PROMO: Inferno

 

Kiss of Death MC (#18)

MC Romance

Date Published: September 18, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

I survived the fire. Juniper gives me a reason to burn down the world.

Juniper -- Getting dumped on my twenty-first birthday is bad enough. Finding Brett, my ex, at Throttle with another woman turns humiliation into open warfare. So I walk up to the biggest, meanest looking biker in the place, climb into his lap, and claim him as mine. Inferno plays along a little too well, and one reckless kiss becomes the hottest night of my life. Still, it was just a one night stand. Should have ended then and there. Instead, my ex decides he doesn’t like losing what he threw away. His calls become threats, then the threats become violence. My bakery, my home, everything my grandmother left me becomes a target. But Brett’s forgotten one thing. I’m not alone anymore. I have Inferno, Kiss of Death, and a fire of my own.

Inferno -- Juniper lands in my lap wearing red lipstick, motorcycle boots, and enough attitude to wake something in me I thought died years ago. She’s way too young for me, and a woman running from a controlling ex is trouble. I also know the second Brett puts a bruise on her skin, he becomes my problem. I went to prison for nearly killing a man who hurt a woman I loved. I’ll burn my life down before I let history repeat itself. But Juniper isn’t looking for a savior. She wants a partner willing to stand beside her while she fights back. Good thing I’ve always liked playing with fire. Brett’s about to learn exactly why they call me Inferno.

WARNING: Adult language and situations, abuse, arson, and a violent stalker ex-boyfriend.

Excerpt

Copyright ©2026 Marteeka Karland

Juniper

The sad little grocery store cake sitting on my counter summed up my life right now. I made cakes for a living, so I knew exactly what I was looking at. Shortening-based buttercream, whipped too fast so it held those little air pockets that collapsed if you pressed a finger in. Red gel piping simply said “Happy Birthday” and skipped my name entirely, because a name is an upcharge, and, apparently, I wasn’t worth the extra four dollars. Twenty-one candles would’ve cost more too. There were no candles.

That morning I’d spent six hours at my own shop building a dinosaur cake for a five-year-old named Milo. The creation had hand-piped scales on a fondant T-rex while his mom hovered by the register asking if I could make the teeth “less scary, but still cool.” I believed, the whole time I worked, that tonight would be mine. That somebody would finally build me something special for my birthday.

I closed the shop two hours early. Cooked pork chops with the mustard cream sauce that Brett loves so much. I set the good plates from his mother that I was always terrified I’d chip.

He’d come in forty minutes late, jacket still buttoned like he hadn’t decided if he was staying, studying his phone like it held the secrets of the universe. “You would not believe this lake listing,” he said, dropping into his chair, not even glancing my way. “Guy wants two point one for a place that’s basically standing on a septic field. I told him, I said, ‘Gary, I can sell water to a drowning man, but I can’t sell delusion’.” He laughed at his own line. I simply looked at him, trying to talk myself into being cheerful.

I cut into my chop and waited for a gap in his running monologue. “So I made this dinosaur cake today,” I said, “for this kid, Milo, and his mom wanted the teeth less scary but still --”

“Yeah, that reminds me, Gary’s brother-in-law does teeth, actually, orthodontist, and get this --” and he was off again, and I just… let him go on. Because why not? I picked my fork back up and took a bite while he rambled on. He still hadn’t told me happy birthday.

His phone buzzed and he glanced down before turning it over. After a while, it buzzed again.

“Hey,” I said, and I tried to keep it light, “We said no phones tonight. Right?”

He didn’t answer right away as color swept his neck to his face and a flash of annoyance crossed his features. Then he gave me a “sorry for you” smile. “Junie,” he said, setting his fork down carefully. “Can I say something, and I need you to just hear it, not react to it?”

“Um, sure.” My stomach started to roll. I recognized his tone and I knew this would be a twenty-first birthday I’d rather forget.

“You’re a lot,” he said, simply. “I don’t mean that as an insult. You’re needy in a way you probably don’t even realize. Phones-away requests, the whole birthday production, the plates. It’s a lot of ask-for, given we’re barely even in a relationship.” He cleared his throat. “And you’re emotional. Everything’s a whole thing with you. I can’t mention anything without you needing your turn.”

I opened my mouth but couldn’t form words. My throat tightened with emotion, and I could feel tears forming behind my eyes.

“And I’ll be honest,” he continued, “because I think you’d rather I was honest, you’re kind of boring, Junie. Same shop, same recipes, same everything. Your five-year plan is a second oven. I used to think that was cute, but I thought you’d grow out of it once you ran out of money and got a real job. I don’t think it’s cute anymore. I need a woman with a little ambition. I’m going places, and you’re… not. Dinosaur cake? Really, Junie?”

Somewhere deep inside me, a voice was screaming, actually screaming, say something, say anything, throw the water glass, throw a pork chop at him, ask him who’s texting him at eight-fifteen on your birthday, and what came out of my mouth, soft and stupid, was, “The pork chops are getting cold.”

“Juniper. I think we both know this has been coming.”

I looked down at my plate so he wouldn’t see my eyes. I didn’t trust what my face was doing. No way was I going to give him the satisfaction. I forced the smallest shrug I could manage.

He pushed his chair back, slow and deliberate, like he wanted me to watch every little thing. “Look, Junie, you’re a great girl. You really are. But we’re just not… compatible.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “It’s not the end of the world. You’ll land on your feet. I mean, you already have your little cake shop, right?”

Wow. My little cake shop. The business I’d thrown every ounce of blood, sweat, and tears I had into. The fact was, I cleared more with my “little cake shop” than he made with his real estate ventures. I suspected it was the same smarmy personality I initially fell for. Unlike me, apparently his clients knew how to cut their losses and get the fuck out of Dodge.

“I guess so,” I said, because what else was there? I stabbed a piece of pork chop and chewed it, even though I could barely swallow, doing my best to act as if none of this had any effect on me.

His phone buzzed again. He actually reached for it this time. “I’m going to head out. I’ve got to call Gary back before he does something stupid on that listing.” He didn’t even look at me. Just stood up, fixed his jacket, and checked his hair in the microwave door reflection. “I’ll send someone to get my stuff later.” The door clicked shut behind him as he left.

I went to the counter where the little birthday cake rested when the sticker on the side caught my attention. The damned thing was on clearance! He’d bought me a generic birthday cake on clearance because it had passed its freshness date.

