Taken by the Faerie Teaser Tuesday

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Paranormal Women’s Fiction, Urban Fantasy

Date Published: January 10, 2025

 

 

Thaddeus Maguire is a vampire. He can’t remember the last time he
felt young, vibrant and alive. He’s made choices he regrets, but when
one of those mistakes comes back to haunt him, he’s forced to face his
past. The only place a hungry, beaten vampire can heal and recharge is the
best sanctuary for anyone paranormal. Eerie.

When he forces himself through a portal to his hometown, he lands at the
feet of the most beautiful flame-red haired Faerie he’s ever seen. The
moment he looks up at Tasia, he’s in love. But who could love a broken
vampire?

Tasia isn’t afraid of the damaged vampire, and she’s determined
to make him see he’s more than his mistakes.

Can they outrun his past and find a future before his biggest mistake
destroys them? Love is possible when you’ve been taken by the
Faerie.

 

 

EXCERPT

 

“You’re dangerous.”

“I know.” Clayton’s eyes flashed. “I also know
you’re sending them to Eerie. I can’t touch them there, but I
can touch you here. Send another and I’ll fuck you up.”

“You will?” He had no doubt. Clayton didn’t care who he
hurt as long as he got what he wanted. “Why is that?”

“Because I made them for food. I made them so I can use them. I made
them because I want a fucking army.” Clayton stepped into
Thaddeus’s personal space. “I made them so they’ll fight
vermin like you.”

“Like me? Come now. That’s so harsh.” He shouldn’t
bait Clayton, but he didn’t care. He’d allowed Clayton and his
band of marauders to screw with his life for years. No more. “What are
you going to do about it? Are you going to kick my ass again? You’ve
done it so much that it’s lost the threat.”

“Oh?” Clayton punched hard into Thaddeus’s stomach. The
impact threw Thaddeus backward and would’ve knocked the wind out of
him — if he’d have had breath in his body. Not for years.

Thaddeus winced and gritted his teeth, but grinned. “Is that all you
have?”

“No.” Clayton withdrew a butterfly knife from his pocket and
slashed it through the air. He hacked into Thaddeus’s chest, leaving
trails of gray blood in his wake. He sliced down Thaddeus’s arm, then
across his belly. He shoved the knife into Thaddeus’s abdomen.
“Had enough?”

“I’m good. Wear yourself out.” He didn’t want
another slashing, but he wasn’t about to show that. The less Clayton
knew he was in pain, the better.

“You can’t protect all of them. Can’t save them or even
be the good guy. You’ll never redeem yourself,” Clayton said. He
twisted the knife. “You went down that road years ago and you
can’t undo it, so don’t try. Accept you’re a fucking loser
and will never be anything but.” He yanked the knife out and shook the
blood onto the asphalt as if the blood were water on his sleeve. He walked
away, then glanced over his shoulder and pointed to his eyes.

Of course, he was being watched. That’s how these beings worked. No
one ever got away free.

Thaddeus held his belly and managed to form a portal. Fucker. Clayton had
done a number on him this time. It’d take a few days to recover. He
would — vampires didn’t die without involving silver or crucifixes,
and Clayton was smart enough not to use either.

He couldn’t protect the human world forever. The regular
world’s vastness was more than one being could handle. He’d need
help.

Then again, he couldn’t be the only protector.

Jesus H. Christ. Where were the others? Asleep at the wheel?
Probably.

He shook his head and stepped through the portal into Eerie and quickly
closed the opening behind him. The faster he sealed the opening, the better
the chances he could get away from Clayton, even if only for now.

He sank to the ground and bowed his head. He needed to recharge. Fuck, he
should find a nice corner and hide. His skin would eventually seal over and
the damage within him would go away, but a good meal would help. Being in
Eerie didn’t mean he’d find one quickly.

He’d fought off Clayton for years, but he couldn’t keep going.
Not like this. Besides, why in the name of hell did Clayton need to destroy
so much?

He lifted his head and drank in his surroundings. He’d forgotten how
bright the town could be. After a moment, he realized he’d stepped
into the Faerie block. God love those Faeries; they lived for their
audacious colors.

Then there he was — he hated anything that wasn’t black. Blend in
and don’t be seen.

He looked around and his stomach churned. Not from the lack of blood, but
the sickeningly sweet location. There had to be at least three cupcake shops
on the block. Who needed so much sugar?

Not him.

“Excuse me. Do you need help?” A red haired Faerie, dressed in
a pale green dress, touched his shoulder. When he met her gaze, electricity
shot through him. His skin tingled from her touch. When she smiled, she
warmed him throughout. The odd look in her eyes confused him, though. Was
that interest or fear?

