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Amused and Amazed (Box Set) Teaser

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Amused and Amazed cover

 

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.

Amused and Amazed tablet

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

Will on Instagram

Will on Goodreads

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

Pre-Order Today

 

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Dona Nobis Pacem Teaser

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Dona Nobis Pacem cover

 

Historical Gay Romance

Date Published: May 29, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

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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.

 

Dona Nobis Pacem paperback

 

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.

Will on Facebook

Will on Instagram

Will on Goodreads

 

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

Pre-Order Today

 

RABT Book Tours & PR

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And Call Me Teaser

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And Call Me cover

 

Friends to Lovers Medical Romance

 

M/M Romance

 

Date Published: February 13, 2026

 

 

Need a prescription for love? Take two, and call me in the morning.

 

And Call Me in the Morning: Eli and Zane. Yes, they spend a lot of time
together. That doesn’t mean they’re a real couple. When teased
about it one too many times by their colleagues, Zane challenges Eli to set
the record straight with a kiss to prove there’s absolutely no chemistry
between them. Neither expected a spark to ignite between them. More than a
spark. Truth be told, Eli’s not so sure they can set the record straight
after all.

And Call Me in the Evening: Eli’s still not great at wearing his heart
on his sleeve and Zane’s still got trust issues, but they manage just
fine. It’s all good. Right? Yes and no. Eli’s ex-wife Marybeth has
come back to town, bringing a heaping helping of hassle with her.
There’s something to be said for setting the story straight, it’s
true. Eli knows he and Zane have a good thing going even if keeping it that
way is the hardest — and best — part.

Excerpt
Copyright ©2026 Will Okati

Falling in love with his closest friend had never been something Eli planned
to do with his life. Wasn’t as if he could have stopped it, though.

Sometimes love just happened.

Even if it took him a while to figure that out.


“There you are.” Zane laid down the heavy, ivory-colored menu
he’d been idly flipping through as Eli approached, making his way
through the maze of tables at their regular bistro. “I almost thought
you weren’t going to make it.”

Eli sat with a thump, running his hand through his dark brown hair, cut short
but still quite capable of standing on end. He grimaced when he discovered
he’d forgotten his stethoscope, still wound around his neck.

“Long night?” Zane asked, already waving their server over with
the universal “coffee here” gesture.

Eli relaxed and let Zane take care of him. Some days, a man truly appreciated
a friend who’d have his back when he needed a rock to shore up against.
“Long, long night. Three-car pileup at an intersection. I didn’t
want to leave before everyone was stable.”

“That’s my boy.” Zane shifted out of the way to let their
server pour Eli’s cup. She was a pretty thing, well packed into her
curves — curves that she offered not so subtly for display.

Zane ignored them. He’d taken Eli’s face in his hands and begun to
assess him for signs of exhaustion. The guy had good hands, firm and dry and
dexterous. They felt nice and cool against Eli’s skin. He let Eli go
with a light slap to the cheek. “Your eyes look like burned holes in a
blanket. You should go home and get some rest.”

“Like I’d miss a chance at a fine, elegant brunch?” Eli
rolled his eyes.

“Heaven forbid.” Zane gave good deadpan. “Jeez. This is the
kind of place I fear running into my family.” How moneyed Zane’s
family was, Eli didn’t know. Coming from an ivory tower was a sore spot
for Zane, who much preferred the life he’d chosen in a grittier world.

Eli segued to spare Zane any discomfort. What were friends for, right?
“You were on last night too. How’d you manage to get away in time
for a shower and a sharp morning suit?”

“Questions, questions.” The corners of Zane’s eyes crinkled
when he smiled. “Unlike some of us, I leave when my shift’s
done.”

“Since when? You’re as much of a workaholic as I am, if not more.
A hospitalist’s work is never done, especially at Immaculate Grace. What
was I thinking when I chose that as a career, anyway?”

“That you’re a glutton for punishment?”

“True enough.” Eli drank deeply of his coffee, almost moaning in
appreciation. The influx of better-than-decent caffeine stimulated his brain.
“Before I forget, I got those concert tickets you begged me for. Two,
even.” He patted his dark brown shirt pocket. Plain clothes for a plain
man, built tough to last, Chicago born and bred for forty-three years.

