Crymsyn Hart's Blog

party down. Or not. It’s up to you.

I’m doing a little bit of partying because I have an audio book coming out later this summer for my newest cozy mystery Flashed to Death. I’m very excited about that. It’s the first audio book I’ve had.

But onto the slightly weird. On this day in horror history a few horror films were released such as

Insidious (April 1, 2011): Directed by James Wan, this supernatural horror film follows a family whose boy becomes a vessel for demonic entities.

Pet Sematary (April 1989): Released on April 21, 1989, this classic Stephen King adaptation tells the story of a haunted cemetery with the power to resurrect the dead

Monster Beach Party 2009
The Dead Undead 2009
Killer School Girls From Outer Space 2010

Thanks to the Horror Society for that information

Take a breath. Watch horror movies. Read a book (preferable one of mine). Listen to music. Whatever makes you happy.

Help Fuel The Author

Those were the words my editor said to me one time several months before Christmas. Mind you, this editor and I were good friends. I had worked with her for over ten years and three different publishers. A few months before Christmas with the last publisher I worked with her on, my editor told me about call the publisher wanted to put out sexy shorts. She dared me to write sexy Krampus.

Yeah, the anit-Santa, who eats naughty children.

The first short, really only had Krampus has the bad guy, and there were other sexy times.

Well, Pat, my editor, was all like you need to write something with Krampus has the main character. So, over the course of several years, I ended up writing six different stories featuring Krampus being all hot and bothered with whoever he felt like, and saving the day to boot. They were fun and Pat loved them.

Needless to say, after Pat passed, I haven’t been able to write anymore of the sexy Krampus stories. As it was, it took mea good two years or so to get back to writing anything remotely romance related. I wrote other stuff of course, but losing her was a kick in my soul. She’s been gone several years now, and I find writing romance more difficult, but that’s a whole different topic.

This was all about being dared to do something. The whole purpose of the post was to not dare a writer to do something because you know the writer is going to find a way to do it anyway and put it into a book. LOL. Lesson learned and a piece of advice, never dare a writer to do something because they will find a way to do it.

A side note: Pat was a great editor and she edited over twenty books for me. I never met her in person and wished I had, but she always threw me a rah, rah when I needed a pick me up. I always hate having my stuff edited, but it is the bane of being an author. However, I always learn a lot. Pat ripped through my manuscripts and made me better for it.

What was the outcome of the dark, you ask? Here it is. I present, Krampus Porn! LOL

Krampus, Bah Humbug from Changeling Press.

Ask me something, I dare you!

So while I embrace my weirdness, I often wonder why does anyone want to read about my regular life. I mean, I find it pretty boring. Sure, I find it a privilege to live in my own fantasy world and get to share all of that with the world, but the outside is kinda just…meh. I have day job which I can work from home so that helps. Have a dog who takes up all of my attention outside of everything else and the husband. So work, house, dog, husband (not in that order, but you get what I mean).

I have my witchy side and my psychic side which I share some of, but not a lot because if I start babbling about the fairies camping out in my backyard, I know the looks I’m going to get. LOL. Or about some of the supernatural encounters I’ve had in the past. Granted all of these have made for great writing material. My life is mundane.

I enjoy crafting, reading, horror movies, and going out in nature. I don’t see why I’m interesting, but I guess other people might. I don’t know. It’s a constant struggle going on inside of my head making me feel inadequate.

I am the only one do or do you feel this way too?

Latest by Crymsyn: Flashed to Death

Current Music Obsession: Jonathan Hulten

Available on Amazon or Direct from the Author

Hot Flashes, Murder, and… Tentacles?

Forty-three-year-old Ava discovers magic when her hot flashes start causing things to explode around her. Her best friend Pamela, a local funeral home employee, regularly attends yoga classes with Ava, but when their yoga classmates start dying, Ava thinks things can’t get any worse.

Then Pam goes missing.

Ava’s new upstairs neighbor, Garrick, is not only a jerk, but he declares she’s a venefica. A witch. And like it or not, she’s stuck with him for a teacher. Life only gets weirder when her betta fish starts talking and declares he’s her dead husband reincarnated.

It’s a crazy world she’s stepped into: balancing magic, finding Pam, and dealing with her clown of a teacher… then something dark comes knocking on her door, out for blood. On top of everything else, she has to survive. How does a fledgling witch cope knowing she could be the murderer’s next target?

EXCERPT:

Pam grinned, showing off the neon orange film on her teeth. She stuffed her hand into a bag of cheese curls and plucked a few out. “I caught a glimpse of him through my peephole after I wondered what all the noise was. He started moving into the place across from me last night. You know how thin these walls are. All his clomping up and down the stairs caught my attention.” She plopped one of the cheese curls into her mouth, and then licked her fingers. As she crunched, she offered the bag to Ava.

