heard there’s new players moving in. Minions or some
shit.” He spat into a cup beside the register. “Bad news, those
boys. No respect.”

“No respect,” I agreed. “And not long for this world if
they keep pushing.”

He nodded, understanding passing between us. “Good hunting,
brother.”

I pushed open the door, night air cool against my face. The town spread out
before me, lights glittering in the darkness. Most people out there had no
idea what happened in the shadows to keep them safe. They didn’t know
about men like me, or the lines we crossed so they wouldn’t have
to.

That was fine. Let them sleep easy. I’d carry the weight of what
I’d done tonight. Add it to all the rest. It wasn’t a burden
anymore — just the price of the life I’d chosen.

I started my bike and pulled onto the empty street. The compound waited,
and after that, more work to be done. The town needed cleaning, and I was
just getting started.

I rolled through the gates of the Devil’s Boneyard compound just past
midnight, the tension easing from my shoulders as I passed under the
skull-adorned archway. Home. Or the closest thing to it I’d had in
years. Floodlights illuminated the lot where dozens of bikes stood in neat
rows, chrome glinting like scattered stars. Two Prospects snapped to
attention as I pulled up.

“They’re waiting for you,” one of them said, not meeting
my eyes directly. Smart kid. He’d learn the rules fast enough — never
look too eager, never too scared. Balance was everything in this life. After
the shit we’d dealt with, we’d cracked down on the rules when
bringing in Prospects. Too many rotten apples.

“How long they been in there?” I asked.

“‘Bout an hour. Stripes came in with news from town, then
Samurai showed up. Charming’s still in his office.”

I nodded and headed for the clubhouse. The two-story building had been
renovated recently. Now it was somewhere between a fortress and
headquarters.

The heavy door opened to the sound of classic rock and the smell of
whiskey, smoke, and leather. Our main room sprawled before me, all exposed
brick and worn hardwood floors. The long bar against the far wall gleamed
with decades of polishing. Trophy pipes and old photos covered the walls,
history and legacy looking down on each new generation.

Three of my brothers played pool in the corner, their laughter cutting
through Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Simple Man” pumping from the
speakers. A couple of club girls lounged on the couches, one stretching like
a cat as I walked in. She smiled, inviting. I gave her a nod but kept
moving. Business first.

Stripes and Samurai sat at the bar, hunched over amber-filled glasses,
their heads close in conversation. Stripes spotted me first.

“The hunter returns,” he said, his Russian accent thick as
always. “Was beginning to think you’d fallen into trouble,
brother.”

I slid onto the stool beside him. “Takes more than a few Minion punks
to cause me trouble.”

The Prospect behind the bar, Harland, had a glass of Jack in front of me
before I could ask. Smart kid. I took a long swallow, the burn a welcome
friend after the night’s work.

“You find what Charming sent you for?” Samurai asked, his voice
quiet.

“Found it and handled it.” I set my glass down. “Three of
them doing a weapons exchange in the alley behind Murphy’s. High-end
stuff — Glocks, AR-15s, quality ammo. Not street-level shit. Bag is on my
bike.”

Stripes whistled low. “They’re arming for war,
then.”

About the Author

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

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

Author on Facebook, Instagram, & TikTok: @harleywylde

 

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

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Summer Fated To Be Mine Teaser

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YA, Coming of Age, Urban, Romance

Date Published: 05-06-2025

 

 

First Love is Overrated 

This summer these two broken souls discover if your second love can make
you forget your first

 

Growing up, the Morelli brothers were close

Their kinship sinks deeper than the Titanic the summer they both fall for
the same girl. Zakiah always felt Iliana Kaplan’s heart belonged to him. All
along, it has been their story, until fate removed the blindfold.

Everything falls apart when Zakiah realizes Iliana will never give him her
whole heart. This time, the middle brother, Elijah, won’t be able to repair
the damage. A rift is torn amid all of them, and nothing will ever be the
same again.

Two years later, when love comes knocking on his door, Zakiah strays from
his motto. He can’t pretend the connection he feels with Glory Glover isn’t
real. He just can’t afford to fall victim to love again—already
learned that lesson the hard way.

Life drops the other shoe. When his dad reveals who his betrothed is,
there’s no running from what fate has in store. Can your second love make
you forget your first? Zakiah must decide if love only exists in fairytales.
No matter what choice he makes, it won’t be easy to find what’s truly his to
behold.

What happened in the spring might’ve made him forget his summertime dreams,
but reality rarely has a silver lining.

 

 

About the Author

B. Truly logo

B. Truly has wanted to be an author since she was fifteen years old. She is
grateful to have accomplished this dream. B. Truly has very vivid dreams and
a wild imagination. She likes to read, watch tons of TV shows, and movies.
She’s addicted to romance and gets a thrill out of suspense and
sci-fi. She writes young adult, new adult, and adult romance, sci-fi,
dystopian, paranormal, and urban genres.

B. Truly likes to explore conflicted plots of romance with thrilling
twists. She also loves creating impossible situations for her characters to
grow from and try to overcome.

B. Truly has three wonderful children, and a husband who defines the person
that she is today. She works full-time as an Ultrasound technologist in
Houston, Texas.

Contact Links

Facebook

Twitter

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Preorder Today

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