Unlike Zane, who looked as fresh as a daisy in a casual white linen jacket,
pale violet button-down, and pressed slacks. Pretty as a picture, coming
across as maybe five years younger than his forty-one. Zane brightened and
made a grab. “Good seats?”

“I’m told they’re the best. Ah-ah-ah.” Eli tapped his
pocket again. “I also got advance tickets for a Cubs game when the
season starts. Fair is fair. I try not to fall asleep during the chorale or
chamber music or whatever you want to call it, and you endure beer, umpire
heckling, and giant foam fingers.”

“Done and done. You drive a hard bargain.” Zane clinked coffee
cups with Eli. He hadn’t looked away once, but Eli liked that about
Zane. When he gave you his full attention, nothing else seemed to matter to
him. All part of the Zane package, and it made him the best doctor Eli had
known. “I –” He stopped, interrupted by the chiming of his pager.
When he checked the number, he grimaced. “Damn. Sorry, I’ve got to
take this. Keep that warm for me.”

“What did I tell you? Workaholic. Hey! Do not let them talk you into
coming back to the hospital today.”

Zane waved backward at Eli as he walked off. Eli watched him go, amused.

A different server, young and male, approached with the coffeepot. Eli
suspected the waitress had gotten fed up with flirting and traded off. Fine by
him. This kid had a good eye for refills. He held his cup up. “Keep it
coming, but we’re not ordering yet. Still waiting for two.”

And they’d better hurry, if they know what’s good for them.

Eli wasn’t a huge fan of this bistro. Without Zane there to provide a
buffer, the place was too rich for his blood. Made him feel like any second
someone with a pedigree was going to jump out from behind a column and ask him
what a working-class stiff like him thought he was doing here.

“Of course, sir. I’m sorry if I’m being rude,” the
waiter said, deftly pouring. “If I could ask — you two make such a
handsome couple. How long have you been together?”


Not this again
. Eli didn’t even have to ask what the kid meant.
Wasn’t the first time he and Zane had been mistaken for a couple, and
he’d bet his hard-earned MD it wouldn’t be the last. “Sorry
to burst your bubble, but we’re not.”

The waiter’s coffeepot slipped. “You’re not — oh. Oh my
God, I’m so sorry.”

“No problem.” Eli waved him off before the kid could apologize
again. He’d almost gotten used to the assumption. Whatever people saw in
Zane and him, he had no idea. Felt like being on the shooting range sometimes,
as many assumptions made about them as they had to dodge. Once corrected,
strangers were mostly good about apologizing and moving on.

Friends of theirs, on the other hand, were not so accommodating.

“We made it!” Diana and Holly — also doctors, both familiar faces
at Immaculate Heart — swarmed the table in a cloud of perfume and joie de
vivre. With them, more hesitantly, came a fresh-faced kid Eli vaguely
recognized as an intern. The ladies dove into the fresh baguettes and cherry
jam their new waiter discreetly slid onto the table before exiting at speed,
stage left.

Eli stayed well back from the carnage. Friends they might be, but Holly and
Diana — well, it was best to stay on your toes around them.
“Who’s the boy toy?”

Holly, a pale, Nordic-type blonde, swatted Eli’s arm. “Be nice.
Taye’s been at work for almost twenty-four hours. He deserved a break,
so we brought him along to give him a treat.”

Eli didn’t doubt she spoke the truth. The intern was gray with
exhaustion and had bags under his eyes big enough to carry the US mail. For
all that, he wasn’t bad-looking. If you noticed male attributes, that
was. A well-shaped face and a kind mouth, reddish gold hair cut short and
sleek. Eli could tell he was probably handsome given the way Diana eyed him
with impressively dirty intent.

“Really?” Eli nudged Diana under the table.

Diana, forty-two and unashamed, attractive in a gamine sort of way, wrinkled
her nose at Eli. A damned fine cardiologist and an innovator in her field, she
had the sense of humor of a collegiate and saw no point in growing old
gracefully. She nudged back, and ouch, she was wearing pointy-toed shoes.
“Bah humbug.”