Ava took one and sucked on her fingers until she got all the cheese off while peering over the balcony. The silver top of a medium size moving man was backed up near the entrance to the stairway. Three men walked back to the truck and pulled out a large, red couch from another era. It looked Victorian, but she had to squint to see the details of the ornately carved frame and plush cushions. Three men wore identical brown uniforms as the truck driver. “Which one is your new crush?”

Pam’s eyes scrunched up as she bent over the railing, searching the parking lot for the new tenant. She arched far enough over and lost her balance. Pam tried to catch herself. As she did, the bag of cheese curls tipped from her hand. A shower of orange dumped over the railing along with her bag. Ava grabbed her shorts and pulled Pam back onto the balcony. “Thanks. He’s right there.” Pam pointed straight down.

A man with a face full of orange cheese curls shot them a murderous glare. He took off his glasses and wiped the cheese crumbs from the lenses. His black hair also had bits of orange in it. A bulging box labeled “books” sat on the pavement before him. Remnants of the cheese curls dusted the top of the box.

“Lose something, ladies?” a voice boomed from below.

Ava and Pam pulled back out of his view. Her cheeks burned and Pam burst into laughter as she slid down the wall. Ava plunked into a chair and laughed until her sides hurt. “Oh man…”

Pam sucked on her fingers and nodded. “Yeah. Shit, I lost my snack. Do you have any ice cream?” She went into the kitchen.

“I wish I had your metabolism.”

“Ehh, it’s a gift. What I really want is to shove a cigarette back into my mouth. Going cold turkey is a bitch.”

“I thought you quit three years ago.”

“I did. Eating helps. Patches and gum… nope. Tried sucking on toothpicks, carrots, a few other things,” Pam winked. “Nothing really worked so I eat. What about that ice cream?”

Ava caught her breath before she stood up, and her stomach stopped hurting. The laugh lifted her spirits. It had been a long time since she had a good one. She followed her friend into the apartment. Pam leaned against the counter, eating a spoonful of peppermint ice cream from the container.

“Want some?” Pam asked held out the carton.

Ava grabbed a spoon and drew some of the pink delight from the box. Someone banged on her door. She ignored it and took the bite with the spoon sticking out of her mouth. The person knocked again. Ava grumbled and opened the door.

“Shit.”

The man outside her door remained covered in the cheese curls’ neon orange residue, carrying his box of books. He held out an empty snack bag to her. “I believe this belongs to you.”

She took the spoon from her mouth, feeling a cold dribble of ice cream plop onto her chin. It wasn’t as important as the irate man in her doorway. “I-I’m sorry. My friend didn’t mean to —” A wave of heat crept up her neck as though a small fire had been lit on her shoulders and ringed her head. She tried to push it aside and focus on the man outside. Her stomach churned at the barrage she expected from him. Ava stepped back into the safety of her apartment.

“If this is the kind of treatment I can expect from my neighbors, then I’m not sure moving here was a good idea.” He gave her a once over with his cold, blue gaze and smirked. “I can assure you I won’t be darkening your doorstep. Good day.” He repositioned his box of books and headed back toward the stairs.

“Well, we don’t need you either,” Pam jammed herself between Ava and the door and yelled after the neighbor. She flashed Ava a smile and shut the door. “If I’d known what a prick he was going to be, I would’ve dumped a vat of honey and then some feathers on him. Now that combination is a bitch to get out of your hair.”

Ava’s hot flash vanished. She took another spoonful of the ice cream before putting it back into the freezer and rejoined Pam in the living room. “What were you doing with feathers and honey?”

Her friend started to answer, but Ava held up her hand and shook her head. “Forget it. I don’t want to know. I don’t think he appreciated you dumping your bag of cheese curls on him.”

Pamela shrugged. “He’s too nerdy for my taste, anyway. It looked like he had a tighter ass when I saw him through the peephole. You know…. I did see the neighbor who lives across from you. Maybe I should try for him!”

“Leave Dutch alone,” Ava groaned.

“Dutch!” Pam sat up taller and hit Ava’s leg. “You’ve been holding out on me! If you have a thing going with him –”

“Don’t start. It’s nothing like that. He helped me out with my tire last week. I don’t have a ‘thing’ for him, but he does have some amazing tattoos.” She couldn’t help throwing in a tidbit to whet Pam’s appetite and get her brain going.

Available on Amazon or Direct from the Author

It’s coming soon. I finally have a new book coming out soon. It’s a bit different for me since it’s a blending of genres – Horror, Comedy, Paranormal, Cozy Mystery. The book has been done for three years, but because of some…technical difficulties it has been on the shelf for a while. Not any longer.

I give you Flashed to Death

Hot flashes and murder!

Forty-three year old Ava discovers magic when her hot flashes worsen and things start exploding around her. Her best friend, Pamela, works at the local funeral home and regularly attends yoga classes with Ava. When her yoga classmates start dying, Ava thinks things can’t get any worse.

Then Pam goes missing.