“You do need help. Are you… you’re cut. Oh, Hera, please
let me help you.” She grasped him under his arms and hoisted him to
his feet. “What happened to you? No, I get it. I see, and I’m
not letting you languish out here.”

“What are you talking about?” He didn’t understand how
she’d figured out he had a problem, other than the slashes and blood.
The way she talked, it was like she knew what was going on. Had she seen
other vampires coming to Eerie after being assaulted? How many more of them
were there? “How do you seem to know what I’m thinking?
What’s in my gut?”

“We should talk.” She nodded to a bench, then paused. “We
could stop here by the street, but you’re safer if you come with me to
the Hall. We’ll go to my work.”

“You’re a cop.” He dug in his heels as best he could.
“I’m not going to the cops.” He’d done that plenty
of other times and usually landed in jail for twenty-four hours for what was
claimed to be his own protection. Har. More like the protection of the
community.

If he’d gone mad or gone rogue, then everyone was in danger, but he
hadn’t on either account. He was just fine. Hurt, but fine. Beyond
that, the cops tended to have mages and necromancers on their staff who
could read his mind. They’d see way more than he wanted to
share.

 

 

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 Links

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

 

 

Pre-Order Today

 

 

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The Storm Descends Virtual Book Tour

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Demon Storm, Book 7

 

Young Adult Fantasy

Date Published: 12-13-2024

Publisher: Shadow Spark Publishing

 

 

The Catalyst is quiet

The Catalyst is quiet.

Kari struggles with the damage she did when she lost control.  Her
loved ones suffered at her hands, leaving Ari scarred in ways she will never
be able to ignore.

How he survived?  Only the Seraph of Nalmi knows.

Then a request arrives, a simple task compared to everything else she has
been through: travel as Freehaven’s emissary and meet with Brianna, a
now-ancient half demon who destroyed the first demon city across the sea –
and who may have some information on defeating the Catalyst for good.
Kari, Ari, and Guine prepare to cross the Demon Sea…

But the shadows await them.

  

The Storm Descends tablet

EXCERPT

Kari knelt in a field of dark grass beneath a dark cloud pouring dark rain. Ari lay limp in her arms, dead to the world. She bowed her head over his prone body, colder than death even without the rain to drench them. It pattered, loud against her flicking ears—the only sound all around.

“Wake up, Ari, please,” she whispered to his chest, clutching him tighter. “Please.” Her voice broke, and a wail wrenched free.

“Love makes you weak.”

Kari’s head shot up at the whisper, but there was no one around. There was only the rain, hissing now, each drop harder and sharper.

“You are a plague.”

The whispers came from the rain, now searing pinpricks rather than drops of frozen water. Gritting her teeth, Kari lifted Ari, held him close to her chest, and ran.

“One day, you will wish for the power you forsake!”

Kari’s feet sloshed through thick, black puddles. She slipped and barely managed to roll onto her back before she and Ari fell. She grunted, struggled to get back up with his weight.

A beam of light broke the murky sky. Kari squinted at it; the sight filled her with an unexplainable, instinctual hope. She pushed off from the muddy ground—harder now with her and Ari both sopping wet—and ran for the light.

“PLEASE!” she screamed to the sky. “SAVE HIM!”

It was all she wanted; she would give anything—anything.

“You have a destiny.” This whisper was deeper, ancient—a voice so full of raw power, it grabbed Kari’s spine and forced her to straighten. “Vessels do not earn worldly attachments.”

Velthas. His pull was strong even now, even though she had not seen the Tree in weeks—months. Forced rigid, Kari dragged her eyes to the beam of light.

“Holy light,” she managed through a jaw clenched shut. She curled her fingers around Ari. “I forsake everything else to you.”

A ripple—the jarring snap of something breaking in her mind. Kari gasped and fell forward, barely catching herself on one hand before she collapsed on top of Ari.

The rain slowed, she thought; at least, she felt the pattering on her back less. She closed her eyes, hoping, wishing, praying.

Fingers touched her cheek. Her eyes flew open and found Ari’s eyes—green as the deepest forest. He lifted one corner of his mouth tiredly.

“You’ll carry my faith, won’t you?” he whispered. “My light?”

 

About the Author

Valerie Storm

Valerie Storm was raised in Tucson, Arizona. Growing up, she fell in love
with everything fantasy. When she wasn’t playing video games, she was
writing. By age ten, she began to write her own stories as a way to escape
reality. When these stories became a full-length series, she considered the
path to sharing with other children & children-at/heart looking for a
place to call home.