Taye watched them with big eyes. “Is there something going on here that
I should know about?”

“Not a thing,” Diana said. Butter wouldn’t have melted
between her cherry red lips. She stole Eli’s coffee and sipped demurely.

Holly petted Taye’s hair. “It’s all right, Taye. No one
here’s going to bite.”

Taye cracked a grin. “Right. It’s just — three doctors and me.
All of you have been in medicine since I was in grade school. I’m a
little nervous.”

“Shows what you know,” Eli said, jumping back into the
conversation. “I just finished my residency last year.” He
shrugged. “My midlife crisis came early. What can I say?”

“Seriously? But you seem so… I mean, you’re… The way
you take charge, I’d thought you were an old pro.”

“Thank you. It’s never too late to teach an old dog new tricks.
And before you ask, I’m forty-three.” Eli took his cup back from
Diana, only to find it empty. “Wench.”

She smirked at Eli. “And don’t you forget it. So where’s
your wife?”

“Right now, specifically?” Eli checked his watch, a gift from Zane
when he’d been hired on as an attending. “Hell if I know. Either
in Nepal with Paolo or in Paris with Neo. I lost track.” Either way, she
was doing adventurous things with a man who isn’t married to his job. He
couldn’t blame Marybeth. Cops made terrible husbands. When he’d
decided to switch to medicine, that’d been the last straw, and he wished
her well with… whoever was on the menu this week. “Enough about
me.” They knew damn well he didn’t like to talk about personal
business in public.

Holly and Diana exchanged glances, the secretly amused and utterly female
method of communication Eli had never learned to interpret, God help him.

“Good for her. I was talking about your other wife,” Diana said
around a bite of ruby jam and baguette.

“Beg pardon?”

“She means Zane,” Holly said.

That, in Eli’s opinion, was taking it too far, especially in front of a
colleague Eli didn’t know. “Enough, the both of you.”

Holly ignored him serenely and put her chin in her hands. “Come to think
of it, this might be the first time I’ve seen you without him in
weeks.”

Eli could feel Taye watching them, fascinated. “My private life is not
up for scrutiny, but for the last time, Zane and I are not together. How many
times do I have to say this, and to how many people?”

“Wait, what?” Looked like Taye had forgotten his nerves. He turned
to Diana instead of Eli. “Zane is Dr. Novia, right? They’re
not…”

“No,” Eli said, annoyed. A flicker of motion in his peripheral
vision filled him with relief. “Zane, for the love of God, would you get
behind me on this?”

Diana and Holly dissolved into giggles. Zane shrugged, untroubled as ever, and
took his seat. He tucked his pager away. “What are we being ridiculed
for today?”

“Same old, same old,” Eli said. He passed Zane the bread and jam.
“Apparently we want to jump each other’s bones.”

“An oldie, but a goodie.” Zane lifted his chin at Taye.
“What are you looking at, junior?”

Taye coughed. “Nothing. Sorry.” He retreated behind a mouthful of
fresh-from-the-oven baguette.

Eli had to admire Zane at work. They could have used a laser stare like
Zane’s on the force back in the day. He’d have had perps pissing
their pants with nothing more than a look.

Zane turned it on Diana. “Look at you, Mrs. Robinson.”

Diana possessed not the smallest trace of shame. “You wish you had my
cojones.”

“True.”

Their byplay didn’t stop Holly. Nothing did, as far as Eli could tell.
Hell, her husband egged her on; Eli held it in private opinion that the pair
of them enjoyed more kink than a Slinky. She folded her hands beneath her chin
and gave Zane her best you-can-trust-me psychotherapist face. “It just
seems obvious to everyone but the pair of you.”

“It’s true,” Diana said. She started to pick through the
packages of fake and real sugar, searching for Splenda. “You go to the
symphony together. Ball games. Brunch, for God’s sake. And when was the
last time you went out with a woman, the pair of us aside?”

Eli opened his mouth, closed it, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “So
it’s been a while. I don’t have time for playing the field when
I’m trying to get ahead with my career.”

“But you have time to spend with Zane,” Holly said sweetly.

Eli gave up. For the moment.

Diana didn’t. “Take, for example, the way you two are sitting.
Shoulder to shoulder.”