Ava’s new neighbor, Garrick, moves into the apartment above her. Not only is he a jerk, but he declares she’s a venefica, a witch. Like it or not, she’s stuck with him for a teacher. Life only gets weirder when her Betta Fish starts talking, declaring he’s her dead husband come back as a fish.

With her world spinning out, Ava tries to make sense of the crazy new existence she’s stepped into. Trying to balance magic, find Pam, deal with her ass clown of a teacher, something dark comes knocking on her door out for her blood. On top of everything else, she has to survive.

Where to find Crymsyn: AuthorCon 6 – 2/27-3/1

Current Musical Obsession: Jonathan Hulten

Narissa owns an antique store and has run ins with the occasional spirit. Her life turns upside down when a demonic evil hunts her across dimensions and realities. She discovers magic and vampires are real.
The life she knew vanishes.
Narissa must embrace her ancient bloodline and her newfound magic before the demon’s minions find her and use her to unleash the evil not just in her world, but in all worlds.

Available at Amazon

EXCERPT

The boards creaked on the porch outside. A silhouette passed along the frosted glass of the front door. Narissa grabbed the glass knob to open the door. Her canine dropped his oversized paw on her wrist, swatting her hand away. The person outside knuckled the glass, pounding harder. She moved aside the curtain and glanced through the slim section of clear glass.

The man outside glanced back toward his grimy truck, but she couldn’t see him except the outline of his face and the stubble of his beard, a mixture of honey brown and gray. A long black duster concealed most of what he wore. Shade growled again until his ruff stood even higher. She rested her hand on the top of his head and shushed him. The man turned back and banged on the window again. Shade’s growl sounded like a stuttering motor, vibrating her chest. He barked until her ears split, and she couldn’t quiet him. The man didn’t seem deterred by her menacing dog. Narissa rolled her eyes and suppressed a shiver from the cold in the house.

“I see you inside.” The stranger cupped his hands around his face and peered through the glass.

A piercing chill rolled down the stairs and slammed into her. Shade turned toward the gust and whined sensing another threat from upstairs. Floorboards squealed above in her bedroom as though someone walked around in there. No one else was in the house. What the hell? Narissa had a fleeting thought of going to investigate who was making the sounds above her. The knots in her stomach deterred her from heading up to see.

“If I were you, I’d open the door and let me in. You don’t want them to sink their talons into you, not after all the trouble you’ve gone through to keep them out.”

The bitter wind came again slashing at her back. The footsteps above sounded like a child’s scampering across the warped boards. Shade mounted the bottom step. Silver fur bristled along the sharp ridge of his back. The man pounded on her door again.

“Let me in before they figure out you’re down here. Once they get back to their master, you’re dead,” he warned again.

Who would want her dead? What were the things upstairs? How did they get there? Here and there she caught a glimpse of her grandmother hovering in one room or another. At times the fragrance of her grandfather’s cigars lingered on the front porch. No matter how much her grandmother harped on him to quit, he always had one at night. Whatever the weather, he smoked his stogie looking out at the night, standing guard with the cigar as his weapon. Narissa loved the sweet earthy scent of the tobacco. When she smelled it outside, she knew he watched out for her and the house. Her grandmother’s perfume drifted throughout at times also giving her a sense of protection. None of that warmth permeated the house now. A loud bang shook the house as the bedroom door slammed open and shut. Narissa jumped backward toward the front door. Shade moved back as well.

“Guess you don’t want any help. Good luck being devoured.” The stranger’s boots clomped on her steps as he headed toward his truck.

Narissa let out a breath. It came out in a thick fog. When she inhaled, the same sickly sweet, nauseating odor of burnt honey stuck to her tongue. Above her, the footsteps ceased. A loud bang as something heavy hit the floor made her blood run cold. After that a disquiet settled over the house prickling her skin. A pale white mist like the one in her dream slunk down the stairs. Thin black slashes hovered in the opaque cloud at the top of the staircase. She retreated a step. Her dog growled and backed away until he came to her side. A quiver of fear bloomed in her stomach. No way. I’m not doing this.

“Shade, come on.” Narissa grabbed her coat and purse from the chair and opened the door. She raced out onto the porch after the strange man rather than face whatever was unfolding      inside the walls of her home. “Hey, wait a minute,” she yelled.

He stopped midway between his truck and her porch. Shade hugged her side with his heavy paws landing on her feet. “Decided you needed to trust me more than what’s in your house, right?” His cocky smile ignited her anger, layering it with her growing fear.