For a minute I just stood there, stomach clenched tight in the heavy silence. Anger was slow in coming. Even when it did the feeling was directed more at myself than Brett. I chose to stay with him for whatever reason I had at any given time. So as much as Brett was a bastard, this disastrous birthday was as much my fault as it was his. I should never have agreed to let him move in with me. My only excuse is I was young and bought all his flattering.

We’d been together for two and a half years. I was right out of high school and just taking over my grandmother’s bakery after her sudden death. Brett had helped me through one of the most difficult times in my life, but I suspected now he’d taken up with me because I was an easy target. After all, he’d been living rent-free in what had been my grandmother’s apartment since a month or so after we met.

The window over the sink stared back at me. This was my twenty-first birthday, Goddamnit! What did one do on their twenty-first birthday? Get schnozzled and burn the world down. At least I’d burn down my old life. Then I could rise like a phoenix from the ashes. Or something.

I pushed away from the sink and headed to my bedroom. Going to the closet, I pulled out the red dress I’d bought especially for tonight. The red was probably too bright, but I didn’t want subtle. I wanted the color and all the lovely brightness and chaos it might cause under the right circumstances.

I showered and did my hair and makeup before slipping the silky dress over my head, letting it settle over my hips to brush against the middle of my thighs. I zipped up the back, then smoothed the sleeveless garment over my curves. I let my hand run down my arm, tracing the small, faded burn scars from my childhood. Brett said I should get them lasered -- so I wouldn’t be reminded of my broken childhood. I suspected the real reason he wanted rid of them was because they didn’t fit in with his image of what he wanted me to be. Well, fuck that shit.

The red lipstick came last. Again, I’d chosen it specially to match the dress. I drew it on slowly, even though my hand shook a little. Lipstick had always been my armor. I had nicely shaped lips. They were my best feature, in my opinion. The dramatic color only enhanced them. I smiled into the mirror, wide and mean, red as a warning label.

I started to slide my feet into the Fuck Me heels I’d purchased -- again, specifically for this dress. Then I caught a glimpse of my motorcycle boots. I’d bought them when Brett decided he wanted to get a motorcycle. He’d taken me on exactly one ride, saying I didn’t know how to ride with him and I would get us both killed if I moved the wrong way. He’d never bothered to tell me what exactly I was doing wrong, so fuck him anyway. On a whim, I stuffed my feet into the boots and took a look at myself in the mirror. I didn’t quite look like Alice from Resident Evil, but it was close enough I’d take it.

Throttle was less than a mile away. The bar was a known roughneck place, but any damage caused by patrons always seemed to be contained to the property itself and didn’t spill over into nearby neighborhoods. Though it had a questionable reputation, I’d always wanted to go, thinking living on the wild side held just the appeal I wanted.

 

About the Author

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.

 

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PROMO: Salva Me

 

LGBTQ+ Regency Vampire Romance

Date Published: September 11, 2026

England, 1816. A nosferatu, a rogue vampire, hunts unchecked through Sussex. Jeremy Takeshi Colbourne is honor-bound by ancestral duty to find and destroy such madmen. Foremost among the vampires of England, he must find a way to ensure the safety of the English citizens and the vampires that live among them.

Then Jeremy and his blood-host Morgan Holland discover a brutally savaged girl. With this latest victim of the nosferatu, Jeremy realizes the time has come to make Morgan aware of the Colbourne responsibilities. But the situation could not have come at a worse time.

For years, Morgan has served as Jeremy's blood-host. Though Morgan adheres faithfully to his Contracted terms, he refuses to surrender to the sexual seduction that completes each feeding. He yields neither his body nor his heart, though Jeremy yearns for both.

As the nosferatu's atrocities grow, Jeremy must ask everything of Morgan to gain the strength needed to fight the ravening monster. Will Morgan relent and give up body and heart to help Jeremy defeat their enemy, or will the battle destroy them both?

EXCERPT

 

Jeremy cursed at the knock on the oaken door of his study. Morgan had attempted to corner him several times today. Pure cowardice had driven Jeremy to take refuge here, a place his loyal Host rarely intruded on, since it held the Buddhist shrine housing his mother’s mortuary tablet. He glanced at the portrait standing behind the black stone, wishing for a bit of Keiko Yamakawa’s legendary strength.

Evading Morgan had taken a toll on Jeremy. The Contracted day for his feeding had come and gone. Today marked two full weeks since Morgan had wrenched himself from Jeremy’s grasp, nearly bleeding to death before Jeremy could administer the requisite clotting agent. The sight of Morgan’s injuries had seared itself into Jeremy’s mind, rendering him unwilling to risk another such incident.

It almost made him wish to return to Japan, despite the difficulties involved. Obtaining the necessary dispensation from the Tokugawa Shogunate had been hard enough when he left. Lord Matsumae had done what he could, but it had taken his mother’s personal attendance on Emperor Kōkaku and an appropriate gift to Tokugawa Ikeharu to get it done. Going back would be far worse, despite his home’s exemption from the Sakoku Edict. Even so, he was tempted. If only to avoid what he now faced.

The knock came again, harder than before, followed immediately by the entrance of Morgan Holland. “Excuse me, Lord Colbourne. While I am always loath to disturb you in your sanctum, you cannot avoid me forever.” Exasperation filled Morgan’s voice, underscored by heavy concern.

Jeremy risked a glance at his Host, unwilling to see but drawn nonetheless. The wounds on Morgan’s neck had healed; his skin flushed a healthy hue. Unlike usual feedings, the last one had left two ragged scars, visible reminders of Jeremy’s lack of control. Even now, the remnants of Morgan’s refusal echoed in his mind, invading his dreams.

“I am not convinced you are well enough to support a feeding, Holland,” he hedged, though his Host showed no lingering signs of ill effects. “Your wounds have barely healed.”

Morgan sighed. “I understand your reluctance after the debacle last time, but you cannot risk your health or your sanity by some idiotic attempt at endurance. I am prepared to meet my Contracted terms without qualms.”

“So you say. Nonetheless, your refusal made quite an impression. I’d prefer not to endure that again so soon.”

Morgan’s cheeks heated with angry embarrassment. “Then break Contract, my lord, and find someone more willing to accommodate all of your needs. Or go back to Japan.”

The slap of the words felt like a further refusal. Jeremy straightened in his chair, denying the spike of pain, determined to retain his rationality. Fear was anathema to the Barons of Colbourne and to the Yamakawa family. Being afraid to feed on his Contracted Host shamed both houses. He stood, feeling the weakness of flesh from self-deprivation.