“The table is crowded,” Eli protested. “Four-person table,
five people jammed in. You’re plastered against Taye.”

Diana smiled like a cat who’d just gotten her first taste of the cream
and said nothing.

Fine, that hadn’t helped. Frustrated, Eli looked to Zane for support. No
luck; Zane was busy waving for more coffee all around.

Eli wasn’t an idiot. When he examined Zane through objective eyes, he
could see the appeal. Zane looked closer to thirty than forty, excepting the
smile lines and small sprinkling of silver in his hair, and it was a trim, fit
thirty with a body he kept in tip-top shape with rigorous exercise.

Not that Eli had anything to be ashamed of on that count, either. Zane’s
enthusiasm for biking and boxing had chivied Eli out of the threat of
middle-aged spread and back into better shape than he’d been on the
force. Handsome, fit, successful.

So yes, he noticed these things. Didn’t everybody? And so they spent
most of their time together. Mankind wasn’t made to be alone. Big deal.

Zane’s beeper shrilled. He rolled his eyes to the heavens.
“I’m going to take this in my car. If the waiter comes around,
order for me, but no meat. As soon as we’re done here I’m going
back to Immaculate Grace and carving myself a filet of intern. Not you,”
he said as an aside to Taye. “You’re doing great. Keep up the good
work. Eli, tell them I want the usual, okay?”

Eli didn’t let Diana or Holly ask. “Yes, I know his usual. Belgian
waffle with cinnamon sugar and whipped cream, the real stuff, and a fruit
salad. No strawberries.” He swatted Zane’s hip as Zane scooted
behind him and away. “Don’t worry; I’ve got it
covered.”

“No strawberries?” Taye asked.

“He’s allergic,” Eli said. Medicine fell outside the
personal-business umbrella, and Zane considered nothing taboo anyway. Still
grated Eli’s nerves a bit to answer. “I’ve never seen how
allergic, but he carries an EpiPen. No sense taking chances.”

Hoping the subject would be dropped, knowing there was no way he’d get
that lucky, Eli studied the menu until he could no longer ignore the women
clicking their tongues at him. Approximately thirty seconds.
“What?”

The women exchanged Highly Significant Looks. “Doth the gentleman
protest too much?” Diana asked.

“He doth,” Holly agreed. “Let me ask you a question,
Eli.”

“Since I’m well aware that I can’t stop you, please,
proceed.” Eli crossed his arms and waited for it.

“How much time did you spend with your ex-wife before she took off for
— where was it again?” She shushed him before he could answer.
“It’s Austria with Pieter, by the way. I actually know this, and
you don’t. Now tell me: how much time do you spend with Zane?”

Eli scowled and said nothing.

Holly pounced. “You see? I’ll bet you can even tell me where Zane
was night before last.”

There was no way he would win here, was there? “My place,” Eli
admitted. “Takeout and Die Hard. What’s your point?”

“I think their point is that you’re all but married,” Taye
said. Apparently he’d chosen sides. Good to know. For that, he would
pay. “Look, I know a few things about what it’s like to love your
own gender. It’s strange as hell at first.”

Diana’s face fell in a way that would have been heartbreaking if it
hadn’t been ever so satisfying instead. “You’re –”

Taye blushed but kept his chin up. “Yes.”

“No disrespect to you personally intended, Taye, but can I just say
ha?” Eli pointed at Holly and Diana in turn. “Your gaydar needs a
tune-up.”

Diana didn’t take defeat graciously. She narrowed her eyes at Taye.
“Prove it.”

“Hey.” Eli straightened. “Nobody around here has to prove
anything. Diana, leave him alone.”

Taye’s color heightened. “I can fight my own battles,
thanks.”

Eli held up his hands in mock surrender. “Suit yourself, tough
guy.”

Maybe it was the lack of sleep followed by the powerful coffee, or maybe Taye
was one of those fortunate fools who didn’t hesitate to jump in where
mortals feared to tread. “Excuse me.” Taye touched the
waiter’s arm as he approached, coming in on the third round of coffee
refills. “Would it be all right with you if I kissed you?”

The waiter stared at him. Eli waited for the “No!”