 

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Operation Nightfall Virtual Book Tour

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The Web of Spies

 

Espionage / Thriller

Date Published: 9/17/24

Publisher: FJK-KW Press

 

 

Former SOE operative Luba Haas and MI6 agent Natalie Jenkins secretly enter
Poland in 1948 to meet with a sleeper agent and anti-communist insurgents,
not realizing their mission has been compromised by a mole deep inside
British intelligence. Hunted by both Soviet and Polish security services,
they attempt a harrowing escape, not knowing whom they can trust as they try
to outrun their pursuers.

Inspired by the true events of Poland’s anti-communist insurgency, the
Cambridge Five spy scandal, and a covert British operation to roll back
communism to the borders of the USSR, Operation Nightfall: The Web of Spies
sheds light on a lesser known story of the Cold War and immerses readers
into the shadowy world of spy-versus-spy operations.

Operation Nightfall tablet

EXCERPT

As Lieutenant Colonel Yuri Sokolov’s green Russian staff car moved slowly along the narrow forest road, it came upon a sharp bend, a spot where the road turned back onto itself at a nearly 270-degree angle. He knew immediately this was the spot where the incident occurred. His source described the location to him perfectly and said he should see it for himself. There had been

increasing cases of vandalism. Windows on government buildings had been smashed, and party officials had been harassed and threatened. But this was the first direct attack resulting in loss of life in the Gdansk Pomerania region of Northwest Poland. There had been attacks near Warsaw but that was over four-hundred kilometers to the southeast and Sokolov was troubled that violence was now in the region. But that was the reason why he was here.

His source described an act of violence so brutal it would stoke fear amongst the Polish militia and the security services. Their fear would lead to distrust and anger towards the local population. They would never know whom they could trust, and they’d turn their distrust and anger into retaliation and retribution. It was predictable. In Sokolov’s mind it was a natural human reaction. He had seen it time and time again and had used distrust and anger to his advantage throughout his career.

Sokolov leaned forward from his seat in the rear of the vehicle, motioned to his driver, and said, “Pull over there. Over there on the right, next to that large tree,” pointing to a fir that stood at the edge of the road.

There were two vehicles up ahead blocking the road, and he counted a group of six Polish militiamen moving through the trees on either side. A young officer, who looked not more than a teenager stood in the middle of the road and barked out orders to the men.

“Search among the trees,” the officer yelled. “They can’t have gone far.”

Sokolov’s driver slowly moved the vehicle to the side of the road next to the tree and waited for further instructions. The Russian looked around satisfied, and said to his driver, “I’m going to take a look around. Please turn the car around and wait for me. I won’t be long.”

“Yes, Comrade Colonel,” the driver replied.

Sokolov opened the rear door on the driver’s side and slid out of the vehicle and onto the road. He stood up, adjusted his belt, and pulled down on his uniform tunic, running his hands over it to smooth out any wrinkles. He slid his sidearm holster to a comfortable position on his right hip, and then reached up to adjust the wireframed spectacles that had slipped down his nose. He pulled out his soft field cap tucked into his belt and carefully put it on, cocking it to one side. He glanced down at his watch which bore the slogan, “Death to Spies” on its face. It was seven past nine in the morning. Then he took a deep breath, smelled the scent of pine and fir, and then slowly exhaled as he prepared himself for what he knew he would find.

Shutting the door behind him, he began his walk up the road.

The gravel surface crunched under his heavy boots. The road was deeply rutted from the farm and forestry vehicles that used the road daily, and he had to raise his arms to his side, much like a highwire artist in a circus, in order to balance himself and keep from falling.

He walked past the two militia vehicles and stopped to survey the scene directly ahead of him. Not more than ten meters in front of the vehicles lay the bodies of two militiamen. They were not moving and appeared to be dead.

 

About the Author

Karl Wegener

Karl Wegener is a former Russian linguist, intelligence analyst, and combat
interrogator who served in the U.S. Army and within the Intelligence
Community during the Cold War.

 

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Better Kids Become Better Adults Blitz

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A Complete Guide To Teach Kids How to Identify and Manage Emotions,
Generate Empathy, Kindness, and Compassion

 

Parenting

 

 

Would you like to have a book full of great stories that help child to
learn about feeling and emotional awareness? Then Keep reading!

Our children absorb a lot of what they see, often, or almost always,
reflect in their behavior the behavior of their parents, the emotions they
see most often will have a predominant role and importance in their future.
All this can lead to a lack of awareness of other emotions that are
important for the child’s mental growth.