She closed her fingers into a fist through Shade’s fur to keep from biting the guy’s head off. Whatever filled her house, it hadn’t started until he showed up. She didn’t know if he initiated it, but the thin shadows in the mist resembled her dream too much to be a coincidence. “Look. I don’t know what’s going on or who you are. Maybe you did something to make this happen? Tell me –”

The front door flew open and hit the porch wall, shattering the frosted window. A thick shroud of fog loomed within the foyer invading the room, bottlenecking at the doorway as it tried to slip over the threshold. Her gaze lingered on the spectacle. A thicker shadow zoomed within the brume. The amorphous darkness pressed against the boundary searching for an escape. It came to the threshold. A hand darted out from the miasma and swiped at her with hooked claws. Symbols carved into the doorframe she never noticed flared with a bright purple light. A shriek shattered her ears. A quick flash and the smell of charred meat permeated the porch. The hand dropped to the floorboards, sheared off, and broke apart into tiny shards of darkness.

The man grabbed her wrist. She recoiled and turned back around. “If you want me to explain what’s happening, then we need to get somewhere safe. I don’t know how long the runes will contain them inside of the house.” He gestured toward the glowing symbols carved into the doorframe. “Your dog rides in the back.”

Other Books in the Forest of Bones Universe

Kaya is the only one of her kind: a hybrid vampire and magician. A demon from days past is trying to free its banished brethren from the dark realms by an ancient sun god. Kaya is the key to freeing them.

Valik, her vampire protector, must help her contain the demon. Stavros, the mortal king, will kill any vampire he comes across because they caused the death of his wife and son. Begrudgingly, he takes Kaya as his fiancé. To stop a war, Stavros must join forces with the very thing he hates and keep the demon at bay.

Old ghosts are stirred up. Magic is growing wild. Mysteries from ages past resurface revealing more questions about Kaya’s heritage and how she’s entwined with the demon. Can she reconcile the past?

Or will the demon claim everything she holds dear, including her soul?

Zieka has always healed those who seek her services. When a wounded soldier drags an unconscious Luca to her doorstep, she finds herself embroiled in a battle between good and evil she never knew existed. Even as she joins the fight, her one wish is to regain her true name stolen by her self-appointed guardian, Chelim, a dark demon with their own hidden agenda.

Between crossing realms with Luca to escape his pursuers, Zieka meets vampires, magicians, and Elder gods who all claim they will help her for something in return—her family book which contains the history of her line and all her healing recipes. Chelim warns her against Luca and swears to protect her.

However, Zieka seeks out an Elder god to unravel the mystery surrounding her book, losing her given name, how her awakened ability to cross worlds all fits together in the battle for the book and her soul.

The truth will rattle her very existence, but she must stay strong to find the true villain who wishes her dead.

Forest of Bones Universe

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTF1EQmu6/

“Give us the murderer, and we’ll leave you in peace,” their leader demanded. His red hair glinted in the sunlight. His grip tightened on the pommel of his sword. The design of a winged beast glared at her from his leather breastplate. The workmanship of the armor and the finely tailored shirt underneath indicated his status as a noble. However, she did not recognize the insignia.

“I’m not about to surrender him to you,” she replied.

The protective symbols in the rocks glowed white as he tried to cross the threshold of her property. A pulse of energy, like a wave of heat, traveled the stonewall until it enclosed her land. He tried once more but met the resistance of the magical barrier and flashed her a hateful glance. Behind him, one of the horses shrieked in pain. Fog coiled around their legs and tried to drag them to the ground.

“Sir, we have to go. It’s not safe. We’ve angered the damos.”

Their leader kept his blue-eyed gaze fixed on Zieka not moved by his man’s statement. “Turn him over. You don’t know what you’re getting involved with if you don’t. Your little scribbles can’t keep me or them out forever.”

“Even if you return, I won’t relinquish him to you.”

The leader’s eyes narrowed. One of the horses screamed. He turned back toward his men and swore. The thickened vapor encircled the search party.

“Sir, please.”

A strand of fog snaked around one of the dogs and pulled the animal into it. The leader grumbled, mounted his horse, and kicked his heels into the sides of his mount. They raced from the clearing to escape the swelling fog leaving Zieka with her charge. She shook her head as they retreated knowing the leader’s threats weren’t empty. The glade hazed over until the miasma surrounded her property, blocking any view of the forest. A dark shadow glided by the entrance, but she ignored it. The entities within never crossed the barriers of her land.

Zieka dragged the injured man into her house and hoisted him onto her bed. His pallor grew as more blood seeped onto her blankets and her hands. She grabbed a knife, cut away the fabric of his shirt, and tossed it away toward the fireplace. A few of his scratches were superficial, but the ones still bleeding had struck some vital organ. Another wound had hit close to the artery under his arm. Her fingers traced over the various scars marring his body. She closed her eyes taking stock of his injuries in her mind’s eye. Zieka could see the places which needed to be tended to first where the breaks in the energy field surrounding his body had weakened. Her hand landed on the wound under his arm. Herbs wouldn’t hasten this kind of healing. She took in a breath, concentrating her energy into her hands. Her mind dropped away. Her power flowed down her spine like molten metal, fusing with her bones, until it consumed her. Zieka directed the healing magic toward his injuries. She bit her tongue as the pain intensified. The space under his arm where the energy gushed out like his blood sealed over. Her power then rushed to the damage on his side near his liver. Her fingers traveled along the plane of his stomach. Another surge of energy charged through her. In her mind’s eye, the man’s aura sealed itself. The healing power cooled in her fingers. She opened her eyes, and her hands roved the rest of his body. He would survive. The other gashes she could make poultices for.