Instead, their waiter did a quick check to make sure no managerial eyes were
on him, slid his carafe onto the table, and pressed in close to Taye. “I
thought you’d never ask, handsome.” He stood on tiptoe and —

Eli sighed. Holly made cooing noises that unfortunately didn’t cover up
the noises of a highly enthusiastic kiss. A darker mood still shadowed
Eli’s thoughts when the sound of the smacking prompted a stir in his
groin.

He tapped his foot thoughtfully. All right, so maybe it’s been a longer
dry spell than I’ll admit to this crowd. I’m a busy man. That
doesn’t mean listening to two pretty boys make out turns me on. Or Zane.
It just means I need to get laid, or at least spend a quality afternoon with
my right hand.

“Is that what we’re leaving instead of a tip?” Zane made his
reappearance without fanfare or notice from anyone except Eli. “If
that’s the case, we should take Taye out with us more often.”

Eli chuckled. “I was just enjoying the sight of Diana proved
wrong.”

Diana scowled at Taye. “He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he? No
wonder you were willing to brunch instead of crash.”

“Can you blame me?” Taye kissed the waiter again, this time on the
tip of his nose. “See you later, handsome.”

Was he? Eli couldn’t see the appeal, himself. Waiter-boy was shorter
than Taye by at least half a foot, wiry, curly dark hair, a button
nose… Okay, maybe he could see it a little. Discomfort at PDA aside,
Eli was man enough to admit the pair of them were almost cute. He knew
he’d be just as fidgety with a hetero couple. The last time
Holly’s computer-something-or-another-engineer husband, Keith, had come
along to brunch, he’d almost wanted to crawl under the table.

Not even Diana could stand up against that. She sighed and shifted fully from
tigress on the hunt to full-fledged fan club member. “Worth it.”

A faint touch at his elbow drew Eli’s attention to Holly. “You
see?” she asked, quiet as a mouse. A far-too-knowing mouse.
“That’s the way you and Zane look at each other. You’re the
only two who can’t see it.”

“Be that as it may. We’re not interested. Not homophobic, Taye, so
no offense to you. You two ladies, stop going there. This is the last time
I’m going to ask. We’re friends. That’s all. Leave it
alone.”

Diana clicked her tongue against her teeth. Eli didn’t like the look on
her face. Too suspicious by half. “Let me ask you this. How do you know
there’s nothing more to it? Have you ever tried?”

Even Holly tried to shush her at that, but the damage was done. “I think
we’re done here.” Eli dropped his napkin on the table and stood.
“My private life is just that: private. I’ve had about enough of
defending myself.”

“Like I said. Protesting too much,” Diana said. She wasn’t
one to back down. Normally Eli liked that about her. Normally. Not so much
now. “Look it up.”

 

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.

Author Contact Links

Will on Facebook

Will on Instagram

Will on Goodreads

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

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

 

 

 

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Black Leather Night Blitz

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Black Leather Night cover

 

Vampire Romance, Gay

Date Published: July 18, 2025

Dante’s World. A dystopian off planet colony where life is hard
and the supernatural exists side by side with everyday drama — or not so
everyday. Joy and pleasure must be paid for at a high price, and to feed from
a human means death — or worse.

But sometimes the line is crossed, and vampires fall in love with mortal men
— or men lose their hearts to the nightwalkers. Anything can happen, and
often does…


Publisher’s Note: Black Leather Night and Other Tales includes the
previously published novellas Black Leather Night, Into the Shadows, The
Hunter, Tale of the Night, Memory, Don’t Look Now, Sixty-Nine Reasons,
and Missing Pieces.

 

Black Leather Night tablet

 

EXCERPT

 

Gods damn it.

It was, so far as the vampire Robhain could tell, very early in the evening,
barely past dusk, yet his human employees, Del and Byrne, had already arrived
for business. Del, yawning widely enough to show off all his white teeth,
clutched a cup of the expensive cafe imported from Terra, likely bought from a
street vendor. Still laughing a little at some joke the boy must have made,
Byrne shrugged off his street jacket to hang it on the post by his desk.