“After twelve years? I’d rather not, thank you. You’re all I need. Or want.” Jeremy considered the irony of his irrational thoughts mere moments before. “It is far harder to return than to leave,” he added. “While my home in Matsumae is exempt from the Sakoku Edict, only my status as a noble Chi no Kami allowed me to leave in the first place. I have no wish to reverse the process any time soon.”

Morgan considered for a moment and then gave him the ghost of a smile. “Then please stop delaying the inevitable. Despite what happened before, I refuse to watch you kill yourself, however noble your ancestors may have found the practice. It would render all my efforts worthless.”

“Such things are not reserved for my ancestors,” Jeremy growled. “If I chose seppuku, who would be my second? You’d still have to watch me die.”

“At least it would not be this slow death you’re attempting now.”

Trust Morgan to know him well enough to hit so close to the truth of the matter. Jeremy allowed silence to reign for a moment and then gave a grudging chuckle. “No quarter, I see. You win, Holland. Give me two hours, and I’ll meet you in the sanguis cubiculum.”

Two hours would give Jeremy sufficient time to contact William Carter. After this long, the sexual urges would be difficult to suppress, but he could not afford another mistake like the last time.

Morgan nodded to him. “Two hours, then, Lord Colbourne. I will be ready.”

* * *

At the appointed time, Morgan waited as instructed, nervous despite his earlier words to Colbourne. He touched the scars on his neck gingerly, wondering. For all his bravado and calm facade, the thought of facing Colbourne’s fangs disturbed him. That last bite had driven into his neck without preparation, the savage sting a hint of what mankind had faced in the early days of the nosferii. Yet beyond the pain, another sensation had lurked, one he was reluctant to recall.

Perhaps it was only the remnants of the lust that rose in him every time Colbourne fed, but the agony of the unprepared bite had seemed to turn into a hazy pleasure at the end, before he’d passed out. Perhaps the recollection was only some perverse blending of his memories.

Colbourne entered the sanguis cubiculum through the far door. Morgan caught a brief glimpse of another person before the closing door blocked his view.

So he arranged for his companion to be available immediately after he is finished with me.

In spite of the obvious benefits to the situation, the idea irritated Morgan for some reason. Though he refused to offer up his body for postfeed sex, he’d always steadfastly ignored Colbourne’s subsequent retreat to his rooms for several hours. To have that person here, in the antechambers of the sanguis cubiculum, the mere thought left a burning ache in Morgan’s gut. This was his domain, his sacred trust, no one else’s.

“Are you ready, Holland?”

The deeply sensuous voice rippled over Morgan’s skin, bringing him to a half-aroused state before the feeding started. He did his utmost to quash the reaction, trying vainly to focus on something other than Colbourne’s mouth.

A hand reached for his chin, gently turning his face away to expose the length of his neck.

“I’m sorry, Morgan,” Colbourne whispered.

Morgan felt the faintest tremble in his master’s hand. He turned his head the opposite direction, offering the undamaged side. “Here, Master,” he urged, “feed from here.”

Colbourne’s tongue touched him gently, tracing a line across his skin before stopping. “No, I think not,” he said, trailing his fingers past Morgan’s throat. “I’d rather feed from a different source today. Your neck is still healing.”

Morgan shivered as his master’s hand roamed down his front, then stroked along the inside of his thigh.

 

About the Author

Autumn grew up loving history, mythology, and all things Japanese, not necessarily in that order. This eclectic love affair has bled over into her writing, and her stories are always well spiced with the taste of Japan, strange mythological beasties, or the lords and ladies of the ton. Sometimes all three, leading to dark desires and forbidden loves.

And after all, dangerous passions should lead to uninhibited love.

 

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PROMO: Cressida's Circle

 

Steampunk Adventure Romance

Date Published: September 11, 2026

In a world overthrown by witchcraft, a giant love has been lost. Can Cressida be saved?

 

Mourning the loss of her husband, Cressida Troy is on her way to Earth. Her mission; to meet the Queen of England and cement relations between the Lunarians and humans to present a united front in the approaching war with the Martians. For Cressida, the mission has a much deeper and personal meaning. Being human, as well as the Lunarian Empress, Cressida is plagued by doubt and guilt and seeks redemption for what is seen by many as the betrayal of her species. Matters are complicated when she is kidnapped by the pernicious witch, Lady Neva, who is hell-bent on revenge against Queen Victoria. Armed with unlimited magical power, Lady Neva is planning to usurp the crown and rule both Earth and space.

Meanwhile Jacob McLeary, Cressida’s former fiancé, is under the watchful and lascivious eye of Lavinia Branscombe, a Lunarian agent. Knowledge of the dark secret at the heart of the Lunarian society fuels Jacob’s loathing of the aliens, but with so much at stake, can love overcome the barrier of hate? Will Cressida find redemption?

EXCERPT

 

Like a child’s toy, the cradle of humanity filled the bridge windows with brilliant colour: blue, green, and brown, flecked with white, a gemstone set against the black velvet of space. If only people could know how insignificant this world was in the scheme of things, floating silently in the incomprehensible emptiness.

Pointless philosophising distracted me for only a moment. My heart trembled with anticipation. I was nearly home.

The Lunarian crew, in their natural form, goblin like, winged with leathery skin and large bright eyes, ignored my presence, as they should. Though they were experienced, with hundreds of trips behind them, piloting a spacecraft was not something to be taken lightly, especially with me on board creating the expectation that everything should be executed perfectly.

I would have put them at ease, but that would have been churlish of me, I realised. They wanted to impress me, and lowering expectations would have been like a slap in the face, a sign of patronising condescension on my part. Not an endearing action no matter how well intended.

I turned my thoughts back to the sparkling globe before us, and the people who awaited me. I’d read how the ancients believed that the souls of the dead fled their bodies and ascended to the moon, a way station before reincarnation, or their ultimate disposition in paradise or the underworld. Little did they contemplate that souls from that grey desert of a world would descend upon the Earth and conquer it.

I had to be careful how I approached not just the Queen, and her parliament, but most importantly the bureaucracy which ruled from the shadows and exerted more power than she could ever hope to wield. I hoped they understood we humans were a conquered species. Of course, behind the mask of cheerful bonhomie and expressions of respect as they delivered begrudging cooperation, there would be fear and hatred. From that febrile soup simple misunderstandings could bubble up and poison the nascent relationship.