Her head spun as exhaustion overtook her. When she tried to stand up, Zieka collapsed back into her chair as her body cooled. Once she could move without shaking, she gathered a few dried herbs suspended from her ceiling. She threw them into her mortar and ground them with her pestle. Zieka added a little bit of water and plucked one herb which made her healing foolproof. Seven silver vigata petals clung to the stem in the shape of a bell. Dark green leaves, as big as her hand, looked freshly picked. She crushed a leaf and a petal between her fingers and added it to the mixture. It turned the same silvery hue as the flower. She spread the paste on clean cloths and placed them on her patient’s remaining wounds so they wouldn’t fester. She gathered her energy for another scan. His breathing evened out and his body responded to her curing. Zieka pressed her hand to his forehead and pushed her magic into him with the intention for his slumber to deepen. After a ragged inhale, his body relaxed.

Her head throbbed. She settled into her seat, safe to recover her strength from the healing she performed. Her eyelids drooped and she surrendered to a dreamless sleep.

Available on Amazon

Buy Direct at Mocha Memoirs Press

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTF1EQmu6/

About the Book:

Brady Sampson and Myer Joyner met in college, quickly bonding in their business classes and both landing gigs at nearby Global Initiatives in scenic Lost Lake, Tennessee. Combining their signing bonuses to invest in a rental house beside the lake together, the two take to being roommates the way they have every other challenge they’ve faced over the past two years — secretly pining for one another while never speaking a word about it.

That is, until their sexy new coworker, Carly Carmichael, produces an uncommonly sensual stirring in both men. When Brady invites their new neighbor over for a meet and greet, she takes him up on the offer on the one day he’s out. While she and Myer sip wine and get to know each other better, both let it slip that they have a crush on Brady, unleashing a series of events that threaten to topple everything they thought they knew about each other.

Retailer Link: https://books2read.com/RippleEffects

Get it at Changeling Press: https://www.changelingpress.com/ripple-effects-the-deep-end-3-b-3640

EXCERPT

“White or red?”

Brady Sampson glanced over at his new roomie, Myer, holding up two wine bottles and wearing an almost face-splitting grin. He struggled to ignore the equally cataclysmic ripples of desire that rang through his body as he kept a placid look on his face.

“Which do you prefer?” Brady answered.

Myer glanced from bottle to bottle as if he’d never seen them before, giving Brady time to openly adore his big, veiny hands as he held each aloft. “I always drank beer before now.”

Brady chuckled, never less than amused by Myer’s vaguely off-kilter outlook on life. “So why don’t we grab some beer then?”

Myer wrinkled his nose, nostrils flaring under a spray of cheery soft freckles to go with his mop of strawberry blond stubble. “I dunno, this seems so grown up right now, you know?”

Brady steered his own shopping cart closer, inching into the liquor aisle to join his new roomie. “Beer is grown up,” he suggested, studying the labels next to the shelf where Myer lingered. “And cheaper, too.”

Myer gave him a “spoilsport” frown but set the bottles back just the same. “Dude, you’re not going to be one of those cheap-ass roomies who puts his food on one shelf and mine on the other and pro-rates the rent if I happen to steal a grape or two, are you?”

Brady chuckled. “No, of course not. I just don’t really feel like paying for stuff I’m not going to drink, you know?”

Myer considered this as if he’d never thought of it before. “Valid point, I suppose.” His big fingers did unspeakable things to Brady’s already lurid imagination as he moved down the aisle, touching several brands of champagne. “Bubbly then?”

Brady nodded, as if equally inspired. “That’ll work,” he agreed, taking one of the two bottles from Myer’s hand.

“Hey!” Myer’s youthful face — oh yeah, he was definitely getting carded, for sure — broke into a surprised grin. “I thought I was in charge of alcoholic beverages this time.”

“You are, but that doesn’t mean you’re paying for it all.”

Myer’s gaze quickly assessed the running total of Brady’s half-full shopping cart. “You’re paying for the steaks already, though.”

“Cuz they come in a two-pack. You want me to tear them in half and get the butcher to rewrap them?”

Myer frowned, looking effortlessly casual in a mustard-colored V-neck and striped blue Madras shorts, the clothing seeming to hang off his lean, rangy frame the same way his shirt and ties did at work every day. “Fair is fair, though.”

“Now who’s the cheap one? Huh, Myer?”

Myer glanced at his own cart, only slightly less full than Brady’s. They were facing each other in the liquor aisle, carts side by side, just two bros out shopping like any other two bros out shopping. And yet, to Brady at least, the seemingly humdrum errand had such an intimate feel to it he had to struggle to keep from sweating.