Watching the pair, Robhain knew he should only be proud of them. They were,
after all, expecting an important shipment of magical artifacts at any time
that night, and they needed to be ready with both warding spells and records
of what they’d netted. But watching them from his office, behind a tinted
window — protection against occasional bursts of light as day approached —
Robhain’s teeth began to grind.

Let the gods have mercy. Byrne! He wore his favorite pair of ass-hugging
leather pants for the second night in a row. Hurrying to arrive early enough,
he must have taken his motorcycle to the stores and left it parked up top,
above the basement showroom.

Watching him, Robhain’s expression soured. Byrne. Fresh off the street and
every inch a contradiction with his prim, rimless glasses and helmet-mussed
hair, starched linen shirt and painted-on pants… didn’t he realize how
tight they were? Molding as they did to his legs and the too-damn-perfect
curve of his shapely ass? Leaving nothing to the imagination?

Especially when, as a vampire, Robhain could smell what he’d been doing,
wearing them.


Who was she?
he seethed. Some bit of blonde fluff from one of the
flesh-parlors, all dazzling smile and tight ass or generous tits? Even across
the room, he could smell that Byrne reeked of come.

Robhain’s mouth worked, and he swallowed. By rights, that come should belong
to him. Should flow into his mouth alone. But what was he but a coward? Unable
to approach his very human mage-employee, or to make but the meekest
suggestions that were blithely misunderstood as innocent… Fool. As if a
vampire could ever be innocent.

His molars were beginning to creak ominously and his small, pointed fangs cut
into his lips. Reluctantly he loosened his jaw. Facts were facts. Humans did
not mingle willingly with the vampire-kind. It stood as miracle enough that
Byrne worked with him in the business. Likely it caused him no little loss of
caste in human society.

Not for the first time, he wondered why Byrne chose to work for him. The man’s
talent could have secured him a place in the Suzerain’s palace. Instead he
chose to work as mage and record-keeper in a secondhand artifact store, where
lesser magicians and warriors came to buy enchanted goods.

Robhain would never, on that level, cease to be grateful for Byrne’s
assistance. Able to detect the slightest nuance of malicious spell-craft on a
weapon or artifact, he was damned good at what he did. Robhain could not do
without him — most such charms were made to harm those of his bloodthirsty
ilk, and did not care whether he drank blood fetched from the slaughterhouses
or from the hot human vein. With his magics, Byrne had saved his hide a
hundred times over.

Watching him, Robhain laid a hand on the glass, as if he could touch the man
as he flipped through papers on his overloaded cubby desk. Not that he had
never felt the warmth of that skin before, of course — their hands had
brushed, their hips had bumped — just enough contact to entice him, to send
him to daylight slumber with his cock so hard and ready that barely a touch
brought him to a scorching completion.

And then, other times, they had actually embraced in relief when a spell
turned out a success. Hip to hip, pounding one another’s backs. Each time,
holding that slender body to his, Robhain had burned for more. To take that
slim face between his hands, tilt it just so to one side, and press their lips
together…

Well. Byrne was the sort of temptation that could cause a centuries-old
creature to shame himself by soiling his own trousers with a climax as soon as
he reached the safety of his office.

Not for the first time, he tried to puzzle out why. Byrne was nothing special.
An ordinary man — but ah, with such an extraordinary face, his eyes blue as
the sky Robhain had not seen for so long, blue as the ocean, blue as lapis
lazuli. His smile — rarely seen, for he was seriously-natured — warming as
the long-forgotten sunlight on Robhain’s skin. To luxuriate in those eyes and
smile were more than he dared dream on.

And ah, such an impossible dream. For a vampire to force himself on an
unwilling human meant death from those who handed down laws saying what a
vampire could or could not do. They must not drink from the vein. They must
not antagonize the humans. And not to be forgotten, they must not molest the
humans in any way. Their tolerance was zero and justice swiftly delivered.
While he knew Byrne to be faithful and fond of his employer, he was also a
proud and powerful man. No doubt he would never suffer unwanted advances
without immediate retribution.

Yet he taunted Robhain constantly, unconsciously, with his very presence, and
in particular on days when he wore those thrice be-damned leather pants.