The politicians had wanted a state visit to impress everyone with the importance of our relationship, and to thank me for using our power to save them from their European enemies. Though our reasons differed, I agreed with Her Majesty that ostentatious displays of pomp and ceremony were unnecessary. She wanted to maintain her image of the Warrior Queen and didn’t want to share the adoration of the crowds as the saviour of the Empire. She feared the loss of face if I was seen as an equal.

I wanted none of that either, feeling as disloyal as I did for my part in what was fundamentally the takeover of her empire. I requested a low-key, quiet visit. A gentle introduction back into human society. One in which I would not feel such a fraud. With Her Majesty’s relieved endorsement, my desire had carried the day.

The other vexed issue was the taking of her son the Prince of Wales by Lady Neva. I had to placate and convince her that we were doing everything we could to return him to her. Though she detested the Prince -- after all he had been intimately involved in several assassination attempts, and she had come so close to strangling him with her own hands -- he was her son.

Randolf, my bodyguard and general factotum on this mission, floated at my side. “My lady,” he said softly into my ear. “Amanda has prepared a meal.”

“Thank you, Randolf.” I had skipped breakfast, and as always, my body servant had correctly anticipated my needs. I was indeed feeling hungry.

Randolf was a handsome, powerfully built, athletic man. His bright azure eyes reminded me so much of Jacob’s. My body stirred, my nipples hardened, and my quim throbbed. He and his female counterpart, the stunningly beautiful Amanda, had pleasured me delightfully and often since we had left the moon, and I had gratefully surrendered myself to them. That train of thought pushed the need for food aside. I wanted to be pleasured again.

I took Randolf’s proffered hand, and we glided to the access chute that led “down” to the passenger quarters. His body heat pulsed through his tunic and through my gown to warm my flesh. He wore no pants, and his stiff cock swayed enticingly as he propelled himself before me. Amanda was awaiting us, naked and undeniably aroused, the nipples of her ample breasts pink and erect. I gave her an encouraging smile to confirm my thoughts were of a similar nature.

Being firm, she countermanded my desire with the advice that I needed sustenance. She offered a full English breakfast: steaming scrambled eggs, kippers, ham, bacon, and sausages, kidneys, mushrooms, and fried tomatoes. A feast for a multitude. With a petulant pout, I took a dainty bite of each and finished with a cup of tea and a slice of toast. I’d maintained a salacious gaze which lingered on her almond-shaped eyes and gave rise to a pink flush to her cheeks. When I’d finished, I gracefully dabbed my mouth with a napkin and took Randolf’s cock in hand.

“Keep the food warm, and join us,” I told Amanda. “I may eat some more later. My current appetite, though, is for the diverting pleasures of unbridled fornication.”

Making love when one has no weight, once the initial challenges are overcome, is a sublime enterprise, more like an ethereal ballet of the most intimate kind. Holding your partner in a close embrace, limbs entwined, his cock held snugly by one’s tight sheath, so that you become as one, spinning, rotating, pirouetting like a ballerina celebrating a mind-shattering climax.

 

About the Author

Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on Twitter.

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Blog Tour: Uprising

 

Book One of the Fitzjohn Duology

Historical Fiction with Speculative and Romantic Elements

Date Published: 09-01-2026

Publisher: Literary Wanderlust

England, 1381 AD: Blanche Fitzjohn is an outcast in her small coastal village. Not only is she the illegitimate daughter of John of Gaunt, the man responsible for her neighbors’ over-taxation, but she possesses strange abilities: hearing sound from miles away and smelling people’s emotions.

She takes solace in her studies with the local wisewoman and in her friendship with Geoff, a groom at the local manor. Until the day Henry of Lancaster, Blanche’s half-brother, brings her news of an arranged marriage to Sir Thomas Prescott, Constable of the Tower of London. Although she smells cruelty on him, Blanche agrees to marry Thomas in the hopes that her influence may help better the lives of Geoff and all England’s villeins.

But soon, the peasants’ discontent turns to revolt. Though her heart is of the people, Blanche’s nobility makes her an enemy to the rebels. To save herself and Henry from the executioner’s ax, Blanche must use every power at her disposal, even those she once considered a curse.

 

Uprising, Book One of the Fitzjohn Duology

Chapter Six Excerpt

Something shifts, like summer’s green leaves transforming to autumnal gold. Speaking with Geoff about my marriage hurts like I’d never expected, a deep ache. The moon thrums, and an owl, perched in a nearby tree, shifts as she searches for prey. My temples throb.

“It seemed…” he begins again. “It seemed he didn’t want to marry you, after you…” I glare and cross my arms before lifting my face. He continues: “I thought perhaps you could get out of it because…”

“Because of what?”

“Because, ye’re…”

“What, Geoff, what am I?”

His mouth opens like a fish above water, and he doesn’t bother to shut it. In the tree, the owl flaps her wings and leaps into the air.

“Ye’re…” The tips of Geoff’s fingers flutter. “Well, I don’t know what you are, Dandy. Ye’re just…yerself. And I thought—”

“You thought he wouldn’t want me?”

His face falls. “He’s not like you, Dandy. That’s all. He’s not a good man. I heard him talking, when it was just the men…”

He drops his eyes and his cheekbones redden.

Neither of us seems to know what to say next. After a full minute of silence, he lurches forward and grasps my shoulders, crushing me to his chest. “Blanche, just consider.”

I gasp and have to steady myself. But within seconds, tears come to my eyes, along with a calming release of tension. I grip his forearms, inhale his familiar scent. He’s always smelled of horses, with a hint of bread dough and sugar from the manor kitchens he’s constantly raiding. There’s something different tonight. I sniff. It’s crisp, yet soft. Evergreens in winter, covered with fresh snow.

He buries his nose in my hair. “You could refuse,” he says, voice a gentle rumble against my face, “and stay with yer mother. She’d be angry, yes, but she wouldn’t throw you out. They can’t drag you to the church. For a marriage to be real, you must consent.”

Consent. The word ripples through me. It makes me see that I want more, from Maman, from my father, but most of all from Geoff. I need something I can’t identify, something I can’t express.

“If I marry Thomas…” My muffled voice breaks. “It will make the duke happy. He’ll…” I tense, regretting my words.

“He’ll what?”

I can’t answer, can’t tell him that by marrying Sir Thomas, I hope to earn my father’s love. To replace…something.