“I mean,” Myer teased, nudging Brady’s elbow with no idea of what that little tremor from his touch felt like racing through Brady’s body. “Have you seen the price of yogurt lately?”

Brady snorted, romantic reverie suddenly broken. “No, Myer, because I’m not a retired housewife on a diet.”

They chuckled together, drifting onto the next aisle and quibbling over potato chips and pretzels like an old married couple. Brady struggled to keep things light when all he wanted was to reach out and grab Myer’s hand and cling to it like they were an actual couple.

He swallowed the desire, as he had all his life, and played it cool instead. Said the right things. Glanced Myer’s way just long enough, but never too long. Walked just close enough to him as they argued over wheat bread versus rye, and never too close. Laughed just hard enough, smiled just wide enough, sending all the right signals like he always had.

He’d leapt at the chance to room with Myer when they both got transferred to the Tennessee branch of Global Initiatives after their internship at the corporate offices in Latham, Georgia. They’d hit it off as interns, sharing lunch breaks and chatting it up in the campus gym after weekend workouts. Brady thought it would be the perfect way to solidify their friendship, even if he knew they could never be more than that. He thought he could be strong, thought he could fight the temptation, thought it would be easy, like it had been back when they’d just shared a cubicle.

But now? Sharing a sprawling house out on secluded Lost Lake, shopping together, padding barefoot down the same halls in various stages of undress? Suddenly Brady wondered if he was strong enough to weather the ups and downs of living with someone who only wanted to be friends.

When obviously, achingly, frustratingly, Brady wanted to be so much more.

Author Info:

Alex Winters is the pseudonym of a busy restaurant manager whose curious young staff would love nothing more than to follow him around the dining room reading his steamiest, most romantic passages aloud! When not writing romantic holiday stories of various heat levels, he enjoys long walks with his wife, scary movies and smooth jazz. Visit him online to see what stories are brewing up next!

Website: http://www.awintersromance.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100084802422320

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/a_winters_romance/

Fleeing the shame of being rejected in favor of an Omega, Jackson Southerly, alpha wolf, has run away to one of his family’s ski resorts.

Fleeing the shame of being left at the altar, Sioux Brown has traded in her tickets to the Bahamas and run away to the snowy slopes of Colorado, where she plans to lick her wounds in solitude.

The snow in their hearts melts as they share the deserted lobby in the dark of night, but will their growing attraction survive the light of day?

Retailer link: https://books2read.com/RunawayHome

Get it at Changeling Press: https://www.changelingpress.com/runaway-home-escape-5-b-632

EXCERPT

“Mmmm…” Sioux Brown awoke cocooned in a nest of warm blankets. She arched her back, bare skin sliding smoothly on silken sheets, stretching pleasantly flaccid muscles in a languid morning ritual.

“Good morning, doll.”

“Aarrghhhhhh!” The slow, gravel and silk voice acted like a bucket of ice water on her drowsing mind. With a scream shrill enough to shatter glass, she ripped her way out of sheets, blankets and quilts. Heart pounding, pulse skittering out of sync, she leaped free of the bed and promptly tripped on a trailing corner of the top comforter. She landed on her butt, still yelling.

“Holy ambulance sirens, Sioux. You’re going to bring security down on us! Please! Stop while I still have eardrums.” A sleepy white man sat up in the disarray of blankets, hands clapped over his ears.

Sioux gulped, stopping only long enough to gather more breath. She screamed again, but couldn’t decide if it was from fear or excitement. Because really, if the man was going to hurt her, it seemed he’d had all night to do it. Even frightened half out of her chocolate skin, Sioux couldn’t help noticing juicy details.

There was a hunky, hairy, naked white man in her bed. His dense swirls of chest hair almost hid flat brown nipples and he sported a six-pack she could quench her thirst with all day long. His thick mop of tangled black hair fell over a broad brow that narrowed into a striking craggy face. Not handsome per se, yet not butt-ugly, either… interesting. Nice mouth too.

He sat up, knees apart, the edge of the sheet covering his assets from the hips down. It was thin enough she could see the shadow of his muscular legs, as well as the outline — the huge outline of what promised to be a monster cock jutting between his thighs.

Sioux stopped screaming long enough to demand, “Who are you and what are you doing in my bed?”

The man sighed. “See, I was afraid of this. Something told me you didn’t drink often, and couldn’t be held responsible for your decisions.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know nothing about my drinking habits.”

“I know you got plastered on two baby drinks.” He smiled at her, displaying a cute dimple in his left cheek. “‘Course, I might be wrong. Maybe it wasn’t the drink that had you acting the way you did last night. Maybe it was me. One can live in hope…”

Author Info:

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

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

Author Name: Marteeka Karland

Book Title: Morgue

Date Published: June 14, 2024

Genre: Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap

Synopsis:

Dorothy: Spring Break turned into my worst nightmare. Drugged and held against my will, the brutality I witness seems too horrible to be real. Unable to escape, unable to do anything other than await my fate, I nearly gave up hope. Then he burst through the door like an avenging angel. My very own angel of death.