Crossing the room, Byrne glanced at him behind his window and threw up his
hand, smiling in greeting. Robhain nodded in return and discreetly, behind his
back, snapped a stylus in half.

That man would be the second death of him.

 

It was too early for customers as yet — they rarely came until full dark —
so Robhain chose to remain in his office, going over letters and transmissions
informing him of possible new sources of booty. Mercifully Byrne sank out of
sight behind the piles of paper on his desk, rummaging around with his beloved
books. Still, he could hear that warm, human-accented voice calling snips of
information out to Del, diligently dusting and polishing braziers and daggers.

Del. A handsome lad, with ebony hair far too long and eyes far too bright
green. Robhain was certain he had some Fey blood in him. Perhaps third or
fourth generation. He passed as human, at any rate, but would certainly stand
on their outskirts. Reason enough for him to be glad of a job with Robhain. He
did well enough at it, though he was flightily-natured.

More than once, he had considered bedding the boy instead of fruitlessly
aching for Byrne. He would likely be willing, and given his heritage, there
would be no repercussions. But though he tried, he could barely raise his
staff to half-mast over the thought of Del’s nimble flanks and flashing grin.
Not when there was Byrne.

Neither paid him any attention as they went about their business, thank the
gods that holy men claimed had long since turned their backs on Robhain.

Determined, he returned to the business at hand, ignoring the men as they
ignored him. Ignoring Byrne, and those leather pants. Leather. The stylus
slipped from Robhain’s hand and bounced heedlessly on the floor as he stared
out, hoping to catch a glimpse. Really, the man showed shocking ignorance or
tremendous nerve to wear them a second day. Once was bad enough. Robhain could
control himself and his shock over the pants one day at a time. But two days
running of the slick, soft leather, black as night, clinging to Byrne’s
shapely ass…

Leather called to him. It sang a bewitching melody that brought out his inner
beast. Life had been given for that fabric, and when Byrne wore it, the sound
became a siren’s song.

His cock jumped and twitched within his own linen trousers, wanting to play.

Behave, he told it sternly.

Unfortunately it was not in the mood to listen.

Come what might, it would be better for him that day if he remained inside his
office. Yes, hiding, and what of it? Hiding behind his good, solid desk. With
a book on his lap. A heavy book. To be on the safe side. Yes.

But as he settled the book into place, Byrne stood and stretched, leather
clinging to his thighs. Robhain’s stubborn prick, with a mind of its own,
swelled half-hard. Perhaps sheer willpower could…

Of course. And he could also fly.

He propped the book in front of the impromptu tent in his trousers to conceal
it, and with a great effort, he composed his expression. If Byrne were to come
in, he wouldn’t be able to smell Robhain’s arousal, but surely he’d notice the
ravenous look on his face.

Calm. He had to calm down. This was lust. Not unlike the blood lust he
sometimes felt when he forgot to feed. This was leather lust. Nothing more.

But as he began to read the tiny script of the heavy book, his mind — evil
thing — drifted away, sketching out dream after delicious dream. Taking Byrne
up against that bookcase in the showroom. Pinning his wrists above his head.
Nuzzling deep into his neck. Rubbing his dripping cock between the cleft of
Byrne’s ass. Or Byrne, bent over the desk, Robhain dragging that leather down
over his ass. His hands scrabbling for purchase as Robhain stroked, cupped,
and pinched. Sliding his hand deeper and brushing against a cock hard
as…

… his own.

Robhain groaned, shutting the book. So much for that plan.

 

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.

Author Contact Links

Will on Facebook

Will on Instagram

Will on Goodreads

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

Pre-Order Today

 

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North Storm Blitz

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North Storm cover

A Gay BDSM Sea Adventure Romance

 

Action Adventure, BDSM, Gay Romance

To Be Published: May 30, 2025

 

 

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

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

Praise for North Storm

 

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

–Sabella, Joyfully Reviewed

 

North Storm tablet

Excerpt

Copyright ©2025 Will Okati

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

North stiffened. “I’m not a boy. And yes, I have been further down.
Fifteen feet, last I counted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

About the Author

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

 

Will on Facebook

Will on Instagram

Will on Goodreads

 

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

 

Pre-Order Today

 

 

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