The moon moves behind a cloud and the trees shift, branches releasing a shower of rain. Geoff drops one hand to the small of my back and lifts the other to my cheek. His palms are warm, and I slide my own to clench his upper arms. When my fingertips brush hardened muscles, I almost snatch my hands back. Before tonight, I still thought of Geoff as a child, the lanky villein who could ride any horse, no matter how fierce. Now…my mouth goes dry, but I can’t resist running my hands up the length of his arms, letting them rest on his shoulders. The skin beneath his tunic is damp with sweat.

Corded muscles tense and stretch beneath my fingers, sending little jolts through me. He stoops, chin brushing my temple.

I touch the notch of his throat with my fingertips. He freezes. Tiny curls of dark hair peek above his collar, tickling my fingers. He lets his face linger on mine, and I feel him inhale.

A pleasant warmth spreads through my belly, then down. Something’s happening, something I don’t understand. I should run, should leave. But I don’t. Another breeze drifts through the tree branches, and he pulls me closer, pressing me to him.

I feel him, all of him, from feet to chin, in a way I never have. A tingling, heavy warmth settles on me, and I feel Geoff’s own need pressing against my belly.

It should make me uncomfortable, but I find myself pressing back, wanting more. Wanting it all.

I’m not well-versed in what happens between a woman and a man—that’s one area of my education Maman neglected—but I’m not completely ignorant. I know Geoff and I stand on a cliff, gazing into a deep ravine. One more step, and we’ll both be lost.

I’m still touching his throat, suspended in our odd dance beneath the shuddering tree branches, when he bends further. I close my eyes and focus on the sensation of his stubbly chin against my face. He exhales, and a shiver runs down my spine.

“Dandy…” he murmurs.

The owl swoops to snatch a mouse from the forest floor in sharp talons. Her screech is like a battle horn, ricocheting with painful deliberation in my skull, joined by the mouse’s squeal. My eyelids snap open and I step out of his embrace.

About the Author

 

 J.E. Rizzo is a life-long history fanatic and writer of historical fiction, and her work can be found in Vanity Fair, The Boston Globe, The Guardian, The Tudor Times, Tudor Life Magazine, Scary Mommy, and Ultrarunning Magazine. Rizzo won Manuscript Academy’s Agent Choice Award in 2024, and her article Past and Precedence: Abortion Law in the Middle Ages and Its Use to Overturn Roe v. Wade won History Inquiry’s Medieval History Writing Challenge.

By day, Rizzo works in Human Resources—a field offering more than ample opportunity to observe the follies and fancies of humankind. Before her career in HR, Rizzo worked as an opera singer, a professional baker, and a dog walker. These days, when not writing she can be found running ultramarathons through the forests and mountains of New England, knitting, reading, sewing, baking, or performing any number of (what some might call) old-lady hobbies. She also keeps busing caring for her two children and forty-seven houseplants, making her husband carry heavy things and cook her gourmet meals, and rehabilitating her rescue dog and semi-feral ginger cat.

 

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PROMO: Sunshine Boy

 

LGBTQ Rockstar Romance

Date Published: September 4, 2026

What if they’re not just friends? It could be murder!

After Julian’s sister sets him up with a charming Frenchman, Rahul thinks he may be getting over Julian, especially since Julian is back with his ex, Michael. Their band is finally taking off and the future seems bright. Then Julian hints he may return Rahul’s feelings. But what might happen if they become more than friends?

 

WARNING: Violence, Drinking/Substance use, Mentions of murder, Trauma/PTSD.

 

EXCERPT

 

Julian’s flat was a disaster, but Mel couldn’t be sure if it was on account of Julian tearing the place apart in a fit of pique or if it was always like this. Based on what his room had been like when she and her big brother had lived at home, she didn’t really doubt this was just the way he lived.

Mel hadn’t been here since the day Julian had moved in three years ago. She saw enough of her brother at the place where they worked, the place where they drank, and the place where they performed. She hardly needed to come round his place to get even more time with the manic muppet.

Julian even did devastation manic. He was pacing around the living room, pulling at his hair, talking a mile a minute. Mel could hardly keep up with what he was saying, if he was saying anything at all and not just babbling incoherently.

“… just a jazzy giraffe freak clomping around my life with his big stupid hooves and not even looking for oncoming traffic or anything… wouldn’t even slow down at a zebra crossing, even if there was kids in it, or like countryside sheep or whatever… just plow right through ‘em -- WHAM -- ‘sorry, missus, was this your daughter sheep? Too bad, I’m after Julian, can’t slow down or I’ll lose him!’ Honestly, it’s like he isn’t…”

Mel grabbed a handful of Julian’s fake leather jacket as he came past and yanked him down onto the sofa beside her. He looked startled and disorientated, like a somnambulist being unceremoniously awoken. He blinked at Mel as though only just now noticing her.

“You’ll give yourself an aneurysm going on like that,” Mel said coolly, lighting up a cigarette.

Her words were the scissors that cut the strings of Julian’s loosely gathered sanity. He crumpled in on himself, burying his face in his hands. For one horrified moment, Mel thought he might be crying. But he just groaned, a long pitiful noise like that of a wounded animal.

“It’s all gone tits up, hasn’t it?” he mumbled into his palms.

It had in fact, in Mel’s opinion, gone tits up. Julian’s best friend, Rahul -- the “jazzy giraffe freak” -- had told Julian’s creepy blond boyfriend, Michael, that Rahul and Julian had slept together. Michael had ended things with Julian. Julian had clobbered Rahul (a very un-Julian-like thing to do). Rahul then confessed his undying love for Julian and Julian had… run off. Cowardly little prick.

Rahul wasn’t just Julian’s best friend, he was also the most musically talented member of their band -- a band Mel played bass in, mind. Without him, the band would dissolve into nothing and Julian would be left rudderless. He lived for their shite band. Hell, he lived for Rahul. The two of them needed each other like foxes needed bins. This melodramatic love-triangle nonsense was going to make all of their lives positively implode. Well, maybe not Mel’s life. She owned a record shop and she’d be fine. And maybe not Kwambe’s life either. He was too cool to be affected by anything. But definitely Julian and Rahul’s lives, and Mel had sworn, years ago when her and Julian’s mum had started drinking, that she would look out for her empty-headed brother and keep him safe. She’d been fixing his life ever since. She’d be damned if she wasn’t going to fix it this time.