Morgue: I’m a straight-up killer. It’s what I’ve trained for my entire adult life. I got my road name because I’ve put more men in the morgue than all my brothers combined. So when we rescue a group of women being held by human traffickers, I did what I do best. I killed. But not for all the women we rescued. For her. Dorothy. My very own angel of mercy. Now that I have her, I’ll do anything to keep her. I just hope she can accept what I am and not condemn my soul to hell.

WARNING: Morgue includes scenes of graphic violence and adult situations including those that may be triggers for some readers. There’s also a protective hero, a determined heroine, and an eventual happy ending. No cheating, as always.

Retailers:

https://books2read.com/MorgueBonesMC

Changeling Press:

https://www.changelingpress.com/morgue-iron-tzars-mc-11-b-3638

EXCERPT

Dorothy

Moans of the other women in the shitty little shack filled the air. I knew the feeling. My head throbbed and every muscle in my body ached. The rooms were paper thin so we all could hear the screams of the others around us. The cruel laughter of men. The frightened whimpers of the women. And girls. I had absolutely no idea where I was or how long I’d been there, but I knew it wasn’t Kansas.

“Levántate, perra. Afuera.”

“I don’t understand.” It wasn’t a new thing. And I’d paid for not knowing Spanish more than once since I’d been taken.

“¡Ahora!” The guy knew I didn’t understand. It felt like he took pleasure in the fact I didn’t understand so he could single me out. I shrank back, trying to make myself smaller in the face of the brutality I knew was about to happen. He lunged forward and backhanded me before grabbing my arm and shoving me out of the tiny room I shared with five other girls.

I hit the floor, my knees slamming onto the hard dirt. Pain shot from my knees up my thighs, and I cried out. When I tried to get up, the guy kicked me in the side. My head spun with all the sudden movements. I thought it was also some kind of lingering effect of the drugs they kept shooting me full of. They did it to everyone who fought. Unless they wanted us to fight. I got dosed often.

“Perra estúpida,” he muttered. I got the “stupid” part, and I could only assume the other was “bitch,” but it could have been anything. The kick knocked the breath out of me and sent pain exploding through my ribs. I groaned but knew better than to make too much of a fuss. Noise drew attention I didn’t want. Attention meant someone was about to hurt me worse than I already was.

“¡Escuchen!” The big brute swept his hand through the air, obviously wanting everyone’s attention. He spoke in a string of rapid-fire Spanish I didn’t understand. I was pretty sure something horrible was about to happen and I sincerely hoped it didn’t have anything to do with me. I’d been here maybe a week. Seemed like longer. I was surprised this guy or the men and women with him hadn’t done more than terrorize me or the other women. Though I was sure the qualifier “yet” needed to be added. There was no way they’d brought us here for tantalizing conversation. Though I’d been smacked around a lot and was covered in bruises, they hadn’t seriously harmed me. Again, there was that fucking qualifier hanging over my head.

I crawled very slowly to the wall where the other women were, trying not to make sudden moves so he didn’t bring his focus back to me. The one thing I knew for sure — in spite of the language barrier — was that I absolutely did not want any of these men to focus on me for too long.

All the women around me were whimpering and trembling, looking as terrified as I felt. A few looked like they might have checked out and I didn’t blame them. If I knew how, I probably would too. Fighting back didn’t seem like the smart thing to do if I wanted to live. While I knew there were fates worse than death, I wasn’t ready to contemplate them just yet. I was sure, at some point, I’d have to face that decision, and I wasn’t looking forward to it.

More rapid-fire Spanish followed as one of the other men dragged a young woman down the hall and tossed her to the ground so she skidded several feet before rolling to her knees with a whimper. She’d been beaten, one side of her face swollen. I hadn’t seen her before, but, given the track marks on her arms and how badly she’d been beaten, I was certain she’d attempted to escape. They’d likely dosed her as much as they’d dosed the rest of us when we got out of line. Only, this time, I got the impression this guy was done taking shit.

“Esto es lo que les pasa a las perras que no me obedecen. Si no me obedeces, esto te pasará.”

I didn’t understand. But I didn’t have to. The next thing I knew, he’d drawn out a machete. The girl screamed and tried to scramble back only to be held in place by two more men. A third helped them wrestle her to the ground onto her back. Once they had her down, the third guy held her legs at the ankles. There was a whoosh as the blade cut through the air and came down on her right thigh.

Blood arced when he raised the machete and brought it down again on the same leg. It took three more tries before he hacked her leg off and started on the other one. Everyone screamed, myself included. When anyone turned away, there were men to force them to turn back. And watch.

Before he got her second leg hacked off, the woman was unconscious. There was blood splatter everywhere, but once a limb was completely severed, the bleeding slowed dramatically. Still, the men tied tourniquets above the stumps.