The purpose of this book is to help parents, written and designed in order
to teach their children to recognize, accept and manage their emotions, in
this way they can become more aware of what they are feeling or what their
peers they try, so as to create a more positive growth environment.

The original idea that leads to the making of this book is that better
children will become better adults and better adults will create a better
world. So, if you want to know more about it, you are in the right place,
Better Kids Become Better Adults will cover all the topics you need to
know!

I want to show you some of the things that we are going to cover together
in the book so that you can better understand what we are going to
learn.

 

Here is just some of the topics we will touch together:

* Importance of Identifying and Managing Emotions

* The Four Majors Emotions to Learn as a young Child

* How to Help Toddlers express their feelings step-by-step

* And much more…

 

Do you want your kids to be better and more conscious about their emotions
to create a positive environment? Then this book is perfect for you.

 

About the Author

Elizabeth Kyle

 Elizabeth Kyle is a devoted mother, eeducator, and passionate advocate for
emotional intelligence in children. Drawing from years of both professional
and personal experience, Elizabeth empowers parents with practical tools to
help their children identify and manage emotions effectively. Her work
focuses on fostering empathy, kindness, and compassion—essential life
skills for building strong, caring individuals. Through her thoughtful
insights and relatable guidance, Elizabeth inspires families to create
nurturing environments where emotional growth and connection thrive.

 

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Blood Family Virtual Book Tour

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Book 3 of The Martyr’s Vow series

 

Horror/Paranormal

Date Published: 12-15-2024

Publisher: Shadow Spark Publishing

 

A bloodline curse haunts monster hunter Armand Tarkanian, granting him the
ability to summon the dead. But the more spirits he channels, the more
supernatural energy threatens to tear him apart.

An unexpected invitation from distant relatives gives him a chance to learn
more about his curse. What Armand finds in their moldering mansion is an odd
assortment of Armenian traditions, dark secrets, and personal grudges.

Besides a history of genocide and tragedy plaguing his kindred, things
aren’t what they seem: paintings shift and change, bones hang from
trees, and the family’s elusive patriarch is a dakhanavar – a
vampire from Armenian folklore.

When his undead host hungers for vengeance, Armand finds himself trapped
between worlds.

He must choose: either take the Martyr’s Vow and pledge to sacrifice
himself, or succumb to the dark impulses that claimed his ancestors.

 

Blood Family is a harrowing tale of generational trauma, folk magic, and
ripping free from the past.

Blood Family tablet

EXCERPT

The biker in the corner has murder in his eyes, and he’s staring right at me.

He’s a Neanderthal—a brute with a wild mane of unkempt hair and a

beard down to his nipples, like some kind of hog-riding Gandalf. He

occasionally glances at Vonnie, his mouth curled downward.

Breath reeking and leather jacket caked in what I hope isn’t blood, the

beast grunts loudly to himself. At one point, he pauses and scratches his

sideburns, like a dog with fleas.

Honky-tonk music from the jukebox fills the air and twanging guitars

assault my ears.

Yeehaw.

Not that Vonnie and I aren’t strangers to places like this. We’re both

wearing our denim vests—biker club patches prominently displayed.

Legion of the Lamb. Fresno Chapter.

The clientele in that dive bar on a lonely stretch of Highway 99 outside

Fowler is the kind of “grizzled” that would punch you in the mouth for

looking at them the wrong way.

And now I’m staring at the barbarian who is still glaring at me.

He’s thrown down beer after beer, and, after number four, homeboy gets

really nosey and encroaches on my personal space.

“What’s his problem?” Vonnie mutters to me.

“Maybe they’ve never seen a beautiful woman in here,” I say.

Vonnie cracks a smile. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s it.”

I sip my beer, a cold pilsner we paid way too much for. “My, Miss

Hudgens, what could it be then?”

“I think it’s that they don’t want a beautiful Black woman in here,”

Vonnie says, gesturing at the nearby wall with her head. Her hands slip into

her pockets, where I know she’s got her brass knuckles.

My eyes wander over the bar’s decor; shadowboxes filled with medals,

a framed proclamation from the Daughters of the Confederacy, more biker

paraphernalia than you can shake a stick at, and a framed photo of Adolf

Hitler hanging near a Nazi SS flag.

“Oh, great. It’s a racist bar,” I mumble.

Vonnie also scans the room.

How had we missed it? I guess once you’ve been on the road for hours

and you’re tired and thirsty, you don’t immediately notice the decor.

The creep in the corner pushes himself away from his table and starts to

stagger over. He has an awkward and stilted gait—like he’s shit his pants.

He smells like that’s possible.

“Let’s see what the caveman wants,” I mutter to Vonnie.