“It ain’t so bad,” Mel told Julian. She nudged him until he peeked out between the fingers he held over his eyes. She extended a cigarette to him. He took it and let her light it for him. It was the most affectionate gesture she’d offered him in quite some time. “One of you could be dead. That’d really be something to cry about.”

He threw her a withering glare with his red-rimmed eyes.

“So, you shagging that Michael bloke, then?”

Julian choked slightly on the smoke in his throat. He’d never told her, in so many words, that he was dating Michael. Michael had just shown up one day, hanging around Julian, while Julian stared at him with the eyes of a boy looking at a bloody Christmas tree. Julian had also never told her he was a bit bent either, but Mel had worked that out on her own, too.

Julian fidgeted with the cigarette butt in his fingers. It was odd to see him… if not embarrassed, then apprehensive. He usually did things like he couldn’t give a shit what others thought, though Mel knew that was a load of horse shite. He acted like he didn’t care, but no one cared more what other people thought than Julian Collier. He’d been caring since they were kids, only he’d gotten better at pretending. The thing is, when you want people to think you’re really cool, you have to get them to think you don’t care what they think. Julian was also obsessed with people thinking he was a little daft. That much was lucky, because, as far as Mel was concerned, he was a little daft.

He nervously pushed his fringe off his forehead only for it to flop back down at an uneven angle. “Yeah. Or, well, I was.”

“He chucked you ‘cause you and Rahul shagged?”

“That sounds like we did it yesterday,” Julian whinged. “It was ages and ages ago. Back at uni. And we were both drunk as you like. It didn’t even count, if you ask me.” Despite himself, he was going quite red around the ears and getting splotchy red patches high on his cheeks. “I’d forgotten all about it. I can’t even believe Rahul remembered. And that he told Michael. Imagine that!”

It was all coming together now. She remembered the trip Julian had taken up North to visit Rahul, only to come back one day early, all jumpy and not wanting to talk about it. Afterward, he’d not seen Rahul for years. Then, when Rahul came back, they were all distant and weird around each other. They’d had a drunken fumble together, of course. For one of them it was just an awkward night that had compromised a friendship. For the other…

“He also told you that he loves you,” Mel reminded him around her cigarette butt.

Julian folded his arms and hunched his shoulders in that way he did when he was stopping himself from covering his ears like he would’ve as a little kid. “Whatever. He’s confused. I dunno. He can’t love me. That’s just mental. He’s my best mate -- he was my best mate. He just thinks he’s in love with me ‘cause he loves me, you know, like friends or whatever. And anyway, that’s the other reason Michael dumped me, you know? He could see Rahul’s all obsessed with me and he didn’t want to get himself in the middle of whatever it is we’ve got going on. He didn’t want to end up like Aisling did. Having rows all the time ‘cause Rahul’s put himself between us.”

Hearing the name of Julian’s ex-girlfriend gave Mel pause. “Were you shagging him when you were still with Aisling?”

Julian dropped his cigarette. He retrieved it before it could burn a hole in the carpet next to the constellation of cigarette burns already there. “No. ‘Course not,” he said defensively in the way he did when he was lying. “I’d never cheat on her, would I?”

“I don’t know,” Mel said. “Would you?”

“I mean -- all right, so I’d started seeing him a bit when we were still together,” Julian immediately capitulated. Mel beamed. So she could still wheedle the truth out of her brother after all. “But we didn’t sleep together or anything. It wasn’t cheating. Not really.” He was imploring as if Mel were the barrister presiding over his case. She was only a curious third party with no stake in the game. So she merely shrugged.

He ran an unhappy hand through his hair, which by now was standing up at all sorts of odd angles. “What am I gonna do?”

“What you’ve gotta do is get your shit together. Both of you. I got a business to run, you know? What am I supposed to do? Sack one of you and hire somebody neither of you ballbags have fucked? And we got a band, or have you forgotten that as well?”

“I thought you hated the band.”

“I do, but I’ve started counting on that extra gig dosh.” It felt good to pay for her grass with money that didn’t come directly from her dead nan’s business. “And you love the damned thing. Are you gonna find yourself a replacement keyboardist slash guitarist who shares your same crazy vision of a dystopian soundscape? Think it’s easy to find one of them? You gonna put an ad out in The Sun?”

“Why don’t you ask Rahul?” Julian cried. “He’s the one who’s gone and cocked everything up! It’s his fault for having feelings -- or thinking he’s got feelings. If he weren’t obsessed with me, he’d have never sabotaged my relationship. If he were following somebody else around like a bleeding puppy, then maybe me and Michael would still be together.”

“That’s it,” Mel said, snapping her fingers in the air.

“What is?” Julian asked dubiously.

“We need to set Rahul up with somebody. Get him to fall in love with somebody else. That way Michael won’t have anything to worry about and the two of you can make up. Then you and Rahul can get back to being mates, and Bob’s your uncle -- everything back to normal.”

Julian’s dubiosity had not dissipated. “You reckon? I dunno.” He made a face somewhere between a sneer and a wince that made it look like he was about to sneeze. “He’s been building his feelings up for me for years, said so himself. I don’t think we can come in with some, erm…”

“Bloke. He is gay, you know.”

“Right -- some bloke -- and think he’ll be all gone on him in two shakes and forget all about me. He thinks he loves me, you know? That’s massive, that is. When someone’s got gangrene, you don’t come in with a plaster and think that’s gonna make it all better.”

“Trust me. I know what I’m doing. You leave it all up to me. I’ll sort it. I always do.” And even though she was wearing her best smug expression, he still had the gall to look less than convinced.

 

About the Author

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

 

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PROMO: Uprising

 

Book One of the Fitzjohn Duology

Historical Fiction with Speculative and Romantic Elements

Date Published: 09-01-2026

Publisher: Literary Wanderlust

England, 1381 AD: Blanche Fitzjohn is an outcast in her small coastal village. Not only is she the illegitimate daughter of John of Gaunt, the man responsible for her neighbors’ over-taxation, but she possesses strange abilities: hearing sound from miles away and smelling people’s emotions.

She takes solace in her studies with the local wisewoman and in her friendship with Geoff, a groom at the local manor. Until the day Henry of Lancaster, Blanche’s half-brother, brings her news of an arranged marriage to Sir Thomas Prescott, Constable of the Tower of London. Although she smells cruelty on him, Blanche agrees to marry Thomas in the hopes that her influence may help better the lives of Geoff and all England’s villeins.