I’m sure I was one of the women screaming. If I was, though, I had no memory of it. All I could process was a young woman getting her legs chopped off.

“Esto es lo que sucede cuando intentas escapar.” He spat on her. “Una puta sin piernas es más fácil de follar. ¿Sí?”

I stared at the unconscious woman. Though he hadn’t killed her outright, I was sure she wouldn’t last long. One of the men grabbed her wrist and dragged her out of the room, leaving a trail of blood as he went.

As I watched, one of the men approached me with an evil smirk on his face. “In case you’re wondering,” he said in thickly accented Spanish, “He said this is what happens when you try to escape, Americana.” He grinned. “And a whore without legs is easier to fuck.” He snorted a laugh. “I happen to agree. So, I’m really hoping you try to escape too.”

I barely held back a sob of despair. I knew he was trying to elicit a response from me, likely to give him a reason to hit me. There were some of us who tried to fight back when they came for us, but we were always overpowered. So far, all they’d done was beat me, but most of the others had been brutally raped and I knew that’s what they were building up to. This was a whorehouse of sorts. Only, the women didn’t get paid. The men who “owned” us did. A place where we were all used and trafficked.

The guy backhanded me when I didn’t respond to him. I fell back with a cry, covering my head with my arms and whimpering.

“Don’t worry, bitch. You won’t suffer long. I doubt you make it a month once we start breaking you in.” He gave a bark of laughter before kicking me.

My head swam from both the blow to my face and the remaining drugs in my system. More men crowded us in the tiny corridor only to shove us into various rooms. There were five more women in the room I landed in. Three filthy mattresses lay on the floor and a bucket sat in one corner for us to relieve ourselves. That’s the way it had been since I’d been here.

The next thing was the men coming to shoot us full of whatever drug they were using. I suspected it was heroin. A couple of the girls screamed while the other three complied easily. Probably because they were addicted or figured it was better to endure whatever happened next while blissfully numb than stone-cold sober. I understood. While I couldn’t put up much of a fight this time, I wanted to. Desperately. I hadn’t given up hope of getting out of here alive. Not really. Not yet. But I wasn’t too ashamed to admit I was fucking close.

A man held my arm while another jabbed a needle into my arm at the bend of my elbow and pressed the plunger. The pain of the dull needle sinking into my arm was soon replaced by a sickening euphoria. My eyes glazed over and my body went limp. I was still conscious, but… detached.

That was when one of the men shoved me onto a mattress and pulled at my clothes. He was breathing heavily and talking in Spanish, but I got the gist of what he was saying. He was going to fuck me. I caught the word “Americana” and figured he was taking bragging rights by fucking the American woman. They all looked at my blonde hair and blue eyes, going so far as to pry my eyes open and touch my eyeball, like a child testing if something was real. Maybe they thought I had contacts or something. Many of them felt my hair, fisting it and mimicked wrapping it around their cocks. I imagined far worse was going to happen shortly.

I whimpered but couldn’t even form words to tell the guy to stop. Not that it would have done any good. I batted at him weakly, but he didn’t seem to notice much less even acknowledge I was trying to fight him off.

Once he had me naked from the waist down, the guy crawled on top of me, pressing me into the filthy mattress. He reached between us and freed his cock. I could feel the head of it touching me. I shuddered, gagging as I pushed at him weakly.

“No!” I tried to shout the word at him, but it was a whisper at best. Just as he was about to penetrate me, there was a huge bang and the door splintered, throwing pieces of wood all around the room. I was sure some were embedded in my skin, but I still couldn’t do more than try to roll away from the man on top of me.

He shouted, pushing himself to his feet. Once his weight was off me, I crawled as best I could to the corner of the room and tucked myself into a ball. It was all I was capable of. I couldn’t even cry. Oh, tears poured freely from my eyes, but I didn’t have the strength to sob out my fear and frustration.

I thought there were screams all around me, not only in this room but in others nearby, but it was hard to tell. The more I tried to move, the more the room spun. Somewhere in the background of all that, and the ringing in my ears, I knew a fight raged. Was it more men coming to chop off the legs of someone else? Oh, God!

Then someone grabbed at my arms. I was helpless to stop them. I thought I was even more groggy than I had been when I was about to be raped. Whatever drug they’d given me had started to take hold. It was only the adrenaline coursing through my veins that kept me conscious.

“Hold on, honey. We’re gettin’ you outta here.”

Author Info:

Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double life as an erotic romance author by evening and a semi-domesticated housewife by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes pleasure in spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited, vulnerable heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her writings are speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning delight entwined with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying conclusions that elicit a sigh from her readers.

Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts (which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with Marteeka’s latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her website. Don’t forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you with a potpourri of Teeka’s beloved recipes, book suggestions, autograph events, and a plethora of interesting tidbits.

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

Author on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/experiencethemagicmk