The biker stares at Vonnie like he’s going to spit on her.

“We don’t get many darkies in here,” he says.

My eyes stray from the hairy beast to do a head count of all of the other

bikers who are also staring at me and Vonnie. I realize that, while the music

is playing, no one is talking. If shit’s going down, it’s going down soon.

Instead of getting angry, Vonnie leans back against the bar, her hands

still in her pockets, and replies, “What? You say something?”

Now, the biker can do one of two things: Pretend that he didn’t hear her

and repeat what he said or throw down.

Since I don’t really want the latter, I clear my throat and intervene.

“Excuse me, my dude…” I immediately pause when the Confederate

flag hanging on the wall catches my attention. “I see you’re no stranger to

lost causes.”

“What?” He’s in my face now. His hot breath smells like ass and he

looms over me like a mountain.

“What I meant was, we don’t want trouble.” I get to my feet and stare

him down. Me and Vonnie kill things that go bump in the night, so I’ll be

damned if I let some knuckle-dragger intimidate her.

“Too late for that, you race-mixing piece of shit. Go on, before I kick

your ass.” It feels like he’s a foot and a half taller than me, and massive.

The name “Gary” is embroidered on his dirty denim vest.

When you’ve had as many near-death brushes as I have, you always

wonder the same thing. So, is this how it ends? Beaten to death by a biker

named Gary in a white supremacist bar?

I glance away from Gary and notice that everyone else in the bar is

wearing the same denim jacket. Large patches identify them as “Fenrir’s

Minions,” a one-percenter biker gang with a less-than-stellar reputation. I

imagine these guys participate in drug running, armed robbery, and the odd

murder.

And me and Vonnie are right in the middle of their turf.

“Look, Gary. I don’t want any trouble…” I begin, but Gary interrupts

me.

“Well, you got trouble, motherfucker.” He growls, like a feral dog.

“Let’s start over. I’m Tark. Me and my girlfriend have been riding for

hours and…”

“That… thing is your girlfriend, huh?” Gary smiles. A bunch of his teeth

are missing. I wouldn’t mind making sure he loses a few more.

Excuse me? I’m not a thing. I’m a person,” Vonnie says.

You could hear a pin drop. Not even the bartender, a bald man with

sleeve tattoos up to his shoulders, makes a peep.

All is silent except for Gary’s low rasping growl.

“You fucking race mixer!” Gary gets up in my face. Ignorant pissants

like him are always overconfident when they shouldn’t be. “You don’t even

look white. I’ll bet you’re some kind of foreign piece of shit. What are you?

Arab? You a terrorist, boy?”

“I’m Armenian.”

“What the fuck is that?” Gary grunts.

Second by second, I realize that this is not going to end well.

“Come on, Tark. Let’s get out of here,” Vonnie nudges my elbow.

Vonnie has always had better instincts than me. We’ve spent years

hunting monsters—from vampires to demons to ghostly serial killers—so a

brutish racist in a dive bar isn’t worrying me. But protecting humanity sort

of meant all humanity, including ignorant turds like Gary.

“You letting your bitch do the talking for you?” Gary chuckles. Some

skinheads nearby laugh.

So far in my life, I’ve been abused by a domineering uncle, pushed

around by my bigoted father, tortured by a cult leader, marked by the

Armenian goddess of death, and attacked by everything from a possessed

serial killer, ghosts, and zombies. If it’s from this world or beyond, it’s

made my life a living hell. The last thing I’m going to do is take shit from a

nonentity like Gary the Racist Biker.

“Listen, you worthless motherfu –”

I don’t get the rest out.

Gary pulls his fist back to punch me. Vonnie moves a few steps to the

side and I grab the biker’s arm, throwing him off balance. With a quick

lunge forward, I put my other hand on the back of Gary’s head and drive

him face first against the notched wood of the bar. I catch a glint of metal in

Vonnie’s hand as she brings her fist down against Gary the Racist Biker’s

jaw. He slumps over, out like a light.

 

 

About the Author

ERIC AVEDISSIAN

ERIC AVEDISSIAN is an adjunct professor and speculative fiction author. His
published work includes the novels Accursed Son, Mr. Penny-Farthing,
Midnight at Bat Hollow, and the role-playing game Ravaged Earth. His short
stories appear in various anthologies, including Across the Universe, Great
Wars, and Rituals & Grimoires. Avedissian received a 2024 Fellowship in
Prose from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts. He lives in New Jersey
with his wife and a ridiculous number of books. Find him online at
www.ericavedissian.com if you dare.

 

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Twitter: @angryreporter

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