But soon, the peasants’ discontent turns to revolt. Though her heart is of the people, Blanche’s nobility makes her an enemy to the rebels. To save herself and Henry from the executioner’s ax, Blanche must use every power at her disposal, even those she once considered a curse.

About the Author

 

 J.E. Rizzo is a life-long history fanatic and writer of historical fiction, and her work can be found in Vanity Fair, The Boston Globe, The Guardian, The Tudor Times, Tudor Life Magazine, Scary Mommy, and Ultrarunning Magazine. Rizzo won Manuscript Academy’s Agent Choice Award in 2024, and her article Past and Precedence: Abortion Law in the Middle Ages and Its Use to Overturn Roe v. Wade won History Inquiry’s Medieval History Writing Challenge.

By day, Rizzo works in Human Resources—a field offering more than ample opportunity to observe the follies and fancies of humankind. Before her career in HR, Rizzo worked as an opera singer, a professional baker, and a dog walker. These days, when not writing she can be found running ultramarathons through the forests and mountains of New England, knitting, reading, sewing, baking, or performing any number of (what some might call) old-lady hobbies. She also keeps busing caring for her two children and forty-seven houseplants, making her husband carry heavy things and cook her gourmet meals, and rehabilitating her rescue dog and semi-feral ginger cat.

 

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PROMO: Play Along, Sweetheart

 

Contemporary Romance

Date Published: August 10, 2026

Their relationship is fake. Their chemistry is not.

Chicago social worker, Maggie O’Hara, arrives at the Minneapolis airport where she awaits the arrival of her family to pick her up and take her home with them for Thanksgiving. She’s nervous, due to the surprise she has for them in her arms—her newly adopted baby girl from Korea. With little thought, Maggie grabs a stranger getting off the same airplane, and asks him to portray himself, temporarily, as her fiancé. She knows that her old-fashioned family will disapprove of the adoption because she’s not married. What Maggie doesn’t count on is falling in love with Dr. Nick Capra, who does more than a passable job of posing as her fiancé that day, and over the holiday week.

From the moment Maggie snags Nick, a confirmed bachelor, his gut tells him his single days are over and that she’s the woman for him. While posing as her fiancé he tells her he wants to be a permanent part of her life. While Maggie has fallen in love with Nick, she has a secret that could ruin their chances of being together, though she refuses to divulge the secret to him—until the choice is taken out of her hands.

 

About the Author

 

 Nancy Schumacher is the owner-publisher of Melange Books, LLC, writing under the pseudonyms, Nancy Pirri and Natasha Perry. Being a publisher doesn’t allow much time for the creative process of writing and publishing her own works, but every once in a while it happens.

She is an associate member of Romance Writers of America (RWA). She is also one of the founders of the RWA chapter, Northern Lights Writers (NLW), in Minnesota.

 

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Satin Romance

PROMO: Valentines in the Presidential Suite

 

Romantic Women's Fiction

Date Published: August 25, 2026

When Morgan Riley meets Simon Weaver, an older man who’s just moved into her upstate New York town, she becomes a book review partner with him for the local bookstore owner. Coming from an unhappy childhood, Morgan treasures her relationship with Simon, who is like the grandfather she never had.

Brad Hamlin, an attractive widower, is hired as a new partner in the law firm where Morgan works. She is assigned to assist him, and they form a successful team. When Simon needs a lawyer to help him with a difficult situation with his very greedy daughter-in-law, Morgan suggests Brad. As friendship deepens between the three of them, neither has any idea what life has in store for them.

A special spin-off book in which characters have their own stories and end up at The Beach House Hotel in Florida with Ann and Rhonda. A chance to stay connected to the series in a different way.

 

About the Author

 

 Judith Keim, A USA Today Best-Selling Author, is a hybrid author who both has a publisher and self-publishes. Ms. Keim writes heart-warming novels about women who face unexpected challenges, meet them with strength, and find love and happiness along the way, stories with heart. Her best-selling books are based, in part, on many of the places she's lived or visited and on the interesting people she's met, creating believable characters and realistic settings her many loyal readers love.

She enjoyed her childhood and young-adult years in Elmira, New York, and now makes her home in Boise, Idaho, with her husband and their adorable dachshunds, Wally and Kacy, and other members of her family.

While growing up, she loved the idea of writing stories from a young age. Books were always present, being read, ready to go back to the library, or about to be discovered. All in her family shared information from the books in general conversation, giving them a wealth of knowledge and vivid imaginations.

Ms. Keim loves to hear from her readers and appreciates their enthusiasm for her stories.

 

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PROMO: Horsfall

 

Gay Paranormal Romance

Date Published: August 21, 2026

What started out as a regular job assignment quickly escalated into something more for Oliver Philip when he meets twin Shire horse shapeshifters Bayard and Marshall Stoddard.

 

Hired to perform a safety audit on Horsfall Ranch, Oliver never expected his life to be turned upside down, but he’s game for anything. Happily throwing himself into a relationship with both Bayard and Marshall, Oliver quickly discovers a world of intense pleasure, laughter and comfort.

Unfortunately, storm clouds are gathering on the horizon and Oliver must find the strength to fight for the two men he can’t live without.

 

EXCERPT

 

Excerpt from Tail of Two Brothers

Oliver Philip inhaled deeply, turning his head from side to side to capture as much of the scenery as he could. He couldn't imagine living out here. It was so crisp, so clean. And it was only about twenty minutes outside the city limits too. Hell, it took him longer than that to drive from one end of the city to the other.

He slowed his car, counting the kilometers as they clicked by. "Ten point five, ten point six, ten point seven, and there's the turn off. Exactly where he said it'd be."

Turning into the narrow paved lane, he left the gravel road behind. His client had given him exact directions to the ranch, directions Oliver had needed. It was a little too easy to get lost on the township roads out here. It didn't help that the damn signs were so small. He was used to driving out in the country, but still, this wasn't like trying to find some gas plant. It was kinda hard to miss those.

Horsfall Ranch might be close to the city, but it wasn't exactly easy to get to. Thick brush lined the lane he was practically crawling down, set at the base of tall trees that were obscuring his view to either side. At least the lane was in excellent condition, although he couldn't see anything in front of him but more trees.

He drove around a curve in the road, and suddenly the whole thing opened up. He had to stop the car just to take it all in.

Horsfall sat smack dab in front of him, down a slight incline. The rolling foothills were a picturesque backdrop, with the Rocky Mountains as a steady line marching across the back end in the distance. He could make out the white tops on the mountains; there were only a few wisps of cloud breaking up the blue sky. Great day to be out of the office.

"Damn, I love my job."

Pressing his foot down on the gas pedal, Oliver pulled up to the black wrought iron gate barring his path. Pressing the intercom beside his window, he waited, nervously tapping his fingers on the wheel.

"Hello?" a male voice responded.

"Hi. This is Oliver Philip. I'm here to meet with Bayard Stoddard."

"Sure thing. He's down at the main complex. I'll let him know you're here. Just keep on the road, and you can't miss him."

"Thanks."

The gate opened up slowly, and he made his way through. A small farmhouse sat to the left of the gate, with a big black dog lying on the front porch. He sleepily raised his head, watching Oliver drive past. Oliver chuckled, seriously tempted to stop the car and get out. He absolutely loved animals.

A second house sat back further from the road, a little bigger than the first. He wondered how many people actually lived here. Truth be told, he didn't know much about ranching life. He'd done a bit of research on the company before coming down here, like he always did before accepting a new job, but a website didn't give you much information about the day-to-day workings of a place. Besides, the Horsfall website talked more about their horses than anything else, and most of that information had gone right over his head.

Speaking of which, who knew there would be so many buildings? A large rectangular building stood in front of him, with several smaller ones set around. An empty paddock sat to the right, and he could make out an open barn with machinery just behind the main building. Several gas tanks stood beside the open barn. At least he knew what those were. He felt a little out of his element coming here.

A man stepped out of the large building in front of him. Spying the trucks parked to the right, Oliver pulled his little blue car between two dusty pickups. He opened the door, grabbing his briefcase from the passenger seat. The man had come around to meet him and was now standing at Oliver's back bumper.

Jesus, he'd like to have this man do more than just stand at his back bumper. He was tall, towering over Oliver by at least half a foot. Tanned and devastatingly handsome. Oliver just about swallowed his tongue looking at him. This was what Oliver fantasized about late at night when he was all alone. Fuck, the man was fulfilling almost every one of his dreams physically.

He had a black cowboy hat slanted low on his forehead, and his muscular frame was encased in dusty blue jeans and a worn blue plaid shirt. For a minute Oliver was certain the big man was going to pop the seams on that shirt. It strained across a colossal chest that just begged to be explored.

The cowboy held out one tanned hand. "Mr. Philip, I'm Bayard Stoddard. We spoke on the phone. Thanks for coming out here."

 

About the Author

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

 

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PROMO: Memory of Rivers

 

A Past Life Love Story

Time Travel Romance

Date Published: 09-09-2019

Publisher: Flyway Press LLC

Three Lifetimes, One Love – A Time Travel Romance

 

Vivid sensations and images from Diana’s dreams stream into her conscious mind. Are the dreams memories of her past lives?

As Kari, in prehistoric times, she dances in a coming-of-age ceremony in an ancient cave, with wild animals painted on the walls. Captivated by flute player, Lor, they promise to love each other forever, but dangers threaten their plans.

As Rachel, isolated in gold rush era Deadwood, she is mistreated by her drinking, gambling husband but finds comfort with Civil War veteran Sam. His harmonica music enchants Rachel as they draw together to soothe their lonely souls.

Now, in her life in 1972 Minnesota, Diana is drawn to singer-songwriter Eric. His songs and her memories, along with a deep longing for love, connects her soul with his. Is he the man from her dreams? Will they find happiness together at last?

 

“In an age of brief encounters and ‘friends with benefits,’ lasting love is a rare commodity. But you’ll find it here in Shelley Odendahl’s Memory of Rivers. Enjoy.” – Faith Sullivan, author of nine novels including the latest, Ruby and Roland.

Excerpt

As Eric continued to sing, I stared into his soul. Somehow then, I knew for certain that he was the man I loved, since my earliest memories, since pre-history. We met in a cave, and I danced to his music. Immersed in the past, I felt the dense smokiness of the cave’s enclosed space as the flute player captured my body and spirit. We were alone. Together.

With a slight shake of my head, I pulled myself back to the present, into the enclosed space of a bar, where the smoke of cigarettes hung in the air. My face and neck had grown prickly and hot, as if a mild electrical charge played on the surface of my skin. I focused on Eric, every bit of him, especially his eyes. I inhaled a quick breath when he stared back at me, as if my spirit had summoned his. Still singing, his voice was sensuous, velvet, as it caressed my body and settled into my being.

If, from the other we are ever lost,

Draw me in with your force of life

Somewhere inside, the truth resides,

My elusive woman of the wilds.

Our fates are entwined now and forever,

My dancer, my muse, my river nymph,

My elusive woman of the wilds.

 

His voice quietly held the last note of the song, as his fingers picked the final chord. We maintained eye contact, sharing a moment that began with our encounter at the cave ceremony, and traveled the spectrum of time and place, bringing our emotions into the present. Right now. We were seeing all of each other without ever before having met in this lifetime.

Eric broke eye contact and looked down at his guitar.

“I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” he told the crowd, as he put the guitar in its rack and stood up. He made his way toward the people at his table up front and sat down with them.

My hands trembled as I dug in my purse for a tissue, using it to dab my tear-filled eyes. What had just happened here? My heart over-flowed, incredulous that I had met my love. I still didn’t know what it all meant to my life today. Would he remember me, from our lives so long ago? What if he didn’t?

 

About the Author

Shelley Odendahl is the author of Serendipity and Other Travel Adventures – stories that cover forty years of touring the world with her husband Cliff.

This book brings readers along as they travel across the USA by motorcycle, and to Europe, Australia, New Zealand, Bali, and Patagonia, experiencing breathtaking highs, and lows that challenged the couple to create solutions along the way.

Shelley also wrote an inspirational book, Realize Your Dreams – Create an Action Plan for Life Transformation, and a time travel novel: Memory of Rivers – A Past Life Love Story.

She lives in Minnesota, USA, with her husband Cliff, where 10,000+ lakes, scenic rivers, majestic white pines, wildflowers, swans, and eagles nurture her spirit.

Her passions are traveling and writing about traveling, creating watercolors, appreciating art of all kinds, and baking her own Sourdough bread from a starter she created over 5 years ago. She enjoys hiking in National Parks, going to musical performances, and being on a lake in a boat.

Shelley is happiest when in the company of her husband, family and friends, with perhaps some food and wine involved.

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